tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3884800951116065612024-03-12T19:26:45.150-05:00Swirls and swingsLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-59369339912067612442013-04-12T09:48:00.001-05:002013-04-12T09:48:56.100-05:00New beginning70 posts over four years. That is what my first, timid foray into blogging accomplished. Stories of my first two babies. Stories of the development of "Lisa the mom", and the fading of "Lisa the hopeless neurotic".<br />
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Big changes have happened around here. In September, I quit my paid employment, and our family made the shift to a single income household. I am baking more, and spending less. I am truly the primary caregiver for my kids, the keeper of the financial books, the maker of the home.<br />
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Tomorrow, I will be 30 years old. I look forward to celebrating with friends and family, and to beginning my thirties as a new chapter of my life.<br />
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With this new chapter, I want to invite you to visit my new blog, '<a href="http://lifelivedrichly.blogspot.ca/">Life Lived Richly</a>'. Like '<a href="http://swirlsandswings.blogspot.ca/2008/11/beginning-of-swirls-and-swings.html">Swirls and Swings</a>', the name was chosen to reflect <a href="http://lifelivedrichly.blogspot.ca/p/blog-page.html">the blog's purpose</a>. I want to step into my next decade with intention, and the blog will chronicle my attempts to live simply, mindfully, and joyfully. I would be honoured if you followed my journey.<br />
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To everyone who has ever commented here, or followed the blog, or been touched by anything I have written, thank you. Nothing makes me feel less alone than to connect with another soul through words. Namaste.<br />
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<br />Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-54613245369322182402012-05-26T15:11:00.000-05:002012-05-26T15:14:36.113-05:00Undisturbed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is Saturday morning, and I am sitting at my laptop with my whipped-cream-topped coffee, when I see this Facebook status:<br />
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"I would like to kidnap somebody and take them to a nature place close to my house. Who is free to be whisked away?"<br />
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My house is a mess. I mean, really. A mess. There is a pile of laundry at the bottom of the stairs that seems to be only growing. Every kitchen surface has dishes and crumbs. You would be hard pressed to find a piece of empty floor to lay down on. No one is dressed. No one has eaten anything with any nutritional value. Sh*t is generally not together.<br />
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I am torn, once again, between responsibility and the spirit of carpe diem. I find my fingers typing:<br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">"Oh, boy. Me and my kids?"<br /><br />Carpe Diem wins.<br /><br />The next hour is marked by dressing, gathering, packing, and buckling little bodies into car seats. Relying on my memory for a few directions given over the phone, I pull out of the driveway very close to on time. Traffic, construction... I arrive at the park just before 11. Thing 1 out of the car, Thing 2 strapped to my back, and into the woods with my friend we go.<br /><br />All week my nerves have been rattled. So many feelings of swirling upheaval, and no time or space in my own mind to settle. But here, now, surrounded by trees and mud, away from the noise and movement of the city, away from the computer and the phone, I feel my jitters start to fall away. I hear birds. I feel the wind on my face, and see the gently movement of the leaves.</span><br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><br />We are not the only ones in the park this morning. Here are a couple boys jumping bikes. There is a fisherman on the banks of the river. A group of 3 runners hurry past. We are not exactly in solitude, and the morning is not marked by perfect peacefulness, either. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WiCZwi_8Nr8/T8E13e6943I/AAAAAAAAAns/hqmInxFyxCY/s1600/IMG_3175+crop.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WiCZwi_8Nr8/T8E13e6943I/AAAAAAAAAns/hqmInxFyxCY/s400/IMG_3175+crop.jpg" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nik on a swing we found, strung simply from a tree with rope.</td></tr>
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">Nik runs ahead, gets called back, needs one thousand reminders to stay close, to not approach the water, to hold my hand or climb safely on the logs. Alexa is mostly happy, along for the ride, but even she has her squirmy fussy moments.<br /><br />But somehow, the conditions don't have to reach perfect serenity to allow me to reap the benefit of being here, in creation in the spring. The birds still sing. The sunlight still filters through the canopy. The river still rushes. These things are undisturbed by the chaotic movements of a 4 year old boy. Undisturbed. Still growing. Still peaceful. And they lead by example.</span>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-53708222355058544072012-04-18T13:49:00.009-05:002012-04-18T14:00:28.472-05:00Cute when they're asleep<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eTC3dpg8M64/T48PIJRCgNI/AAAAAAAAAnY/f9RdV-Qdt0g/s1600/Alexa.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eTC3dpg8M64/T48PIJRCgNI/AAAAAAAAAnY/f9RdV-Qdt0g/s400/Alexa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732817483266687186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Let me tell you a little bit about my dear, sweet Alexa today.<br /><br />During my shower, she got into my alphabet beads and dumped them all over the couch, except for the ones that she put in her mouth. Also, she stole a chocolate from Nik, and apparently used it for a full body skin treatment, so I gave her a bath. She pooped in it.<br /><br />When I took her out of the bath, she ran down the hall and pulled the hurricane lamp off of the record player. Tiny gravel everywhere.<br /><br />She pulled half of the books off of the kids shelf.<br /><br />She emptied half a dozen puzzles and bucket of peg board pegs onto the floor.<br /><br />During lunch, she tried to eat her piece of pizza by pulling off the toppings, picking up her plate with the pizza on it, tomato sauce exposed, and smooshing the plate into her face.<br /><br />She is just down for a nap, now.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PMrFfrlPLM4/T48PIZW5ImI/AAAAAAAAAnk/Iw9ldZPZMJA/s1600/IMG_3030.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PMrFfrlPLM4/T48PIZW5ImI/AAAAAAAAAnk/Iw9ldZPZMJA/s400/IMG_3030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732817487586206306" border="0" /></a><br />Sleeeeep, baby. Sleeeep.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-56789363292121147572011-11-01T12:15:00.006-05:002011-11-01T23:57:37.655-05:00Nursing mom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yN4tNm4_oSg/TrApYhUA7rI/AAAAAAAAAm0/mn9vv0nnA5Q/s1600/Lee%2BGraham%2Bnursing%2Bshot.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yN4tNm4_oSg/TrApYhUA7rI/AAAAAAAAAm0/mn9vv0nnA5Q/s400/Lee%2BGraham%2Bnursing%2Bshot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670077432095370930" border="0" /></a><br />I have had the awesome privilege to experience nursing my kids.<br /><br />Nursing helps me sleep. It helps me calm down my kids in a hurry, floods my body with feel-good calm-down hormones, and puts my sleep cycles in synch with my child's, so that their night-waking is less disruptive to my night.<br /><br />Nursing keeps me in touch. I am hormonally, biologically in touch with my child. We are a pair. We are rarely apart and it is hard for me to leave them for any length of time. Listening to my baby cry is close to physically painful. I think that is by design.<br /><br />Nursing has connected me to many other wonderful moms. I meet them at La Leche League and in attachment parenting groups. I sit next to them in nursing rooms, and on chairs in the church nursery. I join them in celebrating nursing, this natural and amazing gift, in person at events, and online, through facebook, forums and blogs. I stand with them through Human Milk 4 Human Babies. We are connected through nursing, and to most nursing moms, this is of profound significance.<br /><br />Nursing keeps us healthy. My breastmilk is perfectly adapted to meet the nutritional needs of my baby. I make precisely the right antibodies that my baby needs to fight her cold. I protect us both from cancer, from obesity. I keep my baby hydrated, even when she is vomiting. I keep away her ear infections. I can treat diaper rash or an eye infection with a few squirts. And I burn calories every day to make it. Extra brownie, anyone? ;-)<br /><br />Nursing is free and healthy, empowering and beautiful. I feel blessed to have experienced it, because I know not everyone does. I have been lucky. I have the support of my mother, husband, friends and La Leche League. I have the knowledge I needed to be successful, and the encouragement I needed from health care professionals. And I have been blessed with the stubbornness needed to persist in the face of challenge.<br /><br />I have been bitten and scratched. I have been in tears over a baby who would not latch. I have woken up insane amounts of times in the night to nurse a fussy baby who would not sleep. I have had over-supply, under-supply and a painful plugged duct. I have been criticized for how, where and for how long I choose to nurse.<br /><br />About all of these things I can say the same thing: Worth it, worth it, worth it.<br /><br />To all the other moms who might want to nurse, I have just a little advice. Learn all you can. Meet other nursing moms. Believe your body was made for this. And don't give up. I can't promise it will be easy. But it will be worth it.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-56924866983678954922011-09-04T10:45:00.001-05:002011-09-04T11:00:06.405-05:00A bit of earth<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-56o1xY5Hun0/TmOZtQjMQiI/AAAAAAAAAmk/Cel_ntOjmC8/s1600/IMG_2239.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-56o1xY5Hun0/TmOZtQjMQiI/AAAAAAAAAmk/Cel_ntOjmC8/s400/IMG_2239.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648527360468468258" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span>Our teeny veggie garden</span></span>
<br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> "Might I," quavered Mary, "might I have a bit of earth?" </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> In her eagerness she did not realize how queer the words would sound and that they were not the ones she had meant to say. Mr. Craven looked quite startled. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> "Earth!" he repeated. "What do you mean?" </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> "To plant seeds in--to make things grow--to see them come alive," Mary faltered.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >
<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >from 'The Secret Garden' by Frances Hodges Burnett</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HtUuwv8ZW4c/TmOZtjc3p8I/AAAAAAAAAms/yuW6oOyEMi4/s1600/IMG_0036.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HtUuwv8ZW4c/TmOZtjc3p8I/AAAAAAAAAms/yuW6oOyEMi4/s400/IMG_0036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648527365542225858" border="0" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Our apartment bedroom</span></span>
<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">When I got pregnant with Nik, we were living in a third floor walk up apartment a block from the train tracks, in an inexpensive area of town. We liked the apartment, with its two bedrooms, tiny kitchen and plethora of closets. It was the perfect place for newlyweds. But when the time came to start adding to our family, we started house shopping. Not for the space, so much. Our bedrooms in our house are actually smaller than the ones we had in the apartment. And not even because a mortgage seemed smarter than paying rent, although that was a factor. No, the real reason we looked for a house right then, is because I couldn't imagine raising a child without a backyard.
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<br />Until I was ten, my family lived in a one-and-a-half storey house, with a white fence and a blue shed. We had yard on all sides of our house, which seems so uncommon, now. In the front yard, we had a big and bumpy stone step that led up to the front door, flanked by two flower gardens, and one large elm tree. On one side of the house we had a sidewalk that led back and around to the back door, and on the other side, there was another tree with a tire swing, just outside the kitchen window. Our backyard was home to a vegetable garden pushed up next to a fence, a gravel driveway, the shed, a large sandbox, a birch tree and an old, green, metal swing set with two swings, a hanging teeter totter, and a slide that got blazing hot in the summer. We also had an old fashioned clothesline strung above the wooden picnic table that sat on our patio. In reality, I know that our yard was small and crowded. But in my childhood mind's eye it is spacious and full of possibility.
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<br />I remember the buttercups that grew through the stones in the driveway. I remember hanging from the cross bar on the 'A' that made up the side of the swing set. I remember my brother climbing the fence and the wood pile to get to the roof of the shed, and then watching him throw his plane off the top. I remember walking on the bricks that bordered the flower garden, digging in the black earth of the vegetable garden to find worms, and climbing the trees.
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<br />So how could I even entertain the idea of having kids of my own, and raising them without a backyard?
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<br />It took us a little while to find a house. In a seller's market, it is so common to bid on a house, just once, and be outbid by someone else, and there goes your chance. We bid four times, got outbid four times. It was discouraging, but, fifth time was a charm for us, and before Nik was born, we were moving in. In the following months, we painted and renovated and welcomed in our freshly born baby boy. A home of our own.
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<br />That first summer, we did not go outside much. Nik was fussy, and didn't like to be hot. if I went outside with him, he would usually squint in the sun and complain. If I left him on his own for a bit to pull weeds or what have you, he complained. We used the backyard a handful of times, for a BBQ or fire, maybe to splash in the wading pool for a bit, but... We weren't exactly living out there.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X_5RCEjz9YM/TmOY6qJhEeI/AAAAAAAAAls/0tMSSGhERxs/s1600/IMG_2430.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X_5RCEjz9YM/TmOY6qJhEeI/AAAAAAAAAls/0tMSSGhERxs/s400/IMG_2430.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648526491166773730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">First time in the backyard wading pool</span></span>
<br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The next summer I had returned to work half-time, and so there was even less time to spend outside. Those days that we did go outside, it was usually to walk to a park, or down to the library, or to my grandparent's apartment building for tea. And last year, IT RAINED. And rained. And rained. Nice days that happened to coincide with my days off from work were spent again at the park or nearby wading pool. We did manage to put in a vegetable garden, but it was largely ignored. It certainly didn't need watering!
