Swirls and swings

Nursing mom

2011-11-01T12:15:00.006-05:00

I have had the awesome privilege to experience nursing my kids.

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.

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.

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.

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? ;-)

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.

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.

About all of these things I can say the same thing: Worth it, worth it, worth it.

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.

A bit of earth

2011-09-04T10:45:00.001-05:00

Our teeny veggie garden

"Might I," quavered Mary, "might I have a bit of earth?"

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.

"Earth!" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

"To plant seeds in--to make things grow--to see them come alive," Mary faltered.

from 'The Secret Garden' by Frances Hodges Burnett

Our apartment bedroom

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.

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.

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.

So how could I even entertain the idea of having kids of my own, and raising them without a backyard?

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.

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.

First time in the backyard wading pool

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!

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.

And Alexa is such a happy baby, content to be left to roll around on a blanket in the backyard.

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.

It is spacious, and full of possibility.

Lake life

2011-08-28T10:25:00.002-05:00

Nik and Uncle Darryl

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The air smells like pine needles. Here and there you hear birds, and the scuffle of little ground squirrels.

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.

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.

Nik-in-the-Box

2011-08-01T22:00:00.000-05:00

I 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?

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 painting project 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.

Again, like previous tutorials, 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.

Adult prep:
Start with a box. Any large box will do, but white boxes are nice. This was ours.
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.
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.

This is gesso. I bought it at Hobby Lobby when I was going through an art journalling/altered book phase, inspired by Kelly Rae Roberts and Sabrina Ward Harrison. 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.

Voila! A mostly white box.

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.

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.

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.
Decked out in a painting t-shirt of Daddy's, he went to town on the box.

Painting is very serious work.

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.

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.

If you love the idea of boxes as open ended play, you'll love this book, by Antoinette Portis.

This post is participating in ON{the laundry}LINE's thrifty summertime link party. Click on through for more fun!

Paving new pathways

2011-07-04T21:56:00.010-05:00

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?

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.

In a previous post, Unwritten, 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 Practice, 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.

How we learn patterns

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

How we change patterns

Step 1 - Noticing
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.

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:

"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?"

Wow. I am a meanie.

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.

Step 2: Stopping
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 stop talking. 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.

Step 3: Restructuring
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.

"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."

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.

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.

drawings by Frits Ahlefeldt, and downloaded from:
http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/browse-author.php?a=1210
Thanks, Frits.

The Children's Garden

2011-06-29T21:14:00.012-05:00

Winnipeg, 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".

Come peek inside with me.

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.
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.
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

But none of those are my son's favourite part. He calls this place, "The Beach Park," after all. And this is why.

Starting at this fountain, a trickle of water begins.

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.

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.
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.

Even if they do move a little faster here.

Finger paint is the devil

2011-06-17T20:50:00.006-05:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

For this project you will need: a canvas, some letter stickers, a permanent marker and finger paints.
Isn't it lovely how clean everything is right now?

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.

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...

But to each their own.

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.

And then, ta da! This is what you end up with.

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.

Cool, right? Almost makes you want to try it?

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Conservatory calm

2011-06-07T13:31:00.004-05:00

I 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.

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.

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.

It is well with my soul.

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... Not as often as I'd like.

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.

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.

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.

But I carry a little peace with me. A lighter breath. An acknowledgement, a gratitude for my moment of conservatory calm. Namaste.

Carny goodness

2011-06-04T09:51:00.004-05:00

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.

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.

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.
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.
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.

Nik as "Hi Neighbour Sam"

Scared milk-less

2011-05-17T15:17:00.004-05:00

Milk 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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Here are a few facts for you:

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.
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.
This is not a new idea. Wet nursing has been done throughout the generations.

And, now a confession. I am sure this will cause your mind to reel.

My name is Lisa, and I have donated my milk to a stranger.

Woot! Weirdo! Better click through to the next blog, she has clearly lost it! But before you do, read just a teensy bit more.

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.

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.

Multiple-component inset puzzles

2011-04-27T10:00:00.001-05:00

I 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.

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 single piece per space in the board, there are multiple pieces that need to fit together in that space. And these pieces are not randomly divided, but are components of the whole. This piece is an arm, for example, and that piece is a leg.

With me so far?

This is really a case where a picture is worth a thousand words, so here is an example of what I'm talking about.

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 same 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.

Some of the ways to increase the difficulty of these puzzles are the same as for peg puzzles. A more difficult puzzle might have:

More pieces
Harder-to-fit pieces
More visually complex pieces or base

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 correct space.

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.

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.

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!

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.

Next post... Frame puzzles!

Peg puzzles

2011-04-21T13:00:00.000-05:00

When 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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.
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.

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.

Choosing puzzles

2011-04-15T22:30:00.002-05:00

Working 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.

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 only plaything you provided, I could see how that might be a problem. However, if puzzle work is balanced with creative opportunities, they can enrich thought processes. After all, consider math, reading or spelling. There are many times where there is only one right answer.

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?

I will post about five kinds of puzzles, listed here from simplest to most complex:

Single-inset or "peg" puzzles
Multiple-component inset puzzles
Frame puzzles
Juxtapose puzzles
Jigsaw puzzles

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 gradually - enough to challenge, but not so much as to discourage.

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!

Practice

2011-04-07T22:45:00.002-05:00

a page from my art journal

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.

In his book, The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem, 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 crisis. Rather it is a way of operating day by day, in big issues and small, a way of behaving that is also a way of being."

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 in the moment. 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.

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.

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.

My prayer is still for calm spirits and thankful hearts, and we are blessed to be gaining on them day by day. But there is more work to be done. We need more practice.

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.

And when intention meets practice, supported by prayer... That is where the magic happens.

Politics, religion and parenting

2011-03-30T13:56:00.004-05:00

Want 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.

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 we 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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

Upcycled magnet board

2011-03-22T22:30:00.007-05:00

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.

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.

Voila, my upcycled magnet board turned kid's perpetual calendar!

Made mainly of second hand and dollar store materials, this calendar should fit our needs beautifully for easily less than $10.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What started as this,

quickly became this, with the help of my permanent marker and scissors.

Because the magnet was originally designed to hold a photo, it easily converted into a pocket to hold the name of the current month.

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.
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.

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!

Simple scrappy circles

2011-03-20T13:43:00.005-05:00

What 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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Wishing you a good crafternoon!

Green for luck

2011-03-17T10:39:00.001-05:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day from my two little leprechauns!

Second-child syndrome

2011-03-16T21:15:00.000-05:00

About 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?

"It feels like I am a mom. Of two."

I think I know now what she meant.

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.

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?

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...

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.

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.

So, I am definitely feeling like a mom. Of two.

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.

Lucky me.

Unwritten

2011-02-27T22:15:00.002-06:00

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.

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.

Change. That was all it was.

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 should be. Desperately trying to organize my life back under control.

During my last round of counseling, I was taken aback when I realized that I was comfortable 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?

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.

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, 'What Happy People Know' by Dan Baker, has been my favourite suggestion so far, but I have also learned much from 'The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem' and a chapter of 'Change your Brain, Change your Life'. The writers of these books have given me new insight into my own messy head.

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.

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.

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.

Today is where my book begins. The rest is still unwritten.

Brother Bear

2011-02-20T10:45:00.000-06:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The sweet beginnings of Brother Bear and Sister Bear.

Birth story

2011-02-12T09:36:00.003-06:00

I 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...

I had a good birth.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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 knew 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.

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..."

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.

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.

My girl

2011-02-09T13:06:00.002-06:00

The hospital called on Sunday night, and offered us a spot in LDRP if we went in for induction right then. We decided to take it, and sweet Alexa was born at 6:42 Monday morning. The labour was fast and furious, but I am proud to say that I birthed her without narcotics. We are home now, and she is nursing and sleeping round the clock. Longer birth story to follow, but I wanted to announce her arrival and share some pics!

Time will tell how Nik will adjust to Alexa's arrival. So far, it is a little overwhelming, and he has been checking in a lot. He is off to preschool this afternoon, which I think will be a good distraction for him.
Thanks for stopping by to see my little sweetheart!

Baby watch 2011

2011-02-04T11:24:00.008-06:00

Still no baby in my arms, but there is some news to share! Yesterday, I saw my OB. My exam results were nearly 4 cm dialated, and 80% effaced. Because I am past my due date now by at least a week, we discussed labour induction methods, and the relative risks and benefits of the different things we can do. We decided to try the membrane sweep in the office that afternoon, leaving me SO crampy last night, but still no baby. When I woke up, I lost my cervical plug, and it was nice to have another sign of progress.

This morning, we went down to the hospital for a fetal assessment. We found out that we are having a girl! We have named her Alexa Marie. It was super exciting to see our little sweetheart on screen. These are the photos from the 3D portion of the ultrasound.
My heart is so full right now, after seeing my little girl stretch, and snuggle in, and pull faces this morning. She is doing great, with lots of clear fluid left to hang out in, and the placenta is not showing any signs of age. If nothing more happens before Tuesday, we have another assessment scheduled for Tuesday morning at 10:00. There is a possibility that the hospital will call to offer induction sometime on Monday, but at this point, I don't think we will take it. My OB had said that if things looked good at the assessment, and baby was still moving a lot by Monday, we could just tell the hospital that we would like to give it just one more day.

Fingers are crossed that we will still have this birth without an IV drip. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers. Hopefully, my next post will be post-birth!

Still waiting...

2011-01-31T18:54:00.006-06:00

↑

Feeling just a little like this.

I am currently a congested mess of impatient hormones. Whilst waiting for this pokey, and apparently comfy, baby to arrive, I have come down with a truly glorious head cold, that, because I am pregnant, I can take absolutely nothing for. Well, Tylenol, I guess. Whee.

BUT, there was a bright spot in my weekend. My order from clothdiapermom was cheerfully delivered on Saturday evening! I am now the proud owner of a 24 diaper Bummis prefold kit, a Bottoms Up 25 reusable wipe kit, and seven just-too-adorable Happy Heinys Mini OS pocket diapers. I did the prewashes on my prefold diapers right away, and was diapering stuffed animals by Sunday afternoon, just to try and get the hang of it.

Because we did not switch to cloth diapers with Nik until he was over a year old, doing cloth with a new baby will still be a new thing to me. Once baby is born, and I get a routine down, I will be posting again on the prefolds and wipes kits. In the meantime, I will share some links for the interested.

A video from Bummis on how to use prefolds:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3pVt7WfOyRE

A video I found on facebook showing the wipes kit (which is totally a cloth diapering luxury - love it!):
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1252250314770

And a link to a great review on the wipes, from a fellow blogger:
http://musingsfrommomschool.blogspot.com/2009/11/bottoms-up-baby-wipes-review.html

Also, stay tuned for photos of my new, stinkin' cute Mini HHs on that pokey baby, should he or she ever decide to make an appearance. ;-)

Everything we don't need

2011-01-27T12:30:00.002-06:00

I have an uncle who is known for his unique way of expressing himself. He has a pseudonym for so many things, including his basement, (the bunker), his home (the shack), and his camper (the roll-away shack). One of my favourites among his phrases comes up when you ask him what he and his wife did on their vacation, or over the weekend. His recollection will often include. "Well, first, we went shopping for everything we don't need..."

My aunt is fond of telling people that when she was a girl, getting an apple was a real treat. They were poor prairie people, and often didn't have a working car. Getting into town to shop was difficult, and often the money only covered the basics of flour, rice and soap. There were certainly no credit cards, drive thrus or shopping malls.

Things have changed a lot in sixty years, and at the top of the list seems to be what people think they need. For example, do a search for 'baby needs' on the Internet, and you will probably find something like this:

Complete layette (including 5-10 onesies, 5-10 sleepers, socks, hats, footed pants)
Diapers and wipes (cloth or disposable), change pad
Diaper pail
Baby bathtub with baby towel, washcloths, shampoo, lotion and powder
Baby thermometer, nose bulb, nail clippers, hairbrush
Breast pump, pads, nipple cream and nursing bras or bottles, formula, sterilizer
Crib or bassinet, sheets, blankets
Car seat (with bunting bag in cold weather)
And more - Baby carrier, diaper bag, stroller, monitor, swing, soothers, bibs, mobile, bouncy seat, jolly jumper... The list can go on and on, and all this will be used in the first 6 months of life.

My oldest aunt was born early, and at home. They put her in a dresser drawer by the wood stove. Clothes, blankets and diapers would have been homemade. Everything else, they did without.

I am not pretending that they were so much better off in a drafty homestead on the harsh Canadian prairie than we are now. Certainly, I am not pining for a life with no money, no car and sometimes no food. And I am far from immune to the spirit of materialism! I have plenty of baby gadgets, and still new ones are catching my eye. My mind is full of thoughts like, "I know I have that fitted sling already, but those gorgeous Zolowear ring slings at the local store are on for half-price..." and "the Magic Bullet was great for Nik's baby food, but this Baby Bullet is truly awesome. I wonder if we could afford it..."

Still, I see the appeal of the 'less is more' mentality, and stories about my aunt in the dresser drawer help me to remember how much we already have. With a small family and a modest income, a move toward seeing the store in terms of 'everything we don't need' is a healthy change. I am trying to remember that the benefits of retail therapy are short-lived, while the negative effects can stick around for a long time. If we live beyond our means trying to fulfill the ideals of what we think we need, we will only leave a legacy of debt, and communicate to others that what we value in the end is things over all else. Not exactly what I want on my tombstone.

Ready

2011-01-25T12:00:00.001-06:00

Oh, my bags are packed, I'm ready to go...

I have been procrastinating on the whole pack for the hospital thing. Most pregnancy books recommend doing this at 36 or 37 weeks, but I kept finding reasons to put it off. Part of me knew, I think, that once the bags were packed, I would get really impatient for labour. It is that mental thing: Alright. I'm ready. Let's do this thing.

I am so happy to be heading into this birth without the apprehension I had the first time. Fear of the unknown and fear of losing control dominated my thoughts as I approached my first birth, which ended up being a very difficult experience for me. For a long time, I couldn't even relay my birth story to another without getting a catch in my throat. However, in an unexpected way, working through our miscarriage last February helped me put all the fears and regrets from my first birth behind me, allowing me to approach this birth with the quiet confidence that I will be able to cope with whatever happens.

Packing my bags gave me the opportunity to align my emotional self with my practical self. I mean, feeling ready for birth is huge, and very important. But I am actually practically ready? A positive mental attitude can only get me so far. I still need clean clothes.

When I started researching the lists of what to pack for the hospital, I got a little overwhelmed. Every book and website has different items listed, and most are directed at an American audience, where it is more important to pack your own products, lest you be charged at the hospital for them. It was hard for me to tease out what I would actually need, and what would be a waste of space. Drawing on my memories from my first birth, some good information on what is provided by the LDRP suites in the Canadian hospital where I will be delivering, and the advice in all the lists I had read, I finally came up with the hospital bag list that works for us.

If you are checking out this post for practical reasons:
I say 'hospital bag', but that is really misleading. I ended up packing three bags: one each for mommy, daddy, and baby. You will notice I left some things off the list that many others have, like diapers, or a cd player, for example. That is because I know that these things are available at no cost at my hospital. Always check out what your hospital will provide when making your own list. I also have adjusted my list according to my personal preferences. I won't be bringing a nightgown or tshirt for labour, because I know from my first birth that I will probably only be comfortable naked, and otherwise a hospital gown is fine with me. I will be bringing my own breast pump, because I hated the electric one I had to use at the hospital last time, and I am bringing my yoga mat, too. Your list can reflect your own preferences.

Mom's bag - a medium suitcase

Comfort items for during labour. I chose a number of my favourite instrumental relaxation CDs, a yummy lip balm (my lips cracked with all the blowing last time), and my yoga mat (packed separately, in a carry bag). Birth balls and CD players are supplied at my hospital.
Information. I have printed several copies of my birth preferences for my labour support team, and have also packed my favourite birth book and a list of ways to help labour progress that I got off of the Dr. Sears website. Having my information along is a comfort measure for me.
Maternity bathing suit. This I may not need, but if I don't want to be naked in the whirlpool or shower, now I don't have to be. It is a two-piece tankini, so I can always just wear the top, if that is most comfortable.
Food and drink. Last time, I hated my hospital food (especially breakfast), and vending machines get too expensive. I have packed a couple of bottles of water, four cans of apple juice, dried apricots and granola bars.
Clothes for in the hospital, after the birth. I chose a very comfy stretch pair of pajamas, my bathrobe, and spa socks. I like to be cozy, and nightgowns are so not me. I also packed a supportive nursing bra.
Light diversions. There may be downtime, depending on what happens, and I may be awake when the baby is not. I have packed my knitting, and my Sudoku book, with a pen.
Clothes to wear home from the hospital. I chose low-rise maternity jeans, a t shirt and a hoodie. Don't forget socks and underwear.
Toiletries. This was the trickiest for me. How do I pack my bathroom routine, when I will still need most things out? Some things, like my shampoo and conditioner, I poured into travel containers, and packed that way. The other things, I cleared a space for in the bathroom, and will pack the day we leave. See below.

