tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75621453455288982282024-03-12T22:31:05.741-04:00Tiny Muses.Little thoughts and big inspiration from the four.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-40680645920959902142013-10-04T15:22:00.000-04:002014-06-30T23:21:41.054-04:00You can do it Mamas!I saw this video today, and it made me so happy to see this message being promoted in New Brunswick.<br>
<br>
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMv4PlT1938&feature=youtu.be">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMv4PlT1938&feature=youtu.be</a><br>
<br>
I've probably mentioned before, I was so surprised to discover that the feelings and discussion around breastfeeding in New Brunswick were so different (negatively so) than I had encountered in Nova Scotia, where I began my parenting and breastfeeding journey.<br>
<br>
<strong>I just want to pipe up on the issue to encourage new moms!</strong> I often see new moms breastfeeding and just want to say, "Good job, and keep going!" It's a skill to learn and then<em> it gets easy</em>! It really does. Beyond the health benefits I knew breastmilk provided over formula, I feel breastfeeding improved many other areas of my mothering in ways I didn't expect - spending more time with my babies, holding them, soothing them easier and quickly, relaxing my attempts to schedule their sleep and eating, co-sleeping and touching base with them throughout the night, just generally appreciating how they forced me to 'stop and smell the roses'. <br>
<br>
I feel often like I should be quiet about breastfeeding, that I sound like I'm bragging and being judgmental. <em>I'm really not.</em> I am proud of breastfeeding successfully and I feel I may have a bit of experience that might be helpful. Four babies in I might even be an expert, if I can say so myself. But I'm certainly not trying to alienate and judge my friends. Mothering is hard, I know you don't need guilt over what you think I think about you if you quit breastfeeding laid on top of it all! <br>
<br>
Sometimes I do find it hard to believe that people, very smart ladies I know and love, decide to not even try. But I also realize that I am lucky to have received those supportive pro-breastfeeding messages - a husband who saw the benefits and was supportive, a mom who breastfed and valued it (at a time when few others did), and sisters who had been there and got it too - and I want to pass it on. (Especially before it's long enough ago that I forget the details!)<br>
<br>
So here goes, my big breastfeeding tips <em>to encourage those new moms out there</em>:<br>
<br>
<strong>1. Relax. And learn to nurse lying on your side.</strong><br>
It can start out hard and it can have bumps along the way. I think back on parenting our first babe - how concerned I was with having him sleep in his own crib at night and attempting to feed him on a schedule, with a certain amount of time between nursing - and in retrospect I realize we only created unnecessary chaos and discontent for ourselves (and him!). I thought you couldn't do everything that a baby wanted, that you would spoil the baby. You can actually. It makes for a very happy baby, with their needs met and their own schedule established. With Thane (our first), I would sit up and rock and nurse him and be sooo tired, trying to get him to sleep in his crib. <strong>Then, I learned to nurse him lying on my side</strong> and stop worrying about him developing a habit of being in our bed. Ahhhh. I rested, half-slept, while he nursed and snuggled. That would be my biggest tip for new breastfeeders - to learn to nurse lying down. <br>
<br>
<strong>2. Get the latch right. Then give it time to practice, get better and find your rhythm.</strong><br>
In my experience, the first 1 - 3 weeks are difficult. The baby and you need to learn how to latch on properly. It's a skill. When they latch on wrong, it hurts. But I've found once we get it, we've got it. When you nurse latched on wrong, it makes it hurtful and very daunting to attempt the next time. Doing it wrong causes a few grin and bear it days. If baby doesn't seem to know the way, ask for help right away to avoid that altogether. There are amazing women who know, ask the right one. I also think I'm lucky that my firstborn seemed to just know what to do. It was my third baby who didn't seem to know how to latch on, and I'm not sure how I would have made out if she had been first! The first two to three months are a learning curve - things like how to remember what side you nursed on last and not to wait too long between feedings. Finding your rhythm with baby. Get a nursing tank top that covers your belly (that was a favorite discovery for me). Every new skill learned needs practice. Then you're off to the races, and each baby gets easier. <strong>In my experience.</strong><br>
<br>
<strong>3. Don't complicate it. Just Nurse More.</strong><br>
My last big tip - I think I really only have three - is to not over-complicate it. With my first and second, I would express milk for when I was away and try to have someone else give them bottles occasionally. I found expressing milk VERY HARD and soon gave up and supplemented with formula. Thane nursed until he was 10 months old. With Seth, when he was 5 months old I started working part-time and all of the sudden I found he preferred the bottle! The easy flow over the cheek muscle workout needed for breastfeeding? I wasn't sure, but I didn't like it. I bottle fed him from then on (and that I certainly found difficult and just too complicated!). Not to mention expensive, and I felt bad about giving him formula. I was only starting to be as conscious of what we were eating as we are now. I didn't realize how much I valued breastfeeding until I couldn't go back. <br>
<br>
With Claire and Max, I had enough experience under my belt to realize I didn't need to go anywhere they couldn't go with me, and just how fast that year or so goes. I would be able to attend those adult only functions next year. I worked as a freelance designer instead of leaving. We were a unit. I realized any difficulty breastfeeding threw at me, it was best to just nurse more. Blocked duct? Nurse more. Apply heat. Mastitis? Nurse more. Get my butt to the doctor if it felt like the flu. Growing baby? Never seem to be enough milk? Nurse more. Enough/more would seemingly magically produce.<br>
<br>
So there you have it, my big tips. <br>
<br>
Actually, I think I have one more. <br>
<br>
<strong>4. Decide to do it. </strong><br>
In most of my life decisions, working through something challenging was easier if I wasn't comparing it to the thing I decided not to do. University was tough, especially with an unplanned first baby. But it would have seemed tougher if I was constantly comparing myself to highschool friends who took one year courses, had a job and by now were sporting a new car. I didn't consider quitting, I had to keep the long-term benefits in mind. The same goes with being a working mom. When I delve into the daydreams I've always had about being a stay-at-homer, normal day-to-day work challenges seem harder. The theory holds true for breastfeeding too. I really never considered bottle feeding instead of breast feeding (I sometimes complicated nursing by adding bottles), and I think that singularity of mind took away that part of anxiety and indecision, leaving only the hurdles of learning the task at hand, feeding my babes.<div><br></div><div>This is my 'Good for you mamas'. Know breast feeding is encouraged where you are (it is, for as many doubters there will be 50 supporters) and nourish your babe with confidence. You're doing great. ;)</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-29703465540072685092013-06-06T09:46:00.002-04:002013-06-06T10:15:07.508-04:00Check off the right boxesYesterday, I had a conversation with an elderly man at the Gallery. He informed us he was 91. He was recounting fascinating stories, glad to have an audience. He was shaky and unsteady, and said he had lost a lot of the sense in his hands and feet. When he headed off to go we asked if we could help him with the stairs and mentioned the elevator. At this point he stopped to talk about the perils of growing older. <br />
<br />
He said that the future doesn't seem exciting for him now, that what he has in store isn't good. He mentioned that he's a 'reluctant atheist', and it seemed that the reluctant part had a lot to do with the nearing proximity of death. I've thought about that a lot, mostly in conversations with my kids, about what after life holds for us. My mother's voice and strong faith speaks to me, that faith is believing without knowing. My intellectual side wrestles with that idea, needing to know to say I know, so I tell my kids many different ideas people have - that their grammie believes this, some people believe that, that I'm really not sure who is right or what I believe, or maybe that everyone is right. We agree that we like the idea of coming back as animals, or wind, or a tree, it comforts us that our loved ones could be near us in nature, and that we could come back.<br />