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<br />This year was finally different. Nik is three, now, and so much more capable of playing. Thanks to my second maternity leave, I am home so much more, so we can take advantage of all the nice weather days, and this summer there have been many of them. It has been dry and hot, so the garden has needed watering, prompting me to get out there, and weed and putter around. My dad and brother surprised us at the beginning of the summer with the gift of a small wooden swing set - a green slide and two swings.
<br /></span></p><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u27S4P0vZGs/TmOY7kx-b1I/AAAAAAAAAmE/c1ZkD_CHLMA/s1600/IMG_1557.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u27S4P0vZGs/TmOY7kx-b1I/AAAAAAAAAmE/c1ZkD_CHLMA/s400/IMG_1557.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648526506905726802" border="0" /></a></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">And Alexa is such a happy baby, content to be left to roll around on a blanket in the backyard.
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<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wE4ne7PVQr4/TmOY76YSB3I/AAAAAAAAAmM/ic5DtsxZaSw/s1600/IMG_1880.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wE4ne7PVQr4/TmOY76YSB3I/AAAAAAAAAmM/ic5DtsxZaSw/s400/IMG_1880.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648526512703539058" border="0" /></a>
<br />We have a small backyard, with a rickety wooden fence. It is crowded with a tiny patio, sandbox, swing set, vegetable garden. My mom could have said the same thing about my own childhood home. But seen through my son's eyes, I can tell it is different. It is a place to run, to catch grasshoppers and frogs, to roast marshmallows and to swing up to the sky.
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<br />It is spacious, and full of possibility.</span></p><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Da_S2MajucQ/TmOY62Vnj9I/AAAAAAAAAl0/vGfL-vsjOvQ/s1600/IMG_9064.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Da_S2MajucQ/TmOY62Vnj9I/AAAAAAAAAl0/vGfL-vsjOvQ/s400/IMG_9064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648526494438756306" border="0" /></a></span>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-77158675131020075012011-08-28T10:25:00.002-05:002011-08-28T10:27:26.775-05:00Lake life<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NHEiMuvBn0I/TlpXJh799xI/AAAAAAAAAlA/KwK8ZTevcIY/s1600/IMG_2131.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NHEiMuvBn0I/TlpXJh799xI/AAAAAAAAAlA/KwK8ZTevcIY/s400/IMG_2131.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645920904102672146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Nik and Uncle Darryl</span>
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<br />Every summer, as far back as I can remember, I have gone camping. I have childhood memories of walking on gravel roads and beaches with my cousins, visiting the small camp store to buy 5 cent candy. In later years, it was just my family, down in the States, camping on the edge of a small town near Grand Forks. We would play for hours at the park, and in the nearby outdoor swimming pool. As a teen, I remember sitting around the fire in the dark, talking late into the night, looking at the stars. And then, as a newlywed, our first weekend away at the lake, in the May long weekend drizzly cold, trying to keep warm with my new husband. That was the first year that we camped at Falcon Lake, and we have been back every summer since.
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<br />We are no purist campers. We have only camped once without the benefits of electricity, and, to be honest, that was a result of our own reservation error. Neither do we camp with extreme style. We have no air conditioned trailer, or fancy speed boat. Our tent trailer is borrowed, and older than me. I think the same could be said of the humble fishing boat we use. But I have learned that no matter what you stay in, the moon is just as bright. And however humble your boat, the view from the middle of the lake is the same.
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<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5mwAXHrW0eg/TlpXI4OlpsI/AAAAAAAAAkw/8NLK4PORzLc/s1600/IMG_2118.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5mwAXHrW0eg/TlpXI4OlpsI/AAAAAAAAAkw/8NLK4PORzLc/s400/IMG_2118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645920892906481346" border="0" /></a>
<br />There are islands in the lake we visit. Last year, we took our boat farther along the lake than we had before, and discovered a larger island with picnic tables and fire pits, covered in blueberry bushes. Of course, our trip this year had to include a visit. It was Alexa's first time in the boat, and I was so fortunate to have gotten an infant life jacket from a friend just the week before we left.
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<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BgeHfzm7EVE/TlpXIV8w6BI/AAAAAAAAAko/nnd4TLuPS5I/s1600/IMG_2102.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BgeHfzm7EVE/TlpXIV8w6BI/AAAAAAAAAko/nnd4TLuPS5I/s400/IMG_2102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645920883704915986" border="0" /></a>
<br />We packed a lunch, took our fishing stuff and cameras, loaded up the boat and set off to rediscover 'our' island. Being in the boat fills the senses. The smell of the lake, the wind in your hair. The roar of the outboard motor is so loud, you have to shout to be heard, and if you face the wrong way, the wind carries your voice away anyways. You see cottages all along the lakeshore, many of them grander than my own home. There are seagulls in the air, and loons on the water that dart away as you approach. And in very Canadian fashion, lots of rocks and trees and water.
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<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--qgt6pwgDpg/TlpXJT3d_KI/AAAAAAAAAk4/sTT5RRrGmqE/s1600/IMG_2120.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--qgt6pwgDpg/TlpXJT3d_KI/AAAAAAAAAk4/sTT5RRrGmqE/s400/IMG_2120.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645920900325702818" border="0" /></a>
<br />We near an island, and peer closely at it. Nope, this is not the one. Not the next one, either. Finally, we find it. Covered in evergreen trees, the surface of the island is blanketed in needles, keeping the undergrowth sparse and leaving lots of room to walk and explore. We slowly bring the boat up to the rocky shore, and tie it to a tree. It is so quiet here.
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<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WDh5dz2ENM8/TlpXKK54MwI/AAAAAAAAAlI/U6B5qPETEKM/s1600/IMG_2151.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WDh5dz2ENM8/TlpXKK54MwI/AAAAAAAAAlI/U6B5qPETEKM/s400/IMG_2151.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645920915099759362" border="0" /></a>
<br />We tumble out of the boat, and I free Alexa from her life jacket and tie her onto my back in a carrier. My brother Darryl goes off in one direction with his camera, and Andrew and Nik set off along another path, exploring. The wind off of the water is cool and refreshing as I unpack our picnic onto a nearby table.
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<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_nMrPQFqpAY/TlpapJ4NuVI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/D0oMeA76RZU/s1600/IMG_2157.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_nMrPQFqpAY/TlpapJ4NuVI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/D0oMeA76RZU/s400/IMG_2157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645924745935173970" border="0" /></a>
<br />The air smells like pine needles. Here and there you hear birds, and the scuffle of little ground squirrels.
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<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-coglInsmXnU/TlpapukTlaI/AAAAAAAAAlY/fcAVWSJe-bg/s1600/IMG_2178.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-coglInsmXnU/TlpapukTlaI/AAAAAAAAAlY/fcAVWSJe-bg/s400/IMG_2178.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645924755783783842" border="0" /></a>
<br />We walk around for a while, and then sit for our lunch. Afterwards, Andrew gets Nik up to try fishing for the first time. I sit down nearby, resting my feet in a little rock pool, and am struck by the simple richness of our day.
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<br />As a child, my parents brought me to the lake. Now, I bring my children. I hope they can look back on their own happy memories of lake life.
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<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JUtnmnRtEc8/TlpaqAnPaQI/AAAAAAAAAlg/mvoVf4dN0HM/s1600/IMG_2193.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JUtnmnRtEc8/TlpaqAnPaQI/AAAAAAAAAlg/mvoVf4dN0HM/s400/IMG_2193.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645924760627931394" border="0" /></a>
<br />Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-69055531136364292112011-08-01T22:00:00.000-05:002011-08-01T22:17:48.823-05:00Nik-in-the-BoxI have long believed that simple toys are the best toys. Toys with little detail, and no batteries, leave the most room for the child to invent, and the play they inspire is open-ended, engaging the mind and expanding the imagination. And what could be simpler than a cardboard box?<br /><br />In preparation for an upcoming roadtrip, we recently bought our quickly-growing Nik a new car seat, and he fell in love with the box. When he insisting on moving his pillow and blanket into the box that first night, to sleep like a little homeless person, I thought, "Here is the ultimate thrifty summer project." Even though our most recent<a href="http://swirlsandswings.blogspot.com/2011/06/finger-paint-is-devil.html"> painting project</a> likely took a year off of my life, I decided to break out the paints again, and Nik and I spent a fantastic morning transforming his box into the perfect portable summer hideaway.<br /><br />Again, like previous <a href="http://swirlsandswings.blogspot.com/2011/03/simple-scrappy-circles.html">tutorials</a>, this is something you could probably figure out all on your lonesome, but maybe seeing it will inspire your own project, for your own thrifty fun.<br /><br />Adult prep:<br />Start with a box. Any large box will do, but white boxes are nice. This was ours.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3u9smavuZyY/Tjdg2bdq2CI/AAAAAAAAAiM/0PBr6rNAMPo/s1600/IMG_1656.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3u9smavuZyY/Tjdg2bdq2CI/AAAAAAAAAiM/0PBr6rNAMPo/s400/IMG_1656.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636079946878867490" border="0" /></a>Drag said box onto some sort of paint safe surface. You could do this project outside, if it weren't too windy or wet. We did ours in the kitchen, on top of flyers, taped to the floor with masking tape.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wmSa8ewZNjQ/Tjdg22VTlqI/AAAAAAAAAiU/8-8ACkhyk5U/s1600/IMG_1657.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wmSa8ewZNjQ/Tjdg22VTlqI/AAAAAAAAAiU/8-8ACkhyk5U/s400/IMG_1657.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636079954091546274" border="0" /></a>Next step is to prep the box for decoration. My box had a colour glossy print of the car seat on one side that I peeled off. The other sides were printed with orange and blue ink.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3OnEWLSgA2w/Tjdg3RyWnCI/AAAAAAAAAic/qfCRNNAWWko/s1600/IMG_1658.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3OnEWLSgA2w/Tjdg3RyWnCI/AAAAAAAAAic/qfCRNNAWWko/s400/IMG_1658.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636079961461136418" border="0" /></a>This is gesso. I bought it at Hobby Lobby when I was going through an <a href="http://swirlsandswings.blogspot.com/2009/06/art-journalling.html">art journalling</a>/altered book phase, inspired by <a href="http://kellyraeroberts.com/">Kelly Rae Roberts</a> and <a href="http://www.sabrinawardharrison.com/ee/">Sabrina Ward Harrison</a>. It is basically a primer that you can apply to any surface to ready it for paint. Think of it as white wash for your box. It dries quickly.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tDpa4YUgLh4/Tjdg31F3a4I/AAAAAAAAAik/v2_dK2rhIz8/s1600/IMG_1659.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tDpa4YUgLh4/Tjdg31F3a4I/AAAAAAAAAik/v2_dK2rhIz8/s400/IMG_1659.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636079970938219394" border="0" /></a>Voila! A mostly white box.<br /><br />Take a craft knife and cut some windows into your box, prior to painting. You can do any shape, or even cut so that the windows have shutters that open. I used some bowls and plates to mark circles onto my box with a marker, and then cut them out.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UWjmr9v6Tb4/Tjdg4V9NweI/AAAAAAAAAis/F2nKwPchN0U/s1600/IMG_1661.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UWjmr9v6Tb4/Tjdg4V9NweI/AAAAAAAAAis/F2nKwPchN0U/s400/IMG_1661.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636079979760304610" border="0" /></a><br />Now, you need to gather some paints and whatever you will be using to apply the paints to your box. We had an assortment of brushes, and a large collection of foam stamps that I have amassed for card making.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pBRngPdFU7o/TjdkPfhKylI/AAAAAAAAAi0/QHTswuydO2c/s1600/IMG_1664.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pBRngPdFU7o/TjdkPfhKylI/AAAAAAAAAi0/QHTswuydO2c/s400/IMG_1664.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636083675998898770" border="0" /></a><br />You are now ready to unleash your little artist! Mine was playing computer while I was getting everything out, and was surprised and happy to walk into the kitchen and find an inviting art project waiting for him.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lxy4ZAFbh4M/TjdmKMGf4gI/AAAAAAAAAjM/LimkPVt1B18/s1600/IMG_1671.