The crib break

Tonight I write as I sit at the top of the stairs.

Why is that?

Well, we have a runner.

A runner who climbs as well. A runner who is swift and silent, cunning and bold.

And she's only two and a half.

Miss Claire has decided, since the week before Christmas, that her crib is only good for practicing mountain climbing. In she goes at bedtime, and out she comes as soon as she thinks you're gone.

So we've had to take up the old bedtime post, something we haven't had to pull out since Thane was this age and causing a bedtime riot of his own. Unfortunately with Thane however, we didn't stumble across the post until he was well aware that it was much more fun out of bed than in. So it was a long battle, sometimes one I feel we're still fighting. We pulled the lucky card with Seth. He just liked to sleep. He did climb out of his crib as well, but then thought his big boy bed was equally as awesome as his crib.

'Sitting quietly outside their door, and just putting them back in their bed when you hear them get out' is what we fondly refer to as the post. Quite simple, but sometimes timestaking. In our experience though, worth it in the long run. I know that sounds normal, but it's different than vegging in the living room and waiting until you hear they've made their way downstairs and are playing with their kitchen, or realize they've been playing in their room for an hour when you thought they were asleep. We've done that a lot. Putting them back to bed as soon as their feet hit the floor has made all the difference for us. Seems to cement the idea that it's bedtime. Or maybe they just get bored and fall asleep. Whatever parenting article I read this from in the first place recommended sitting in their room. Which helps if you don't want to feel like the jailor outside their cell, but we just had to refrain from making eye contact with the toddler who thinks it's hilarious that you're sitting silently in their room in the dark. It is weird indeed. And plus in their room you can't read or blog while you wait it out.

Our success with Claire's bedtime also depends on how much she napped that day. We soon realized after the crib-break that she wasn't that tired at bedtime, and to keep her in bed in the evening the afternoon nap might have to go. But she's sooo tired by four o'clock, silly tired. Touching, pulling apart everything, crying when you say she can't walk around with a full pickle jar, actually running in circles tired.

Do you have set in stone routines at bedtime? I actually try not to. I don't want to have the seven step detailed instructions for a babysitter, I don't want to encourage that anything is permanent, and sometimes, okay often, with this many people you just can't ensure there won't be something come up that gets in the way (say a mommy busy with a not-sleeping but tired and fussy Max, and a Daddy attempting to do the three in one bedtime tuck-ins). We stick to teeth brushing, a book, a kiss and goodnight. That obviously is an ideal that may never be realized at our house (I have to Peeeee! I told you to pee before you went upstairs! I didn't have to pee THEN!), but the goal none-the-less.

Max is another story entirely. He is his own bedtime boss. More on that tomorrow perhaps?

A New Year

A new year. A new day. Like everyday, a chance to wake up, be new, do better, live passionately, care deeply, learn more, speak gently.

But unlike anyday, the new year brings with it the pause for reflection.

2010 will be missed. It was a momentous year for me. I had a strong feeling of arrival this year. The realization this year that somewhere along the way I had stopped straining to figure out who I was and had just started being it. Not just tossing ideas around in my head about who I am, what I should do, should be, want to do, want to be. Just being. Being in the present. Still mindful and ever-questioning, but no longer straining.

Maybe it was the move to what I can only foresee as being our family home. Maybe it was getting a job that fulfills my childhood aspirations of what I thought I would be when I grew up. Maybe it was the birth of our fourth baby, and surely our last?

In 2010 I realized how much had happened in the last 10 years. From an 18 year old trying to be an adult, to the 28 year old who feels like I've actually got there. My 18 year old self would be shocked if I had seen what the next 10 years held for me. I may have ran screaming in the other direction.

7 addresses, 5 vehicles, 4 babies, two houses, and one degree. Our wedding. One miscarraige. 10 Jobs? Probably more. Two Vanier cups for Troy, and one degree as well.

In ten years, I've hosted at least 15 kids birthday parties and changed roughly 16000 diapers.

Wow. 16000 diapers?

We've attended at least six funerals, celebrated at least six weddings, and watched 2 family divorces unfold. Which feel like a death in the family. Illnesses and injuries, health and fun, losses and wins. Deadlines. Stress. Mistakes, learning, and growth. We've been through empty bank accounts and big payments. Celebrations and holidays.

We've watched first smiles, first steps, first falls, lost sleep over transitions, out of diapers, into big beds, out of naps, into school. We've watched understanding spark, words form, readers bloom.

And through all that, we're here. We sit cozy on a New Year's morning. It's peaceful. We're okay. Through the crazy rollercoaster of ups and downs, the rythmic and familiar merry-go-round cycles on. In hours, days, seasons and years.

I can't wait to see what I will have seen when I'm 38. What I will have done in ten more years.

It's awe-inspiring.

To quote a friend who quoted Longfellow this morning:
"Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear, and with a (wo)manly heart".

Onward to 2011.

I'm so excited to see what happens next.

{this moment}

"A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.

A simple, special, extraordinary moment.

A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."

- SouleMama

Stay awake

Reason one million and one why I shouldn't worry about the items on the house list that stay undone longer than I would like.

These beautiful little visitors have appeared just outside our large playroom picture window, perfect for tea sipping and gazing on quiet mornings with my littlest two. Claire's pudgy little finger points and her eyes get big. Even Max notices them, swinging his arms, trying to aim his new grabbing abilities at these flittering little creatures. 