<br />
This elderly man said that he used to be able to run up a muddy slope, but that now he needed help putting dishes away or getting things out of the fridge, for fear of falling into the fridge or pulling all of the items out. He expressed that it was 'so frustrating to feel so <em>damn useless</em>'. <br />
<br />
It reminded me of my grandfather before he died, frustrated that he couldn't work anymore, seeming to give up with no point to fight for, refusing to treat the cancer that he had beat 40 years before, saying 'the carcus wasn't worth the trip'. <br />
<br />
It reminded me of how I have briefly felt when I'm sick, or exhausted with a newborn, useless and unable to aid in the speed of life around me. It must be terrible to know that is your new constant, that it won't get better. How can people face their last years without depression?<br />
<br />
After the man left, this question and his conversation hung with me. Reading <a href="http://productivityist.com/blog/ill-never-be-done" target="_blank">this post: "I'll Never be Done"</a> today was timely. It made me think of a possible answer, that the focus in our later years needs to be on our legacy. After checking in on his sleeping kids, the author writes;<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"When I checked in tonight, I realized something: <strong>I'll never be done.</strong></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I'll never be done checking in on them, although how I do so will change over time. I'll never be done teaching them, because they'll learn from me every day – even after I'm no longer around to do so in person. Whether they read my work online, my book, or the journals I'm leaving behind when I shuffle off this mortal coil, they will always be getting something from me. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Then they will pass morsels of what I've sent their way to others, whether it will be my grandchildren, their partners, or those they meet along the way.... aspects of me will keep getting passed on. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So I'll never be done. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
When I think about it that way, I really want to make sure that I check off the right boxes rather than every box."</blockquote>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-27263627332351792582013-05-20T22:29:00.001-04:002013-05-20T22:29:01.646-04:00Wonderland<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-dGnTHJ-a_kA/UZrb64OvxXI/AAAAAAAABHE/dt-c2czpO4M/s640/blogger-image-1226736617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-dGnTHJ-a_kA/UZrb64OvxXI/AAAAAAAABHE/dt-c2czpO4M/s640/blogger-image-1226736617.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-R714XFtCBNg/UZrbuo1AbLI/AAAAAAAABGs/sUWIzFx31_E/s640/blogger-image-1114750816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-R714XFtCBNg/UZrbuo1AbLI/AAAAAAAABGs/sUWIzFx31_E/s640/blogger-image-1114750816.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-h1hVKqiPD70/UZrbyjQn74I/AAAAAAAABG0/bsyu11xV_k0/s640/blogger-image--1360950764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-h1hVKqiPD70/UZrbyjQn74I/AAAAAAAABG0/bsyu11xV_k0/s640/blogger-image--1360950764.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CkqHlfUp9so/UZrb2n4CpQI/AAAAAAAABG8/FeXtxP9Gug8/s640/blogger-image-2029798414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CkqHlfUp9so/UZrb2n4CpQI/AAAAAAAABG8/FeXtxP9Gug8/s640/blogger-image-2029798414.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-34129823133199638182013-01-31T23:44:00.001-05:002013-01-31T23:44:12.787-05:00Anniversary'sMissing important dates makes me think of my Mother-in-law. The numbers just don't seem to stick. I don't know why. Troy and I have always joked about changing religions to the one that doesn't celebrate birthdays or anniversary's. Just because I don't remember your date of birth doesn't mean I don't know you and love you! <br />
<br />
Carolyn would always laugh and shake her head at us. Then she would look at Troy and say, "I don't know how you managed to marry another you!"<br />
<br />
I couldn't, however, forget that a year ago today was the day Carolyn died. It seems ironic to me that after all those years of only remembering her birthday on the day of (too little too late), I would not be able to forget the anniversary of her death. <br />
<br />
I have few, if any, pictures of Carolyn and I. And the pictures I have that remind me of her the most, she's not in. Her and I were outside the frame, watching my kids. Her beloved grandbabies.<br />
<br />
There was this one day, Thanksgiving weekend, where we sat on their front lawn, just relaxing and enjoying the company. Claire was being the delightful entertainment. It was really warm, the kids were calm and happy, and Seth had just figured out how to climb trees. He was barefoot in dress pants but I didn't want to break the general good mood by telling him to go change his pants. Carolyn was reminded of how little the trees were when they moved there. She was happy. It reminded me of a fall scene from "Stepmom", that movie with Julia Roberts in it. The fall, and the lawn chairs, the mood of acceptance and enjoying a moment because cancer looms.<br />
<br />
It was the last time I saw her healthy. Well, not healthy, but herself. After that her fight went very much downhill. I wish we had done more, been there for her better. Too little too late.<br />
<br />
If there's anything though I learned from Carolyn, it's to look for the positive side. I hope I'll realize more fully to appreciate what's here while I can. To let those I love know it. Take on that daunting 'now'.<br />
<br />
I want to post this tonight, before life gets in the way once again, but I'll add the pictures soon. The power just went out, just me and my screen in the dark and the howling wind outside. <br />
<br />
Goodnight Carolyn. We love you, wherever you are. You would enjoy Max, (although he would have you at your wits end with his dangerous stunts!), and Thane has been such a little man lately. So helpful, you would be really proud of him. Seth would love a snuggle with you, and Claire, well, she'll always be your girl. She talks about you a lot, and her smile reminds us of you.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-47719499025392839342013-01-18T22:28:00.001-05:002013-01-18T23:18:12.284-05:00Year three for this youngest.Phew. That was a marathon evening. The flu I was hoping we would miraculously escape unscathed may have touched down in the Hutt household. Two little sickies were up feverish and delirious, staunchly refusing Tylenol while temperatures reached dangerously high. The horror stories of fellow mom friends makes my fear of high fevers causing seizures and brain damage outweigh my fear of drugs. So, long story short, once we convinced the two littles medicine going in their mouths would feel better than the cool facecloths, the whole night got much better. Thank goodness Troy was here, they would have outnumbered me.<br />
<br />
This New Year's Eve was spent home, on the couch with our oldest between us. It was the best start to a new year I've had in a long time. Video games, a new project cast on knitting needles, and sweatpants! Thane had remembered that at one point I had said when he was 10 he could stay up until midnight on New Years Eve. I remember 10 years old seemed so far away at that point.<br />
<br />
This New Year it hit me that this was the year I've been waiting for. My stomach flipped in excitement. We did it. I've made it.<br />
<br />
My youngest turns 3 this year!<br />
<br />
It's been my light at the end of my baby tunnel. One of my most beloved friends, her family a ten year older version of mine, said once (probably on one of my darker baby days), that "Life fundamentally changes when your youngest turns three." And I so got it. <br />
<br />
Two years ago I watched with a baby in my arms as Troy put the wood in alone, with mild help/interference from the older boys. One year ago I tried to help while Max sat in his puffy snowsuit, falling over and crying when he tried to move. I really wasn't much help, more there in spirit than anything. Last fall, I did a fair amount of the piling in between 'helping Max help' (watching his cuteness bring in small sticks so excitedly) and exiting to get him down for a nap at some point. <br />