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lxy4ZAFbh4M/TjdmKMGf4gI/AAAAAAAAAjM/LimkPVt1B18/s400/IMG_1671.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636085783910670850" border="0" /></a>Decked out in a painting t-shirt of Daddy's, he went to town on the box.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i6GOJ979Daw/TjdmLipmT4I/AAAAAAAAAjk/o2qydUCdlys/s1600/IMG_1675.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i6GOJ979Daw/TjdmLipmT4I/AAAAAAAAAjk/o2qydUCdlys/s400/IMG_1675.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636085807143341954" border="0" /></a>Painting is very serious work.<br /></div><br />Keep painting until the box is covered, or your child gets bored, or your other child gets tired of sitting in the bouncy seat and just wants to get nursed already, darn it. Or all three. We finished off with a couple of handprints on the 'floor' of the box, and then it was into the bath for the three year old, while I cleaned up the kitchen. The box was banished for a few hours until it was completely dry, but since coming back not a day has passed that it has been ignored.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uCzvH00D2JI/TjdmL4Trh1I/AAAAAAAAAjs/2DPYCyAvDXA/s1600/IMG_1683.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uCzvH00D2JI/TjdmL4Trh1I/AAAAAAAAAjs/2DPYCyAvDXA/s400/IMG_1683.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636085812956989266" border="0" /></a><br />It has been climbed in, filled up, turned over, peeked through and shown off. It has been a house, a hiding spot, a rocket ship. A box + paint + a morning's worth of time = thrifty goodness of childhood.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FepWdmVNY1c/TjQwgCuuAuI/AAAAAAAAAiE/Jb4rEuhekqA/s1600/Not%2Ba%2Bbox%2Bcover.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FepWdmVNY1c/TjQwgCuuAuI/AAAAAAAAAiE/Jb4rEuhekqA/s400/Not%2Ba%2Bbox%2Bcover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635182360794104546" border="0" /></a>If you love the idea of boxes as open ended play, you'll love this <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Not-Box-Antoinette-Portis/dp/0061123226/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1312254293&sr=8-1">book</a>, by Antoinette Portis.<br /></div><br /><br />This post is participating in ON{the laundry}LINE's thrifty summertime link party. Click on through for more fun!<br /><center><a href="http://www.onthelaundryline.com/search/label/summertime%20and%20the%20living%20is%20thrifty"><img border="0" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-iLcg1hH3BeM/TgyCYp0VE1I/AAAAAAAAC34/V_SlYhzDDi4/s1600/summertimebtn%25255B5%25255D.png" /></a></center>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-86194003363199040752011-07-04T21:56:00.010-05:002011-12-29T13:10:24.108-06:00Paving new pathways<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9d2cEeD5Pe8/ThJ_g-0oJiI/AAAAAAAAAhs/4KkplK-4aVY/s1600/Creating%2Bher%2Bown%2Bway.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9d2cEeD5Pe8/ThJ_g-0oJiI/AAAAAAAAAhs/4KkplK-4aVY/s400/Creating%2Bher%2Bown%2Bway.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625699089135445538" border="0" /></a><br />The more I share about my own dark struggles with anxiety, the more people open up to me about theirs. Likewise, as I make progress, and live each day a little lighter, those same people have wondered aloud to me about it. What did you do? What do you do? How can I find what works for me, and let go of all this emotional sludge?<br /><br />Well, I am not a therapist. I am just on a journey, maybe a bit like yours. I have no tricks, and no quick fixes. But I can share what I know, and what is working for me. Maybe it will work for you, too.<br /><br />In a previous post, <a href="http://swirlsandswings.blogspot.com/2011/02/unwritten.html">Unwritten</a>, I wrote about my patterns of being worried, self-critical and defensive. These patterns, along with a generally pessimistic view of myself and my life, had become so ingrained, so part of my own self-concept, that I could barely even see them anymore. Later, in <a href="http://swirlsandswings.blogspot.com/2011/04/practice.html">Practice</a>, I talked about how, once a problem pattern is recognized, it is difficult to change, even when you want to. It takes daily effort, and can be a long and tiresome process. Both of these things are rooted in what we understand from basic neurochemistry.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">How we learn patterns</span><br /><br />Think of a piano student. This student has a new piece of music, and the first time she attempts to play the piece, many mistakes are made. It is slow and frustrating to get through the piece the first time. But if she keeps at it, and plays the piece again and again, and especially if she gives extra practice to those parts that are particularly challenging, the piece gets easier to play. As learning occurs, the student has to concentrate less and less, the piece sounds better and better, and playing the piece transforms from a difficult and frustrating experience, to a joyful one.<br /><br />What we don't observe directly, is what happens in the pianist's brain. Brains are full of tiny neurons, that act like stepping stones in a pathway. Every time a path is followed, the electrical impulses in the brain actually cause the neurons to grow towards each other, as if the stepping stones are moved closer together. A substance called myelin also grows around neurons that are frequently used, making the impulses faster. Before we learn something, it is as difficult to follow the path as jumping from one far placed stone to the next, in heavy boots. It is slow, clumsy, and missteps are common. But as things are learned, those stones grow together, and soon it is like traveling an asphalt path in roller blades.<br /><br />Unfortunately, this amazing, organic process is not only in place when we practice music. It is there when we practice anything. It is there when we practice putting ourselves down. It is there when we practice reacting in anger or fear. It is there when we practice blame, or perfectionism, or defeatist thinking. And sooner or later, our unhelpful patterns too become asphalt paths for our roller blades.<br /><br />The helpful paths are not gone from our brains, but they are much harder to travel. The stones are far apart, and rough. That path is hard and slow-going. Left on automatic pilot, our brain will not choose to travel that path. Automatic pilot likes ease and speed. No, to find your way back to a helpful path will take effort, over and over. But each time you use the better path, you give it energy. Energy that it can use to grow, and get smoother. And the longer you ignore the old path, the more it will fall into disrepair.<br /><br />This is not just a metaphor. Scientists have long known that brain tissue needs to be active to live. Neurons that are not used shrivel and die. As you build new pathways in your brain by consciously giving energy to a new way of thinking, the new path gets stronger, and the old path gets weaker. After a long time, the new way will be the faster pathway, and even old autopilot will choose it. But first you have to get there. You have to change your brain.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">How we change patterns</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Step 1 - Noticing</span><br />To shift your thinking from an old pattern to a new one, first you have to recognize what your old pattern is. One of my most pervasive patterns is that of self-critical thoughts, and that is the pattern I will be using in my example, but your unhelpful pattern may be different. Many people find it helpful to record the thoughts they are having during those times that they are feeling at their worst. As you record the thoughts and accompanying feelings, you can get an idea of where you need to focus.<br /><br />It is important not to sugar coat your thoughts when you record them. For example, let's say I am driving, make some sort of error, and am suddenly feeling awful, anxious and ashamed. If I record the thought, "Gee, Lisa, you should really be more careful." I am not really being honest with myself about my inner voice. The statement, "You should be careful" would not elicit such strong feelings of anxiety or shame. It would be best to record as accurately as possible what I said to myself, and even try to capture the tone:<br /><br />"Hey! What are you doing? Couldn't you see he was trying to make that turn? You totally cut him off! I can't believe you have your kids in the car and are driving like that. Just you wait and see, one of these days you will really cause an accident. Hurt your kids. Yep. What business do you even have behind the wheel?"<br /><br />Wow. I am a meanie.<br /><br />Can you see how those thoughts elicit those feelings of anxiety and shame? Of course I will feel anxious and ashamed if I think I am the worst driver and am going to wind up killing my own kids! The feelings and the self-talk usually match in intensity.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Step 2: Stopping<br /></span>When you get a feel for your own voices, it is time to step up, and interrupt them. You make that traffic mistake, feel the anxiety, pay attention to what it was you were telling yourself, and just <span style="font-style: italic;">stop talking.</span> Stop. Not another word. No. Some people visualize a giant stop sign, or say 'Stop' out loud to themselves. However you do it, just do it. You are not allowed to talk to yourself like that anymore.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Step 3: Restructuring</span><br />Now comes the rewrite. Question your own judgement. Does making that traffic mistake really mean you are an unobservant, rude, incompetent driver who deserves for her kids to die in a car accident? What would be a more realistic reaction? Practice saying that to yourself.<br /><br />"You were distracted by your crying baby, and forget to shoulder check during that lane change. It is hard to ignore your own crying child, but accidents can happen on busy roads. You usually shoulder check. Remember to do it, even when it is loud in the car."<br /><br />This is not about false optimism. You don't want to falsely congratulate yourself on your driving skills after an error. But take context into account. If you are usually a good driver, make sure to include that in your perception of events. One mistake does not a terror to the roadways make.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T6OLPb81zh4/ThKAXDmZDJI/AAAAAAAAAh0/iDZk5X7hkWk/s1600/Face%2Bthe%2Bmonster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 383px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T6OLPb81zh4/ThKAXDmZDJI/AAAAAAAAAh0/iDZk5X7hkWk/s400/Face%2Bthe%2Bmonster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625700018130848914" border="0" /></a>This is just one strategy to use when fighting the battle against anxiety and depression. It is not the only thing I have done, but it is probably the thing that has had the greatest impact. It is also not my own idea, but a simplified and adapted version of strategies conceived of and promoted by many therapists, based on the work of many researchers. Maybe it can help you. It has helped me.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">drawings by Frits Ahlefeldt, and downloaded from:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/browse-author.php?a=1210</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Thanks, Frits.</span><br /></div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-78911389275593153682011-06-29T21:14:00.012-05:002011-06-30T09:23:10.158-05:00The Children's GardenWinnipeg, home that I love, has an amazing new place to play. In the heart of Assiniboine Park, there is a new place designed with kids in mind, a nature playground. My son calls it "The Beach Park" because of its huge sand and water feature. But it's official name is, "The Children's Garden".<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mlUSzXOiofA/Tgvqj8XyYCI/AAAAAAAAAg0/ZgB64QbRk7s/s1600/IMG_1456.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mlUSzXOiofA/Tgvqj8XyYCI/AAAAAAAAAg0/ZgB64QbRk7s/s400/IMG_1456.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623846462924415010" border="0" /></a>Come peek inside with me.<br /></div><br />Already, just with hearing the name, I fell in love. The Children's Garden. It sounds like somewhere fairies would hide. But when I arrived at the entrance for the first time, and saw the hand-painted sign on the enormous door... Well, I fell a little more.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gS9AnD3r3PA/Tgvgv2SHlnI/AAAAAAAAAfc/gpWg51qtIQw/s1600/IMG_1402.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gS9AnD3r3PA/Tgvgv2SHlnI/AAAAAAAAAfc/gpWg51qtIQw/s400/IMG_1402.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623835672332179058" border="0" /></a>Through the gate, you see a long path paved with bricks. Planters filled with flowers can be found on either side, and trees tower just behind them. Even though the garden is large and crowded, the entry is spacious and quiet. You know you are walking into someplace special.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7fuwWQWtLPw/TgvgwXanVxI/AAAAAAAAAfk/z2dO4JYn40k/s1600/IMG_1403.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7fuwWQWtLPw/TgvgwXanVxI/AAAAAAAAAfk/z2dO4JYn40k/s400/IMG_1403.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623835681226184466" border="0" /></a>The planters give way to sculptures. On the right, there is a sea serpent, fashioned out of twisted branches, resembling driftwood. To your left, you can spot a birds nest, made of logs, with child-size eggs for your little birdies to pretend to pop out of. As you continue forward, you walk between two rows of a merry band of frogs, ingeniously designed to grow along with the rest of the garden.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2tOwhdLyyFE/Tgvgw_eSeOI/AAAAAAAAAfs/SyAO02eyESc/s1600/IMG_1404.