When labour begins, it is simple to grab the bottles, toss them in the Ziploc, and throw everything into my suitcase. In the meantime, I can use them from here.

Dad's bag - a carry-on size shoulder bag

Comfort and diversion items for Dad. Don't laugh. Birth is tiring and emotional for men, too, and there is a lot of pressure on them to do everything right. In my husband's bag, you can find a bag of his favourite candy, his Nintendo DS, and the book he is reading right now.
Swim trunks. These are good to have along in case you want your husband to go into the shower or whirlpool with you.
Change of clothes. Let your husband pack this himself. Mine chose a clean shirt, and a change of socks and underwear. Other guys might want more.
Address book with phone numbers, and cell phone. I am leaving the responsibility of making the phone calls to him, so I can focus on recovering and getting started on a breastfeeding relationship with baby.
Camera, with extra batteries. Talk to your husband about when you would like photos, and when to leave the camera in the bag.

Baby's bag - a large diaper bag

Clothes. These are little, so I packed quite a few. If there are any diaper leaks, we are ready. I have onesies, footed pants, and sleepers along. Also, a hat, because my baby will be born in winter.
Baby blankets. My hospital has these, but they wash them with such harsh detergents that Nik's newborn skin was reacting to them. This time, I have packed four thin receiving blankets, and a reversible flannel blanket, that is square, and good for swaddling.
Baby sling. I have a fitted cotton sling that will be good for nursing and/or kangaroo care after the birth.
Breast pump and accessories. I have packed my pump, storage jars, and microwave sterilizing bag (made by Medela). I also included my tube of PureLan, just in case.
Car seat. This isn't in the bag, but it is for baby, so I will include it here. The base is installed in the car, and the seat with bunting bag and extra blanket (due to cold weather) will come into the hospital with us.

And so, we are in a waiting game now. I just found out that a cousin with a similar due date to mine headed into her hospital today... My turn could be soon. Time will tell.

Just look at him grow...

2011-01-17T14:22:00.005-06:00

Nik started preschool this afternoon. It is a one room preschool, with two teachers, and maybe 15 other kids. It is not beautiful, but it is warm and welcoming. Nik was instantly at home.

I wasn't really planning on sending him to preschool until next September, but he started asking about it after hearing that his cousin went, and finding out about it from videos. Then, came the request:

"I want to go to playschool, Mom," he said at bedtime one night.

"Really? Are you sure? You know, moms and dads don't stay at playschool. Moms and dads bring the kids, and the kids stay with the teacher."

"No, I want you to stay, Mom."

"Well, that is not how playschool works. Moms and dads go home, and come back when it is done. Do you still want to go to playschool?"

"Yeah, I want to go to playschool, Mom."

"Mom isn't going to stay."

"Okay."

"Alright," I said, taking a big girl breath, "If you want to go to playschool, I will find a school for you."

And then I did. It came together much faster than I expected. A friend from church with similar values and parenting style recommended a preschool that is less than a ten minute drive from our home. I called, left a message, and the teacher called me back last Friday. She said he could start right away, so we started today. Boom. Done.

My head is spinning, just a bit. For the first time in motherhood do I understand what they mean by 'grow up fast'.

Nesting

2011-01-11T22:00:00.002-06:00

Move over and make room for Baby
He doesn't take very much space...

Yeah, right.

Babies may be small, but they seem to come with an inordinate amount of accessories. I have been doing my best to resist the urge to aquire mass amounts of baby paraphenalia, but you couldn't tell from looking. Car seat. Swing. Baby bathtub. Bouncy seat. Crib. Bassinet. Change pad. Diapers. Baby clothes. Jolly jumper. Mobile.

It seems I had baby stuff squirreled away everywhere. In closets and on shelves in the storage room. At my mom's. At my brother's. Now these possessions are having a raucous reunion in the major living spaces of my home, and we are feeling the growing pains. Ours is not a large home. It was a major exercise in math and measurement to figure out how to best fit a crib, Nik's new big boy bed, and a dresser/change table into Nik's small bedroom. We also found a way to squeeze the swing into the floor plan of our already crowded living room. Every day we get a little closer to being ready for our fourth family member to make an appearance.

Christmas is over, and the decorations are nearly all put away. We told Nik that the baby would be coming after Christmas, and apparently my body was listening to that, too. My Braxton-Hicks contractions are getting stronger and more frequent every day. Baby has settled down hard into my pelvis now, and I am noticing other little signs of prelabour - most of which involve bodily fluids of one kind or another, so I'll spare you the details. ;-) The sense of this pregnancy coming to a close is growing, and with it, a sense of urgency to get ready. My nesting instincts are in full swing. Be warned: If it isn't nailed down, it will be organized.

I needed to get a lot of organizational work done anyways, to make space in Nik's bedroom for a 2nd child, and to make space in the house for new Christmas and birthday gifts. I got started in the office, first.
I put a lot of the shelf toys for younger ages in storage to make room for picture books on the bottom shelf. Nik's new camera has found a home here, and his new jigsaw puzzles as well.

The storage drawers next to his work table were reorganized and updated with newer and more age appropriate supplies. The large bottom drawer still houses his play dough and accessories, but the middle two drawers are dedicated to colouring books and workbooks in one, and stickers and stencils in the other.
The top drawer has writing implements of all kinds: coloured pencils, crayons, markers and bingo dabbers. Then I repurposed a tray from Andrew's paperwork area to hold blank paper. There is green, orange and white out now, but I plan to rotate colours to keep it interesting.

The next major space to tackle was Nik's room. First order of business, a real 'big boy' bed. On our tight budget, it was Jysk to the rescue!
We put the bed exactly where Nik's crib-turned-toddler-bed had been, to try to ease the transition. It left a little bit of space between the foot of the bed and the wall, which turned out to be the perfect space to put the laundry hamper, Nik's library books basket, and a small toybox (which is filled with blocks, small cars and figures).

Turn to your right and you will see...
where we put the crib. It still needs to be converted back into a crib from a toddler bed, but you get the idea. The dresser/change table just barely fits between Nik's bed and the crib, but it does fit, and that was good luck for us. I cleared off the top, and put the change pad back, so when baby arrives, we are pretty much open for business there.

Adding the twin bed didn't leave much room for playthings in Nik's room, so we stole some real estate from the closet for his dress-up clothes (in the large toy box) and some pretend play items: telephone, tools, doctor's kit and cash register.

Making space for baby things in the dresser wasn't too hard. I moved Nik's diapers into a trundle drawer which easily fits under his bed. He only uses a diaper overnight now, so this solution makes good longer term storage, too.

After that, I consolidated Nik's clothes into the two bottom drawers of the dresser, leaving the top drawer ready to be filled with baby sweetness. It was so fun to take the newborn clothes out of storage, and I had a few new things to add, too, thanks to some sales and a baby gift from a coworker.
The side cupboard is only about half full right now with blankets and the baby sling, which leaves space for the new prefold diapers and cloth wipes I have ordered. I'll be so happy when it all comes together.

One last main floor space that needed some work was our living room. We wanted to make space for the baby swing in there, since it was such an awesome place for Baby Nik when we needed hands free to eat dinner. Nik also got a fantastic wooden kitchen set for his birthday, with new accessories, and we wanted him to have a place on the main floor for it. We can't hide all of his toys in the basement!

Here is what we settled on:
Not exactly a formal living room. This is a room that says, "Hi! Welcome! We have kids."

I love Nik's kitchen. It is simple and sturdy, and there is lots of storage space for toy food and dishes.

It is also right near the actual kitchen, and I am hoping that will encourage him to start more imitative and dramatic play soon.

Looking at the these photos of the only clean areas in my house (I had to tidy up for the photos!) makes me feel like I really am making headway with this nesting thing.

Now if only my hospital bag were packed...

Power of one

2011-01-01T11:45:00.000-06:00

2010 was a year of improving our eating habits, if only in small increments. One night, my husband and I went to dinner at one of our favourite restaurants. I ordered a salad, and grilled salmon with veggies on Naan bread. Delicious. My husband ordered the fish and chips. I had a cranberry juice and sparkling water. He had a Coke. I was just considering how nutritionally lost he is, when he looked up from his meal, and said, "I think you broke me."

"Not enjoying it?" I asked.

"Not nearly so much as I used to," he replied. Score one for healthy eating.

We got rid of our deep fryer in 2010. It was one simple change, one that was within our reach, and one that made sense for us. There was an adjustment period where we had to start figuring out what we would eat in place of french fries, but we got through it, and now I don't even miss it.

It is tough for me to make one change. Finding motivation to make the one change is not the problem. The problem arises when I think that the one change must immediately become twenty changes, and then one hundred, and then continuing until I have the nutritional habits of a mountain yogi.

I attended a nutrition talk a few months back that supplied me with far more food rules than I had ever before dreamed existed. My inner critic had a heyday, dropping my grade in personal nutrition from C to F-. How could I claim to be interested in nutrition, and live like I was living? If I wasn't willing to cut out white flour, refined sugar and MSG completely, how sincere could I possibly be?

The impulses to begin some major life overhaul started to pull on me again. Seems to be just my way. Is there something worth improving? Better jump in with both feet, and turn your life upside down to accomplish it. No sense doing things halfway.

This is a lifelong pattern. When I was young, my mom would send me into the basement with a simple instruction: "Go straighten up your room." Everything would start out fine. It would continue to be fine until I had to actually put something away. I would open the door to the closet to put away it doesn't matter what, and I would think, "Oh, there is no space for this. If only my closet was organized better." And of course, I always thought it would have to be better organized right now. I would start emptying, sorting, and relabeling, and when my mother would check on my room-cleaning progress 30 minutes later, she would find me knee deep in the contents of my bedroom closet, standing in a much larger mess than the one I had initially been sent to 'straighten'.

Thankfully, I have been introduced to the concept of balance since those closet-emptying days, and am starting to realize that doing something sincerely does not automatically equal making it into my new life's purpose. This is a lesson hard to learn, and easy to forget.

In 2011, I am going to make a greater effort to keep these words in mind during all attempts at improvement:

Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could only do a little.

- Edmund Burke

And also, the classic:

A journey of a thousand miles much begin with a single step.

Maybe I will make it my 2011 mantra: Doing a little is not the same as doing nothing. Small changes do add up. Our small changes in eating have added up enough now to see my husband regretting his own junk supper choices. After the restaurant visit, we went to a movie, and together scarfed down movie popcorn, and deliciously devoid of nutrition fountain Coke. It is good exercise for me. It helps me to remember not to chase after perfection. Just progress.

Better in than out

2010-12-26T13:00:00.000-06:00

In the last week and a half, I find myself having entered that uncomfortable end stretch of pregnancy. My hips and pelvis are sore and achy. My back hurts. I am exhausted, and having trouble sleeping. I have gas, bloating, indigestion... All the unattractive and annoying things about the 3rd trimester are really starting to catch up with me. So, I did what any modern women would do in my situation: I complained about it on facebook.

After stating to the world that my body was in a state of 34 weeks pregnant mutiny-meltdown, one of my friends replied: "Makes you that much more ready and 'eager' for labour!!!"

But, no. Not really.

When I was pregnant with Nik, I remember major impatience in the final weeks. I began my maternity leave at the beginning of November, and did not head to the hospital until the night of December 10th, so I had a lot of time to just sit around and wait for our mystery baby to arrive. Some evenings I would enter our perfectly set up nursery, look at the tiny clothes in the dresser or sit in the rocking chair and think, "This is a nice room. We should put a baby in here."

In addition to the normal new mom anticipation of my first little baby, there was another factor making me wish for the birth: I was crazy itchy. I had been unlucky enough to suffer from a major PUPPS rash during the last month and a half of that pregnancy, red and angry over my brand new stretch marks. I spent a lot of time scratching and trying not to scratch, rubbing my belly with ice cubes, and trying to ignore it long enough to fall asleep. When my OB/GYN told me it would likely go away when the baby was born, I could only think, "Well, bring it on."

Touch wood, but I haven't experienced any itching with this pregnancy. And I'm not really longing for a snuggly little thing to complete the nursery - the first snuggle-bug is still here. The factors are just different this time around, and even with the late-pregnancy discomforts starting to pile up, I am not yet feeling that impatience for baby to arrive.

I think my perspective has changed. With my first pregnancy, I wanted to get it over with, get it done, get to the baby part. Having lived through it once though, it seems to me that there will be lots of time with baby, and the pregnancy seems so fleeting by comparison.

Babies are so easy to care for, so portable, and so connected to you in pregnancy. They never cry, never need to be changed. There are no worries about how much they are getting to eat, or whether they are warm enough. You don't have the hassle of dealing with car seats, bulky strollers or snowsuits. No one is spitting up on your dress 5 minutes before it is time to leave.

Also, consider what a small portion of your life is spent feeling another life move inside of you! If the average mom has 3 children, feels the quickening beginning at around the 4 month of pregnancy, and carries to term, that adds up to maybe 15 months. Over an average lifespan of 80 years, that works out to less than 2% of your life where it is possible to feel your child from within. Less than 2%! When you consider that many women (and all men) go their whole lives without ever experiencing this sensation, how could I wish for it to be over all the sooner?

I am also still in the process of getting mentally prepared for the arrival of a second child. My labour with Nik was difficult, and my transition to mama-hood went over a rough road. Since then, a combination of time, information, and experience have soothed those growing pains, but I still have more fear to let go of before I will feel ready to face the next birth with confidence.

Appreciation of the briefness of pregnancy, and a more realistic understanding of what is to come... These things make it easier to say in the face of a possible 5 or 6 more uncomfortable weeks to come that baby is still better in than out.

Merry little Christmas

2010-12-24T10:00:00.000-06:00

The tree is up. The wrapping is done. I have a huge pot of Christmas Eve dinner borscht in the fridge, and the cards have all been sent. We are off to my parent's house for the major gift opening this afternoon, so come 2 o'clock Christmas will be here. But for now I am happy to be sitting by my laptop cuddled up in my robe, with my hair still damp from the shower.

Nik is watching 'Mary Poppins' in the next room, eating cheezies in his pajama top and underpants. On the floor can be found the contents of the couple of presents we let him open last night. Little things like toy cars and new books. Nothing needs batteries.

I got my Christmas present from my husband last night. A couple of new CDs, a small teapot, and clothes that don't fit... ;-) Looks like we will be braving the after-Christmas mall exchanges crowd once again. From me he got a new digital watch and a game. Actually, I gave him the game a few weeks ago after Nik saw the same one in a flyer, and told him, "Daddy? We have that game. That game is hiding." No surprises when a 3 year old is in on the secret, I guess. :-)

Christmas is quieter for us this year. About a week ago, I entered that stage of pregnancy when running up and down the stairs starts to seem like a major undertaking. Walking down the hall to put something away requires a cool-down and a 5 minute breather. Unloading and reloading the dishwasher may be the most productive part of my day. So there has been more sitting, more reading, more knitting. More cups of tea and movies. And much less decorating. No baking. No Christmas letter.

Nik did get to see Santa, but it was because my sister took him. He will be recieving a mountain of presents from extended family, but at home there will be only his stocking on Christmas morning. We are going to two Christmas dinners, at beautifully decorated homes. I am bringing the borscht, and the mashed potatoes. We seem to have found a balance between festivity and simplicity.

It has helped me to see the blessing of family and friends even clearer. We don't have to do it all to have it all. So often I am grateful that is not left to my husband and I to provide all the trappings of Nik's childhood, or even of our own lives. Over the years we have received so much, from cups of coffee and conversation, to money to help up pay for our wedding or first home. Children's toys, clothing and books, baby equipment, computer parts, meals, lodging... even air fare has been given to us. People have shoveled our driveway, mowed our lawn, washed our dishes, and folded our laundry. I think of where we would be without the helping hands of those around us, and I can't believe how much I so often take for granted. How much poorer we would be without them, in all ways. How much less we would be able to offer to our son.

But with our lives enriched by the generosity of others, we have easily found our way to another merry little Christmas. Wishing each of you the same.

Love to the library

2010-12-15T21:45:00.001-06:00

On Friday mornings, Nik and I head down to our local library. It is five minutes away by car, and, on nice summer days, a 20 minute walk. A few times a year, we sign up for the mom and tot storytime group, led by the soft-spoken Mr. B. The rest of the time, we just go in on our own, reading stories, selecting some to take home, picking out videos, and otherwise browsing the children's collection. It is probably our calmest together time, and we rarely miss our weekly visit.