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Now don't get me wrong. The other three certainly wreak their own brand of havoc. But there's conversation, solo bathroom trips, negotiations around bedtime instead of, I don't know, that maniacal laughter toddlers do when not staying in bed, and most importantly, when I'm busy I can often help them just with verbal instructions. Amazing thing, developing communication skills.<br />
<br />
But it's the youngest, the youngest who dictates the order of the day. When under three anyway. <br />
<br />
I loved my time with each of these babies. It's been so precious. The magic of pregnancy and their births. Their soft snuggly sweetness, so cute milestones, their non judgement, their honesty, genuine everything, their neediness. But now, after year ten of babies, I am ready to raise my increasingly independent preschoolers and big kids, and snuggle other people's babies when I can. <br />
<br />
Yesterday. Yesterday I painted a room while the kids were awake. My two and a half year old mostly understood not to touch the walls. <br />
<br />
Things are getting easier. So far I like you 2013. Even though I should go to bed before the rest of us get struck down by the flu. <br />
<br />
That will be great. Let's cross our fingers I get it last. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-XhCuD3BMxKo/UPoSzkiy45I/AAAAAAAABGE/FyDma7fMlaE/s640/blogger-image--1626396105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-XhCuD3BMxKo/UPoSzkiy45I/AAAAAAAABGE/FyDma7fMlaE/s640/blogger-image--1626396105.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-50958969806742678252012-12-17T19:48:00.001-05:002012-12-17T19:55:22.529-05:00Oh great. It's that week where I hate everything.<br />
<br />
What I knew but didn't <em>really</em> notice when I was pregnant, then nursing, then pregnant, then nursing, for oh, about four years, was that I was on this lovely hiatus.<br />
<br />
Now, I have demon hormones. I'm not just tearful, like the pregnant/nursing caused. I'm angry. I feel like the Hulk. <br />
<br />
This third week, it's the precursor week, where my mind slips somehow and manages to forget again and I'm left going, "What the hell is wrong with me? And more importantly, what the hell is wrong with everyone around me!?"<br />
<br />
Everything is wrong and bad and I just can't keep up. I am trying so damn hard and it's not good enough ever. My house will never ever be clean enough, I am apparently absolutely incapable of being a good housekeeping multi-tasking woman like I am supposed to be, and why in the hell won't my kids eat what they're told? <br />
<br />
And this week I cannot possibly deal with a fourth toddler learning to stay in a big bed. And by learning I mean climbing out a hundred times. At that stage where they really need an afternoon nap in the afternoon but that nap now makes them not tired at all at their regularly scheduled bedtime. This week I really feel like letting the toddler rummage around in his brother's room in the dark like he seems to want to do, but since he is the fourth toddler I know that if I succumb to this laziness in this particular situation he will only learn how much fun it is to roam after bedtime and this 'training' will be met with much more of a fight than the smile and giggle I'm getting each time I tuck him back in now. So that work that I desperately need to catch up on this evening for that meeting tomorrow? It has to wait until later this evening, when said toddler has finally succumbed to sleep, and when I have then faced the two older kids who have taken advantage of the oversight that they have not been made to go to bed because of that toddler chaos and are still playing video games. Which the whole world tells me I am a terrible mother for letting them play in the first place but I do not have enough willpower to stand up against. I quite frankly just don't have the energy to ban anything and will quite likely buy them more screen stuff for Christmas.<br />
<br />
Even though the Mars needs Moms movie was clearly telling me yesterday that machines shouldn't raise babies. I get it screen. Shut up. <br />
<br />
Did I mention my husband has been traveling for training lately? And by lately I mean we're on week 8 of 8?<br />
<br />
This week makes me want to lie on my dirty kitchen floor and stare at the fan.<br />
<br />
But I can't. Dead-eyed crazy petulant mom would probably scare my children. I know world. You told me already. Cherish the crazy little short people, they'll grow too soon.<br />
<br />
Just. Need. To. Get. To. Next. Week. Where gentle, sane, positive Victoria lives. <br />
<br />
And bonus! Next week is Christmas.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-12403738815128894852012-11-07T17:33:00.001-05:002012-11-07T17:33:25.846-05:00Big brotherTonight I watched Thane teach Claire how to make cookies. <br />
<br />
Be still my heart.<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-219dz7VTnWI/UJrhtKK6ACI/AAAAAAAABFY/a1yaQOL4Czw/s640/blogger-image--546789818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-219dz7VTnWI/UJrhtKK6ACI/AAAAAAAABFY/a1yaQOL4Czw/s640/blogger-image--546789818.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-35084707938606145432012-11-06T23:00:00.001-05:002012-11-06T23:03:22.853-05:00Where's Max?It's the question of the day in our house. Asked hundreds of times each day from us parents to the big siblings, and from Troy to I and vice versa. <br />
<br />
It gets asked so frequently because keeping tabs on this 2 year old Max is such an important job that is so very hard to do!!!<br />
<br />
Possible answers to "the question" when you cannot answer it:<br />
<br />
He could be drawing on some walls. (I don't know where all of the pens come from! Lord knows I can't find one when I'm trying to write down a phone message.)<br />
<br />
He could be harassing the cat. This ranges from simply under the table harassment, to stuck head first under a bed, unable to get back out.<br />
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He could be in the laundry room, using the toilet plunger for shits and giggles. <br />
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He could be 'playing the plano', aka walking on the piano keys and terrorizing the piano books. <br />
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He could be decorating my room with my jewellery. <br />
<br />
He could be inspecting the contents of the fridge. <br />
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He could be renovating. That always gets interesting, depending on the discovered tool. (We have gotten very good at putting away the sharp and power tools, but his creativity for seeking out danger never ceases to amaze me.)<br />
<br />
He could be feeding toys, tools, hairbrushes, or shoes to the basement through a vent. <br />
<br />
He could be playing with Claire's chandelier from her bunk. <br />
<br />
He could be trapped in Claire's room, doors shut behind himself.<br />
<br />
He could be brushing his teeth, or his hair, with anyone's toothbrush. <br />
<br />
He could be dismantling Lego creations atop the boys bookshelf.<br />
<br />
Or he could be stuck in a sink. <br />
<br />
One just never knows with this little busyton!<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ODWvDBLw_1w/UJncyto1ZfI/AAAAAAAABFI/xjd07a3f4bw/s640/blogger-image-1189008509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ODWvDBLw_1w/UJncyto1ZfI/AAAAAAAABFI/xjd07a3f4bw/s640/blogger-image-1189008509.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-81333418506009195402012-11-01T19:53:00.003-04:002012-11-01T19:53:39.760-04:00Trick or Treaters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I love Halloween. </div>
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Except the candy. I could do without that part. </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-49537092775997805812012-10-25T22:56:00.001-04:002012-10-25T23:07:38.024-04:00Crybaby.I am. Up alone, catching pre-halloween Sandra Bullock in Practical Magic. It's sad. Me and the movie.<br />
<br />
Tonight my boys school had a Halloween dance. It's ridiculous and hilarious and so so cute. <br />
<br />
My Seth loves this. He has all the moves, not missing a beat in the middle of the dance floor.<br />
<br />
Well, at least he used to.<br />
<br />
But this year, this year he's seven and a half. <br />
<br />
And then, you're almost eight. That age where you start to notice what other people think of you. <br />
<br />
And that makes you feel like you can't leave it all out there on the dance floor.<br />
<br />
It breaks my heart a little. Seeing part of their amazing-ness dull a bit. Because other people might shun you. <br />
<br />