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2tOwhdLyyFE/Tgvgw_eSeOI/AAAAAAAAAfs/SyAO02eyESc/s400/IMG_1404.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623835691979012322" border="0" /></a>This is a place charming, and full of whimsy, but it is also most definitely a place to play. The first structure you come on is this one, full of climbing ropes.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kdg97ezGkgY/TgvkhYGVeaI/AAAAAAAAAgE/3qaH-MahEeY/s1600/IMG_1448.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kdg97ezGkgY/TgvkhYGVeaI/AAAAAAAAAgE/3qaH-MahEeY/s400/IMG_1448.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623839821758036386" border="0" /></a>It attracts the older kids, who see the web of ropes as a challenge, and race each other to the crow's nest of their conquered pirate ship.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hqWhxPuXL9w/TgvgyGstsuI/AAAAAAAAAf8/BPQGzOe5jRw/s1600/IMG_1457.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hqWhxPuXL9w/TgvgyGstsuI/AAAAAAAAAf8/BPQGzOe5jRw/s400/IMG_1457.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623835711098434274" border="0" /></a>The older kids also love to pile onto to these oversized swings, which can hold as many as five riders or more, depending on how cozy those riders are all prepared to get.<br /><br />Just beyond that, you feel like you have stepped into the land of the Teletubbies, as impossibly perfect, little rolling hills rise up to meet your feet, with a few coloured spheres thrown in, just for fun.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ca1683amORs/Tgvkh6gXVwI/AAAAAAAAAgM/eEhjp6j_Yo8/s1600/IMG_1444.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ca1683amORs/Tgvkh6gXVwI/AAAAAAAAAgM/eEhjp6j_Yo8/s400/IMG_1444.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623839830994016002" border="0" /></a>Adjacent to those are a few more slides. There is a low one, perfect for the youngest riders to explore, and two long winding ones built right into the hillsides. These hills are actually made from crushed and coloured recycled rubber, which makes them non-slip and fun to scramble up, but also a little hot in the sun. No bare feet here!<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yiIAjwDt49k/TgvgxAi7WJI/AAAAAAAAAf0/McQmEDVRSWc/s1600/IMG_1427.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yiIAjwDt49k/TgvgxAi7WJI/AAAAAAAAAf0/McQmEDVRSWc/s400/IMG_1427.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623835692266903698" border="0" /></a>But none of those are my son's favourite part. He calls this place, "The Beach Park," after all. And this is why.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bdF7dNWxOcI/TgvneJl4fEI/AAAAAAAAAgc/urSdYVZevL4/s1600/IMG_1450.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bdF7dNWxOcI/TgvneJl4fEI/AAAAAAAAAgc/urSdYVZevL4/s400/IMG_1450.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623843064859098178" border="0" /></a><br />Starting at this fountain, a trickle of water begins.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yUT2u1pSvlk/Tgvnfeamc7I/AAAAAAAAAgs/ZgeBJB7_1ho/s1600/IMG_1453.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yUT2u1pSvlk/Tgvnfeamc7I/AAAAAAAAAgs/ZgeBJB7_1ho/s400/IMG_1453.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623843087628792754" border="0" /></a><br />It winds around, and weaves back and forth in a concrete trench, all through this beautiful 'sand box' until it disappears under a little bridge at the far side.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qDHRToGARps/TgvndahDxpI/AAAAAAAAAgU/_0haCcPIVEg/s1600/IMG_1464.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qDHRToGARps/TgvndahDxpI/AAAAAAAAAgU/_0haCcPIVEg/s400/IMG_1464.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623843052222400146" border="0" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bdF7dNWxOcI/TgvneJl4fEI/AAAAAAAAAgc/urSdYVZevL4/s1600/IMG_1450.JPG"><br /></a>All along the sides, kids dig and play, trying to build dams out of sand and round heavy rocks. They can stop the water with a series of rubber locks, or pump it up to pour down a built in water wheel. They can climb in, and splash and stomp, and generally do everything every kid WANTS to do with a public fountain, but isn't allowed. In the children's garden it is not just allowed; it is encouraged.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Et9swbhYFvE/TgvqkcQTLqI/AAAAAAAAAg8/-KuL5QiJ330/s1600/IMG_1423.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Et9swbhYFvE/TgvqkcQTLqI/AAAAAAAAAg8/-KuL5QiJ330/s400/IMG_1423.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623846471482945186" border="0" /></a>Parents and grandparents sit along the side of the park in the grass and on lovely wooden benches, enjoying the shade of the trees. And we do what visitors always do in a garden. We gaze upon the beauty of growing things.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cfRy5Zjs6S8/TgvqlBgkHTI/AAAAAAAAAhE/kDUXpOwc4AQ/s1600/IMG_1416.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cfRy5Zjs6S8/TgvqlBgkHTI/AAAAAAAAAhE/kDUXpOwc4AQ/s400/IMG_1416.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623846481483275570" border="0" /></a>Even if they do move a little faster here.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-50675264504641168042011-06-17T20:50:00.006-05:002011-06-17T21:28:23.299-05:00Finger paint is the devil<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gFQRA2cccfs/TfwEtv8N28I/AAAAAAAAAe0/iPh97LhP6gw/s1600/IMG_1509.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gFQRA2cccfs/TfwEtv8N28I/AAAAAAAAAe0/iPh97LhP6gw/s400/IMG_1509.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619371619061193666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Before attempting this project, do yourself a favour, and run your child a bath. You will need it. Finger paint is the devil. Move the curtains out of reach, strip off as much clothing from your child as you are comfortable with, and put newspaper on the floor. If your child is anything like my child, this still will not help much, but at least you will feel like you tried.</span><br /><br />Ah, Father's Day. Time to appreciate dads with cute little crafty projects. Time to put into action ideas that sound quaint and easy. Time to add a few more gray hairs.<br /><br />This project is fun (for your child), doesn't require many materials, and can be done in a short amount of time. It turns out a cute gift for a dad or grandpa. It also uses finger paint. Finger paint is the devil. See above.<br /><br />But if you think, nah, surely this women is just inept, I could totally handle my 3 year old when both of his/her hands are full of paint, then read on. But don't say I didn't warn you.<br /><br />For this project you will need: a canvas, some letter stickers, a permanent marker and finger paints.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ul3MyH3J9PI/TfwEs1gxmbI/AAAAAAAAAek/Iap3w1m0Q2g/s1600/IMG_1504.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ul3MyH3J9PI/TfwEs1gxmbI/AAAAAAAAAek/Iap3w1m0Q2g/s400/IMG_1504.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619371603376839090" border="0" /></a>Isn't it lovely how clean everything is right now?<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B3Y9sWr945k/TfwEtCe8CtI/AAAAAAAAAes/GQmNBBvvWis/s1600/IMG_1505.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B3Y9sWr945k/TfwEtCe8CtI/AAAAAAAAAes/GQmNBBvvWis/s400/IMG_1505.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619371606858795730" border="0" /></a>Use your letter stickers to put a message on your canvas. These will act as a 'mask' for your message, so because it really doesn't matter what colour the stickers are, choose based on letter style. A thick font works best. Burnish them with your fingernail to get them as stuck to the canvas as you can. Stickers do not stick as well to canvas as they do to paper, and you do not want them coming up mid-project.<br /><br />After the stickers are adhered, set your little artist loose on the canvas. Well, not exactly loose. If you want the painting to have different colours, instead of turning into one mix-y black and greenish mess, you may need to provide some guidance. Even if that doesn't matter to you, there may still need to be direction given to keep the paint on the canvas, and not on, say, one's chest...<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AADX5VT7y0E/TfwItZo-fOI/AAAAAAAAAfU/tR7vh15z2IY/s1600/IMG_1506.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AADX5VT7y0E/TfwItZo-fOI/AAAAAAAAAfU/tR7vh15z2IY/s400/IMG_1506.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619376011121425634" border="0" /></a>But to each their own.<br /><br />I have no photo of this step. Just picture the Tasmanian Devil with blue hands. That is pretty much what it looked like at my house.<br /><br />And then, ta da! This is what you end up with.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j7X3OH87Tf8/TfwGl6t0BjI/AAAAAAAAAe8/SvqlcygWXQA/s1600/IMG_1513.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j7X3OH87Tf8/TfwGl6t0BjI/AAAAAAAAAe8/SvqlcygWXQA/s400/IMG_1513.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619373683537872434" border="0" /></a>After you have deposited your child in the tub, and while the paint is still wet, remove the stickers to reveal your message. Once the paint is dry, you can use the permanent marker to add your child's name and the year.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HRWscIeu85k/TfwGmfTSK8I/AAAAAAAAAfE/WsZL4I9wsm4/s1600/IMG_1515.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HRWscIeu85k/TfwGmfTSK8I/AAAAAAAAAfE/WsZL4I9wsm4/s400/IMG_1515.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619373693358713794" border="0" /></a>Cool, right? Almost makes you want to try it?<br /><br />Don't say I didn't warn you.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zv3pN4YKfdo/TfwGm0feenI/AAAAAAAAAfM/s1EBUo4d_-8/s1600/IMG_1518.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zv3pN4YKfdo/TfwGm0feenI/AAAAAAAAAfM/s1EBUo4d_-8/s400/IMG_1518.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619373699046996594" border="0" /></a>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-5756957723068288492011-06-07T13:31:00.004-05:002011-06-07T14:41:52.209-05:00Conservatory calmI wrestle my 3 year old into his clothes and then into his car seat. I snap the baby seat in place, and drive. Wait for a train for 10 minutes. Fight my way through traffic on the 3 lanes of Portage Ave. Loop around the underpass, up Tuxedo, right onto Corydon... Pull onto Conservatory drive. Find a parking space, unbuckle 3 year old, put baby in carrier. Chase three year old with umbrella through rain.<br /><br />Through one set of doors. Catch 3 year old, and through another set of doors. Up a path, past a crowd of school kids. Around a corner. Breathe.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fEIyrpeJags/Te5-POh5K7I/AAAAAAAAAdc/zf35caoTO90/s1600/IMG_1394.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fEIyrpeJags/Te5-POh5K7I/AAAAAAAAAdc/zf35caoTO90/s400/IMG_1394.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615564585440979890" border="0" /></a><br />All around me, at my feet and above my head, are the lush, thick leaves of tropical plants. Soft light filters through the greenery onto the path before me. The air is heavy with humidity, and from somewhere I hear water quietly falling. I can smell black earth, and dusty paving stones, and warm, wet, growing things.<br /><br />It is well with my soul.<br /><br />I duck under the canopy of a low growing tree, and follow my quick-footed son. He has spotted a bench to climb onto, and off of again. He runs by the pond, pausing for just a second to watch a koi fish circle in the water. We round the corner and see a trickle of a waterfall, landing in a small pool where five turtles are unhurriedly passing the time. A friend I meet up with asks me, "Do you come here very often?" Sigh...<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Not as often as I'd like.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3pf31TPDatM/Te5-Qf7OiBI/AAAAAAAAAd0/o0-sbex_nFE/s1600/IMG_1386.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3pf31TPDatM/Te5-Qf7OiBI/AAAAAAAAAd0/o0-sbex_nFE/s400/IMG_1386.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615564607290509330" border="0" /></a>We've come to another set of glass doors. Opening them, I recognize the sweet fragrance of hydrangeas. There are so many here, nestled together with tulips, snapdragons, lilies, and many more flowers I cannot name. As the light rain drizzles down the greenhouse roof, I watch as Nik runs to and fro along the paths, up the steps and around the gardens. I find a bench to sit down, and nurse my baby.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yLcm1Envl7M/Te5-Op1X6PI/AAAAAAAAAdU/5aSw-lenFv0/s1600/IMG_1347.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yLcm1Envl7M/Te5-Op1X6PI/AAAAAAAAAdU/5aSw-lenFv0/s400/IMG_1347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615564575590574322" border="0" /></a>Fish and turtles pass slowly through still pools. Trees tower overhead. Ivy creeps near our feet. A group of school children pass through on their way to transplant some seedlings. Seniors take photographs. A young man with autism taps a garden tie rhythmically as he watches a gardener misting plants. The room is alive, but not frenetic. Everyone seems at peace in the midst of these beautiful, growing things.<br /><br />Time passes and tummies rumble. The time comes for us to leave again, sooner than I would like. Back out through the doors, into the drizzle, babe in arms, and 3 year old in tow. Back into the car seats, down the drive, into the traffic... Back to life. Back to that list of laundry to do, diapers to change, kids to feed, groceries to buy.<br /><br />But I carry a little peace with me. A lighter breath. An acknowledgement, a gratitude for my moment of conservatory calm. <span style="font-style: italic;">Namaste.