Winnipeg has an amazing system of public libraries. There are 20 branch locations throughout the city, the largest of which is the Millennium Library, in the heart of downtown. According to the statistics posted on the winnipeg.ca website, the Winnipeg Public Library collection has over 1.6 million materials, including books, magazines, CDs and movies. Also available are books on tape, sheet music, and language learning resources. Library computers have internet access, word processing software, and educational games for kids.

The library offers lots of free programming for children, teens, adults and families. Bring your kids to one of the many storytime programs, or drop in during a Family Literacy Day. Special programs featuring musicians, magicians, historians and authors of all kinds are scheduled throughout the year. Take a free workshop to learn more about green living, health and wellness, or researching your family history. Other classes focus on computer skills, photography, or creative writing.

Even if you don't have time to sign up for classes or browse the shelves at your local branch, that need not stop you from taking advantage of the huge collection of library materials. My favourite feature of the library is the huge online catalogue, which allows you to search for materials, and have them delivered to your closest branch, with notification by e-mail or phone when they are ready to be picked up. You can also renew materials online, and sign up for e-mail notification reminding you when your materials are coming due, helping you avoid any late charges.

Almost everything offered at the library is free, though there are a few things that have a minimal cost. Printing and copying services are available at every branch, with a fee of 20 cents per page. If you request materials, and do not pick them up within 9 days of being notified that they are ready, you pay $1.20. Adult collection DVDs have a borrowing fee of $2.20. If you lose your library card, it will cost $4.05 to replace it. And, like any library, there are fees associated with lost, damaged or late return materials.

In my perspective, these costs are insignificant compared with the huge amount of value in the materials, resources and classes available to you with your free library card. You don't even have to take my word for it. The library has recently added a "Library Use Calculator" to its website, that quantifies your library use as a dollar amount, based on the average costs of purchasing the same materials and services privately. Even when I plugged in my most minimal numbers for a month, costs came out at over $5000 per year to buy, $0 to borrow.

If you're a Winnipeg resident, I challenge you to get your library card, and use it at least once every three weeks. You could start by checking out the New and Noted collection for hot reads, or putting a few cds on hold. Sign up for a workshop, or take in a free lunch time concert or lecture. Do it for six months, and see what happens. At the least, you will come out of the experience just a little bit more informed. At best, you will be a true convert, and like me, want to send much love to the library.

*All photos courtesy of the Winnipeg Public Library

Arrr!

2010-12-12T15:06:00.002-06:00

It is amazing

what you can do

with some Lego men

two cake mixes,

and a few cans of frosting.

Nik is 3 today!

Community lights

2010-12-06T07:33:00.007-06:00

I have heard it said that Winnipeg is famous for its Christmas lights. Not world famous, or even nationally known, mind you. What they say is that the pilots know us. That the pilots that fly over Winnipeg, in and out of the airport here, see a difference between the night scene here and that in other cities. Tiny points of lights are everywhere.

The downtown strip is done up every year by the city. Various BIZ (Business Improvement Zone) groups also do their part, dressing up their own mini Main streets, hanging wreaths, stringing lights and decorating trees in front of the shopfronts in their neighbourhoods. The casinos also get in on the action, with lit up message of 'Season's Greetings', lights on the building and trees, and large lit figures next to the entrances. Even the roof of the Super Lube is sporting stripes of golden lights.

One of my favourite traditions in the Christmas season is taking the long way home. Once the sun has set, we will often detour from our regular route, and take to the quieter residential streets just to look at the Christmas lights on everyone's homes. I don't know if you could find a block without Christmas lights. They range from the truly understated single green porch light, to the massively overdone Christmas wonderland scenes complete with Nativity, Santa with sleigh and all nine reindeer, and light-covered roofs, fences and house fronts. Some homes boast large amounts of blinking coloured lights, to which my son will say, "Look Mom! A party house!" I am glad we don't live across the street from 'a party house'.

Last night, as we searched out the Christmas lights, we drove through one of the newer neighbourhoods not far from our home. It is full of impressive, two-storey houses built just in the last few years. Many of them have vaulted ceilings, attached garages, and sparkling chandeliers. They are open concept with large windows, through which you can see large leather seating arrangements and dark wood dining sets.

We live in the left side of a duplex that was built in the 70's. It needs paint. The floors squeak. The fence is old and decrepit. And it is certainly devoid of vaulted ceilings, attached garages, sparkling chandeliers, large leather seating arrangements and dark wood dining sets. After such a description, you might be thinking I returned home last night wistful, and wondering when we will be able to move into that newer neighbourhood. But that is the not the end of the comparison.

On my street, there is a sidewalk. And on that sidewalk travels the mailman, delivering mail from home to home, often with a smile or a nod for passers-by. Traveling east down our street will lead you to the community centre, which has a small playground, baseball diamond, and outdoor skating rink just outside its doors, and out of which runs a Mom 'n Child drop-in playgroup, and a local kids hockey team. Traveling a few blocks south of our home could lead you to the public school with it's large playground, enclosed by trees and backyards, or to the swimming pool, wading pool or hockey arena. If you are willing to walk a little farther, there are many more parks, schools, churches, shops and even the public library, all accessible by sidewalks canopied by towering elm trees.

The streets of the new neighbourhood have no sidewalks, just many, many driveways. There is just one large mailbox for 40 homes, and the mailman stops there in his truck. I saw just one small playground, and this was right next to the road, with nary a tree in sight. And there are certainly no wading pools, libraries, or baseball diamonds.

Both neighbourhoods are full of Christmas lights. But I believe that my neighbourhood is also rich in different kind of light, the light of community. And I wouldn't trade it for vaulted ceilings.

Too much!

2010-11-26T18:25:00.000-06:00

Nik's birthday and Christmas both fall in December, so for a couple of years now, we have experienced a double whammy of new toys and other gifts. We are also expecting a new little person at the end of January, and although I know new babies are small, the accessories that multiply around them can quickly take over one's home. Since our house isn't getting any bigger, my thoughts have been turning more and more to decluttering, simplifying and scaling back. We need to make space.

I know I am not alone. Everywhere I look, people are fighting the battle of too much and too many. Too much stuff in their houses. Too many commitments in their calendar. Too much shopping to do (especially at this time of year). Too many things to get done before the day is through. And, like me, most of these people know that there are huge benefits to scaling back: A cleaner and less cluttered home. Appreciation of the little things. More time and space to breathe, to be, to grow...

It sounds idyllic. Who wouldn't want to live that way? And yet, most of us don't. I am as guilty as the worst among us. In one breath, I profess love for simplicity, and in the next, I am adding detail after hopelessly complicated detail to my daily life. This seems most obvious now that Christmas is coming. Of course I want a family-friendly Christmas, centered on the true meaning of the season, with plenty of in-the-moment, unhurried quality time... But what about the Christmas cards with letters and photos, the gingerbread house from scratch, the real tree standing decorated in the living room, the pine garlands over the door and in the basement, the gifts for family, co-workers, neighbours, the new outfits for Christmas Day, the stocking stuffers, the advent calendar, the hamper contribution, the Christmas child shoebox, the church carol sing, the dinners, the parties, the baking... How do you know what to drop? How can you reasonably drop anything?

I wish I was like this only at Christmas, but my tendency to go overboard permeates most aspects of my life, and has been with me for a very long time. My figurine play as a young child involved the most elaborate set ups of most of the toys in the playroom. When my mom got after me to clean my room as a young teen, I would get quickly sidetracked organizing an overflowing 'junk' drawer, and after 30 minutes be sitting in a bigger mess than what I started with. Research projects and papers in high school and university always ended up taking over my life in the last week or two before the due date. At work, I volunteer for extra projects routinely. And, as I've mentioned in previous posts, I have become a voracious reader on all topics to do with children and parenting. As my mother has often said of me, I "don't do things by halves."

This characteristic is undoubtedly affecting my son. Baby Nik, thanks to second hand shopping and the generosity of family and friends, had just about every baby accessory they make. As a nearly three year old, he already has a ridiculous amount of toys. They may be neatly organized into designated spaces in nearly every room of the house, but put them all together and it would be an impressively overflowing pile. Books and clothing have also been obtained in abundance, and, while I try to resist overscheduling, in his first 3 years he has already been to story time, rhyme time, swim, rhythmic movement, yoga, and playgroup style classes. No music lessons yet, but I caught myself eyeballing an ad for them just the other day, and preschool registration has also been on my mind. An intervention may be in order.

I not concerned about having the time and space to do and have all of these things, because I know, through the powers of organization, you can fit impressive amounts into small space. I am worried though, about what effect this lifestyle will have on us, longterm. In his inspiring book, Simplicity Parenting, Kim John Payne writes about the effect of too many. He says, "Children given so very many choices learn to undervalue all, and hold out - always - for whatever elusive thing that is offered." Too many options for what to eat, amuse ourselves with, watch or wear... This is the typical lifestyle of our affluent culture, and we are marinating in it. How can it not cultivate an attitude of discontent?

2011 will be a year of adding a fourth to our family, and a subsequent break for me from my paid work. I would love for it also to be a year of scaling back, focusing on choosing mindfully instead of being swept away by a sea of too much and too many. Practically and spiritually, I think it would be at once extremely challenging and hugely beneficial.

Now, if only I can get my husband on board...

Geeks and misfits

2010-11-22T21:14:00.003-06:00

Hello. My name is Lisa, and I'm not cool.

What is more, I have never been cool. Not in grade school, not in high school, not in university... Even now, as a married, mortgage-paying, career-holding mom, I am still not cool.

I come from a whole family of not cool, actually. Although I could never quite pin down the cool status of either of my parents, I have a pretty good handle on my siblings. My older sister leans toward the goody two-shoes bookworm type of not cool. My brother is classic computer geek not cool. My younger sister is adorable and likable... but still not cool. I think she lacks the mean girl gene. I am just plain old loud not cool. I think that might be the worst kind.

When I was growing up, I wanted desperately to be cool. Many tears were shed on the subject, and I also devoted quite a bit of energy to pretending I didn't care. Sometimes I felt like I was getting close to being cool, like the Christmas that I recieved a velcro-closure binder from my sister as a present. Everyone, it seemed, had a velcro-closure binder at school except for me. When I opened my new binder, it was full of lined paper. On the very first sheet, my sister had written something to the effect of "A binder for Lisa, so you can be just like everyone else," with a smiley face next to it. I took that binder to school proudly. Then I learned it was not a Note Tote, and that is what the cool kids had. That was in sixth grade, and the memory is still vibrant.

However, when I look at my twenties, and the people I am gravitating towards, 'cool' is not the word I would use to describe them. Do you know what l33t sp34k is? What about WOW? Have you played a MUD? Spend many hours of your teenage years in your basement? I think I like you. Do you read research for fun? Sit in the front row at lectures? Volunteer for extra work? You are my kind of people. Do you spend more money investing in some obscure hobby than in your personal appearance? Do you frequently forget to put on make-up, and yet still have a detailed memory for the last six books you've read? We need to get together some time.

In books and movies, I am increasing drawn to the misfit characters, rooting enthusiastically for the underdog. I love to hear about other people's weird parents, social blunders and obsessive interests. Tell me about your inept dealings with the opposite sex. Spare no detail of your less than perfect family holidays. And maybe it's petty, but if you sailed through the social scene in high school with a perfect manicure, I really do not want to know. Skip to the tough time you had adjusting to life past Grade 12.

When I meet people now that I did not know in my teens, I always feel more comfortable with them when I find out they were in choir, or the school band, or the chess club. I love to discover that she wanted to learn to play the bagpipes, or that he spent the better part of a year trying to design a working hovercraft.

As I find I am drawn more and more to the uncool, the cool people are accordingly becoming less and less attractive. People who have a huge inter-mingling group of friends, who always have plans, who spare no time in bringing up whatever expensive brand-name thing they just bought... They make me nervous. If your hair is always in place, and your life follows suit, or at least you put a lot of effort into making it look that way, I get downright uncomfortable. And if you are more proficient at making excuses for following the crowd than you are at sticking to your guns with tenacious integrity... That's a deal-breaker. I'm sorry, but this is just not going to work out.

As much as I love the geeks and misfits of the world, though, I still have trouble loving the uncool in myself. I still catch myself chasing the cool. I am a little too proud of my lululemon yoga pants. I get too much satisfaction when the popular girl at work laughs at one of my jokes. I still feel unpretty when I walk past the trendy salon in the mall.

I am trying to let go of it. I want to be a genuine, driven, mindful, conscientious person. I want to be known for my intelligence, passion and integrity. These are things not so compatible with cool. And they aren't worth sacrificing.

But I'm keeping the yoga pants.

The tyranny of the should

2010-11-06T10:03:00.002-05:00

There is something about the fall that always causes time to move faster for me. Maybe it is because the days get shorter, or because all the summer vacation days are officially behind us. When I was younger, I thought it was because school was starting up again, and things really were busier, with new teachers or professors to get used to, and homework taking up the evening hours again. This year, I suppose I could blame in on pregnancy hormones, or Nik dropping his nap completely, or taking on too many projects at work. Whatever it may be, as the winter approaches, and I invariably find myself falling behind once again, I feel myself more and more under the tyranny of the should.

I am sure I am not alone in this habit of particularly pessimistic form of self-commentary. Looking at the glass as perpetually half-empty, when the days fly by and the list of things I haven't done gets longer, it is so easy to berate myself for all the things I should have done:

I should vacuum. I should dust. I should work on that knit blanket I said I would make for the new baby. I should bake. I should clear off my scrapbooking desk, and use some of that mountain of supplies I have amassed over the years. Come to think of it, I haven't printed any pictures in such a long time, I really should get on that, too. Oh, and make an appointment for formal portraits for the family, or at least for Nik, before it is time to send out the Christmas cards. And my Christmas card list needs updating. I should get to that one of these days...

And on and on it goes.

I could fill hundreds of lines with "should" statements, and I am still not convinced I would come to an end. The goals might get loftier than those of housework (I should make more time for charity, or some such), but I don't think I would run out of things to put down. And that is even before I start into the "should have"s and the "should not"s. There is always ample opportunity for me to 'should all over myself'.

Over the years, I have learned strategies to break free from this depressing thought pattern, and the change always begins with recognizing that I have fallen victim to the tyranny yet again. If you, too, have gotten stuck there in your own life, I wanted to share five techniques that have brought me the most relief; those things I should do more often. ;-)

Make a "Done" list - This is one of the most practical pick-me-ups that I have turned to when I realize I am exhausted at the end of yet another day, and am silently berating myself for the things I failed to get to. For one full day, write down everything you accomplished. This includes taking a shower, unloading the dishwasher, and making the bed. Write down how many stories you read to a child, how many loads of laundry were washed and dried (maybe even folded and put away), and how many phone calls you answered. If you start in the morning, and keep track all day, you will be surprised at how much you really are accomplishing. It is no wonder you are having trouble getting to that filing, or whatever task is not getting done in your life. Give yourself a break!

A helping of humility - Sometimes the reason we are so aggravated with ourselves at the end of the day is because we are trying to reach some unreachable standard. You may think it is an admirable behaviour to try to be the perfect parent, perfect spouse or perfect employee, but believing that it is even possible for you to reach some perfect standard at anything is the classic pride that goes before a fall. Realize that you are not perfect, and that you cannot become so even with vast amounts of effort. An attitude born from humility will help you take setbacks in stride, accept compliments without becoming conceited, and remind you to cut others some slack, too.

Ask for assistance - Sometimes we forget that we are not the only ones out there. Family members, friends and co-workers often are able and willing to help out, but in our rush to get things done, we forget to let them know that we are struggling. Humility can help here again, because it frees us of the belief that only we can do it 'right'. Whether the help given is in practical contributions, helping us to plan our priorities, or just reassurance that we are doing fine, the support of others makes it much easier to leave the "should" cycle behind.

Take time out - I know it seems counter-intuitive, but when we have really gotten caught up in our own little hamster wheels, sometimes the best thing to do is to just stop. Stop trying to catch up, stop obsessing, stop doing that 'just one more thing', stop adding things to your list of shoulds... and just take a breath. Whether with prayer, meditation, deep breathing or just a cup a tea, even five minutes of time out can recharge you for the work ahead, and give you perspective on what is most important.

Put it in perspective - Ah, yes, that elusive perspective. It is hard to see the big picture when we are caught in a day to day cycle of the details. If you are having a hard time letting anything go item on your list go unfinished, ask yourself two questions: What needs to be done today, and what will matter next year? We need to eat, we need clean clothes to wear. Likewise, our loved ones need to know they are loved, and we all need fond memories to look back on. But the dusting? It can really wait.

I expect that I will never be completely free of the tyranny of the should. Bad habits die hard, after all. But I am getting better at recognizing when I have moved there, and quicker to give myself permission to leave. I wish the same for you, especially as we move into the business of the pre-holiday season.