I've read that our monkey roots made that very strong feeling happen. Because if the other monkeys shunned you, you would be alone. And without the group, you would actually die. <br />
<br />
It feels like that is still true sometimes, that you would die if this person didn't like you. And never more than as a kid and a teen. Do you remember?<br />
<br />
Eventually, you out-evolve that feeling. Well. Mostly. But I hate watching my kids deal with it. Squashing their individuality and delightfulness, on purpose, in the meantime. <br />
<br />
We made their Halloween costumes this year. And they turned out awesome. So cute. A ninja and a knight. Seth's armor used up a LOT of duct tape. <br />
<br />
I like homemade costumes because I find they usually turn out the best. You know when you look around a Halloween party and the best costumes are homemade. Often clever, funny, thought out. Unique, like a good piece of art. A found object marvel. The creativity is why I love Halloween. <br />
<br />
But in a kids eyes, you can be super proud of your costume, as my boys are this year, but it's not good until it's passed the kid test. The 'is it good enough to be worth being different' test.<br />
<br />
They did. Mostly well received. Their friends loved their handmade swords.<br />
<br />
Until I overheard a conversation with Seth and one of his buddies. <br />
<br />
"Why is your costume made out of cardboard?" <br />
<br />
Said ever so innocently by the kid who meant no offense and had just never thought of why you would ever make a costume. <br />
<br />
But, to me, Seth was thinking "Because mom said costumes are expensive", all of the sudden devaluing his costume. I instantly wished I had also mentioned all the other reasons I love handmade and feel store bought is for my too busy last minute Halloween years. That consumerism is a problem for our Earth. That the process is the most fun part, that I like to share making with them, that they learn great skills doing it. That I feel good spending the time with them. That when I stick them in a store bought costume it becomes this symbol that I can't seem to give them enough of my time.<br />
<br />
Well no, that last one I would keep to myself. That's just a bit of my own crazy he doesn't need.<br />
<br />
Mothering makes me cry. <br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-49598130494857357522012-10-21T11:01:00.002-04:002012-12-17T20:20:11.360-05:00
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span id="goog_682943529"></span><span id="goog_682943530"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lemon and ginger, with honey. 1 am tea. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe it will make being up when I'd rather be sleeping a
little more enjoyable. The pretty little yellow box does says it's naturally
caffeine free. I should drink this all day. Maybe I would not be in this
not-sleeping situation in the first place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Overwhelmed. That’s the reigning feeling of the day. I keep
thinking that I will eventually get the hang of it. Of everything. I would like
in general to feel more zen. Maybe I should become a yoga teacher. That would zen
up my day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I don’t feel like I’m getting the hang of it. My life is
oscillating between hectic and exhausted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of my most treasured things to do is to pour myself a
coffee in a quiet moment, settle in at the dining table and peruse through some
of my favorite blogs. The posts are like bitesize chapters, the characters
women (mostly) who I have grown to love. I have a list of well-written
favorites, stories with no end. I haven’t done this in months. So this morning,
sensing the hectic and exhausted in myself, I took the time to do just that. One
of the blog post’s I read was about another mom’s day to day. The rhythm with
her kids sounded so wonderful. Today though, the inspiration was also sad. It
made me wistful about what I’m not doing with my kids. Really, it just came
down to speed. I need to slow the heck down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why can’t I do everything and do it well? I feel like I was
tricked, in the great feminist theory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve had a couple random days off in the last two weeks,
glimpses of weekdays I don’t usually get at home. Quiet daytime with the little
ones, afterschool calm with the bigger boys. No hurrying anywhere. And last
Thursday morning while Claire was at preschool, Max and I went for groceries
and to the bank. Just us. It’s delicious, when I have time with one. And the
two year old I just want to pause in time, pointing his little finger and
naming everything. Pushing the amazing door opening button. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was this waitress I used to work with. She was a
hardened old lady, so gruff. Discussing my then two baby boys one day, she
threw out the “Enjoy them while they’re young”, a phrase I’ve grown used to. An
irritating, panic inducing phrase I might add. But then she continued, with “I
have three teenagers now, when they get older they’re just hard and really
irritating.” I remember gaping at her in horror, that she could talk about her
precious children like that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But now, as my oldest hits double digits, I find myself
silently repeating that they are precious to me, as a mantra while they’re making
me absolutely crazy. It’s not innocent toddler busy-ness anymore, or just
jostling for Mommy’s attention. They call me on my shit. They are sure to let
me know when I suck. I’m not sure my self-esteem will be able to take
teenagers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-34143557059541237902012-07-02T23:21:00.000-04:002012-07-02T23:24:10.906-04:00Love is bruschetta.Troy's excitement for our new little garden has been contagious. I was, at first, excited about the idea <em>in theory</em>. The tired part of me was a little more wary. He's been gravitating to it, weeding, watering, tending in general. I'm starting to realize if I notice Troy missing, I can probably find him in the garden.<br />
As our peas and cucumbers climb their way up their little trellis, it reminds me of being a kid. Running across the lawn to the raised beds, eye level with the vines, choosing from the ripe sweet peas to snack on. Washing a handful of little carrots. Scouring the raspberry bushes, gingerly stepping between them, nervous of snakes or mice lurking in the hay, being pulled at by the thorns, looking for the hidden spots with the biggest undiscovered berries. It makes me happy.<br />
We've been watching our little herbs grow, realizing we're not really sure what to do with them. The other night Troy was running around, obviously working on something. YouTube/Google to the rescue and he was on his way to the garden, back soon with our first little harvest. We looked at it on the counter, at each other, and I couldn't help but giggle. Now what do we do with it? <br />
<br />
I continue on with the evening, bedtime, baths, jammies, books. One trip through the kitchen and Troy holds up his blender, revealing heavenly pesto beneath my nose. <br />
<br />
Later, I'm snuggling on the couch with Clairie, the little girl who wouldn't sleep that evening, and Troy emerges from the kitchen, a platter of bruschetta in hand, rivaling any I've ever had. I love that man.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-61146875194336477292012-06-03T23:54:00.000-04:002012-06-03T23:54:13.243-04:00Happy DayTonight, Troy and I were working together on renovating the bathroom. After many months, it turns out there is a light at the end of our bathroom reno after all! It's now quickly looking like a vision realized. Thane surveyed it today after I had gunked out the reno clutter and sawdust, and said, "This is going to be a lot fancier bathroom. And it won't have that wall that keeps falling off!" It's true, the sad little bathroom we now occupy has a shower wall that is nailed up. It's served it's time. Who cares about fancy, we'll just take walls that stay stuck!<br />
<br />
In our usual roles, Troy was installing something and I was painting. We had had an energetic, busy, fun, and productive day, had just put the kids to bed, and were putting in a couple hours on renos before we planned to settle onto the couch with some icecream. It reminded me of the first few months here at the house, when we were spending our evenings working upstairs on the kids rooms. At the time, Claire was about the age Max is now, and we were full of energy for this 'project house'. Max had not even been imagined yet. Fast forward to a couple years later, and I feel like we're getting our pace going again. With the onset of spring and sunny days our spirits and energy have lifted too.<br />