</span>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-55608062276255578462011-06-04T09:51:00.004-05:002011-06-04T10:26:53.918-05:00Carny goodness<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KRF9nqj4n4o/TepNLVK1uaI/AAAAAAAAAck/7VU7OrlgPfc/s1600/IMG_1249.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KRF9nqj4n4o/TepNLVK1uaI/AAAAAAAAAck/7VU7OrlgPfc/s400/IMG_1249.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614384742527252898" border="0" /></a>What is it about festivals? They inspire the masses to come out of their houses, and meet in the street. To listen to music they would never otherwise listen to. To eat food they would never otherwise eat. Yesterday, I saw teenagers standing around listening to bluegrass gospel music. I saw tables full of seniors eating soft serve ice cream and families gathered happily around greasy paper bags full of soggy french fries.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KRF9nqj4n4o/TepNLVK1uaI/AAAAAAAAAck/7VU7OrlgPfc/s1600/IMG_1249.JPG"><br /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DzqOxiI3aqk/TepOTRDeQjI/AAAAAAAAAdM/PLFjijWsGeo/s1600/IMG_1288.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DzqOxiI3aqk/TepOTRDeQjI/AAAAAAAAAdM/PLFjijWsGeo/s400/IMG_1288.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614385978373194290" border="0" /></a><br />At the midway, we stand in line to buy tickets so we can stand in line again to ride something mechanical for 90 seconds. We shout over loud speakers blasting crackly versions of Ozzy Osborne songs. We pay $3 for a chance to win a made in China stuffed toy worth 10 cents. We are collectively impractical. And it is so much fun.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XZCACXsDqlk/TepNL9fwghI/AAAAAAAAAcs/t7IBWmOwj4Q/s1600/IMG_1252.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XZCACXsDqlk/TepNL9fwghI/AAAAAAAAAcs/t7IBWmOwj4Q/s400/IMG_1252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614384753352409618" border="0" /></a>Yesterday was the first day of my community's annual street festival, the Hi Neighbour Festival. Like last year, and the year before that, we left the house on foot and walked 20 blocks to arrive at the center of the action. But this year also had it's firsts. This was the first time Alexa was with us. It was also the first time Nik was old enough to ride the midway rides, and request his own balloon animal from a colourful and friendly clown.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yy4U6zVbwc0/TepNMQuaaWI/AAAAAAAAAc0/nHU15RgKgJE/s1600/IMG_1254.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yy4U6zVbwc0/TepNMQuaaWI/AAAAAAAAAc0/nHU15RgKgJE/s400/IMG_1254.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614384758514149730" border="0" /></a>We ran into friends at the festival, too. One of my La Leche League leaders was there, with her son, growing like a weed. I also spotted a few kids from last year's Vacation Bible School, taller than I remembered.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-53MxTnVlSVc/TepNNYDMNKI/AAAAAAAAAdE/cX1dVRQDG1g/s1600/IMG_1297.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-53MxTnVlSVc/TepNNYDMNKI/AAAAAAAAAdE/cX1dVRQDG1g/s400/IMG_1297.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614384777660216482" border="0" /></a>These annual community events mark the passage of time as much as any season change, any birthday. With the arrival of another festival, we welcome the beginning of another summer. Amidst the colours, and the noise and the crowds, there is an energy. We are a community vibrant for another year together.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GMnu7pPZ_N8/TepNM5rZ1VI/AAAAAAAAAc8/VpP5rDWDGdc/s1600/IMG_1305.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GMnu7pPZ_N8/TepNM5rZ1VI/AAAAAAAAAc8/VpP5rDWDGdc/s400/IMG_1305.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614384769507382610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Nik as "Hi Neighbour Sam"</span></span><br /></div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-14330273343215103692011-05-17T15:17:00.004-05:002011-05-17T15:50:53.034-05:00Scared milk-lessMilk sharing has been in the news somewhat, of late. Emma Kwasnica, renegade that she is, with the help of many other like-minded renegade mamas, has launched a global network, through Facebook, called Human Milk 4 Human Babies. The aim of the network is to connect moms who need milk for their babies, with other moms, who have milk that they can share. Boom. Done. Next.<br /><br />This was about meeting a need. The World Health Organizations position on infant feeding is that if, for some reason, a mother is not able to feed her own baby, breastmilk from another mother is a better alternative than formula. Milk banks do exist that could theoretically meet this need, but there are some problems. First of all, there are very few of them, so the milk that they do have to give gets prioritized to very sick or premature babies - the infants that desperately need the milk. Secondly, milk bank milk is almost always pasteurized, which turns breastmilk from the living miraculous stuff that it is, into dead milk, losing much of it's value. Finally, it costs money to access the milk of many milk banks. So even if your baby is among the few that make the cut, and you are happy to accept dead milk, you may still have to come up with the cash to cover it.<br /><br />The medical community is aware of how difficult it is to access human milk when you need it. This is why they do not often advise mothers to try this option. Instead, supplementing with formula is quickly suggested.<br /><br />I do not intend here to go into why that is such a poor choice. Suffice it to say that there are mothers out there for whom supplementing with formula is not a viable option, or at least not one that they are comfortable with. So, do they have to? No other choice?<br /><br />Breastmilk is not a scarcity! Many mothers have ample for their babies, and then some. People struggle with oversupply! It is also a vastly renewable resource - empty breasts will fill themselves again. It should not be so hard to connect people who need milk to people who have milk to give. And it turns out it isn't. But fear is alive and well.<br /><br />As soon as someone (cough, cough, Emma) decided they were done waiting for the medical community to fix this problem, and opened up a way for donors and recipients to match up, there was massive push back. It must not be safe, right? People could have disease! You never know what they might be smoking in their spare time. That's just gross, anyways. I could never do it.<br /><br />Really, all of the arguments against this wonderfully simple solution to a common problem sound the same to me as razor blades in apples at Halloween. Which has never happened, by the way. I dare you to prove otherwise. I doubt that there are all kinds of sadistic lactating weirdos out there, masquerading as concerned moms, handing out drug-laced breastmilk just for jollies.<br /><br />Here are a few facts for you:<br /><ul><li>Human Milk 4 Human Babies donors do not charge for their milk. There is nothing to be gained by donation, save the truly awesome global village feeling that you are helping to feed another's child.</li><li>Milk sharing is done person to person. That means you meet that person you are getting milk from. You ask questions. You go to their house and meet their family. And you decide whether or not your baby eats that milk. You decide.</li><li>This is not a new idea. Wet nursing has been done throughout the generations.</li></ul>And, now a confession. I am sure this will cause your mind to reel.<br /><br />My name is Lisa, and I have donated my milk to a stranger.<br /><br />Woot! Weirdo! Better click through to the next blog, she has clearly lost it! But before you do, read just a teensy bit more.<br /><br />I say stranger, in that this was someone that I had met over the Internet. But when she sat in my living room with her husband and new son, and we chatted while my similar-aged daughter cooed in her swing nearby, 'stranger' was not the word I would have used. We were just two moms. She had a problem, and I was in a position to help her out, in a meaningful way. I am so glad she was not too scared to accept my help. Donating milk was hugely rewarding to me, even renewing much of my faith in the spirit of community.<br /><br />If only more moms were not scared milk-less. We don't always need to turn to the authorities to fix our problems. Sometimes, with a little courage, we can find our own solutions.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-27756533356764866782011-04-27T10:00:00.001-05:002011-08-30T09:16:25.806-05:00Multiple-component inset puzzlesI look at the title of this post and think, "Boy! That's a mouthful!" And I bet you are all wondering what the heck I mean, too. Let me explain.
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<br />The peg puzzle we all know and love is also known as the single-component inset puzzle. The means a single piece fits in a single space in a board. The pieces are 'inset' in the board when the puzzle is assembled. The multiple-component puzzle just takes that difficulty level up a bit. Instead of a <span style="font-style: italic;">single</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"></span>piece per space in the board, there are <span style="font-style: italic;">multiple</span> pieces that need to fit together in that space. And these pieces are not randomly divided, but are <span style="font-style: italic;">components</span> of the whole. This piece is an arm, for example, and that piece is a leg.
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<br />With me so far?
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<br />This is really a case where a picture is worth a thousand words, so here is an example of what I'm talking about.
<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7K7ACbk8KI/AAAAAAAAAJw/A4SiuOKmhRc/s1600/IMG_9172.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7K7ACbk8KI/AAAAAAAAAJw/A4SiuOKmhRc/s320/IMG_9172.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454627708026024098" border="0" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7K7AtdzYEI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/tncVF2PONNI/s1600/IMG_9173.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7K7AtdzYEI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/tncVF2PONNI/s320/IMG_9173.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454627719578083394" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">You can see how the pieces fit into a space in the puzzle board, like a peg puzzles, but the pieces all fit into the <span style="font-style: italic;">same</span> inset space, instead of each having their own spot. The picture is broken apart in logical places, so that it is still fairly easy for the child to understand what each piece is - one piece is a leg, one piece is a head, etc.
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<br />Some of the ways to increase the difficulty of these puzzles are the same as for peg puzzles. A more difficult puzzle might have:</div></div><ul><li>More pieces </li><li>Harder-to-fit pieces</li><li>More visually complex pieces or base
<br /></li></ul>There are also a few new skills needed to do this type of puzzle. The first thing to consider, is that placed pieces are not obviously correct. Consider this: If you put a piece into a peg puzzle, it fits, or it doesn't, giving an immediate and concrete way to judge whether that piece is in the right spot. With a multiple component inset puzzle, you can put pieces into the board anywhere. Being able to fit them into the larger space is not proof that they are in the <span style="font-style: italic;">correct</span> space.
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<br />For example, in the case of the 'Pooh' puzzle above, I might put an arm piece towards the bottom, leaving it in the space, but in the wrong spot. In order to determine if the piece has been placed correctly a measure of judgment has to come into play. You needs to start thinking about whether it looks right or makes sense, and this develops critical thinking skills.
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<br />Another new factor with multiple component puzzles is that the placed pieces will slide around until the puzzle is complete. It is easy to bump that first piece out of place when putting in the next piece. This adds a level of difficulty to the fine motor side of the task, and the child will learn to be more precise in their movements, a skill that will come very much into play when trying to line up the borders of jigsaw pieces down the road.
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<br />Multiple-component inset puzzles are excellent, but unfortunately they are much harder to find than the common peg puzzle. Fisher-Price made several in the 70s and 80s, so keep your eyes open at garage sales and thrift stores. That is where I have found all of mine!
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<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wTOW1WuZax8/TbcOHyZNMMI/AAAAAAAAAcI/U-uClQCWdgI/s1600/Multi-com%2Bpuzzles.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 220px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wTOW1WuZax8/TbcOHyZNMMI/AAAAAAAAAcI/U-uClQCWdgI/s400/Multi-com%2Bpuzzles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599960188607869122" border="0" /></a>
<br />If you can't find them, I know that Melissa and Doug make a few, but some are designed with speakers that play a noise when the puzzle is complete, which I personally find obnoxious. I have also seen puzzles of this type that are made of plastic in themes of popular children's tv characters (Barney, Blue's Clues, Disney characters, etc). A word of caution on the plastic puzzles - the pieces are quite light, and get bumped out of place VERY easily, which can be frustrating for a child who is learning. If you can, stick with wood, or at least introduce some wooden ones first, to avoid making it too hard, too fast.