10 things

2010-09-10T16:09:00.011-05:00

When Nik was born, I had no identity as a mother. I had parenting ideas, sure, but they were untested, and mostly revolved around teaching good behaviour. When it came to nurturing, nutrition, activity, sleep... I had no philosophies or ideals. I really didn't know what we believed when it came to raising children.

I am still far from having all the answers, but I believe I have made a solid beginning. When we welcome our second child, I will already know at least some of what is important to us, and what kind of parents we want to be.

So here is my list of ten. Ten things I've learned, ten pieces of advice for the me of almost 3 years ago, ten rules for a new mom... Everyone has their own ten, and my ten may be different a year from today, as I am sure it would have been different a year ago.

My Ten:

Do all you can to be able to breastfeed your baby.
Food from scratch is better than food from a box.
Anything you can reuse is better than something you throw away.
The best toys don't need batteries.
At night, do whatever helps everyone get the most sleep, with the least amount of tears.
Say 'yes' when you can, and say 'no' when you need to.
Yelling is never as satisfying as you expect it to be.
Example is worth far more than words.
Let them be little.
There's always time for a hug.

Unbirthday

2010-08-24T14:42:00.006-05:00

Milestones after loss are never easy. For friends who have lost loved ones in recent years, I know it was hard to pass Christmas, Mother's Day, Father's Day, the anniversary of the death... Special days. We have recently passed a milestone, too. Yesterday was my due date for the pregnancy that we lost.

On the one hand, I am grateful that my belly is once again swelling with life, and that the date did not find me empty. I know it would have been much more painful to face the day if we still were not expecting. But it was still something. A twinge. A disappointment. An ordinary day where there would have been an exciting one. An unbirthday.

After our miscarriage, I read up a lot on how other couples, and other mothers in particular, find some closure after a miscarriage. There is no funeral, no burial, no memorial service to help you grieve, to commemorate or acknowledge your loss. There is no obituary or eulogy to write. So what did people do? I read a number of lovely ideas. Name a star. Plant a rosebush. Write a poem and frame it.

Then, I found the idea for us. A piece of memorial jewelry. A lot of women opted for necklaces with a symbol of an rosebud, a rose that never bloomed. But I knew what I wanted. A ring with a peridot, the August birthstone. Our neverbirth stone.

The miscarriage happened over late January, early February, so we bought the ring as a Valentine's Day gift. We found the perfect one - a small peridot flanked by two inset tiny diamonds, the birthstones of both my husband and myself. It is a pinky ring, on my right hand, to be worn one day next to a family ring I would like to get for my right ring finger. A family ring I will get when everyone is here. But Baby Never-was gets to go straight to the front of the line, already proudly represented on that same right hand.

Never was. Never forgotten.

Beautiful day

2010-08-18T16:25:00.007-05:00

I put my all into my work. If I am signing my name to it, I want it to be good. And, as they say, all good things must come to an end. Because of funding restrictions, I eventually have to say goodbye to the clients I work with in the public autism therapy program where I am employed.

I get it. I do. The budget has to balance, and the money has to come from somewhere. Resources are limited. Clients can get up to six years of funding, and six years is not nothing.

But I forget that I understand when I have to say my goodbyes. Leaving a family who is losing access to services before they feel ready is a heartbreaking experience. I do everything I can, leave them with everything I can, and put on my Everything-will-be-okay face, but when I see the worry in mom's eyes, and the tears she is holding back, I can't just walk away. Instead, I hear myself switching into major pep talk mode, and let the overtime minutes overflow as I tell her, "You can do it. Believe in yourself. Never give up." Eventually, I have said all I know to say, and there is nothing left but to wish her well, and walk to my waiting car.

Today was a goodbye day. Goodbye, Mama-Warrior. Good luck.

The client I left today is far from my home, and I welcomed the drive back to the city. Prairie driving is deliciously mindless. The roads are flat and straight, and today was a clear day with little traffic. With the cruise control on, the car feels like it is practically driving itself. I have the freedom to let my mind wander.

Today, I leave the major highway for the tailgaters and semis, and find solice on the less traveled provincial road. I watch as a thousand tiny white butterflies dart in and out of the Manitoba wildflowers along the shoulder. I pass a few iconic green and yellow tractors, and watch the harvesters flip as they pull in the grain. There are cows and horses in pens to the right, with telephone poles zipping rhythmically past on my left.

The colours are too beautiful. Kelly green grass, golden field, blue sky stretching out to the level horizon... Glorious rolling clouds in the Land of the Big Sky. Bon Jovi sings me home.

I am sad. Sad for the family I left. Sad for the difficulties this thing called autism has brought to their life. Sad for how draining advocacy can be, for how hard it is too fight for your child, to get people to understand.

And then I feel a very faint and familiar wiggle in my middle. I know immediately that it is my baby, and I am feeling it move for the first time. On my own, on this sad and beautiful prairie drive, I focus on every flip and squirm. Thinking ahead, this child, too, will bring may difficult days. But today was beautiful.

The money diet

2010-08-10T08:04:00.004-05:00

I am one of those hateful individuals that has never had a weight problem. I don't crave desserts or sweets, I eat when I get hungry, I eat until I'm full, and my weight stays within a stable 5 pound range with no real effort at all. I even lost all the weight from my first pregnancy in a little over one year, without trying. I was wondering when all that would return to bite me in the butt...

The concepts of nutrition and weight gain have always seemed simple to me. People gain weight because they are consuming more calories than their body burns. If you want to stop gaining weight, you need to consume the same number of calories you burn. If you want to lose weight, you need to consume less calories than you burn, a strategy often referred to as 'dieting'.

While these concepts have seemed obvious to me when it came to eating, I can now see how I was totally oblivious to their application in the financial realm. We were gaining debt because we were spending more dollars than we had. To stop gaining debt, we have to spend the same amount of money that we have. And to lose that debt, we have to spend less than we make. We need to go on a money diet.

To bring the comparison further, it seems like there are basically two ways to lose weight: reduce the amount you eat, or increase the amount you move. Apply that thinking to finances, and you can see that there are two basic ways to eliminate debt, as well: reduce the amount you spend, or increase the amount you make. Suddenly, I have far more compassion for people who struggle with there weight. In theory, the strategies sound easy. In practice, they are hard. No wonder everyone is looking for a quick fix gimmick.

Increasing the amount we make is tricky, much like adding more exercise to someone's already busy schedule. We have found a few ways. My husband got a small salary increase at work, and has brought in some extra sales commissions. I worked a few extra hours at my job over the summer, as the opportunity came up.

But the real doable thing for us is decreasing the amount we spend, the dieting. The same willpower, the same feelings of deprivation affect us as any other dieter, as we try to cut back. Let me share my diet-inspired strategies with you.

Custom weight plan: Friends of mine have done WeightWatchers, and told me that the first thing you do upon joining is meet with the staff to determine your 'points'. You have a set number of points you can spend everyday, and you can't go over, just like a budget. To create our budget, we sat down, looked at all of our expenses, and set spending limits in each area, keeping the total of all the spending under the amount we take in every month.

Cut out junk: High calorie foods --> high interest loans. We traded in our credit card debt, with an annual interest rate of nearly 20% for a personal loan with a rate of 3.75%. It is like switching from sugar cookies to whole grain bread, only you feel liberated, instead of deprived.

Counting calories: We track all of our spending now. One spiral bound notebook for each of us, plus one for the car, were all we needed to invest in. We also added envelopes to the front of the notebooks to store receipts for the things we buy, allowing us to take a closer look at how we are spending our money at grocery and department stores.

Weighing in: Saturday mornings are finances time now. Our budget is in a computer spreadsheet, and we enter all of our actual spending once a week, and compare it to our limits in each area. We have split our budget limits into half-month periods, so we can see if we have spent most of a limit in the first week, there is not much left for the second one, and we adjust accordingly.

Plan ahead: People seem to eat the worst food when they are under-prepared and on the run, and that is when our worst spending happened, as well. Now, we are planning meals for a whole week, and going to the grocery store once to get what we need for them. We also leave enough time in our morning routines to put together take along lunches and snacks. If we go to a restaurant now, it is because we planned to and budgeted for it, not because there was nothing to eat, or we were too exhausted to figure out what to make for supper. We also pack snacks, drinks and toys whenever we go out, so that we are prepared for the day, and don't need to make any convenience purchases.

Avoid temptation: Successful dieters don't hang out in bakeries and fast food restaurants. We are avoiding stores when we can, shopping with lists when we can't, and leaving our credit cards at home. These strategies are adding up to far less impulse shopping, the donuts of the finance world.

Like extra pounds, the debt we have racked up is unattractive, and makes it harder for us to do the things we want to do in our lives. And, along with all the other committed dieters out there, we are looking forward to our 'After' photo.

Everything we need for a Saturday morning 'weigh in'

Knitting again

2010-08-08T14:53:00.004-05:00

*This is a follow-up post to Knit together*

As anyone who has experienced it can attest to, the time between miscarriage and next conception passes painfully slowly. At it's worst, sex changes from a leisure activity to a science experiment, and every subsequent period feels like another miscarriage. You don't just want to be pregnant. You want to STILL be pregnant. Each day that passes brings your original due date closer, and on the darkest days you feel like you will never be pregnant again.

And then one day, you are.

We got that coveted positive result one Saturday afternoon, and my spirit soared. My hands were shaking, I couldn't stop smiling, and my husband was thrilled. We called a babysitter and went out to dinner and a movie. I happily ordered a non-alchoholic drink. But I didn't start knitting again.

I made my first doctor's appointment. I told my family. I started taking prenatal vitamins. But I didn't start knitting again. And then, about 7 weeks in, I started bleeding again.

It was a Thursday afternoon. I was home with Nik, and my husband was at work. Nik went down for a nap, and I laid down for a little while, too. When I got up, I had to go to the bathroom. When I looked into the toilet, it was full of blood.

I was frozen. I just stared at the red water, not believing what I was seeing. We hadn't even talked about the possibility of it happening again. I walked out of the bathroom, in a cloud of numbness. I went to the phone, and called my husband, my mother, and told them what I knew. I called the local health line, who told me to call my doctor. I got an appointment for the next day, and he told me to rest, and wait and see. My husband called his parents. I called my workplace. Everyone was quiet. Everyone wished us the best. Everyone knew there was nothing they could do.

I didn't cry.

I bled for 3 and a half days. It went from red to brown and stopped. I couldn't believe it stopped. My doctor said it was a good sign and scheduled an ultrasound. I went back to working, with strict instructions not to do any lifting, to take it easy. After a week back at work, I got my ultrasound, and my husband and I got to see our baby's heart beating on June 18th, 2010. But I didn't start knitting again.

Something about being let down leaves a scar, like losing a kind of innocence. I married the first man I loved. I never had to go through a heartbreak in my courtship years. I know what is it to have my heart broken now.

I didn't really talk about the way that I was feeling. I didn't even really FEEL the way I was feeling. But I could see it in the things that weren't there. No pregnancy books by the bed. No talk to Nik about the coming baby. No browsing in the baby section of stores. No knitting.

As my waistband got tighter, things started to slowly change. I dug my maternity clothes out of storage, washed them, and hung them in the closet. I dusted off the pregnancy books on my bookshelf, and put some new ones on hold at the library. We started to talk to Nik about the baby that was coming after Christmas. And, finally, I took out my knitting, and added on just a few cautious rows.

Baby steps, right?

Eek! Ack! or I hate money.

2010-06-19T09:34:00.004-05:00

So, we finally asked for professional help with our whole debt and spending problem, and got the cold shower version of a reality check. I guess when you keep telling yourself it can't be that bad, it stings all the more when a stranger has to come out and say, "Yeah, it's that bad."

My husband and I are the clear product of disconnection from money. I don't have money, I have numbers. You can spend all the money you have, and then keep spending numbers, thanks (or no thanks) to credit cards, lines of credit and overdraft so-called protection at the bank. And we have spent numbers we don't have, more numbers than we bring in combined in a month, and that excludes respectable debts like car loans and our mortgage.

Ick. My parents are good with money. My siblings are all single, and doing well. Couples that I know who I am sure bring in less money per month than my husband and I do are replacing their fences and having laser eye surgery. We feel like the only ones trapped in the spiraling quicksand of debt.

Something has to change drastically if we hope to get out of this situation. In three years, my husband hopes to buy the business he is working in now, and we hope to get into a bigger, single family home. If we keep living the way we have been living, our reality-check professional told us that we will be lucky to keep the home we have, nevermind upgrade. Ouch.

I know that she's right. I hate that she's right. I was brought up with all the right rules: Pay off your credit cards every month. Count your pennies and your dollars will look after themselves. Money can only be spent once. I know these things are true, and that frugal is the way to go, but something gets lost in translation. And when you've moved to Spending-Justification-Land, it is really hard to muster up your courage and return to Reality-land. Consider it mustered.

Goodbye credit cards. Hello tight budget. I am looking to make good friends with meal planning, and to break off connections with the pizza delivery guy. We'll cancel our cable, and make better use of our movie collection. And I am making a long list of all the fun things we can do for free. With summer coming, the list should get pretty long without too much effort. Hooray for hiking, wading pools and the beach! Hooray for the library, and gift museum memberships! Hooray for a house already full of video games, craft supplies, movies and toys!

Maybe this massive cut back will help me realize how rich we are, instead of how poor. At the very least, it will adjust my perspective to living a way we can actually afford to live. Wish us luck! I'll keep you posted.

Out with the old - Manitoba Children's Museum

2010-06-14T14:31:00.003-05:00

Living in a city with some 6 months of winter (more some years), some of the greatest treasures are indoor locations for kids. The primary one in Winnipeg has been for years the Manitoba Children's Museum, which first opened it's doors in 1986. When I was a kid, the Museum was located in an old warehouse in the Exchange District, and I will always remember the old blue locomotive, the grain elevator, and the wheelchairs you could race around in. Today, the Children's Museum has none of those things, but it does have a real diesel engine, a giant tree and nature area, and a cool construction exhibit with trucks, gravel and spraying water.

The Children's Musuem opened up in it's current location in 1994, located in an old train repair building at The Forks Historic Site. It's main, and most impressive, exhibit is a 1952 diesel train engine and a 1910 Pullman coach car. Consequently, this is the only exhibit destined to survive the Children's Museum's huge renovation and update planned for this fall. Because the Manitoba Children's Museum won't be around much longer as we know it, I wanted to make it the subject of the first of my "Love my Winnipeg" postings.

So what is there to love at the current Museum? First up, a great mix of gross motor and fine motor play areas, with lots of adaptability for different age levels, and many benches for moms and dads to hang out on. Great bathrooms complete with kid sized toilets and kid height sinks. A coat area with hooks, hangers, or pay-to-lock lockers. Lots of snack tables, chairs and high chairs, and it is fine to bring your snacks from home. That is one of my favourite things about MCM. It is not a money grab. There are some vending machines and a gift shop, but they are both slightly off the beaten path, so you don't feel like you need to spend more than the admission cost to get in. What is more, memberships are really reasonable, so if you think your family may be a frequent visitor, that is definitely the way to go.

The Manitoba Children's Museum also has classrooms/event rooms that are used for field trips and birthday parties, and sometimes house temporary exhibits like the one about bugs showcased below, where I have fallen victim to the world's largest tick.

At this particular exhibit, sitting down causing the tick to inflate, as if it is filling up with blood. I know you're thinking, "yuck", but 9 year old boys everywhere will think it is awesome.

Visiting the Children's Museum gives me the opportunity to expose my son to a lot of different subjects, and see what he gravitates towards. We can sort of test drive materials, to see what may be a good investment for our own home. We don't have a piano, but the Museum does. They also have a fish tank, a train table, piles of costumes and a felt board. There is chalk and chalk boards, Duplo tables, big wooden blocks and many types of art supplies to experiment with. My son can have all these things without my having to buy all of Toys R Us and move it into my house.

Of course, the best things at the Museum are the ones that no one has at home, like the giant tree slide, the TV studio, the train, and the traffic light. With so much to explore, it is no wonder that Nik suggests most mornings, "Let's go to the museum!"

If you are interested in checking out the Museum yourself, you better get there before doors close for renovations this coming September. Visit their website for more information.

Love me, Love my Winnipeg

2010-06-01T20:35:00.001-05:00

Portage Avenue

This is where I was born and raised. This is where I went to school and to University. Here I had my first job, my first love, my first child. This is where I was married, and it is where I hope to be buried. This, my friends, is home.

I have read that at some point in your growing up years, you look around at what you see, and that is what you love for the rest of your life. This must be the case with me. Raised on the flat, flat prairie, next to a dirty river, in middle class neighbourhoods in gritty city bursting with culture, history and character, that is what I know, and that it what I love.