<br />
At our last house it seemed to take about five years for it to really feel like our home, with our spaces truly adjusted to suit us the way we liked. We're almost three years in here, and I feel like I am starting to see spaces being carved out around us, signs of it becoming the home we've been hoping for, working towards, that my on again off again love affair with this house has been refueled. I remember standing with Carolyn on the landing at the top of the stairs here, before any of the inside work had began. What is now the boys room still had yellow walls and yellow carpet, flowered in maroon. It was the first time Carolyn had seen the house and she was excited about it with us. She loved the feel of the old house too. She said "In five years you'll think back on this and it will be amazing to see what you've done with it." <br />
<br />
Today, even the tiny muses were on key. Pleasant and helpful, happy kids who liked each other. We slept in, we played, we cleaned and worked, ate yummy things. Thane and Seth are getting so good at their chores, or just better at not fighting about the chores, it makes me feel like we're doing something right. An encouraging pat on the back. They emptied and filled the dishwasher, gathered dirty clothes, emptied the compost bucket, took the garbage down, changed beds, Seth even went out to gather some reno garbage in a bag for me and Thane sorted laundry like I had just taught them the other day. It made me happy, mostly that they did it happily. All four kids must have played in a pile of blankets on the trampoline for an hour. Claire was even graced with a China snuggle, a feat for a kitty who's had a rough month. As Seth put it, she's recovered well but "still working on her braveness". They had turns getting rides on their little four-wheeler, and Thane and Seth practiced driving. This evening Thane, in an effort to get the little kids to bed so Troy could play a game with him, helped Claire with her jammies and brushing her teeth and read Seth a bedtime story. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-krNnTi0kOgs/T8wrpdwo8wI/AAAAAAAABD0/762izey91nM/s1600/DSC_0224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-krNnTi0kOgs/T8wrpdwo8wI/AAAAAAAABD0/762izey91nM/s400/DSC_0224.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my littlest helper in training. Doing his own laundry. (I'm expecting thank-yous from future wives.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was a day for the memory bank, a refreshing easy day to recall on those days that are difficult. <br />
<br />
When I snuggle Max lately, he'll put his cheek on my shoulder, twist his fingers in my hair, and sigh, "Me happy."<br />
<br />
A day like today, and that there seem to have been so many more of them lately, and closer together, makes me that Max sigh-worthy happy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-5675594870337335072012-04-24T22:07:00.000-04:002012-12-17T20:22:28.153-05:00Her superpower is dancingIn perfect timing, the muses have been amusing in full force. <br />
<br />
Seth tripped the other day, on his birthday. He said, "Oh sorry. It's my first day in my new seven year old body. I'm not used to it yet." <br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
Thane came inside drying his tears of laughter and pointed at Claire, who was dancing her custom freeform style on the deck (Troy says she's watched too much lyrical dance). She's a free spirit, that one.<br />
<br />
Thane, between giggles, told me, "She said her name is Sarah and her superpower is dancing."<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
<br />
Unfortunately I've only remembered a couple of the hilarious highlights. I'll keep you posted.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-23272207935970621942012-04-22T21:43:00.000-04:002012-04-22T22:08:58.997-04:00Broken hearts<br />
Oh Carolyn. We miss you.<br />
<br />
It hurts to watch these little hearts around me as they experience death, growing older and sober in that knowledge; that sometimes things aren't going to be okay. I don't want them to know this. I don't want to know this. I want them to stay tender, and hopeful, and trusting that the adults they love have infinite superpowers and invulnerability. We can't explain away that you can lose someone you love so much, that there is no constant you can depend on. The world seems scarier, even to me. <br />
<br />
It's hit me like a brick lately, this fear that no one's exempt. Not even me, or my beautiful babies. I just want to sit and hold them, just in case. <br />
<br />
I find myself rating every moment's worthfulness, or lack of. Getting incredibly frustrated if it's not something worthy of my time that now seems so incredibly precious. <br />
<br />
I feel like I need more time, more than ever. I feel like I'm wasting it. <br />
<br />
I miss talking to her. Her non-judgemental, forever positive words. I still take mental note of the cute things the kids say to relay to her, think automatically, "Oh, Carolyn will like that one" when I get a cute picture of them. It takes me a minute to think of someone else to call when I'm washing dishes or folding laundry in a quiet moment. Especially when I need a pep talk, the 'you're doing okay mama'. She was good at that.<br />
<br />
We still need her, and Carolyn deserves to be here. I'm still mad and stuck on it not being fair. She was too young, too positive, too much of a light in our lives to be gone. She had just raised her kids, just finished the hard part, this was supposed to be her sit back and enjoy time. She deserves that part. So does Troy's Dad. They were supposed to have that together. <br />
<br />
I just want to fix it, and there's nothing I can do. I can't make the hurt go away for any of us. I can't protect the kids, or Troy, or his family from going through this, I can't even protect myself from this. I can't keep their little hearts whole and protected. I would like to take my own off my sleeve and box it up for a while.<br />
<br />
It hurts.<br />
<br />
Troy's away this week and I miss him. He's my person. I need him. What if I ever lost him? He's on a trip with his Dad that seems to have really brought all of this up again fresh. <br />
<br />
Our cat got hit by a car this week, although we think now she may make it. I found her waiting for me on our porch when I got home from work Thursday evening. I keep wondering how she got back, picturing her struggling to get home, trusting that we would help her. Her little broken self is at the vet for the weekend, they're worried she might not eat. She has five broken ribs, two of those in two places, a broken leg bone, and a collapsed lung lobe? She's a little eight pound bundle. Apparently this stuff can fix itself, as long as she eats. Regardless, I can't handle any more death. I can't handle any more death dealt to my kids. She has to be okay. <br />
<br />
Why can't we just will it so?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-72029581955656298752012-04-06T20:30:00.000-04:002012-04-09T09:39:08.554-04:00WordsClaire says 'yogalet'. That means yogurt. 'Teerios and yogalet' is a request for cheerios and yogurt.<br />
<br />
Her new saying is 'Seriously.' Which is seriously hilarious. Except it's 'Ceewuswee'.<br />
<br />
Even at 6, Seth has held onto his habit of saying 'for' instead of 'because'. As in, 'I need my mittens, for it is cold outside'.<br />
<br />
I love these little words, these little quirks in their growth to speech. Even while you're teaching them along the way, reading, repeating, modeling the 'right' way to say these things, it's still almost sad to see these little words disappear.<br />
<br />
This morning, as he was getting his diaper changed, Max was watching Claire struggle with opening the door. "An oen de dohwah", he says, shaking his head no and pointing a chubby finger at his big sister. <br />
<br />
That was 'She can't open the door'.<br />
<br />
Max is my earliest talker. It's sooo lovely. After three late talkers, causing much inner, 'What are we doing wrong?' turmoil, an early talker is a nice treat, an affirmation that sometimes it has little to do with us. They all have their own timelines.<br />
<br />
He repeats everything, and has been for months and months! Last night while reading a book he was on a roll, repeating all of the animal names the little elephant was looking for. Tiger sounded like Tierrr. <br />