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<br />Next post... Frame puzzles!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-6010914002850227022011-04-21T13:00:00.000-05:002011-04-21T13:00:05.415-05:00Peg puzzlesWhen it comes to teaching puzzle skills, exploratory learning is best. You want to be able to provide your child with puzzles that he can do, and slowly increase the difficultly as he learns. But puzzle difficulty can vary along a number of aspects. One 8 piece puzzle is not automatically equal to another. To illustrate what I mean, let's look at peg puzzles first.<br /><br />Children are often introduced to this type of puzzle at a young age. The single inset, or peg, puzzle is made up of pieces that each fit into their own hole in a board, usually made of wood. The youngest "puzzler" might start with a puzzle of 3-5 pieces, with easy to grasp handles. For first puzzles, it is best if the picture of the piece is printed in the hole where it belongs, as in this photo:<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7K3aW8PY-I/AAAAAAAAAJo/NAV2Am7rDxA/s1600/Easy+peg+puzzle.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 301px; height: 183px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7K3aW8PY-I/AAAAAAAAAJo/NAV2Am7rDxA/s320/Easy+peg+puzzle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454623762161820642" border="0" /></a>The "vehicles" puzzle above works on matching, planning and fine motor skills, each at an easy level. The pictures on the pieces are nearly identical to those in the spaces. There are only four pieces, and the pieces are easy to handle, fitting easily into the frame.<br /><br />The difficulty of a puzzle can be increased by many factors. The difficulty level of the matching skill is one of the main ways. In the puzzle above, you needed to match nearly identical pictures. To complete some puzzles you may need to match a piece to a blank spot. In that case, all you have to go on is the outline, such as in the puzzle below.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7Vvn1BoXJI/AAAAAAAAALA/7c34TqMnthk/s1600/Transportation+puzzle.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 230px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7Vvn1BoXJI/AAAAAAAAALA/7c34TqMnthk/s400/Transportation+puzzle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455389253668723858" border="0" /></a>In the number puzzle below, it is even more difficult, because the picture printed in the space is different from the one printed on the puzzle piece.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7VvpPlRKKI/AAAAAAAAALI/ixQbVatyZuA/s1600/Numbers+peg.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 246px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7VvpPlRKKI/AAAAAAAAALI/ixQbVatyZuA/s400/Numbers+peg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455389277977389218" border="0" /></a>To complete this puzzle, you either have to match the outline to the piece, ignoring the distraction of the picture in the space, OR understand the concept that the digit goes with the amount, a much higher level matching skill.<br /></div></div><br />Matching can also become more difficult if the pieces look the same. We all have experienced this when trying to sort out the endless sky of a large jigsaw puzzle, but it holds true for peg puzzles, too. If the puzzle pieces are similar to each other like the "3" and "8'"above, they will be easier to mix up, and you have to pay more attention to the details.<br /><br />If the background of the puzzle is printed, that can also make the puzzle harder. To understand why, compare the two puzzles below. Suppose you had to put the lion piece back. Both pieces have the matching picture printed in the correct space, but with the puzzle on the right that space is harder to find, because there is just so much more to look at.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7VtGGFuqVI/AAAAAAAAAK4/h5wvgrm0Gls/s1600/Lion+pegs.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 209px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7VtGGFuqVI/AAAAAAAAAK4/h5wvgrm0Gls/s400/Lion+pegs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455386475110508882" border="0" /></a><br />Finally, consider also how many pieces are in the puzzles you are providing, and how easy the pieces are to replace. Increasing the number of pieces not only increases the number of steps in the task, but also increases the potential for error. It is similar to increasing the options on a multiple choice test. Selecting the correct answer from 3 options is simpler than selecting the correct answer from 8 options. Also, if the puzzle pieces are harder to replace, more finely tuned motor skills are required, and more persistence, as well.<br /><br />Peg puzzles are a common toy, but certainly not the only kind of puzzle on the way to learning the skills for jigsaws. In fact, you can begin to introduce easy versions of other kinds of puzzles before your child has completely mastered the more difficult peg puzzles, just for variety. In my next post I'll talk about another option for the toy shelf - the multiple-component inset puzzle.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-82446202657524369692011-04-15T22:30:00.002-05:002011-04-15T22:49:18.306-05:00Choosing puzzlesWorking on puzzles is fantastic brain-work for your child. Doing puzzles builds colour and shape awareness, and sharpens visual skills such matching, sorting, and spatial reasoning These are skills that are invaluable for both math and reading. Additionally, working on puzzles encourage characteristics that children need to succeed at academics, such as persistence, on-task behaviour, and the ability to problem-solve.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7IKGQ6mBHI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/R80PE_BOzdY/s1600/Puzzling.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 227px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CZjeiAlTulY/S7IKGQ6mBHI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/R80PE_BOzdY/s320/Puzzling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454433201435313266" border="0" /></a><br />I know puzzles have been criticized because they are a 'closed end toy' - there is only one right answer. The argument is that puzzles are not good because they do not encourage creative thought. If puzzles were the <span style="font-style: italic;">only</span> plaything you provided, I could see how that might be a problem. However, if puzzle work is balanced with creative opportunities, they can <span style="font-style: italic;">enrich</span> thought processes. After all, consider math, reading or spelling. There are many times where there <span style="font-weight: bold;">is</span> only one right answer.<br /><br />Unfortunately, many children don't choose to play with puzzles, often because of a mismatch of puzzle difficulty to child ability. Think about it. If the puzzles in your home are too easy for you, they are boring to play with, and you won't pick them up. If the puzzles are too hard, you may just give up trying. The key is to please Goldilocks, by offering the puzzles to your child that are 'just right'. But how do you know which puzzles are right?<br /><br />I will post about five kinds of puzzles, listed here from simplest to most complex:<br /><ol><li>Single-inset or "peg" puzzles</li><li>Multiple-component inset puzzles</li><li>Frame puzzles<br /></li><li>Juxtapose puzzles</li><li>Jigsaw puzzles</li></ol>Most children can learn the skills they need to do all these kinds of puzzles just through exploration and experimenting. The key is to ensure that the puzzles they are exposed to increase in difficulty <span style="font-style: italic;">gradually</span> - enough to challenge, but not so much as to discourage.<br /><br />It is amazing how complex puzzle selection can be. When I am done, I am willing to bet you will never look at children's puzzles the same way again. Stay tuned!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-6238843923843686872011-04-07T22:45:00.002-05:002011-04-11T08:43:27.534-05:00Practice<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k9x1DcEoaRo/TZ6HQ_Vct9I/AAAAAAAAAbw/9zpaEGSNO3s/s1600/IMG_0667.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k9x1DcEoaRo/TZ6HQ_Vct9I/AAAAAAAAAbw/9zpaEGSNO3s/s400/IMG_0667.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593056513189787602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">a page from my art journal<br /></span></div><br />I started a new round of yoga classes recently. Yoga for Mom 'n Me, offered through the Winnipeg parks and rec department. At the beginning of the first class, the teacher asked us to introduce ourselves and our babies, and share why we had signed up for the class. I said that I wanted to get back into a regular practice.<br /><br />In his book, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem, </span>Nathaniel Branden writes,"A practice implies a discipline of acting in a certain way over and over again- consistently. It is not action by fits and starts, or even an appropriate response to a <span>crisis</span>. Rather it is a way of operating day by day, in big issues and small, a way of behaving that is also <span style="font-style: italic;">a way of being.</span>"<br /><br />Practice is so much of my life these days. Little by little, day by day, I am trying to work new patterns into my life. Creating changes in my thinking, in my parenting, in my reacting - just by living mindfully <span style="font-style: italic;">in the moment</span>. That's yoga. Taking what is in your head, and integrating it into how you live, how you move, how you breath. And then taking your breath, that most simple and automatic behaviour of living, and using it to transform what it is in your head. It is a way of operating day by day. A way of being.<br /><br />I have noticed that my way of operating day by day is pervasive, and difficult to change. The sharp edge of criticism in my self-talk creeps out to colour the way I speak to my son in my frustration. The sighs, the rolled eyes, the "Why can't you just" statements... They are there in my head, but they also come out on my tongue. These are not the words that I want to contribute to the voices in his head! I am determined that negative thinking not be the legacy I pass on.<br /><br />I am reading, reading, reading about other ways, better ways, but I need so much practice. Paul says it well, in Romans 7:15: "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." Oh, preach on, brother. When the ideas are fresh and my head is clear, I feel that I know exactly how to deal with my son, and with myself. But at the end of the day, when my patience is thin and the baby is crying and I just want him to brush his teeth already... Well, you can guess that it does not always work out.<br /><br />My prayer is still for <a href="http://swirlsandswings.blogspot.com/2010/03/calm-spirits-thankful-hearts_09.html">calm spirits and thankful hearts</a>, and we are blessed to be gaining on them day by day. But there is more work to be done. We need more practice.<br /><br />One of my favourite parts of my yoga class is the bit at the beginning, where you set your intention for your practice. You can decide to push yourself, or to be gentle, to play with poses, or to settle into them with discipline. But I need to set intention for more than just my life on the mat. So I am setting an intention for a different kind of practice. It is an intention for patience, for forgiveness, and for change for the better.<br /><br />And when intention meets practice, supported by prayer... That is where the magic happens.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-69212271699177952812011-03-30T13:56:00.004-05:002011-04-01T08:49:00.018-05:00Politics, religion and parentingWant to start a fight on the Yahoo Answers board? Ask what the best way is to get a baby to sleep. Or when to stop breastfeeding. Or whether circumcision is a good idea. Inquire about the best way to discipline an unruly 3 year old. Invite opinions about immunizations for children or the relative risk/benefits of homeschooling. And then don your flame-proof suit. It is about to get ugly.<br /><br />People are passionate about parenting, and why wouldn't they be? How we raise our kids in integrally related to how we live our lives. Our beliefs and values, political views and religious perspectives get all wrapped up in our parenting choices, and so when someone challenges them, it gets right under our skin. Saying that our choice is wrong is akin to saying that <span style="font-weight: bold;">we</span> are wrong to our very core. Our backs get up, we feel threatened, and the accusations fly. This way is weak, that way is heartless. This way is controlling, that way is irresponsible. Everyone wants to prove, to themselves or others, that their choices are the best, if not the only, way of bringing up babies. Everyone wants to be right.<br /><br />Some people need to "be right" because they are doing what their parents did. If they entertain the idea that the methods are not right, then they have to deal with their own emotions about being raised that very same way. Conversely, other people need to "be right" because they are doing things differently from their parents. They need to believe they have corrected the mistakes that their parents made in raising them, because that is how they can make peace with them.<br /><br />Ideas and ideals. For the most part, we learn them from our families of origin first, and then accept or reject them as we learn about alternatives through our interactions with the rest of the world. Once we have arrived at what we believe to be true, we start to form into groups with like-minded people, and play the us-vs-them game. And so play out the big three: politics, religion and parenting. We are such a tolerant people... until somebody stands up and says that what they are doing is right.<br /><br />We can sometimes get around conflict in these areas by talking about 'what is right for me' or 'what works for our family'. This can defuse tempers and smooth over disagreements, letting people get past issues by 'agreeing to disagree'. However, dealing with issues in this way can quietly send the message that all choices are equal. If we really believed that, there wouldn't have been any conflict. Pretending that we think they are equal is inauthentic.<br /><br />So what is the answer? Never talk about parenting with your friends? Or talk about it, and brow beat everyone you know into agreeing with you? Maybe we should all start anonymously mailing research articles that support our perspectives to our friends and family...<br /><br />I can't tell you what to do. What would be the point? I may as well tell you what church to attend or which politician to support. But I have come to a place where I don't need to. I am content to just vote with my life. Keeping an open mind to new research and to other people's ideas and experiences, I can only determine what I believe to be best, and act in line with those beliefs.<br /><br />In the end, I believe that I am making the parenting choices that are best for my kids and I respect other mom's rights to do the same. Let's leave the flame throwing to the message board trolls.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-46748205321262716242011-03-22T22:30:00.007-05:002011-03-22T22:38:15.137-05:00Upcycled magnet board<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5UJ5XWMnVn4/TYloErHTV1I/AAAAAAAAAbM/UR1DKY3vDes/s1600/IMG_0628.