Why does this make me think of my unnecessary stress? The bushes the little birds are enjoying so much are supposed to be lawn by now. When we moved in last year this part of our lawn was turned into a moat surrounding our house while we replaced crumbly old stone basement walls. A moving in/reno winter, busy career spring and a pregnant summer followed, then a fall with a newborn and still no raking and seeding was accomplished to turn the pile of dirt back into lawn. This item on the list has drove me crazy. 

And now these little birds bring me peace. Little birds who wouldn't be here if not for the undone 'to-do'. 

There's a song they've been singing at church throughout Advent that's stayed with me lately. "Stay awake, be ready, you do not know the hour that the Lord is coming."

These little moments are the Lord coming. You have to be awake to notice them. The little voices talking to you in the middle of the bustle. The small bits of beauty surrounding us. All gifts.

I love this conversation between Shug and Celie in The Color Purple. It changed my view on religion and my spirituality. God doesn't have to be a he, or a puppetteer above us. God is in us, surrounding us, flowing between us, embodied in nature.

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.

What it do when it pissed off? I ast.

Oh, it make something else. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living can see it always trying to please us back. ...Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk? ...Whenever you trying to pray, and man plop himself on the other end of it, tell him to get lost, say Shug. Conjure up flowers, wind, water, a big rock."

Or conjure up birds. And sweet little people.

Advent

Pre-Christmas bustle. Laundry, housecleaning, travel preparations. Should we empty the recyclables before we leave so they don't stink?

Be awake. Be ready. You do not know the hour when the Lord is coming. One more candle lit.

How many sleeps is that left?

Gift lists double-checked. Cards delivered.

A playdate this morning. Deep breath, slow down, enjoy, listen.

The rythym. The breath in, the breath out. The activity to the calm moment.

From home to away, or is it away to Home?

Little girl twirling in her pretty red dress. Little men trying to put up with their mama, protesting trying on their dress clothes. "Just for a second, I need to see if they fit!".

New Years plans. Will attendance be good for the gallery gala?

Dad wants to work on the heating this week. Oh. Is there enough room to work in the basement? You should organize the tools.

Sewing slings. One for a gift. A pretty one for me. Will I have time to do one for Claire? Oh yeah, I wanted to make her some hairbands didn't I.

Did I buy our Christmas Carol tickets? Hmmm. I'm looking forward to that. We should go to the AGNS while we're in town. The kids would like that. Maybe I could talk to their programming coordinator too. Hmmm.

You cut the old Christmas card this way. Then fold that way. Ta da! A gift box!

Can I babysit that morning? Yeah, I can do that. Oh, the cat puked.

Want to get together that evening? Yes. That will be really nice. We'll relax. Talk. Listen. Enjoy.

Steven and Chris had this really nice gift idea. I should do that. Do I have large mason jars? Oh, I should write the boys teachers to tell them they won't be here those days. When is the last meeting for Beavers again?

Whirling, twirling mommy.

Tell me a story.

Usually I identify as a very un-romantic person. Quite practical. I don't understand people's poor opinion of presents that are practical. I love them. One year, when we were particularily broke and new homeowners, I was genuinely hoping for a pile of mulch from my husband for my birthday. I really was hoping to overhaul my gardens. Jewellery and a cute bear girl I am not.

But I'm a sucker for a good story. A history. The life behind a thing.

It's exactly what I love about old houses. The energy the house holds. The lives that lived there. The cycle that continues, with me only as a small part.

What made me think of this tonight? I'm addressing Christmas cards.

I've had this address book for my whole adulthood. Since I've been old enough to need to and organized enough to write down people's addresses anyway. I was thinking this year that I really should type everyone's address into a label template and save myself the effort next year.

But as I work through my address book, it tells me a story. Not just the good story either, the whole story is there.

The story of where I've been and who I've met. Friends I've lost touch with but remember fondly are there, with their old address, where I know they no longer live. I wonder where they are now? Old boyfriends are crossed out. Some warrant the white-out. Businesses I used before moving are listed. Reminding me of that stage in my life, where I was, what I was doing. The chiropractor in downtown Halifax, where I was treating old soccer injuries. I was single, just me to think about, had no idea what the next ten years would bring. I played indoor soccer once in a while at another university, I wonder where those girls are now. I would walk into the chiropractor loaded down with all of my gear, a university student who traversed the city by foot, my art folio hanging off my backpack, my paper roll sticking out, taking forever to unravel my scarf and layers and wet boots just to sit down for my appointment.

It also tells the story of the changes in my loved ones lives. Some movers and shakers have several addresses crossed out, new ones added, some needing arrows to more space somewhere else on the page. There's new last names, one poor wife is crossed out entirely, her new replacement penciled in. One friend married another friend, her name under B, now says 'See H'. Babies are written in, with their birthdate beside. My grandmother's address still reads Grammie and Grampie.

Troy is in there. With the phone number he gave me one night. Oglivie Towers, where a year later we would find ourselves moving in a block down the street from, waiting for the impending birth of our new baby boy.

How can you replace this?

Design question

So I have these shelves in my entryway.

The entry and front living room aren't receiving the same 'gut it' treatment as the rest of the house, merely some un-wallpapering, paint, new floors, and lighting. I've changed my 'tear them out' opinion on these shelves, to let's just spruce them up with paint. But I can't decide exactly how to spruce them up.

Paint them entirely white like the trim? Paint them the wall color or just a shade different than the wall color? Paint them white with the back painted the new wall color? Or leave the shelves wood and paint just the back. Although either of the last two sound like a lot of edging. 

The wall color, by the way, is Benjamin Moore's Thousand Islands, a neutral light brown a couple shades lighter than the Wild Mushrooms going up in the living room beside it. I know, beige is boring, but these rooms open up into three other spaces so neutral was important.

What would you do with these shelves?