More is 'mooah' (complete with little chubby fingers signing it), all done 'all nun', ear 'eeyah', hair 'hayah'. Hot is a breathy 'httt', with expressive eyebrows pulled up and making the hot sign, palm out. It will still be a while before strangers can understand him, but in the meantime we're thoroughly enjoying it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-19313205000632295422012-04-03T20:42:00.001-04:002012-04-03T20:42:25.378-04:00Sweetness.Claire and Seth are too awake too sleep. <br />
<br />
Seth had a nap at 5. Pm. <br />
<br />
I have no idea why Claire is wound up. <br />
<br />
I have a PILE of work to do this evening. So of course it's a good time for boomerang kids. And blog writing. It's a list of deadline's style pile, so it's been a 'Mommy's not in charge' evening while Troy took over. <br />
<br />
I've been sitting at this dining table, at this laptop, while the household revolves around me through the afterschool, supper and evening rhythms. Kid conversations offering mini breaks, little partners offering company while they color beside me. Max talks about his 'bwuubewwies' as he eats. A kid is delivered to my lap for a bedtime book, fresh out of the tub, the best kind of softest sweet smelling kid.<br />
<br />
As I type this evening, design banners, prepare for our upcoming exhibition among mulling over four other big ol' projects, I listen to these two. They're tucked in our bed, not far from the dining room, mostly to keep the racket away from the two upstairs who are sleeping, and because bedtime is always more enticing when it's in Mommy and Daddy's bed.<br />
<br />
Seth tells stories to Claire. They leaf through books, him deciphering a lot of words, her filling in picture details. <br />
<br />
He is sleepier than Claire, and tells her, "Claire, the clock says eight five two. That means we stayed up too long Claire." She quiets, then changes the topic. She talks in her 'baby voice', so I can picture her dolly being the puppet talking to Seth. <br />
<br />
Seth parents, telling her she has to close her eyes and try to think about nothing. It always amazes me when I hear my words come out of their mouths. Apparently they do listen.<br />
<br />
This evening, Seth came into the kitchen with a crib board, asking Troy to teach him to play. Troy says, "It's quite a hard game buddy, but I can try to teach you." Sitting down, fiddling with the little pieces and the enticing board, the lines of holes that look like a race track, Seth asks, "But, how did you learn to play Daddy?"<br />
<br />
A pause. "Well. My mom taught me."<br />
<br />
Seth is so perceptive. He is a little startled and scans Troy's face for the feelings attached to this sentence. It's so scary to talk about someone you love when they're gone. <br />
<br />
Deep into the instructions, Seth's face concentrating on his little hand full of cards and trying so hard to lock in the details, and Troy says, "Now that's the first part of the scoring." <br />
<br />
Seth looks up, concerned. "After this, can we play Go Fish?"<br />
<br />
We laugh, Troy replies, "Yes. That sounds like a good idea bud." Seth lets out a sigh of relief.<br />
<br />
This office has the sweetest view. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-63419142159158388742012-03-05T22:36:00.000-05:002012-03-05T22:36:57.901-05:00Just because.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PAjd_g3GlEo/T1WFlEaqOgI/AAAAAAAABCc/_bDIQUf8u-E/s1600/DSC_0138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PAjd_g3GlEo/T1WFlEaqOgI/AAAAAAAABCc/_bDIQUf8u-E/s400/DSC_0138.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-59935627124782225342012-02-01T12:38:00.000-05:002012-02-07T13:03:36.274-05:00Carolyn.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday, we lost Troy's mom. Carolyn. It's just not fair. </div>
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Stupid cancer.</div>
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I'll miss her so much. I miss her already. </div>
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I ignored the signs. I think I chose not to notice how tired she looked before Christmas when we were down. How her voice was getting smaller on the phone. I don't think I wanted to notice. </div>
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This weekend went from 'She's not doing so well, maybe you should come down', to arriving at the hospital, shocked at her smallness, her exhaustion, realizing suddenly she wasn't in the hospital just facing a setback.</div>
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She looked at Max, lighting up, excited to see him, '<em>Max!</em>'. She glanced to Seth, unsure in the chair by her bed, attempting, like his mom, to process this. Then she fell back to sleep. I'm sure he and Thane were thinking the same thing, told this was their grandmother and searching to recognize her in this cancer shell.</div>
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Once this year she told me about something she had read that she found so poignant. That the most important thing you could do as a parent would be for your face to light up everytime your child came into the room. </div>
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Carolyn did that. </div>
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I shuffled the kids around for a few days, attempting to keep them quiet in the midst of the stress. Not that anyone but me cared about their noise. Taking them to my sisters for the night, wanting to be at the hospital with Troy and his family, needing to be with the kids, ultimately meeting my parents in Moncton to take the kids back to NB.</div>
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I dropped them off and rushed back to NS, just wanting to be there. Not sure why. Just wanting to be there, somehow recapture lost time, let her know how much I love her, how much she means to me.</div>
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My sister in law, Kaylea, quoted, </div>
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<em>"When I'm weak and unpretty I know I'm beautiful and strong. </em><em>Because, I see myself like my mother does."</em></div>
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Kaylea does know she's beautiful and strong, always. Carolyn did that. I hope I can do that for Claire, for my boys. Carolyn mothered me too, wanting me to know this. She placed many of the foundation stones for what I hope to be as a mother. </div>
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When I entered their life just 10 years ago, Carolyn literally opened her arms wide, along with Laurie, welcoming me into their lives. Just after Troy told his parents we were expecting Thane, I opened my little apartment door to Carolyn and Laurie, her hugging me tight, offering her warm and genuine reassurance that I was loved and we were supported. </div>
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She's been our biggest cheerleader, eager to hear the kids news, the receiver at the end of the line when someone has learned to use the potty, arriving at my doorstep to collect children when I have the flu, listening and problem solving when I don't know what to do, mad at the class bully with me. She listens and listens, even helping me decipher Troy at times. </div>
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Realizing that not so many are lucky enough to have an amazing mother in law like I do, I told her once that someday I hope I can be a great mother-in-law like her. She told me, carefully putting her sentence together, that it takes biting your tongue sometimes. It made me laugh. I hope I can someday be half as patient and supportive. </div>
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I arrived at the hospital, filling with dread, alone now, the kids taken care of, ready to join everyone else. And I know I'm already too late, she's been having a hard time breathing, the others have been watching, breathing with her ardously all day, waiting for the next inhale. Even if she's still with us I'm too late.</div>
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I step off the elevator, and by Kaylea's face I know. She's gone.</div>
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What do you do? We're here, and she's not. I see her slippers and cry. I think about the kids and what they don't even know they've lost and cry. I look at the people who have known her four times longer than I, the grown kids who have lost their mom, her brothers, the sister in laws who have lost a best friend. My father in law. And I cry some more.</div>
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We watch a funny <em>Ellen</em> clip, where an actress describes having to be between 3 and 7 on the emotional scale to not be crying. Troy looks at me and winks. </div>