I have been other places. One summer we took 3 trips out to the Fraser Vallery area of British Columbia, an area that my fellow Winnipeggers talk about wistfully, far more glamourous than our home. Full of tall, lush evergreens, rolling hills and mountain ranges... I missed the sun. Even on days when was not raining the sky there seemed smaller. They took me to the ocean. Twice. Both times I could see land on the other side of the water - Vancouver Island. I missed Lake Winnipeg at home, where you can look out over the blue-green water, and see dots of green islands, canoes, loons, and the flat watery horizon. I like flat.

Prairie land is the way everyone wants their land, you know, even if they don't realize it themselves. Even if they deny it with their dying breath! When you build a house, or a store, or even a parking lot, what do you do to the land, to the floors? Level. Even. Flat. As people build their hallways, so we build our roads on the prairies. As people build their rooms, so we build our pasturelands.

Now, of course, I never grew up out on the prairie land myself, but flat landers in the city have advantages, too. Cycling is much easier without the pesky up and down that other communities have to deal with. And on a clear day, you can see from the edges of the city, straight to the skyscrapers downtown, with nothing to obstruct your view. Seeing the buildings rise up out of the earth like that is like looking at the Emerald City, without the sparkle. We in Winnipeg have very little sparkle.

And that is another thing about home. I am an oddity in Winnipeg in that I love this place, and want to tell other people how great it is. Most people from Winnipeg are quiet about their city. There is no arrogance here, no bragging about our origins when we are in other North American cities or abroad. When people from exotic locales move here, we are always surprised. When young people pack their bags for Toronto, Calgary or Vancouver, we are not. We are not the jet set here. Fast-paced, glittery, brand-name lives await you in a city other than this.

In Winnipeg, most of us are content to just live out our lives, working for a living, keeping in touch with old friends, maybe raising a little family. We bundle up in the winter and go camping in the summer. We coupon clip and go out for dinner once and a while and try to make ends meet. When we can afford it, we get out to the festivals, and concerts and performances nearby and sing and laugh and drink with friends. We extend a hand to our neighbour when he needs it. We talk about the weather.

We are ordinary people in an ordinary place. But don't be fooled. There are treasures here and around this place, and although they may attract little more than a handful of tourists, they are an enrichment to those of us who live here. I look forward to sharing many of them with you in upcoming posts. Because I love this place. It is part of me. Love me, love my Winnipeg.

St. Boniface Hospital by the Red River on a cold, cold night.

Spring treasure hunt

2010-05-14T15:11:00.010-05:00

Ever heard the saying, "Take only pictures, leave only footprints"? Nik and I put that into action today, on our first nice weather morning in weeks. Rather than going out to pick flowers, we just took the camera along, to capture every beauty of Spring in a photo, to save and share. See our treasured finds below!

It was good to see green back on the trees.

And there are so many blossoms to be seen in the neighbourhood.

These seeds will turn tan and flutter like helicopters before long, but they were a gorgeous red today!

Beautiful bulb plants have pushed into view...

We also saw a few Spring critters...

And what would a spring photos post be without a robin? We finally spotted one when we were almost home.
Wishing you wonderful spring walks in the days to come. Don't forget your camera!

Listening

2010-05-10T21:14:00.002-05:00

Drizzling rain, croaking frogs, the call of birds... I am in bed early tonight with my bedroom window open, letting in the smell of freshly fallen rain, and all the backyard music.

Ours is not a spacious country home, just a small half-a-duplex in one of the decidedly less cool neighbourhoods in the city, but we are fortunate to live on the edge of a development, with ditch and dirt path and grassland just beyond our backyard fence. It is land owned by the hydroelectric company, and they have built their towers all along it, holding up long stretches of electric cable, and as a result, I know it is in no danger of being developed into the newest suburb. A funny way to get a nature preserve, I guess, but when I hear the frogs and watch the red-winged blackbirds dart in front of the setting sun, I feel lucky to live just in this humble spot.

My favourite kind of meditation is just mindful awareness of sound. I remember doing it for the first time in sixth grade, with the classroom windows open, everyone listening for as many different sounds as they could. I feel my ears stretch into the distance, searching for every pin drop of a sound, and my mind clears of everything else.

Tonight, the frogs are stealing the show, but the symphony coming in my bedroom window is varied and rich for anyone with ears to hear. There is the hum of the far off industrial plant. Also, the roar of a distant train, punctuated by the whistle blow now, and again. These are the only sounds the survive even in the dead of winter, my constant companions. Now, in full spring, I also hear birds, many kinds of birds, but my uneducated ear does not know how to name them. A hawk is there, I think, and a robin... A Canada goose... Many others call, and while I do not know their names, my ear remembers their songs, heard many evenings before this one.

Dripping water hits the fence, leaking from the eavestroughs, long overdue for a cleaning. A squirrel screeches, a cat meows, and I hear the frogs, the frogs, the constant frogs... Only in springtime are they as loud as this.

As I listen, my breathing slows without effort. My mind feels emptied, opened up by the evening air. I wonder why I don't do this all the time. I know why.

I know how prone I am to rushing, to busyness, to always finding one more thing I should be doing, until I collapse into bed, exhausted by the activities of another day, making mental lists of everything I want to accomplish tomorrow. Moving through life at this pace hardly leaves room for these sacred moments. It hardly leaves room to breathe.

Tonight, I took the time to breathe, to listen. And I hear just one more sound: the small voice of my still-awake son, quietly singing to himself in the moments before sleep. A reminder of how to slow down, and why, and for whom. It is not just about me, anymore.

Melancholy mama

2010-05-06T06:53:00.010-05:00

I am approaching Mother's Day with a heavy heart this year. It is hard for me to put aside the fact that, without our loss earlier this year, I would've been 24 weeks pregnant this Sunday. Additionally, many friends of mine have also lost pregnancies in the past year, and earlier this week, I witnessed a very old friend standing at the graveside of his first son, barely one week old. With so much loss, it is hard to be excited about gifts and cards in celebration of motherhood.

It is not like me to focus on what's missing, and yet, this year, those missing things seem too significant to overlook. The missing pink line on a pregnancy test. The missing bump in my middle. The missing baby from my friend's newborn-ready apartment.

Opening the door to parenthood makes you vulnerable to measureless heartache. Loved ones all around me have had their hearts put through the wringer while trying to conceive, or after a pregancy was lost, or a baby died. Even if your child is born healthy and grows to adulthood, you aren't immune to heartache. Your child could still hurt you, leave you, pass away. Whether you lose a child at 6 weeks pregnant, 6 weeks old, 6 years old or 60 years old, there seems to be no loss quite so tender.

When I was working in a personal care home during my university years, one of the residents lost her daughter, Joy. Joy would have been a senior citizen herself, I think, or at least very close to it, but the pain her mother experienced at her passing was overwhelming and difficult to witness. I sat with her for hours that first weekend, watching television, and holding her hand, and hearing her cry and softly sing, "I've got Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy, down in my heart." I learned the depth of a mother's heart from her.

This week, I saw the strength of a mother's heart when I saw a young mother turn, and walk away from the grave of her only baby, as a whole crowd of mourners watched. Back at the church, when I held her hand, I glanced at her belly, still swollen from pregnancy and said, "I'm sorry for your loss." Words seem meaningless next to a loss of such magnitude. And yet, she was standing, and looked at me with the tired eyes of a mother, and thanked me.

This Mother's Day, my thoughts will be with all those families who have lost a child, and also with those who are deperately trying to conceive one. And if any of my readers are standing in that particular crowd, I wanted to share this:

It's worth it. Every penny, every sleepless night, every teardrop. Loving a child, even one not yet conceived, may open you up to no end of heartache, but there are moments with no end of joy, too. I wish for you all, Joy, down in your hearts.

Time for two

2010-04-24T10:38:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I feel like "hurry up" is my new mantra.

I am naturally a goal-oriented and details-oriented person. That is a lofty way of saying that if I make a To Do list, it is long, specific, and I desperately want to get everything done. This characteristic served me very well when I was planning my wedding. It meant I thought of everything, weighed the pros and cons of every decision, and my wedding day was just what we hoped for and disaster-free. When it comes to mothering, however, that drive and determination serves me less well.

Because I work part-time, I usually have high hopes for the days I spend at home. Do the groceries! Prepare nutritious meals and snacks! Do the laundry and put it away! Create a clean and peaceful home! Make time to be creative! Plan and orchestrate enriching activities for my 2 year old son! Oh wait, that's right... I have a 2 year old son.

If you have any experience at all with 2 year olds, you will already know that their priorities and agendas are not the same as, say, the adult's in their lives. They aren't concerned with schedules or with being anywhere on time. They only have one thing on their To Do list, and it whatever they are doing right now.

And so, as I try to get through the day to day with a toddler in tow, I hear myself:

"Hurry up Nik, we have to get to Grandma's now"
"Hurry up and finish your snack, so we can go get Daddy from work."
"Come on, we need to clean up these toys. It is time for supper right away."
"Hurry and get your shoes on so we can go. Come on, Nik!"

Mornings are the worst, but anytime that we need to make a transition can bring trouble, and the "H" word. And while I am hurrying, and thinking about what we need to do next, and where we need to be, do you know what Nik is doing? Living blissfully in the moment. I am hurrying to get to work, and he is noticing the shadows on the floor. I am hurrying to get to the car, and he is picking up rocks. I want him to hurry up and eat, and he is methodically dropping fish crackers through the space between the table and the wall.

On my worst days, I get angry. Clearly, he is just being this way to drive me crazy. He knows I need to get to the next thing on my list! He is being slow, making messes, running in the opposite direction JUST to be contrary.

But, on my good days, when I am blessed with a little clarity and perspective, I realize that I have the power to give him the gift of time. Time to look at the rocks in the driveway. Time to stamp in the too-deep puddle on the way to Grandma's. Time to be two.

Homeschooling myself

2010-04-14T16:12:00.000-05:00

Wikipedia describes Leonardo da Vinci as "a painter, sculptor, architect, musician, scientist, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist and writer". I have heard it said that he was the last person to really know everything that was known, and that after that, humankind simply had more knowledge than any one person could learn in a lifetime. I wonder if that's true.

I was really lucky to grow up with a good education. I got all the regular preschool to Grade 12 stuff, and then went on to get my university degree. I also took gymnastics, karate, CPR, learned to play the saxophone, got a lead role in a school play and was on class council and student councils. I was a good student, always putting an uncool amount of effort into everything I did.

When Nik was born, a sort of unconscious shift occurred. It isn't that I gave up the uncool amount of effort. That is too deeply ingrained. I just started to direct all that effort toward Project Nik. I was so baby-busy, I felt like I had no time for any of the things I did before he was born. I still made some time for reading and taking classes... But I read parenting books, and took "Mom 'n Me" classes. By the time that Nik was about 6 months old, I was focusing so completely on his development, that it had totally eclipsed my own.

Someone handed me a baby, and I lost my balance. I thought that being a good mom was abandoning myself, and pouring all of myself into my child, and I'm slowly realizing that lack of wisdom in that. If Nik had been my second child, I would not have abandoned the first to take care of him. I would have found a balance between the needs of the two. Why should it be any different if my first "child" is myself? My own growth is still worthwhile.

Additionally, putting all my effort into my child at the expense of myself not only devalues me, it devalues the contributions of all the people who have put effort into me in the past, like my teachers and parents. It also places an insane amount of pressure on my two year old to perform, to "turn out". I am, after all, putting all of my proverbial eggs in one basket.

As part of my parenting reading, I've learned about homeschooling, and felt the attraction. I have also seen that it is not confined to the traditional grades of K to 12. Some people talk about homeschooling their toddlers, for example. One day, I thought: "Is there any reason I couldn't homeschool myself?"

Think about it. Who says education past the age of 18 has to occur within the walls of a college or university? Why couldn't I design my own emergent curriculum, based on my interests, and make it a priority?

I struggle with feeling like the things I do for myself are frivolous, and only deserve to be indulged in when everything else is finished. Thinking about it as homeschooling validates the effort I put into my own development, and encourages me to create a balanced curriculum.

What subjects would you be sure to include? I am thinking of yoga for my first Phys. Ed. unit, creative writing for English, maybe collage for Art... I'd like to learn to get my finances under control for Math, learn the chemistry behind vegetable gardening for Science, and begin to make sense of nutrition as part of Health.

I am not planning on adding cartography or engineering just yet, but even da Vinci had to start somewhere.

That glorious glo-worm

2010-04-06T23:01:00.003-05:00

We are nuts into 'In the Night Garden' over here. I thought it was ironic that my non-sleeper has gotten so into a preschool show focused on bedtime, until I saw how every show ends. The British narrator says, after the majority of the characters have gone to sleep:

Go to sleep, everybody.
Wait a minute... Somebody's not it bed!
Who's not in bed?
Igglepiggle's not in bed!

This character is probably Nik's hero. How lucky I am to have my own personal Igglepiggle.

I never knew there would come a time in my life where I would read about sleep, think about sleep, have discussions about sleep, formulate opinions about sleep, and otherwise obsess about sleep. That time has come, and it is called motherhood.

Sleeping through the night, or STTN as it is referred to on many online parenting message boards, seems to be regarded as the holy grail of young parenthood, a highly valued and possibly mythical thing. What is more, your child ability to fall and stay asleep with minimal fuss can be treated as some sort of litmus test for good parenting by some people. Annoying people. People I have not felt like talking to for some time. Or at least being honest with.

Don't get me wrong, now. Nik's sleeping has improved most mightily from the days of nine-months old and waking up every 2 hours or less. He usually wakes only once a night now, and sleeps right until morning once a week or so. I tend to start every conversation about Nik's sleep habits with these two facts. Let's focus on how far we've come! Let's not talk about how bedtimes are still a battle, or how he goes to bed later than those annoying people think he should. And I really don't want to talk about the four cavities he has from nursing to sleep and night-nursing... Let me tell you, I felt like a stellar mom after that dentist visit. But when it is a choice between nurse and sleep, or refuse to nurse and listen to screaming... Which would you choose at 2 in the morning?

Aaargh!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem... *regaining composure* So, yes, sleep. It is a hot topic around here.

Now, Nik is a nursing toddler, and mostly nurses at times related to being asleep. We stopped nursing in public around 15 months, and dropped all daytime nursings between 18 and 20 months, but the nursings around naps and bedtimes? My husband and I were afraid to touch them. If we drop those nursings, he may NEVER SLEEP AGAIN. And then we will NEVER SLEEP AGAIN. We have had enough truly miserable nights to consider those things real possibilities. But I also don't see myself nursing a nine year old, so it was clearly a problem we were going to have to tackle eventually. After Nik's second birthday, we figured, "Here goes..."

Following the example of a LLL friend, we started shortening nursings. Nik would usually fall asleep in my arms after 30 minutes of nursing, so our first target was 25 minutes. Then Andrew would come and get him, and try to put him to sleep anyway he could, as long as it didn't include nursing. The things we tried included, but were not limited to:

Talking to him
Not talking to him
Touching him
Not touching him
Holding him
Rocking him
Leaving him in his crib
Singing to him
Humming to him
Playing him music
Rubbing his back
Leaving him to cry for a few minutes *cringe*
Leaving him to cry for longer than a few minutes *double cringe*
And finally, some nights, giving up and nursing a frantic, exhausted child just to get this night over with already.

I hate sleep.

But then, one day, we tried giving him that glorious glo-worm.

My mom had bought the glo-worm as a present for Nik just before we took a long plane ride to California when he was a baby. He was never very interested in it, and it had wound up buried in the basement toy box. One day, when I was cleaning up, I came across it again, and Andrew suggested we try it.

That first night that Nik had the glo-worm, he stopped crying and calling for us after less than 10 minutes, and played with it until he fell asleep. After 4-5 days, there was no crying, and just a protest as you walked out the door. After another week, our little "I-hate-to-go-to-bed" boy called out, "Goo-nigh Dad!" as Andrew left the room.

Dear Playskool people,

You rock.

Still, it has not been a cure-all miracle. This last week, Nik has been a little sick, and kicking up more of a fuss when it is time for bed than he was before. And he has also gotten to the point where it seems like he doesn't need a nap everyday anymore, so we are trying to figure out some new schedule around that.

Oh, well. Solve one problem, two more crop up. To borrow a phrase from "Night Garden": Tombliboo, ombliboo, that's how it goes.

Eggs of life

2010-04-02T15:12:00.004-05:00

My father's family is Ukrainian in background, and even though my father and his siblings are second generation Canadians, their Ukrainian heritage shows through, especially around the holidays. After all, the number one way we stay in touch with the Ukrainian in us is by eating, and there is no better way to celebrate. Cabbage rolls and borscht, dill buns and perogies, creamy mushroom gravy and the best quality kolbasa... Dinner time is a good time to be Ukrainian.