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5UJ5XWMnVn4/TYloErHTV1I/AAAAAAAAAbM/UR1DKY3vDes/s400/IMG_0628.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587111242231928658" border="0" /></a>Nik has been overflowing with questions lately. "Where are we going today, mom? Who is going to be there? Who is coming to our house? When are we going to Grandma's? Is it preschool today? Are we going shopping? Can we go to the movie store?" and on and on and on.<br /><br />Although at first this seemed to be the stuff that rubber rooms are made of, after some reflection (and sleep) I decided to look at it as the perfect opportunity to introduce some calendar time into our day. We could work on the names and order of the days of the week, the numbers from 1-31, the concepts of yesterday, today and tomorrow, along with some sight words, all while answering the questions I am answering everyday anyways.<br /><br />Voila, my upcycled magnet board turned kid's perpetual calendar!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-styVv6G_Zeg/TYlXEU-o18I/AAAAAAAAAaM/HLgypolYixw/s1600/IMG_0636.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-styVv6G_Zeg/TYlXEU-o18I/AAAAAAAAAaM/HLgypolYixw/s400/IMG_0636.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587092544592336834" border="0" /></a>Made mainly of second hand and dollar store materials, this calendar should fit our needs beautifully for easily less than $10.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K5Kxm5BFj_k/TYld62m19SI/AAAAAAAAAaU/5KwEzo8O8yI/s1600/IMG_0601.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K5Kxm5BFj_k/TYld62m19SI/AAAAAAAAAaU/5KwEzo8O8yI/s400/IMG_0601.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587100078402041122" border="0" /></a>Now, this is a board I picked up second hand for $1.99. It does double duty as both a magnet board and a dry erase board. It was kind of grungy, but here is something you probably didn't know... Hand sanitizer cleans these babies like nobody's business.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GB6Zi2_eNIQ/TYledTScC4I/AAAAAAAAAac/7RxzlDQ0riU/s1600/IMG_0603.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GB6Zi2_eNIQ/TYledTScC4I/AAAAAAAAAac/7RxzlDQ0riU/s400/IMG_0603.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587100670216637314" border="0" /></a>I found the graphics and lettering on the board kind of distracting, so I flipped it around and cut out simple cardstock shapes to cover them. I adhered the paper to the board with glue dots, and later added a flower embellishment the same way.<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wwFyS9ojrUk/TYleoTc_gmI/AAAAAAAAAak/vp7unW_EOCs/s1600/IMG_0612.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wwFyS9ojrUk/TYleoTc_gmI/AAAAAAAAAak/vp7unW_EOCs/s400/IMG_0612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587100859239465570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Using permanent marker, I wrote the names of the days of the week down the side of the board, leaving space on the left hand side of the words so I could add each day's date with magnetic numbers.<br /><br /><br /><br />At this point, I could have done everything else in dry erase marker. However, because I am hoping my son will pick up some sight words from doing calendar with me, I thought I would create some custom magnets that we would use over and over.<br /><br />I made the first magnets from a magnetic frame designed to hold a 4x6 photo. These are easy to find in 2 packs at the dollar store.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VgMHAPNYfXw/TYlhtMnaxsI/AAAAAAAAAas/_uPJHexqLPI/s1600/IMG_0607edit.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VgMHAPNYfXw/TYlhtMnaxsI/AAAAAAAAAas/_uPJHexqLPI/s400/IMG_0607edit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587104241838376642" border="0" /></a>What started as this,<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FNRZqrgHvQE/TYlhtUZU4OI/AAAAAAAAAa0/k2ty4NnbjmQ/s1600/IMG_0614.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FNRZqrgHvQE/TYlhtUZU4OI/AAAAAAAAAa0/k2ty4NnbjmQ/s400/IMG_0614.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587104243926753506" border="0" /></a>quickly became this, with the help of my permanent marker and scissors.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-issvamRomFk/TYljLUv6lpI/AAAAAAAAAa8/mcsVUpFl7c4/s1600/IMG_0626.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-issvamRomFk/TYljLUv6lpI/AAAAAAAAAa8/mcsVUpFl7c4/s400/IMG_0626.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587105858929202834" border="0" /></a>Because the magnet was originally designed to hold a photo, it easily converted into a pocket to hold the name of the current month.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aTmgoSkSQrs/TYlj23rM0pI/AAAAAAAAAbE/xFehMjNJnjM/s1600/IMG_0617edit.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 296px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aTmgoSkSQrs/TYlj23rM0pI/AAAAAAAAAbE/xFehMjNJnjM/s400/IMG_0617edit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587106607039042194" border="0" /></a>I made our 'To Do' list items magnetic, by writing them on pieces of cardstock, and attaching small magnets to the back with mounting squares. The magnets I used were the 'fridge poetry' type, that I had gotten for free (Thanks, Downtown Peggy!), but you could also use another frame cut into bits, or even pieces of magnetic business cards.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S4pBLpsZyfg/TYloFIw-QKI/AAAAAAAAAbU/9KAVd0P4w_c/s1600/IMG_0624.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S4pBLpsZyfg/TYloFIw-QKI/AAAAAAAAAbU/9KAVd0P4w_c/s400/IMG_0624.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587111250191335586" border="0" /></a>Put it all together and, presto! Finished calendar. The plastic bag to the right has a zipper and a handle, and so will be the perfect place to store all the magnetic numbers not in use, as well as the various month names. There is also some storage space right on the board, in the 'grass'. All of the extra agenda items are there now.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-poSx0KlZKcE/TYlXEHqQ7QI/AAAAAAAAAaE/TMueZhHiVkc/s1600/IMG_0630edit.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 340px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-poSx0KlZKcE/TYlXEHqQ7QI/AAAAAAAAAaE/TMueZhHiVkc/s400/IMG_0630edit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587092541017222402" border="0" /></a>Hubby hung it up in Nik's room as soon as he got home. It is low enough for Nik to 'read', but out of the way enough that it shouldn't be disturbed. I am so happy with how it turned out, and can't wait to start using it!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-44496860679031357302011-03-20T13:43:00.005-05:002011-03-20T14:10:26.007-05:00Simple scrappy circlesWhat do you do on a rainy and gray Sunday morning when your baby is fussy and your 3 year old is coming down with a cold? Well, if you are me, you let your 3 year old watch cartoons, throw your baby in the sling, and pull out your scrap stash for a quick crafty pick me up.<br /><br />This may be the simplest paper technique out there, and there are a million ways to vary it, so I won't even call this a "tutorial". It is more, "the-steps-to-do-what-I-did-this-morning". Enjoy!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GgReaK-aoUM/TYZNBJhG1nI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/Z5Nw4qzmxSI/s1600/IMG_0573edit.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 230px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GgReaK-aoUM/TYZNBJhG1nI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/Z5Nw4qzmxSI/s400/IMG_0573edit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586237069929666162" border="0" /></a>First, choose some coordinating patterned papers. The easiest way to do this is to pull out the leftovers from whatever paper project you finished last. Other easy ways? Choose one multicoloured pattern and match other papers to it, or choose patterns that all come from one colour family, say, shades of blue. Don't overthink it; just do it.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jjDC-JXLMZA/TYZLsYRWfAI/AAAAAAAAAZM/O03IDhe3Ssg/s1600/IMG_0573.JPG"><br /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6hfRAs15MS0/TYZLsm3vMMI/AAAAAAAAAZU/dsGskXALhAM/s1600/IMG_0577.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6hfRAs15MS0/TYZLsm3vMMI/AAAAAAAAAZU/dsGskXALhAM/s400/IMG_0577.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586235617520332994" border="0" /></a>Bypass your die cutting machine, your punches, even your stencils, and grab your scissors. Imperfect is the name of the game. With the scraps in a stack, cut out three circles: large, medium and small. You are aiming for a collection of circles like the one below.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kFThth573T4/TYZLs_SepxI/AAAAAAAAAZc/HwJZM4m2RkE/s1600/IMG_0581.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kFThth573T4/TYZLs_SepxI/AAAAAAAAAZc/HwJZM4m2RkE/s400/IMG_0581.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586235624074946322" border="0" /></a>Combine the patterns as you see fit to create circles like the ones below. I used four patterned papers, and created circles in three sizes. You can use more or less papers, or make more or less circles as you see fit.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Mgun79ItfE/TYZLtCQAVAI/AAAAAAAAAZk/MuLgZ5UfO3c/s1600/IMG_0586.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Mgun79ItfE/TYZLtCQAVAI/AAAAAAAAAZk/MuLgZ5UfO3c/s400/IMG_0586.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586235624869876738" border="0" /></a>Experiment with different ways of stacking the circles. The patterns will play off of each other, and you will love some combos and hate others. Play until you are happy with them.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aoxGahDoqB0/TYZLtVakAQI/AAAAAAAAAZs/4BRJ_WgUFVA/s1600/IMG_0596.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aoxGahDoqB0/TYZLtVakAQI/AAAAAAAAAZs/4BRJ_WgUFVA/s400/IMG_0596.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586235630014431490" border="0" /></a>Combine with cardstock and some quick pen work, and you're done! Create cards, bookmarks, or accents for scrapbook pages... It is quick, easy, and looks great alone or in repetition. Best of all, they turn out a little differently every time.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZnO_u5RllCM/TYZL8b5JW2I/AAAAAAAAAZ0/NFwkN-Rdmt8/s1600/IMG_0595.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZnO_u5RllCM/TYZL8b5JW2I/AAAAAAAAAZ0/NFwkN-Rdmt8/s400/IMG_0595.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586235889451359074" border="0" /></a>Wishing you a good crafternoon!<br /></div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-89932530197853132062011-03-17T10:39:00.001-05:002011-03-17T10:41:18.825-05:00Green for luck<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4oboUfO8R9c/TYIrVAVT0MI/AAAAAAAAAYs/1smf39Hcxgc/s1600/IMG_0531.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4oboUfO8R9c/TYIrVAVT0MI/AAAAAAAAAYs/1smf39Hcxgc/s400/IMG_0531.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585074127759462594" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Happy St. Patrick's Day from my two little leprechauns!<br /></div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-75575956955116951932011-03-16T21:15:00.000-05:002011-03-16T21:15:20.018-05:00Second-child syndromeAbout a year ago, a coworker of mine came back to work after completing her year of maternity leave with her second child. I asked her what it was like to be a mom of two. Her answer?<br /><br />"It feels like I am a mom. Of two."<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cQW9eJkdkvo/TYFldS-5P7I/AAAAAAAAAYk/AhsvS5vGt3Y/s1600/IMG_0415.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cQW9eJkdkvo/TYFldS-5P7I/AAAAAAAAAYk/AhsvS5vGt3Y/s400/IMG_0415.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584856566902374322" border="0" /></a><br />I think I know now what she meant.<br /><br />There are two kids to dress, to feed, to keep clean, to get up with in the middle of the night. Two bedtimes. Two car seats. Two sets of wants and needs.<br /><br />There are also countless comparisons to make as I try to avoid second child syndrome. Have I taken as many pictures this time around? What about videos? And where has that baby book gotten to? Am I giving her enough attention? Is she getting lost in the shuffle? Am I rushing her nursings? Her diaper changes? When was the last time I changed her, anyways?<br /><br />Ah, the second child syndrome. My older brother was the second child in our family. A few years ago, while looking for photos for a family project, my mother realized she didn't have a single baby portrait of him. Any portraits of him under the age of three also feature my older sister, or are of the whole family. There aren't any of just him. It took her over 25 years to notice...<br /><br />That speaks to the positive side of the second child syndrome: you really aren't paying as much attention. For me, this means I am really just too busy to drive myself mad overthinking every little thing. I don't count how many times I woke up during the night, or keep track of how often I sit down to nurse. Being on the go with a 3 year old means I use the baby sling more, and worry less. I am reading fewer parenting books, and am taking a stab at trusting myself.<br /><br />I have come to realize that if I define 'fair' as 'the same', it will never be fair. Alexa doesn't have the same mom that Baby Nik had. Baby Nik had a vigilant, research-oriented, problem-focused, brand new mom. Alexa's mom is broken in. She's a little more relaxed, and a little less concerned with getting everything right.<br /><br />So, I am definitely feeling like a mom. Of two.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-78OkoCkBxes/TYFldDck0_I/AAAAAAAAAYc/gGrFKZ5z6AI/s1600/IMG_0465.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-78OkoCkBxes/TYFldDck0_I/AAAAAAAAAYc/gGrFKZ5z6AI/s400/IMG_0465.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584856562731897842" border="0" /></a><br />There are two kids now, to hug, to kiss, to snuggle up with in the middle of the night. Two sweet little faces to photograph. Two sleeypheads to carry in when they fall asleep on the way home from Grandma's. Two sets of hopes and dreams.<br /><br />Lucky me.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-68895205213220701942011-02-27T22:15:00.002-06:002011-02-27T22:28:11.122-06:00Unwritten<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zQRS5p_waQ4/TWshnGdRy-I/AAAAAAAAAYU/28X2sZzSPEI/s1600/Lisa%2BBW.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 262px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zQRS5p_waQ4/TWshnGdRy-I/AAAAAAAAAYU/28X2sZzSPEI/s400/Lisa%2BBW.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578589519060519906" border="0" /></a><br />Like so many, I have grappled with the dark shadows of anxiety and depression. Mine has been a conscious struggle for nearly ten years now, but if I look back into my childhood, I can see it there, too. The over-thinking, the desperate grabs for approval, the belittling self-talk... It has been a part of me for as long as I can remember.