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Then you do some laundry, wash dishes, keep busy. You talk about her, about good memories, funny things, remembering. You chat about other things completely, try not to talk about it at all. Answer the phone, relay information, explain, accept condolences. Or eat some more of the food bursting out of the kitchen. </div>
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I try to read. The kind maids in the book I'm reading, <em>The Help</em>, who know how to love little ones so well, they remind me of Carolyn. I'm pissed that the kids are going to miss out on having her in their lives. </div>
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Family buoys family. We drink, we laugh, we eat. The company is warm, comforting.</div>
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It's shitty. It's not fair. I want her to be okay, and be here with us.</div>
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She told me last year she wasn't afraid to die. She recounted a story while we drove by the river, watching the sun set. It was about a baby dragonfly, a larvae that lives underwater. The baby dragonflies would look through the water to the sky and one asked the other, if you ever get above this water you have to come back and tell me what it's like. Except of course when the first one grew up, he was a dragonfly, and he couldn't go back underwater to tell his friend about where he was.</div>
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All I could think was that I wanted her to stay here in the water with us. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-50995681658780016762012-01-23T22:32:00.001-05:002012-01-23T22:33:09.928-05:00SleddingWhere do the words go? <br />
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Sometimes, they're just not there. <br />
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When my heart feels achy, sort of empty and old. When everything feels so hard.<br />
<br />
I just can't strum them up. <br />
<br />
So I need to do something. I'm happier when the words are there. <br />
<br />
Sometimes it helps to notice the happy. <br />
<br />
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~</div>
<br />
Today was perfect winter weather. Cold, but not a face melting freeze, fluffy soft snow. After school, we went outside. Thane, Seth, Claire, Max, and Mommy. Taking Max outside in the winter, and attempting to keep up with the 'big boys', it puts my fitness to the test. I watch my big boys, the able 6 and 9 year olds that they are, sleds slung over their backs, quickly climbing up the sledding hill ahead of us (<em>not the small one, the BIG one, I call it Dragon Hill Mommy</em>) as I shepard Claire, stumbling in front of me to make it over the high snow on the steep hill, eager to catch up to those brothers. Someday soon that three year old walking in front of me will be Max, and there will be no baby on my hip, watching the scene in amazement, snow on his black eyelashes. I squeeze him a little tighter, appreciate the weight in my arms.<br />
<br />
On the flat at the top of the hill, I set Max up to watch the action in his little sled (well away from the lip of the run). He sits and watches those big brothers happily, a rosy cheeked puffball in his snowsuit, as Claire and I get ready to go down. She holds the rope excitedly, brave with Mommy on board, we glide down the hill gently with the help of a little brake action from Mommy's feet for our new sled rider. I turn around to hear Seth, "<em>Here he comes!</em>".<br />
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Seth's face is glowing, he's so excited... to introduce his brother to the infinite pleasures of sledding.<br />
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My heart leaps, <em>Seth, no!, </em>it's too late, Max has been sent off in his little blue sled (Moses and his basket pops into my mind), Seth realizes from my face this was not a great idea after all. And Max,<br />
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stops.<br />
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His sled stops.<br />
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"Nobody move. Don't move Max..." I singsong to Max as I clamour to him, grasping my second chance to intercede in what would surely be a scarring ride for Max.<br />
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Max wiggles in excitement, waving his snowsuit captive arms and bouncing in the stuck sled, looking down the hill wide eyed with glee, trying to restart what looked like good times. It was like watching a cartoon car balancing precariously on a ledge.<br />
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I get to him, breathe a deep breath, and we get back to the top. Thane and Claire recount the whole thing a hundred times, and Seth and I discuss why it would be a bad idea for Max to go down alone. He concurs.<br />
<br />
But Max is so disappointed and now determined to crawl down, he ends up in my sled after all, between Claire and I. <br />
<br />
Big boy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-81856520644391145752011-11-20T12:10:00.001-05:002011-11-20T23:16:07.482-05:00The Unpublished.Behind the blog in the list of published posts, there are the drafts. Those posts unfinished, an idea conceived but unborn, sometimes rambling, unorderly, too-long thoughts with no wrap-up. Incomplete pieces I was unable to bring around into a full and coherent idea, short on time to finish writing or when the positive spin on a negative spiel was eluding me. Whatever the reason, a missing link short of hitting publish. But tucked into the folds there are bits of brillance, however unfinished, that I thought I'd post today as I cleaned up that list.<br />
<br />
There are interesting links that never got connected to a post, like:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://offbeatmama.com/2011/03/are-parents-happy?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+OffbeatMama+%28Offbeat+Mama%29" target="_blank">Are parents happy?</a></li>
<li>I just finished this fascinating book, <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Our-Babies-Ourselves-Biology-Culture/dp/0385483627" target="_blank">Our Babies, Ourselves; How Biology and Culture Shape the Way We Parent</a>, by Meredith F. Small </li>
<li>This <a href="http://ohhappyday.com/2010/04/best-of-oh-happy-day-bookworm-invitations/" target="_blank">'bookworm' party and invite idea</a> is very cool.</li>
<li>David Suzuki, <a href="http://beta.davidsuzuki.org/what-you-can-do/eat-for-a-healthy-planet/" target="_blank">Eat for a healthy planet</a></li>
</ul>
Some posts are only a title, content empty, nothing more than a glimpse of a thought. One was titled “Sometimes, I’m wrong.” Yep. Sometimes I certainly am. Although I have no idea now what that particular admission was referring to right then.<br />
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Some posts make me laugh, like this one, “To allowance or not to allowance” from February 2010.<br />
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We've been thinking about giving Thane an allowance. Well, mostly, Thane's been thinking about buying things.<br />
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One thing in particular. He turned seven in the fall and received his coveted DS. This had been his major request since the Christmas before so we figured it was time. He was very stoked about the gift, DS'd his eyeballs out for a good week, and then... asked for another game.</blockquote>
Or just ramblings with no end point, like this one, (with a funny title) "Should is a bad word."<br />
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I can see both sides of most arguments the majority of the time. My husband is a notorious devils advocate as well, often prompting me to clarify "Is that how you really feel or are you just pointing out the other side?" during many of our conversations.<br />
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I will one day feel my opinions place me squarely on one side of a debate, only to have those opinions challenged immediately, leaving me feeling very wishy-washy, leaving that strange saying "If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything" ringing in my brain. </blockquote>
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I think the balance is to do our best, calmly. Breathe.</blockquote>
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Sugar takes a lot of time in my brain. How addicted I am to it, how innate it is for us to love it, how it infiltrates our food from every direction. At one point it was good for our foraging selves to desire the healthful, sweet berries we would occasionally find. Now it's everywhere and our systems are on overload, leaving me worried about the little bodies whose well-being I'm responsible for.</blockquote>