When Andrew and I were dating, the first holiday I spent with his family was Easter. As his parents live a good 14 hour drive from us, I knew that if we spent Easter with them, it would mean missing my family Easter dinner back home. Missing dinner represented missing my check in with my Ukrainian side, so I devised a way to take Ukrainian Easter with us. Before we left home, we stopped by Oseredok, the Ukrainian cultural centre here in Winnipeg. I went in search of a Ukrainian Easter egg to bring to Andrew's parents as a gift, but though the cultural centre was lovely in many respects, it was completely free of real Psyanky. They only had the painted wooden eggs, which is as much Psyanky as margarine is butter.

Not knowing where else to look, I called my former employer at Sevala's Ukrainian Deli. I had worked as a dishwasher at their Ukrainian buffet when I was in high school, and I knew that he had his finger on the pulse of all things Ukrainian in Winnipeg. "Where can I find a real Ukrainian Easter egg?" I asked him. "Todaschuk Sisters," he confidently replied. Um, who?

I found them in the phone book, and called for the store hours. "What time are you open?" I asked, when a women answered the phone. "When are you coming?" was the unexpected answer. Feeling a little on the spot, I suggested a time later that day, and Andrew and off drove off in search of Todaschuk Sisters' Ukrainian Boutique.

Located in an old part of town, the boutique is delightfully unusual. An awning stretches the length of the store front, above the windows. The store itself is tiny, just a squarish room with a display case on one side serving as the cash desk. There aren't really any shelves, no traditional store displays of any kind. Instead, there is a Christmas tree in the middle of the room, hung with ornaments for sale, and lengths of traditional red beads. There is another display case on the wall adjacent to the front window, filled and piled high with candles, dishes, embroidered tea towels, floral wreaths, candy dishes. More goods are in piles everywhere you turn, and there is really only enough room to circle the tree single file as you shop. Here is a photo of the Pope, there is a fridge magnet, here a display of postcards, there a teapot.

In the back of the shop you see a sewing machine, and rolls and rolls of woven trims for making traditional Ukrainian costumes. There is also a hairdresser's chair, and the faint smell of permanent solution fills the air. Then you notice the stairs. They lead upstairs, to where the shop owner lives with her husband. And now let us talk of Sylvia Todaschuk, the wonderful lady who finally had my authentic Ukrainian egg.

Standing behind her overflowing display case, this smiling women peers over her glasses at us. An egg? Of course, she has them. She reaches into the depths of her case, and resurfaces with a basket full of eggs. I pick one up, and it is heavy in my hand. They aren't blown, or boiled, she explains to me. Eggs are left just as they are found, because an egg is life, and if you destroy the life, the symbolism is lost. Cash or cheque, there is no automated debit or credit card machine here.

Sylvia stands and talks to us in the unhurried manner of an old friend. She is not worried about getting back to anything, and doesn't pressure us to buy anything other than our one humble egg, but I pick up a postcard anyway. We thank her and head on our way, and the egg survives its 14 hour drive to Calgary a few days later.

On Thursday, Andrew, Nik and I went to again to buy this year's pysanky. We have bought one for every Easter we've been married. This year brought our fifth egg, and we talked with Sylvia as Nik ran around the tree in the center of the shop. "He's being so good," she crooned, and ran upstairs to get him a treat.

They are moving their store soon, she told us, to a new location downtown. They will no longer live in the room above the shop. The end of an era, I think. But we will find her in her new store next year, anyway, because we know she will always have our pysanky, our eggs of life.

Thanks to my brother, Darryl, for these fantastic photos of my eggs.

Stretch

2010-03-28T07:35:00.001-05:00

I have a love/hate relationship with growth. On the one hand, it is growth. It evokes imagery of greenery and opening buds and fresh-faced children. It seems like such a beautiful, embraceable thing. On the other hand, whenever there is growth, there is that whole change thing.

I am not talking about change, as in change your socks. I am talking about Change, as in Change your habits, Change your lifestyle. Scary Change. I struggle with Change, even when I know it is for the best. For example, I know my self talk is totally out of control, but I still fight changing it. After all, it is my self talk. It is like an old shoe, stretched out in all the right places, and breaking in a new shoe would be harder than leaving things the way they are. Noticing this pattern has suggested to me that I don't really want to grow, I want to have grown. I want the benefits of being in that better place, but I fight the difficult process of getting myself there.

About a year ago, I decided to take a yoga class. I had never done yoga before, but I liked the idea of getting fit without a lot of jumping around. I also liked photos of people doing yoga. Yoga photos always seem to feature someone who looks like someone I want to be, with outfits that I want to have. So, devoid of any admirable reasons to want to learn yoga, and falling completely for the marketing, I signed up for a beginner's class.

If you have ever done yoga, you may be able to guess what came next. At that first class, I was disappointed to learn that yoga is not as easy as it looks. There was a lot to learn, and a lot of training involved. I had to concentrate to learn the names of the poses, and how to hold my body in them. In some poses, keeping my balance was difficult, and my body was shaking. I did not feel filled with inner peace after my first class, and my legs were sore the next day.

In the last year, I have gone to three rounds of yoga classes, and engaged in a home practice off and on. I had hoped that yoga would give me a little more fitness and an excuse to buy some cute yoga pants, but I have gotten more than I bargained for. Yoga has introduced me to an approach that is different from most. From where I sit, most of the advice in the world can be boiled down to a "You just need to..." statement. You just need to do such and such, and then you will have arrived. Just exercise more. Just listen more than you talk. Just eat better. Just clean your house regularly. If only you would make this Change, or that Change, you wouldn't have your problem(s).

Yoga does not teach that you could be different if only you tried harder. You can set an intention to try hard if you want to, but it isn't for any specific gain. "Trying hard" in yoga is not better than taking your time, and being gentle with yourself. What is important is that wherever you are, you observe yourself without judgment. Just observe, see, notice. And then stretch.

Stretching is like Change, only slower. It does not depend on trying harder. Think about a forward bend. You stretch your muscles forward and down, reaching towards the floor. After weeks of stretching, you may find that the stretching gets easier, and that you can go further than before. No amount of effort would have gotten you to that same place on the first day of stretching. The key is not effort, but regularity, repetition, and time.

Stretching has helped me to understand more about growth. Growth also happens slowly. The change that comes with growth is not flashy, but quiet and gradual. We never really see anything grow. We can only conclude that is has grown when we compare the ways things are now with the way they were before. Stretching has suggested to me that growth occurs not because of one dramatic shift, but because of a thousand little choices.

I am choosing to breathe now when my anxiety tempts me to hold my breath. I am choosing to stretch my hamstrings in downward-facing dog and staff pose, even though they ache when I do. I am choosing to engage in my own yoga practice a few times a week. I may not practice for very long, or try very hard. But I am trying to practice with regularity, with repetition, over time.

When I started doing a yoga a year ago, I couldn't stand in tree pose. Now I can, at least on my left leg. That may not be Change. But it is growth.

Maybe it is not so scary after all...

Here fishy, fishy, fishy

2010-03-15T14:14:00.002-05:00

Just before Andrew and I started dating, I attended an apartment-warming party for him. This was probably the 4th or 5th place he lived since moving to Winnipeg (he had been boarding, and rooming with various people), and it seemed like a good move for him, and we had decided to celebrate. My brother was good friends with him, and he was over at our place quite a bit, and so both my younger sister and myself, got him gifts. My younger sister bought him a broom. I bought him a goldfish.

When we started dating a few months down the road, my older sister said that it made a lot of sense, because she had thought a goldfish was a pretty personal present for just one of my brother's friends.

Andrew named that first goldfish, Qui-Gon Finn, after Qui-Gon Jinn from Star Wars Episode 1, a movie we had all seen together that previous summer, but we mostly called it Fish. Later, when that first goldfish died, we bought 3 more goldfish. They were feeder fish, the kind that you are really meant to buy to feed to bigger fish, and I think they were 27 cents a piece. We felt we had plucked them off of death row, so their expectations for care wouldn't be too high, which was a good thing for us. Since the purchase of the first fish, we had learned that Andrew was not the most diligent of fish owners, and so getting fed on a semi-regular basis, and cleaning the bowl a few times a year, was about as much as they could hope for. We named the fish, Luke, Leia, and Han Solo, to keep within a theme. We called them all, "Fish". Two died within the first year or so. Fish survived.

We still had Fish when we got married, after which we learned that I am not much better of a fish keeper than Andrew was. I was a better decorator, however. We got a bigger globe-shaped bowl, and polished river rock to replace the flat-sided bowl and gravel that had come in Andrew's goldfish starter kit. I added a large piece of white quartz for a while, and switched it out for a castle. There was even a die 10 in there for a while. Whenever I would clean out Fish's bowl, which wasn't nearly often enough, I would redecorate, and Fish would freak out. He was a creature of habit, I guess.

There were a number of times when we thought for sure that Fish was going to die. He would be swimming around kind of sideways for a few days, seemingly struggling to keep his tail from floating to the top of the bowl. Or we would leave town for 3 days, and only remember on the way home that we hadn't asked anyone to stop by and feed Fish.

Fish was a tough cookie, though, and survived despite the sub-par fish conditions he lived in. We came back to Fish after our honeymoon. We had Fish when we moved from our first apartment together into our first house. We had Fish when Nik was born. And then, one day about a year ago, Fish died.

All I can say is I never expected to get attached to a goldfish named Fish. It seemed like getting attached to a houseplant. And when Fish died, I didn't cry, but we didn't get a new fish either. I cleaned and dried his polished rocks, his castle and his bowl, put them on a high shelf in the linen closet, and shut the door.

This past Saturday morning, I was cleaning the house like a mad women (it was long overdue), and I noticed the bowl in the closet. I had a million other things I needed to do, and maybe that is why, but I took out the bowl and the rocks and the castle, and made a home for a fish. Today, I took Nik to the pet store, and we brought home a new little cold-blooded addition to our family. Maybe it is easier now, because I can say it is Nik's fish. Or, maybe I just wanted the practice in moving on from lost life. But our currently nameless little fish is here either way, and I am kind of happy to see him. And so is Nik.

Calm spirits, thankful hearts

2010-03-09T11:52:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I attended a nutrition workshop for parents. All the participants were from different backgrounds, had different household sizes, perspectives and philosophies, but for an hour and a half we were united by a common goal of improving how we eat. We were united by more than that, actually, because all of us had come to the motivation for making these improvements not for our own health, but for the health of our children. It was when we became parents that we wanted nutritious food in our fridges and pantries. But you have to wonder, if it is important to us to not fill our children's tummies with junk, why were we eating it ourselves?

I think a lot of people examine their choices much more critically once there is another little person in the mix. For me, having a child has brought into sharp relief the chasm between what I want and how I live. The space between that which I value, and that which I do, is much easier to spot when I am trying to pass a value on to my son. It seems the failure to practice what you preach is more obvious when you are preaching out loud.

So, consider the following:
My son is two and a bit, and extremely active. When we get into loud and stimulating environments, it doesn't take long for my little sponge to soak up that energy and start bouncing off the walls. At home, he can sometimes play quietly and with intention, but if we are in an open space with a few other wild kids, he is swept up in it so fast, and what starts as fun degenerates into throwing and hitting and running into walls in very little time. This behaviour is spilling over into our home life more and more.

I do my best to set him up for success. We go to the Children's Museum during it's slow hours, so that it is easier to be calm. We pop in at the mall's play place only if there are just a few children playing, and no one is jumping off the slide. We avoid the play groups where the kids play rough, ignored by their bored caregivers. At home, his toys are kept organized, in good repair, and at a manageable quantity. We play calm music, and limit TV. We try.

I also am always trying to encourage my son to be content with what he has. For example, he often does not want the snack I have given him, and asks for something else. Aggravatingly, if I give him the something else, he asks for a third thing. And then juice. No, make it chocolate milk. In the yellow cup, not the green one. No, the yellow SIPPY cup! And on and on it goes.

I try to teach him to accept and appreciate what he has. "Sorry, buddy, it is apple slices and raisans right now. Maybe we can have fish crackers another time. You like apple slices!" Maybe it is not the most effective approach, but once again, I try.

One day last week, Nik had a whole morning marinated in these attractive qualities. Running and throwing, and knocking things over into a big mess, and generally being wild, interspersed with the "Nothing I have been given is good enough" attitude for extra flavour. By the time I had wrestled him to the table for lunch, I was at the end of my rope. I didn't know what else to do, so I added a line to my short lunchtime blessing:

Our Father in Heaven,

please bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies and souls,
and this day to Your glory.
Please help us to have calm spirits, and thankful hearts.
These things we pray in Jesus' name, Amen.

I felt pleased with my word choices. A calm spirit and a thankful heart, yes, that is what I want Nik to have. But I prayed, "Help us"... That was not really intentional. I mean, I always pray the prayer in the collective person. I say "our" and "we", so I logically said "us" and "spirits" and "hearts", even though I meant it to be about Nik, and his running in circles and his discontent.

But by now of course you see where I am headed. If I wanted this so badly for him, why was I not living it myself. If I wanted him to avoid the junk, why was I eating it myself?

My spirit is most times far from calm, and my heart far from overflowing with thankfulness. If my son is a little sponge for agitated energy, it is only because he is a chip off the big sponge. Like him, when I am at home base, I do have moments of quietness and intention, but put me in a crowded room, and stir me up, and soon I am mentally running in circles, and verbally throwing out words I did not take the time to think through. And I think that my previous post, From mall to museum, shows that I also struggle with being content with what I have.

I am starting to realize that my wishes for my son are born of wishes for myself. They reflect the way I want to be, even though I so consistently fall short of my own ideal. Maybe that is why his wild and discontented behaviour gets on my nerves so quickly. It is hard to look into an unflattering mirror.

Like I do for my son, I try to set myself up for success in acheiving these goals of calmness and contentment. I practice some yoga and meditation, and have learned some breathing exercises to help me slow down and disperse my own anxiety. I play calm music, and when the weather is nice, try to get outside just to walk and listen to the birds. I do my best to count my blessings, to realize what I have, to curb my tendency to always want the next thing. I try.

I try because part of me believes that if only I read enough books, organize enough closets, spend enough time, etc, then my life will fall into place. Then I will be free from all anxiety. Then I will be confident. Then I will feel calm. Oh yes, it can all be mine if only I try harder.

But I am coming to recognize this pattern for the chasing after the wind that it is. Faster and faster I run after my all-important ideals, and, for all my trying, I never seem to get any closer to living them. If anything, I am more anxious and less content with myself after trying, than I was before.

I come to the end of my rope with myself, too. So now I am going to try something new. I am going to ask for help, and let go of the control a little:

Father in Heaven,

you know how much I am prone to running in circles,
and you know how often I forget to appreciate all that I have.
Please give me a calm spirit, and a thankful heart.
I don't want the junk for Nik, and I don't want it for me either.
These things I pray in Jesus' name, Amen

Conversion story

2010-02-16T14:55:00.000-06:00

During my first pregnancy, my husband and I started spending a lot of time in the high-priced children's stores, more dreaming than shopping. I looked at the wooden toys, the patterned baby slings, the nursery decor, the Robeez booties... All the beautiful things I would buy if I had the money. (Many items did make it onto baby gift wish lists.)

During one such window-shopping trip, my husband got interested in a cloth diapering kit by Bummis. This one:

Cloth diapers? Really? That was not an option I had even been considering. I took a look at the kit, and gave it a, "Hmm. Interesting." and sort of hoped he wouldn't bring it up again. He did, but only to say it might be cheaper and maybe we should look into it. We didn't. At least, not for a while.

When Nik was born, we brought him home in disposables, and within a few weeks, we had our diapering product loyalties all figured out. Pampers Premium diapers, Huggies wipes. I loved the Swaddlers that Pampers made in their smallest two sizes. Other diapers were papery, and rough. Swaddlers were soft, almost... cloth-like. I was never enamoured with Cruisers though, although I still preferred them to every other brand I tried.

We played the disposable diaper game for over a year, complete with the coupon clipping, points collecting and diaper-chucking of all true diaper players. Every week we put another black garbage bag of stink at the curb for pickup. Even with our supposedly 'odorless' pail, Nik's room started to get that faint dirty diaper smell as we approached garbage day. With each box into the shopping cart, and each bag at the curb, I got more and more curious about the cloth diaper option that I had dismissed so out of hand.

Around the time Nik was 10 or 11 months, I started to meet moms online and IRL who were using cloth instead of disposables. Their diapers weren't the prefolds from the Bummis kit, though. And they weren't the raggedy cloth diapers that I had seen during my babysitting days, either. Their diapers were really quality items, dare I even say, cute! Still, I was hesitant. Nik was nearly a year old, and the cloth diapers I was coveting were expensive... Would it be worth it to switch this late in the game? I had so many doubts. I didn't know a thing about cloth diapering, and I already had the disposable routine down. What if I switched and hated it? I didn't even know where to go to buy cloth diapers. They don't exactly carry them at the grocery store.