<br /><br />Transitions have always been my weak spot. One of my most difficult times, and the first time that I really began to have any awareness of my own tendencies towards anxiety, was when I graduated from high school and entered first year university. Everything was going well. I was a good student, and had made one or two friends. I lived comfortably at home with my parents and siblings, had a good relationship with my boyfriend, held down a part-time job... On the surface, everything was functional and fine, and yet I experienced rib-cage-crushing chest pain every time the bus I was riding pulled up to the university campus.<br /><br />Change. That was all it was.<br /><br />I struggled significantly again when I got married, and again when my son was born. Always appearing to be fine, to have it together, and yet, I was frozen with worry, exhausting myself with circular thoughts, and berating myself for any and all failure to adhere to my own set of rules of how things <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> be. Desperately trying to organize my life back under control.<br /><br />During my last round of counseling, I was taken aback when I realized that I was <span style="font-style: italic;">comfortable </span>making myself miserable. It is not that I enjoy being worried, self-critical and defensive, but these things are so familiar to me. They are patterns that have become so much a part of who I am that when we talked about leaving them behind, I got quite emotional. Feelings of fear and grief swelled up inside of me. Change these things? How could I? It would be like letting a part of myself die! And who would I be without them?<br /><br />Who, indeed. When therapists ask me to describe myself, I usually tell them whatever my mother or sister or grade school teacher has told me about myself. Somehow, borrowing other people's words feels more accurate than anything I could come up with myself. But I don't report everything I have been told, rather, I will sort through my memories for those descriptions that I feel are most accurate. Loud? Yes, that seems right. Difficult to get along with? I can buy that. Over-dramatic? Sure. But say someone describes me as reliable? I will immediately remind myself of all the times in which I have been unreliable, and 'reliable' doesn't make the cut.<br /><br />I recently started seeing a therapist again, to help me through the transition from 'working mom of one' to 'at-home mom of two'. This therapist is truly a woman after my own heart; always giving me new things to read. The book, '<span style="font-style: italic;">What Happy People Know</span>' by Dan Baker, has been my favourite suggestion so far, but I have also learned much from '<span style="font-style: italic;">The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem</span>' and a chapter of '<span style="font-style: italic;">Change your Brain, Change your Life</span>'. The writers of these books have given me new insight into my own messy head.<br /><br />Calling up every negative thing anyone has ever said about me, along with evidence to support their statements, comes ridiculously easy to me. It is a very established thought pattern, and my brain is very good at it after a near lifetime of practice. Remembering positive descriptors is harder, and any that I do recall, are so easy to discount. I am beginning to understand that it all comes down to my self-concept; the way I write my own story. It works like this: If I believe I am 'bad', then descriptions in line with that belief seem correct. Descriptions to the contrary are incorrect, clearly the result of someone else's generosity, or not knowing me well enough. Evidence supporting the 'truth' is remembered. Any evidence contradicting it is dismissed as being a rare exception.<br /><br />In actual fact, I may be reliable far more often than I am unreliable. I may be even-tempered far more often than I am overly dramatic. But what I believe about myself has not been based on facts, or numbers, or really anything rational. It has only been based on an old, bad story of me.<br /><br />I am feeling more open to change, these days. It would not be so awful to drop 'neurotic' from my own self-concept. I am ready to give up my old habits, and pave some new roads. And I am trying to let go of the old stories of 'bad' me, even though I don't know who I will be without them.<br /><br />Today is where my book begins. The rest is still unwritten.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-59565095184867024402011-02-20T10:45:00.000-06:002011-02-20T10:53:57.965-06:00Brother Bear<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exWMeg6-N7I/TWFDxgtbE-I/AAAAAAAAAYM/vtvU5g_7UE4/s1600/IMG_0302%2Bedit.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exWMeg6-N7I/TWFDxgtbE-I/AAAAAAAAAYM/vtvU5g_7UE4/s400/IMG_0302%2Bedit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575812331534488546" border="0" /></a>In the early Berenstein Bear books, there were only 3 in the Bear family: Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Small Bear. In "The New Baby", Small Bear makes his transition to Brother Bear. I love that his name changes, because it shows the significance of that birth in his life. His whole identity is affected.<br /><br />Nik is definitely feeling the changes since Alexa has arrived. One of his new favourite games, pictured above, is to climb into her crib, sit in the baby bathtub with her new tummy time quilt, and play with the mobile. I'm not making a big deal out of it. He deserves to be able to say goodbye to Small Bear in his own way.<br /><br />I have been lucky, actually, that his sleeping and bathroom habits have remained virtually unchanged since baby has been on the scene. I was prepared for a certain amount of regression, but so far, things have been good, and we are nearly at the 2 week mark. I was also wondering if he would be jealous of all the nursing, since he really only recently was completely weaned. It seems to be not a problem, though he does covet the lap time. "You put her on the couch, and I will sit in your lap," he says. Usually I will. After a quick cuddle, he is back to his own thing. Just checking, I guess.<br /><br />His behaviour is another story. More whining, more boundary pushing, more rudeness in general. It is hard to know how much to ignore, and how much to respond to, and what response is appropriate. Does he need more understanding? More discipline? More attention? The most obvious increase is in bossy behaviour. I am guessing he is trying to control more to alleviate anxiety, but it is hard to remember that when he stomps into the room demanding another video, or computer time, or more chocolate milk in such-and-such specific cup. Unfortunately, my patience runs thinner and he gets crabbier as the day runs on.<br /><br />Mornings are good. Alexa is happiest after a night's sleep, and will consent to being put down. I can get some housework done, which satisfies my need to accomplish. And Nik is calmer, easier. <br /><br />The photo below was taken this morning. Happy, bright-eyed kids, snuggled in jammies in the morning light. This is what I want to remember from these first weeks.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QgdaAkicHyY/TWE_Cb1ZVlI/AAAAAAAAAYE/Z8qzjMl2_B4/s1600/IMG_0344.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QgdaAkicHyY/TWE_Cb1ZVlI/AAAAAAAAAYE/Z8qzjMl2_B4/s400/IMG_0344.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575807124725388882" border="0" /></a>The sweet beginnings of Brother Bear and Sister Bear.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388480095111606561.post-87059099372943392472011-02-12T09:36:00.003-06:002011-02-12T14:22:17.546-06:00Birth storyI delivered in the hospital. I was induced by synthetic Oxytocin drip. I had continuous fetal monitoring. I had IV tubes coming off of one arm, and blood pressure cuff with tubes coming off of the other arm. I was delivered by a resident I had only first met hours before. And yet...<br /><br />I had a good birth.<br /><br />Going overdue sucks. I think I have done sufficient job of expressing that in previous posts. Everyone is waiting for you to do something you have no control over. People make comments that they think are funny. They are not funny. And every night you go to bed. Still pregnant.<br /><br />You can't stand up without needing to go pee. You can't sleep more than a few hours at a time. You make no real plans because you will be in the hospital any day. But any day does not come, and methods of induction begin to be discussed.<br /><br />We really wanted a natural birth. Our birth experience with Nik was traumatic, and we had been induced then. We did the IV, the fetal monitoring, the long labour, the epidural, the episiotomy... We wanted a different experience this time around. Labour at home for a while, then go to the hospital. Labour in the hospital whirlpool, or on hands and knees on my yoga mat on the floor. Pushing in that semi-upright position. No stirrups for me, thank you very much.<br /><br />Sunday morning, we talked about it. Would we take the induction if they called to offer it Monday? Or would we wait longer? After much discussion, we decided to take it when it was offered. If we saved induction only as a very last resort, we were starting down a path of beyond-our-control birth before labour had even started. But if we chose induction now, we could own it. It would really be what we had decided to do, after considering all the pros and cons, and we could make peace with that.<br /><br />The hospital surprised us by calling to offer us a spot in LDRP if we went in for induction on Sunday night. My heart started pounding. I hadn't expected the call until at least the next morning. I told them we would have to think on it, and I would call back. I called my sister, and my husband came upstairs. With her on speaker, we talked about what to do. We decided to do it. We had already decided to accept the induction, and this was a way to be really intentional about it. Summoning up a spirit of no hesitation, I called the hospital back. My mom would come and stay with my son. We were on our way.<br /><br />We spent a while in triage when we got to the hospital. When they checked me, I was already nearly 5 cm dialated, and I was told I was "very stretchy". The OB-GYN from my obstetrical group came in to talk to us about induction options. She did not rush us, and let us ask many questions. I had done quite a bit of reading on induction methods, and armed with that knowledge, the consultation with the OB, and the support of my husband and sister, we chose to begin the IV drip with membranes intact.<br /><br />We went down to our suite in LDRP and met our night nurse. She talked to us about our preferences for support during labour, and worked with me to choose a site for the IV. She worked in an unhurried way, with our cds from home playing in the background, and the lights low. She explained what she was doing with all of the equipment. I may have been in a hospital bed, with tubes coming off of my arms and belly, but I was at ease. The nurse, my sister and I chatted through the wee hours of the morning, while my husband dozed. We were all just waiting for contractions to begin.<br /><br />They did begin, in earnest around 5 a.m. I woke up my husband, and away we went. The contractions became very intense, very quickly, and there was no rhythm to them at all. They were of varying lengths, as were the 'breaks', which basically consisted of a "if-you-touch-me-I will-vomit" feeling for a few seconds. I started to flip around, stretching in crazy directions as the contractions got more painful. The nurse was awesome. She never told me not to move, even when the monitors started to fall off. She just worked around me, for a while down on her knees holding the fetal heart monitor onto my lower belly with her hand.<br /><br />I couldn't talk, but my self-talk was going a mile a minute. With closed eyes, I used all my self-control to focus on why I wanted this baby, how much I loved Nik and all the sweet things he does, how okay it was to stretch in weird ways... I imagined things moving open and down. Any contraction I had with fear or angry thoughts in my head was far, far worse. All the contractions were awful, but I could cope if I could keep control of my noisy head. Up, up, up in a contraction, stretch my head to the left, and then whoosh back to the right... Ow, oh, no, it's good, it is doing what it needs to do, stretch, open, move down, that girl's a comin...<br /><br />Labour was fast, and before I knew it, it was too much for me to take. I started thinking, "How in the world will I ever get through this?" I couldn't believe I was in transition; labour had only just started! But then my sounds started to change, and the nurse wanted to check me. She could see I was moving into second stage, though I was only barely aware of the growing need to push. She wanted me up on the bed for an exam, and all I could think was, "Screw you. I am barely coping down here where I am." but I took that 2 second break with all the tension still in my tailbone, and willed myself into that bed and onto my back. Oh, I hated everyone in that moment.<br /><br />She checked me, and said to me very loudly and clearly, "Lisa, you are 100%. Don't push. I will get the doctor, and your baby will be born." Go to hell, I thought. My body, my birth, I will push if I want to. I grabbed Andrew's arm, and held on for dear life, blowing, blowing, blowing, and doing little cheating pushes to relieve the pressure. The nurse ran into the hall and I heard her call, "I need a doctor in here!" My OB was with someone else, so the resident came in. She had been by briefly in triage to introduce herself.<br /><br />In a flurry, the bed was changed into a birthing chair, and I started really pushing. Because I had the epidural with Nik, this was a totally new experience. I couldn't believe the pressure, or how hard I was able to push. When they told me, "Good, like that, do it again!" I <span style="font-style: italic;">knew</span> what I had done, and could replicate it. I burst a million blood vessels in my face and neck. The OB squeezed warm water over my perineum and massaged the skin. No one rushed me, even though my labour slowed right down. I had the longest breaks during pushing, and the pillows behind my back felt so good.<br /><br />I waited for the urge to push before pushing, and that meant I even skipped a few of the milder contractions. No one said anything. No one shouted, "Push!" They let me wait, let me feel it out, and just encouraged me to go harder, go just one more time before resting again. Baby moved down so fast, maybe just 30 minutes. During crowning, the OB was amazing. "Come on, Lisa, I know it hurts, but you have to get through it. Gentle push, again, gentle push, don't give up, you're doing it, one more, one more, gentle push, come on, one more..."<br /><br />And then, the feeling changed. It felt like someone was pulling a very slippery octopus out of me, as the head passed, and I felt that mess of arms and legs leave my body. Alexa was born, and the hardest part was done. It was only 6:42 a.m.<br /><br />I realized I had done it. With awesome support from everyone around me, I had pushed that little person out into the world on my own steam, without narcotics. And it was exhausting and awful and over. I did it. In the hospital, with a doctor and nurse who were strangers to me, under an induction I thought was still a day away, I had a good birth. And that is my birth story.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08485646970090858379noreply@blogger.com2