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I have to remind myself that we have to eat something, that even though I can find faults in all food options doesn't mean I need to.</blockquote>
Another was titled "Contradictions", from March of 2011. <br />
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Seth was rewarded yesterday and I'm not sure how I feel about it. When he is frustrated the thumb goes in, the arms cross, and he's not moving or talking anymore. The towel is thrown in. So sometimes, I'll admit, not sure what else to do, we walk on eggshells to not set him off, for fear of ruining an event, a day, a plan. I mean, we talk to him when he's calm about using his words, taking deep breaths, but that doesn't really help in the moment. Well, he's been asserting this passive aggresive response at school as well. Apparently sitting under a table when mad doesn't go over so well.</blockquote>
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So his teacher set up a sticker chart for him. </blockquote>
Apparantly I couldn't finish articulating my contradictory thoughts on the sticker chart. I seem to remember it having something to do with him getting a prize, for essentially being difficult in class in the first place, in front of Thane, who has always been good in class and not awarded for the consistent good effort.<br />
<br />
There are so many on sleep. Especially prevalent during Max’s prime no-sleep months. A time with lots of time for thinking and reflection, and so little focus to finish a thought. "Morning Musings" on April 9, 2011 reads simply, <br />
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Why are there morning people and not morning people? And why must I be the latter?.</blockquote>
And then there's this one, showcasing some quality indecisive tiredness.<br />
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Sleep... am I lazy because I nap, or am I healthier for napping, my body thanking me, a more sane and patient mother, helping my family by resting? Or do I really just suffer from lactic acid and a messy house for the nap, needing to go for a walk or fold laundry instead. Sleep-training for Max, is his lack of nap schedule good, caused by and aiding our busy family, or bad, causing even more chaos? </blockquote>
</div>
I'll leave with you a few I decided to publish anyway, a bit retrofitted now but post's I thought were still good enough to stand on their own. It seemed such a shame to just delete them because I didn't have time to edit them at the time.<br />
<br />
A post titled just <a href="http://tinymuses.blogspot.com/2011/03/sleep.html" target="_blank">Sleep</a>.<br />
<a href="http://tinymuses.blogspot.com/2011/03/penning-in-max.html" target="_blank">Penning in Max.</a><br />
<a href="http://tinymuses.blogspot.com/2011/03/just-errands.html" target="_blank">'Just' the errands.</a><br />
A poor me, <a href="http://tinymuses.blogspot.com/2011/04/boring-mommy.html" target="_blank">Boring Mommy</a> day.<br />
And a newer post, <a href="http://tinymuses.blogspot.com/2011/10/laundry-solace.html" target="_blank">Laundry Solace.</a><br />
<br />
It's like six posts in one today folks! Enjoy!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-34569972175930573262011-11-20T11:40:00.001-05:002011-11-20T11:57:13.985-05:00RecooperationSunday morning. The November sky is grey. <br />
<br />
The house is quiet. <br />
<br />
The boys play a new video game. Claire is feverish, falling asleep on the couch. It's naptime for Max. Troy and I retreat to our own corners, to nurse our coffees and our colds in front of our own screens. <br />
<br />
Troy comments the house looks like a frathouse after the weekend. Someone needs to clean up this mess. We will take on that frathouse and this day. After these coffees.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-57597482273006894612011-10-25T10:10:00.000-04:002011-10-25T10:10:00.172-04:00Kid QuotablesI love driving with my kids in tow. It's when I hear the really good stuff.<br />
<br />
On the way home the other night, Thane emerged from gazing out the window, breaking the silence with this thought.<br />
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"Can you imagine what it was like before you learned how to read? </div>
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It's like as soon as you know how to read the way you knew things before just vaporizes. You don't even remember what it was like to not be able to read. </div>
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Like, if Seth and I switched bodies I would be in kindergarten but I would still know how to read." </div>
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At one point the thought of my kids growing older made me really sad. I thought it would be so awful and hard for me to lose my sweet, cute, snuggly little chubby cherubs. <br />
<br />
But my big kid is so <em>interesting</em>. He has thoughts, quirks, and opinions. I love listening to him. <br />
<br />
I am really liking this new chapter.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-62923894027768552662011-10-24T10:07:00.001-04:002011-10-24T10:07:44.428-04:00A pause.<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">
The other day as I bustled about in a morning rush on a chilly windy morning, getting Max and the boys and our things for the day into the van, I stopped, noticing Claire was not in line. A quick look around found her standing mesmorized on her way to the van, watching the leaves fall around her like rain from the big front yard tree.</div>
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A few days later, I hassled Seth to shut the door quickly, "You're letting the heat out, we're not ready to go out yet.", when he stopped me. </div>
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"But it smells like winter Mommy. Smell." </div>
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And it did. The cold smelled so good.</div>
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That night, Max and I were on our way up the stairs in the dark, his head snuggled on my shoulder, ready for bed, when we heard the geese hosting their annual general meeting in the river. The honking is loud when there's so many of them. Max perked up and we stood at the top of the stairs for a while, looking out the window and listening to the change of season in the dark.</div>
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Sometimes, I love when they make me stop. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7562145345528898228.post-71719333829406708712011-10-23T09:32:00.000-04:002011-10-23T09:35:40.275-04:00Patchwork<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We had a problem. </div>
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Actually, Blankie had three problems.</div>
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Blankie was falling apart. </div>
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Blankie, who has played the supporting role to Claire's lead in life, the other family member throughout our photo albums over the years, the superstar of bedtime, was in need of our help.</div>
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Or we would have a very sad girl. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rlGFZluqh8o/TqQNOFLu0mI/AAAAAAAAA_M/3dHs38ApcHQ/s1600/DSC_0422-%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" rda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rlGFZluqh8o/TqQNOFLu0mI/AAAAAAAAA_M/3dHs38ApcHQ/s400/DSC_0422-%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I had made blankie way back when Claire was born. Now, at the ripe old age of three, a much more faded and soft, well-loved blankie needed a facelift. So Claire and I made a plan.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n0iti9FxLXI/TqQNvYqe9ZI/AAAAAAAAA_U/KujsVPP3lS0/s1600/DSC_0408+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" rda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n0iti9FxLXI/TqQNvYqe9ZI/AAAAAAAAA_U/KujsVPP3lS0/s400/DSC_0408+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Armed with a few scrap fabrics and a couple of Claire's cute old shirts that I had saved for just such an occasion, we went to work.</div>
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Now blankie sports three beautiful new patches and Claire couldn't be more pleased!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2PI8BTENvgM/TqQN-MrVwII/AAAAAAAAA_8/mhgnuFsmNuY/s1600/DSC_0578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" rda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2PI8BTENvgM/TqQN-MrVwII/AAAAAAAAA_8/mhgnuFsmNuY/s640/DSC_0578.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971456520534722978noreply@blogger.com3