Running to Internet research for help, I did find a local web store that sold a number of different styles and brands, but that didn't help much. I had thought the choice was between cloth and disposable. What I quickly learned was that 'cloth' isn't just one option. There are so many different styles of diapers, and different manufacturers, and even different accessories that you may or may not need, that even pricing out the differences in diapering costs for a year got very complicated, very fast. Then, when I started trying to figure out how to wash and dry them, and which detergent to use, I got so overwhelmed by conflicting advice that I let the whole thing drop. Disposables were doing the job. Why complicate things?

Another 3 or 4 weeks of putting that stinky bag of diapers out with the garbage pushed me over the edge, though. I logged on to the local web store I found, and just looked at what they carried. I decided an adjustable-size diaper would be most economical, so I settled on a pocket diaper with snaps, that you could size for babies 8-35 lbs. At the rate that I was changing diapers, I figured I would go through about 6-8 a day, so I wanted 24 diapers - enough so that I wouldn't be doing laundry every other day. And I did the math. The diapers, cloth wipes and detergent for a year came out to about $600. The disposables I had been using, plus wipes and garbage bags came out at over $700, even with the coupons I had been saving. I placed my web order, and we became a cloth diapering family when Nik was 13 months old.

I've never, ever regretted it. I used to switch to disposables for holidays, though, and have regretted that. Things didn't turn out exactly the way that I crunched the numbers, because spent more money on wipes, and accessories like wet bags, than I had planned, but because of cloth diapering I also switched detergents to something cheaper and more environmentally friendly, so I figure it's a wash. And speaking of wash, I have never really minded the extra laundry. It isn't like I have to go down to the river with a washboard, after all. I have high-efficiency front loader in my basement! It is also worth noting that I wouldn't switch my husband or myself to disposable underpants just to avoid the laundry...

Now, if someone even breathes in the direction of being curious about the cloth diaper option, I feel compelled to pull out a fresh diaper and show them how easy it can be. "Look at this cute, comfy, completely unscary cloth diaper," I want to say. "Think of the money you'll save, the garbage you'll avoid! Try it, you'll like it!" Then I realize that sounds a little like I am channelling Sam-I-am, and I tone it back a bit. I still tell them, though, because I wish someone had told me sooner. I love my fluffy butt baby.

From mall to museum

2010-02-12T14:27:00.001-06:00

Checking out flyers on a Sunday morning.

I like to go shopping. I like nearly everything about it. I like looking through the flyers, and driving to the store, and finding the good parking spot, and browsing, and choosing, and having something new. I like to be out with people, with the busyness of a crowd. I like stopping off at one store, and then another. I like the food court.

To my detriment, my husband also likes these things. He also likes looking at things we can't afford, and redesigning our home and wardrobes, and the vacations we take... So, between the two of us, we can create quite a little bit of a financial mess. Being neither ignorant of this fact nor completely irresponsible in our reaction to it, we have tried to make adjustments. My mall-walking has turned to thrift-store hopping, and my shopping habit, while down-scaled, lives on.

I recently read Denise Roy's Momfulness. While there were many parts that I enjoyed, that made me laugh, or that made me go, "hmm...", one part in particular stands out in my mind. Roy tells her readers about a monk being interviewed about his move from Eastern or Western culture. He says that in his country of origin, everything is organized around spirituality and prayer. There are rituals and routines in the lifestyle that support the pursuit of spirituality. Then he is asked about life in his new Western country home and says, "It is hard to live in a society that is organized around shopping."

Organized around shopping... Hardly the motto for an enriching existence, and yet, I see my own lifestyle too much reflected in that statement. I dream over things I find on the internet, I know all the good brands, I read the flyers, I watch the sales, I wait for the next paycheque... But a life organized around shopping isn't what I am setting out to acheive. It certainly isn't the life I want to model for my son, and yet, how many hours has he spent in the stroller or a shopping cart, along on one of my not-too-necessary shopping trips?

The new year has recently begun, and spring is just around the corner. In the spirit of this season of renewal, I am aiming to add more shopping-free outings to our repetoire, and we have done not too badly in the last few weeks. We have continued our once-a-week visits to the local library, and have started taking in the storytime for 2 year olds. Nik recieved memberships to 2 local museums for Christmas, and we have used them each once, so far. This past weekend, we took part in the annual Festival du Voyageur, an outdoor event featuring beautiful snow sculptures, that celebrates Franco-Manitoban history and culture.

It is like detox, though, this fighting the urge to shop. When I dropped off a thrift store donation early last week, I still just HAD to go in and look around. $15 and an armful of stuff later... I am not exactly a beacon of self-control. I try to remind myself of the many reasons there are to hate shopping, first among them being those annoying credit card bill deadlines. I also do not want to be sucked into a lifestyle defined by materialism, determining my worth by the things that I buy.

So, I will keep reminding myself to change our outing destinations from mall to museum, from book store to library, from coffee shop to park. And the flyers are going directly into the recycle bin for a while. No sense tempting fate.

Checking out fossils on a Saturday morning.

Knit together

2010-02-05T11:55:00.000-06:00

My husband's brother has a daughter that lives in Regina with her mom. She is our geographically closest relative on my husband's side, and we try to make it out to see her twice a year. The most recent visit we had fell on Sinterklaas weekend.

Sinterklaas is the Dutch version of St. Nicholas, or Santa Claus. My husband's father was born in Holland (as was my own mother), and he grew up with Sinterklass visits, and continued the tradition with us, starting the very first Christmas we were married. Sinterklaas comes on December 5th, leaving you to discover your gifts in your shoes the next morning.

My gift this past holiday was a pair of knitting needles, a skein of pretty varigated purple and turquoise yarn, and a book for beginning knitters with illustrated instructions and lots of knitting patterns. I started learning the cast on, knit and purl stitches from the book that same morning, and kept practicing later that day on the car trip home.

My first project was a scarf, which, due to my inexperience in judging size and wool amount, was quickly turning out to be not for me, as I had planned, but for the Winnie the Pooh bear that lives in Nik's crib. Ah, well. I knew that next I would try a real pattern, and could avoid that particular way-too-small pitfall. After learning that I was expecting our second child, a child likely conceived during our Sinterklass weekend getaway, I knew just which pattern I wanted to try. My knitting book had a simple pattern for a very pretty baby blanket - no increases or decreases, just the straight knit and purl stitches I had already learned and practiced, and it turned out a cute grid pattern. Perfect.

I bought the wool at Michaels shortly after Christmas, but didn't start the blanket right away. I didn't want to make the new hobby mistake of just starting projects and never finishing them. I had to finish that darn scarf first! Poor Winnie the Pooh must be cold in just that t-shirt in this dreaded Winnipeg winter. How could I let him down? The new yarn sat with my pattern in my knitting bag, untouched, while I worked on the scarf.

Then one Saturday in late January, I found brown spotting in my underpants. Probably nothing. When it was still happening on Monday, I called the public health nurse, who told me to see someone in a few days if it didn't stop. Still spotting, I bought the right size needles for the baby blanket that Wednesday and cast on the first row.

Thursday afternoon, I went down to my GP's office as a walk-in. Getting up to 16 rows while waiting to see the doctor, I was knitting faster than ever. My doctor sent me home with the next week off work, and instructions to take it easy: "I think it will correct itself if you give it a chance. No lifting. Just rest."

"Alright, " I thought, "I'll just sit and knit."

Sunday morning, I went to church on my own, while my husband stayed home with Nik. The message was about heaven, and the pastor opened with these words from the Eric Clapton song:

"Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven ?
Will it be the same, if I saw you in heaven ?"

The paster went on to comfort the congregation with Scriptures indicating that we would know our loved ones in heaven, and even though the nature of the relationships will change, they will surpass even the best relationships we experience in this life. I gave God a dirty look in my heart. I do not need a sermon about death right now, Lord. Everything is going to be fine.

On the way home from the service, I heard that same Eric Clapton song on my car stereo. It was, unbeknownst to me, just up next in my playlist. I didn't like the omen. That afternoon, I knit my baby blanket. In the evening, when I went to my parent's for supper, I took everything along, and just kept knitting.

Knitting became my plea, my physical prayer. Surely, the baby would HAVE to come if there was a handmade blanket being prepared for it. The Lord would see how I am preparing for this child so much, even in just the second month. Knit 8, purl 8, knit 4, purl 8... My hands moved in my desperate plea for mercy.

On Monday, my spotting turned to bleeding, and by the end of the day it was a full period flow. I knit my blanket. I knit on Tuesday, too, even while trying to keep an eye on my active 2 year old son. Tuesday morning, Nik interuptted me when I was halfway through the 2nd knit row in the pattern. I pushed my knitting far down on the needles, and put it down to read him a story. Then I got busy, and put my knitting away in my knitting bag, planning to finish the row just a little later.

Tuesday evening, just before Nik's bedtime, I had contractions. I knew what they were. Nothing feels like labour but labour. 15 minutes later I had passed the miscarriage I knew deep down had occured days before. As my husband helped me pack some things to take along to the emergency room, he asked me, "Do you want your knitting?"

"No, just leave it," I said. And I have left it. I haven't finished that half-finished row. I haven't even touched it. I just put my knitting bag back into the corner where I keep it.

I know God understands. He is a knitter, too, after all. And when he starts knitting again, so will I.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb."
Psalm 139.13

Simple Living

2010-01-10T13:07:00.002-06:00

This photo reminds of the mama I would like to be in the midst of the rushed mom I usually am.

I am attracted to minimalism. Photos of wicker baskets on spacious shelves make me happy. Clean lines appeal to me. I even like the term, 'white space'. When I read of someone living the pared down lifestyle, baking their own bread and making wooden toys for their children with their own hands, I feel wistful. But when I try to adopt that lifestyle myself? Well, let me just say it does not go so smoothly.

Maybe it is because simplicity appeals to my head and to my aestetic self, but not my down-and-dirty day-to-day life self. Like silence, that in concept seems to have so much merit, in practice I am uncomfortably at odds with it. So, I fill that silence with conversation, that closet with clothes, that empty page with the written word. I am the master of the collection, and of the run-on sentence.

It isn't that I am all wishing and no action, either. I faithfully declutter, donating to the local thrift stores every couple months. I empty, and purge and organize. I try to live by William Morris' words:

"Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful."

Ah. I love those words. They are like a tall drink of water for my soul. My closed-eyes sitting on a mountain yoga soul. My artist soul. But my reality is generally not so poetic.

Let us talk of real life for a moment, and not of dreams and wishes. Somewhere along my journey of getting to know the part of me that believes in breastfeeding, cloth-diapering, baby-wearing, and co-sleeping, I stumbled into the idea of voluntary simplicity. It seems that there are people out there living contentedly within their own modest means, sewing and baking, homeschooling and gardening, spending less and having less all around. How deliciously counter-cultural! Rather than getting caught up in the race to have the biggest or the newest or the fastest, some people are realizing that it can be enough to simply have enough.

Swept up with this idea, I did what can be expected of me in such a situation: I researched the @#$! out of it. I visited blogs, purused websites, checked books out of the library, and read, read, read. I had so many questions: How did this work? How could you make such a lifestyle change? What were the benefits? What were the risks? Can you live this way in the city, or does it require a hideaway in the woods? Do I have to keep goats? (This would be a deal breaker.)

So much of what I read reassured me that simplicity, at it's core, is an attitude, not a rigid set of lifestyle rules. Authors encouraged me to just start somewhere, and grow from there. Well, baking bread was out, and although I have a hand-me-down sewing machine from my mother, I am a little afraid of it, so that was out, too. But what about TV? So much of what I read recommended eliminating or seriously cutting back on your screen time, especially television. Hmm... That might be a possibility. If we got rid of the TV all together, there would be no more fighting with Nik about whether or not we would be turning it on, that's for sure. But how would I convince my husband...?

Just then, the phone rings. It's my dad. He bought himself a new flat screen TV on his holiday shopping trip. Do we want his old big-screen CRT? Thank you, Lord. I am laughing on the inside.

Skip to the end. After some discussion, I find myself watching as my husband expands our entertainment unit to make room for our new big screen TV. He is happy as a clam. I am feeling like a simplicity school drop-out. So much for my mountain yoga soul.

But as the weeks went by after that, I realized I was putting way to much pressure on the "No TV" change. No TV will not automatically equal more nature walks, more wholesome food, hand crafts and inner peace. I guess I can't build my best life by just cutting things out of my current one. There is probably a little more to it.

So, I am still on the journey. I am learning to knit. I am drinking more tea. And that big screen TV is spending a lot of time turned off, while I build train tracks with my son and mix up brownies in the kitchen. Maybe one day, I'll even crack open that sewing machine.

The risk of reading too much

2009-11-21T08:32:00.000-06:00

What a funny little parenting trajectory I have been on. Getting pregnant as a twenty-something career women, I did everything I thought I was supposed to. Attended all my appointments with my GP, switched to OB-GYN visits in the seventh month, bought everything the baby magazines told me I needed, had a lousy hospital birth experience, and took home my struggling-to-nurse newborn son 36 hours after he was born. I planned to care for him "by the book", and expected to be pretty much like the other young parents I knew, with the exception, of course, that my child would be just a little smarter, better adjusted and more well-behaved then their children were. I never anticipated morphing into the mother I am today.

So, to borrow a line from Talking Heads, well, how did I get here? And I think it all started when my son was about 2 months old, and decided sleep is for the weak. (Thanks to amberjee at
http://sleepisfortheweak.wordpress.com/ for bringing humour to this most debilitating of parenting dilemmas). At first, I thought it would pass. It didn't. Then, we tried on that much debated practice of having him "cry it out". And when I said we tried, I mean, for about 5 minutes one desperate night. I can't even pretend we had the stomach for it.

But, I believe in research, right? I figured the answer to this problem is in a book somewhere. Or on the Internet. And I, resident research queen, will find it. What I was really looking for was something to convince me that leaving him to "cry-it-out" was really the best for everyone concerned. If I could just find an argument convincing enough to quell my guilt, I could silence my inner sobbing mama, and muscle through it. But I never found that book or article. Instead, I found increasingly convincing books and articles outlining why I shouldn't do it. Pleading with me, even. Begging me to listen to that inner mama, for my child's sake. And that, folks, was the beginning of my descent into granola land.

The first book I read on the subject was The Baby Sleep Book by Dr. William Sears. Prior to picking up the pink book with the adorable sleeping infant on the cover (the infant I wanted to have living in my house), I had never even heard of the infamous Dr. Sears. Now I could probably tell you everything you never wanted to know about him. Other sleep books that pulled me further into the land of gentle parenting were The No-cry Sleep Solution by Elizabeth Pantley, and Sleepless in America by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka.

And I didn't stop with sleep books. I couldn't! Because these books told me more than how to cope with disturbed sleep. They told me that they believed in my ability to parent. That there was something inside a parent that was superior to empirical research. That it was okay to make my choices from the heart.

For someone who works in a VERY research-based, empirical field, reading these books felt like indulgence in contraband. It was like flirting with the enemy, and I couldn't get enough. So I read more titles from Pantley, Kurcinka and Sears. I added in titles published by La Leche League, and started attending local meetings, where I found more books to read. I read Good Nights by Dr. Jay Gordon, and lost my guilt over co-sleeping. I read The Natural Baby by Janet Balaskas, which helped to normalize breastfeeding, night waking, baby wearing, and responsive parenting. And when I read Lu Hannessian's Let the Baby Drive, the validation high lasted for weeks.

It has not been a perfectly smooth ride, mind you. In my previous post, Fear of a unique path, I described my difficulties in knowing how far to walk along this road, how to decide what is me, and what is just conforming to the alternative crowd. I still do not buy organic, my son is vaccinated, we have plastic toys. But I am much further from the mainstream then I would have guessed 2 years ago. We are still nursing, we cloth diaper, we co-sleep on and off... And it all started with sleepless nights, and the local library. Be careful what you read, my friends. Ideas are powerful things.

Montessori at our house

2009-11-15T13:47:00.000-06:00

As part of my work responsibilities, I started visiting a local Montessori preschool last spring. Everything about the environment appealed to me: the soft, solid colours, the art on the walls, the entire airy, organized space. The children in the school were calmer and more self-controlled than any of the children I had witnessed as other preschools and daycare centers I have visited. My interest was peaked, and my natural inclination for research took over. I had to learn more about this.

Previous to this experience, the only thing I knew about Montessori school was that Anne Frank had attended one. We read her famous diary in English in junior high, and I remembered that she had to leave her beloved Montessori school to attend a Jewish school when the Dutch segregation began. After learning about the Montessori method, and seeing the difference in approach and its resulting effect on the learning atmosphere, I can understand why Anne saw the change as a loss.

After months of research through books, magazines, blogs, websites, and even YouTube videos, I have slowly brought some Montessori-inspired changes into our home. The Montessori idea that has most resonated with me is one of the Prepared Environment. That basically means making a child's environment accessible to him by using low cupboards, shelves, and child-size furniture and tools. Making these modifications to my home has been a labour of love, and I am delighted to share them with you.
This first modification is something many families may have in their home, but definitely is in line with the idea of the Prepared Environment. Nik is able to take out and put away his own jacket and shoes, thanks to a Shaker-style peg rail I picked up at the local thrift store.

Adding a Rubbermaid foot stool to our livingroom has made the space much more functional for Nik. He can use it with the coffee table for snack, or playing with table top toys.

It is also so lightweight, that he can move it around himself to explore or access things that are otherwise too high for him to reach. Here he is standing over our cabinet stereo, watching the cd in the cd player spin.

More involved changes have been things like Nik's kitchen cupboard.All of the child size dishes and cutlery can be found here, organized and ready to use or explore. Favourite things included in this cupboard are

Child-size metal cutlery in a miniature cutlery tray, and A stoneware creamer used for pouring as a child-size pitcher.

Both the cutlery tray and the creamer were thrift store finds. I have yet to order even a single item from the high-priced Montessori supply catalogues.

I have saved my very favourite home Montessori spot for last: our mini-classroom. Against one wall in my small home's very small office, we have this area:
It consists of a child-size table and chair, bulletin board at child-eye level, drawers for art supplies and an open shelf of table tasks. Based more on what I have seen at the local Montessori preschool than what I have read in books, this area is designed so that Nik can choose his own task, and bring it to the table to work on.

He loves his "desk". My husband and I both have desks in this room, too, so it is satifying to him that he has not been left out, I think. His current favourite 'work' is a toss up between pressing alphabet cookie cutters into homemade playdough, and stringing buttons on shoelaces. See photos below for a few more details of this space.

Playdough and accessories.

Work shelf with stringing beads, buttons, puzzles, hammer toy, alphabet desk and peg board.

Blogging for Bliss

2009-11-14T15:06:00.000-06:00

After having the name and address for this blog for more than a year, now, I am ashamed at how little I have a) posted to it, and b) learned about how to use it.

Oh, I have an excuse list a mile long, mind you. I have been reading my little eyes out, for one. Nik and I have been spending time every week at the local library. We spend it mainly in the children's department, due to his ever-moving ways, but our local library has a fabulous online catalogue, and I search and place books on hold from the comfort of my PC during the respite that comes during Nik's naps on my weekdays off. Paired with the wonderful recommendation system developed and hosted by Amazon.com, I have access to more interesting books than I ever have time to read.

I have also taken another Internet-related plunge, which is taking up some of my computer time lately. I, too, have fallen victim to the Facebook epidemic. Oh, I resisted for a long time, believe me! But when searching for active online groups covering a variety of topics, I found everyone was meeting on Facebook, time and time again. That, paired with a co-worker implying I was only abstaining out of snobbery, was enough to push me over the Facebook cliff. Immune to peer pressure I am not. ;-)

But, here I am today, with new resolve for broadcasting the innane details of my existence to an Internet community of strangers. Blogging holds the appeals of being able to ramble on and on, without interupttion, a true tempation for a chatterbox such as myself.

But I need to start slow. Even trying to figure out how to change my background from black to the more popular white a few moments ago opened a Pandora's box of stress for this technologically-challenged sister. Not knowing how to do something, especially when I don't even know where to learn how, hurts my pride, and my body puffs up with ugly entitlement. Before I know it, I am angry at the Internet itself for being difficult on purpose! This techno-tantrum is truly not my most attractive side, so my first aim is to only add a photo. And to all you smirking veteran bloggers out there, remember... We all start somewhere. Also, never underestimate my ability to make mountains out of molehills.

Given that this blog post has no real subject, sort of like Seinfeld, choosing a photo to illustrate it, will be in itself a challenge. Vacation photo? Latest shot of my son around the house? What about Halloween? All contenders, but all seem a little common, a little dull... Not quite right for an inagural photo. I mean, this could set the mood for all that is to come! I may never reach elusive blogger fame, if the first photo isn't just right. Let's see... Pretty nature shot? Flowers, butterflies, beaches... Nope, nope and nope. Hmmm... I've got it!

A duck!

*quack*

Art journalling

2009-06-12T14:53:00.000-05:00

Since my son was born nearly 18 months ago, I am afraid that my long time papercrafting passion has gone by the wayside due to lack of time and opportunity to indulge. Oh, I still get my Scrapbook etc. subscription in the mail, and I am keeping all my supplies and continuing to take photos, but I have pretty much stopped shopping, and haven't completed a single layout for months. I kept telling myself the opportunity would arise again, and maybe it still will, but in the meantime my soul was withering away from creativity dehydration.

Enter art journalling.

For Christmas, many members of my family write wish lists, and post them on my brother's web site, to make shopping easier on us all. I didn't have many things on my list this year, which resulted in getting not one, but two, copies of Kelly Rae Roberts "Taking flight", one of the books on my list. A fabulous, inspiring, tall-drink-of-water book, but I still didn't need two. So off to Chapters I went to exchange the second copy for another book of the same type. I looked through all the scrapping and cardmaking books and magazines, feeling sort of ho-hum about them, and then a new type of book caught my eye: Sharon Soneff's "Art Journals & Creative Healing". I knew Sharon Soneff's name from the scrapping world, best for her Sonnet's line of scrap supplies, and so I flipped through the book, deciding almost immediately that it was the book I had been looking for.

Being the research-oriented kook I am, I had to read multiple more books, magazines, and online articles/blogs on art journaling and altered books before I was ready to put pen to paper in my own version, but during a recent holiday I took the plunge, picking up a spiral bound sketch journal, and a giant jar of gesso at Hobby Lobby. My work is simple so far, consisting of drawing and/or painting with a wide variety of mediums (watercolour, pen, coloured pencil, crayon, oil pastel) and handwritten thoughts. I hope to get into more collage techniques in time, and also complete an altered book honouring my love of children's literature, in a old copy of A. A. Milne's "Winnie the Pooh".

In the meanwhile, I am staining my bedsheets with art supplies, working in my journal before bed a few nights a week. It has proved a wonderful tool for combatting overthinking and negative self talk, and I hope create a record of personal growth (a la Sabrina Ward Harrison). The spin off benefit of beginning this new hobby is that, in addition to meeting my needs of getting messy and making things, I feel more in touch with my inner artist than I ever have, and I am having the strangest cravings to read poetry, or spend a day at the art gallery. If only I could afford real art lessons...

Fear of a unique path

2009-03-11T13:18:00.000-05:00

There are days when I feel like we are on a totally original parenting path. Choosing not to conform to the parenting choices around us seems to mean choosing to blaze a new trail. No, not in the global sense (we are not inventing totally new ways of doing things), but in a local sense. Being the first of the 'real' people we know, the first among our peers to do things differently, has left us feeling like pioneers, and we've experienced the accompanying sense of aloneness.

I have found that parenting has no autopilot. Every day brings new choices. Even if it is a choice you made yesterday, you have to choose to make the same choice today, or to do it differently. What is more, each choice seems to lead to one camp or another. Once you take the first step in a particular direction, it is hard to know how long to walk that path. Like joining a religious movement or a political party, there is pressure to conform, and I wonder if the "others" will accept us if we don't buy into everything. Can I choose to cloth diaper, but not buy organic? What if I breastfeed, choosing even to nurse past one year, but don't wait for child-led weaning? What if I pick up my son when he cries, never leaving him to sob himself to sleep, but keep him happy in a swing or exersaucer every chance I get? Am I leading a false life if I profess natural parenting, but my home is filled with plastic toys?

Adding to the stress of these external influences, the various schools of thought that make up my internal landscape seem to be at odds with each other as well. Sorting out how to remain true to what I believe, and also parent in a way that is filled with loving kindness, overwhlems me. I feel like a walking oxymoron at times. How can I rectify my respect for leadership and firm moral roots, with my heart's longing for gentle discussion and understanding, and my head's logical assessment of the science behind behaviour? To simplify, how can I belive in both autocracy and democracy, or natural development and behavioural reinforcment, when these things seem to be consistently at odds with one another?

How much easier would it be to just join up with a group and go with the flow? To do everything the same as the majority at church, or in my neighbourhood mom's group, or at my breastfeeding support group, or as the professionals in my workplace... My head is tired from the struggle, from considering things from all the angles, from thinking and thinking about the choices we make for our family, our son.

Is there any way for me to describe sufficiently the longing I have to truly connect with someone in real life? Because of the internet and myriad of published books out there, I am never at a loss to read the words of someone who shares my perspective or passion in any given subject. But message boards and books always leave the speaker at arm's length, only giving such a limited view of that person. Okay, so I know your thoughts on how nuture a child. What about your thoughts on spirituality, nutrition, marriage, work, art, fitness.... and the list goes on and on.

I guess I am afraid of walking a totally unique path, both as a mother, and otherwise. I don't need the whole world to share my perspective on every little thing, but meeting just one other would be nice. My longing for the perfect mentor mom is so pervasive. What a load off of my shoulders it would be to be able to have someone to run to the next time I don't know which way to turn! In my fantasy, she would have just the perfect solution, complete with logical and heartfelt reasons, and it would marry beautifully with the rest of my life. I would leave my meeting with her feeling competent and empowered, knowing just what to do next.

The reality of course, is that my perfect mentor does not exist. Adult life is defined by the struggle, the doubts and regrets, the wondering if you did the right thing, and what you will do next. It is not surprising that these feelings are brought into even sharper relief when undertaking a task as complicated and important as parenting. So we move forward, persistently weaving together our spiritual, moral, intellectual, interpersonal and intuitive knowledges as we come to each fork in the road. May you have God's blessing on the journey.

On being a working mom

2008-12-09T09:15:00.000-06:00

I remember an episode of Sex and the City that I watched a while back in which Miranda had just returned to work, after her maternity leave. Narrator Carrie described her as being "politically incorrectly happy to be there." Miranda's facial expression was a mixture of excitement and relief as she arranged and rearranged the contents of her desktop. I can relate.

I think I had some vague idea of what motherhood would be like before I had Nik. I babysat extensively when I was a teen. I work with kids in my professional life. Plus, people told me that even if you aren't good with kids, it is different when they're your own kids, that you fall in love with them. I was anxiously looking forward to it.

While I was pregnant, I decorated the nursery and spent dreamy hours in the baby section of the local department stores. I had pregnancy portraits taken. I read books on pregnancy and infant development, and stocked up on baby supplies. I did everything I could think of to get prepared.

After Nik was born, I felt permanently off balance. I was consumed by both baby care and household tasks, feeling like it was impossible to even find the time to catch my breath. I told myself that things would get easier and that this was only temporary "I-have-a-newborn" craziness.

Time passed, and Nik got older. He learned to smile, to laugh, to roll over. He could play peek-a-boo. Then he could creep, and crawl, and finally walk. He could say, "Hi," and "Mom," and give sweet baby kisses. I began to find space in my day to have a cup of tea, or to check my e-mail. Laundry got easier to keep up with, and the house was cleaner. I read more books, and joined mom's groups and "Baby 'n me" classes. I did my best to embrace my new lifestyle, but despite everything, my feelings about motherhood did not change.

Enter guilt. I could forgive myself for not experiencing the fabled bliss of motherhood when I was tired and overwhelmed, but as things got easier, it seemed unreasonable to use that as an excuse. There are women I know who are deperately trying to conceive, and on my darkest days I would wonder why God didn't give my baby to them, instead of to unappreciative me. As the end of my maternity leave approached, I eyed the possiblity of returning to work as if it were the forbidden fruit. I believed that good mothers wanted to stay home. They would only return to work reluctantly, and only if they had to. I could not reconcile how I could profess to love my baby, and yet long for something that would take me away from him for hours at a time.

I went back to work two and a half days a week when my son was almost 11 months old. The income does help us make ends meet, but I can't pretend that was the reason I went back. I didn't go back to set some healthy example about having outside interests, either, as I've heard some working mothers claim. I wanted to go back. After my first month working, I have more energy, and am happier than I've been in months, and I have only recently learned something that allows me to admit that without wanting to hide under the rug.

As part of my constant research, I have recently begun reading Mary Sheedy Kurcinka's Raising Your Spirited Child. I expected it to help me better understand my son, and some of his strong personality traits, but it has had the unexpected benefit of helping me to better understand myself. In the chapter on extroversion vs introversion, Kurcinka writes that extroverts "feel exhausted when [they] have spent too much time alone or with young children" and need to be busy in interaction with others to keep from running out of steam. Like nutritional needs, these "energy needs" need to be met on a regular basis, or you are left feeling exhausted, overwhelmed and unhappy.

Finally, an explanation for my feelings that has nothing to do with how I feel about my son, or my role as a mother! It may sound odd, but it is validating to discover that I can love my son, and be unhappy at the same time. Now that my needs are being met by the 20 hours a week I spend at the workplace, I enjoy the time I spend with my son so much more. Though I have less time at home to accomplish my tasks, I actually have an easier time getting them done, and feel much more competent as a mother. There is also far less pressure on my relationship with my son to meet my needs for happiness and fulfillment, and this is allowing it room to grow.

For all these reasons, my return to work has been wonderful. I am "politically incorrectly happy to be there," and I'm not ashamed to admit it anymore.

Now is the time for Copperfield

2008-11-26T10:56:00.000-06:00

Lately, I have been reading David Copperfield as part of my nighttime routine. My paperback copy of Dickens' illustrious work was found collecting dust one summer in a second-hand book shop at Winnipeg Beach. I was inspired to my $2.00 purchase by some vague feeling that it was virtuous to read the classics (or, at least, have them on your bookshelf). So, after 6 months or so of allowing the book to collect dust in my possession, I picked it up and actually started to read.

Though I've read Dickens before, it has always been of the shorter Christmas-themed type, so Copperfield's complexity came as a bit of a shock. With a dictionary within reach, I struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar language, reading chapter after chapter, until one day, after finishing the chapter XII, I came to a realization. David was off to seek his aunt, whom he had never met, out of desperate times that were a result of many hardships in his young life, and I didn't care. Not at all! He could get there, or not, and it would make no difference to me. This orphaned and abused boy had just been robbed, and was off on a long journey on foot, and I didn't have any interest in reading the next chapter. So I didn't.

Fast forward a year or so. Nik is born, and I am reading every baby care book and website I can find. His sleep problems begin, and that triggers another reading binge, starting with sleep solution books, and branching off into basic parenting philosophies. I am starting to make myself crazy with all this research. Then my sister lends me a book by Billie Letts, out of the blue, Where the Heart Is. It is a breeze to read, and I am done it within the week. Now, I have the fiction bug. I pick up A Wizard of Earthsea, one of Andrew's books on the shelf downstairs. More difficult, but thin, and it only takes me a few weeks to get through. Upon completing both books, I feel a sense of loss. I have really begun to look forward to my before-bed chapter, in the quiet of the evening, tucked into bed. The books just aren't lasting long enough.

And then I remember Copperfield. I remember how I felt it would never end, and how a month of reading it barely made a dent in the book. I realize that if I am looking for a book that will last, I need to look no further. So, I pull it off of the shelf, and pick up where I left off, at Chapter XIII. Soon I meet Betsey Trotwood and Mr. Dick, and watch Janet chasing the donkeys off of the lawn, and David is put to bed under Mr. Dick's sound advice, and I am hooked.

Now is the time in my life to read David Copperfield. Now is the time in my life where reading a chapter of such a long and formally-written book is a respite and not a chore. My intellect is challenged, and my need for quiet and still and uninterruption is met. Surprisingly, the book that I gave up on over a year ago is my sanctuary today. A good lesson to extrapolate, I think.

The beginning of swirls and swings

2008-11-25T15:00:00.001-06:00

When deciding to begin a blog, for me the obvious question was, "Why? Why sign up? Why have a blog at all?" When it came time to title my blog, I realized that I needed an answer.

I thought of the reasons why people might write, and tried on some potential names. "My Soapbox"? No, I'm not really here to make speeches. I considered, "Breathings of my heart" (inspired by Wordsworth), but I decided it was too sentimental, and besides, it was already taken.

Then, I found these words by James Michener:

"I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions."

That thought resonated with me. I realized that I love using words. That is why it is so hard for me to wait my turn in conversation. That is why my message board posts are twice as long as the average user's. That is why I use phrases like 'canter of speech' and 'bone of contention'.

Words liberate me to say exactly what I am thinking; exactly what I feel. They marry freedom of choice with freedom of expression. When used effectively, words have power to move a reader to tears or action, to change a mind, or change a heart.

So, why start a blog? To play with words. To form them into sentences and paragraphs just to see how they sound together. To express myself; to tell the story of my experience. In short, to write out of the love of the swirl and swing of words.