a hostage who will drive

box of treasures

2010-04-11T20:42:00.000-07:00

toilet talk

2010-03-22T22:20:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite parts about living with children is occasionally stumbling upon a tiny tableau left about by a child interrupted in play or just arranging their things while colonizing new spaces. I like to try to guess what the child was playing at, their inner lives being such a deep mystery, though sometimes I get the impression that there is a message there meant just for me.

Today, on a bathroom shelf, I discovered Hello Kitty and The Chicken With Socks having an intimate chat.

I can only guess at what they were discussing, but it did look serious.

Victoria: I am going to miss you

2010-03-13T21:55:00.001-08:00

monday

2010-02-22T21:36:00.000-08:00

I spy with my little eye...

An Uncle!

phat thoughts

2010-02-17T15:56:00.000-08:00

Somebody help me, my brain is stuck in 1989!

I've recently had an old friend contact me (Skaters rule and preps drool!) whom I haven't seen since junior high. It's been great reminiscing about ye days of ol', when my heroes were Ice T and Tony Hawk, and I wore bicycle shorts with neon stripes in all seriousness (yewouch! A memory to suppress good and hard!). I've spent some time on Youtube lately, visiting the music and styles of the late '80s. Ah, the '80s...

I know you don't have to read any further to know that I'm not heading in a good direction.

Okay, old friend catch ups = good stuff! Especially this one, she's funny as hell. But actually having my mind wander over to my junior high experiences in general and I start to feel a dull pain like I've got my neck stuck in a banana clip.

One memory surfaced not too long ago of the stupidest compliment anyone has ever given to me. Are you ready for it? Okay, this is what some 13 year old guy said to me as we were hanging out at recess: "You know, you'd be really hot if you just lost five pounds."

Wow.

Really made me want to throw up my lunch and sweat off some water weight by running around the track a dozen times.

'Cuz then I'd be hot.

To a dude who looked like his hair had been cut by Stevie Wonder while doing the Running Man.

I repeat: wow.

It would be really easy to dismiss the little freak and get on with life, well, after kicking his skinny, stupid haircut ass around the playground a bit, but I've actually took his backhanded compliment to be true. Like, damaging or what? Can you say crap self esteem? Want to know what's worse? I still do, to this day.

Thirteen years olds aren't bright, him nor I apparently, but, seriously, this is the mentality of the '80s, of junior high, of Teen Beat and Seventeen magazine and all the other garbage I used to feed my head. Later, older and smarter, I did shake my head at this bizarre message, but by that point it was habitual thinking. (I don't think I actually heard the 'f' word out of the context of 'what, are you some sort of hairy, bitch feminist?' before I was 20.) I can logically argue the point and dismiss the continuing media imagery that equates fat with ugly, but the voice in the back of my head, the one I actually believe, says differently.

I think about weight and diet and exercise and lifestyle and habit and indulgence and restriction all the time. So does The Man. So does nearly everybody I know. We all carve up natural experience into artificial categories of good and bad based upon ideas about what makes a person's body a particular size and shape. And when we are scared or we fail, we look to ourselves for a reason, and it's really easy to believe what everyone tells us, that we fail because we are fat.

I'm starting to get the inkling that I hold myself back not because I'm fat, but because I believe fat is bad. Is fat bad?

Would anything be better if I was five (or forty) pounds lighter?

I know one thing, and I keep it in mind a lot when I start to beat myself up; Smootch would not be here if my body has been any smaller than it was when I was newly pregnant with her. I lost 25 pounds in the first three months of that pregnancy due to hyperemesis gravidarum. My fat saved my baby. Obviously, this fat equals bad and unhealthy is not as straight forward as the media would have us believe. I think it's worth looking into further.

For anyone else thinking about these things, here is a little primer to get the ball rolling from one amazing blog.

fat rant

2010-02-17T12:36:00.000-08:00

I really do love this lady:

february whining

2010-02-13T19:35:00.000-08:00

Hello February.

I know that I usually write long, sad letters to January, about the gloom and cold and lack of energy, but this year you`ve decided to throw your lot in with the most cursed of months, so you too get a long, whiny memo.

Hi. You need to stop messing with my head and body. Stop the dental surgeries and stretched ligaments and torn muscles and pale skin and complete lack of ability to cope with my children`s needs. Please. Stop being about wine from a plastic cup and huge piles of laundry and what looks to be the beginning of a massive ant infestation around the kitchen sink.

I know there are bright spots. Everyday there is a new message or email from a reader that is so wonderfully complimentary I think it may be a wind up. Sometimes the sun comes out. Sometimes one of the kids does something so amazing it makes me cry with pride.

But, February, you are so different this year. In fact, time has been different all winter. December is supposed to be all rushed and crazy and warm with twinkly lights and anticipation. New Years is always a bomb. Then January is the time I slump around, all bummed out, and as soon as you, February, begins, I can to pull my head up and start to really notice what`s happening around me. I notice the cool, clean winter air and the dazzling way the sun sparkles off the snow, and how red cheeks on a smiling child hauling the sled to the top of the hill one more time is one of the most beautiful things I`ve ever seen.

February is the time to begin searching for the new buds on trees. It`s time to start planning the garden and finding seeds. It`s when the sun is out long enough for me to have my dinner and then catch the sunset over a warm cup of tea.

So, what`s going on February? Why are you such a bummer?

Okay, I know. Because time is also place. And my place now is to be in the eternal wet and fog. The days haven`t changed colour or temperature since November. I`m dislocated and out of touch. Somehow, in this paradise of an island, I`ve lost my connection with nature. Feels like missing a limb or losing my mind.

Alright. I will grit my teeth (minus 1) and step lightly through the second half of this dreary month. I`m pinning all my hopes on March, to give me strength and imagination, to do what I have to do to get home again.

monday

2010-02-01T21:59:00.000-08:00

A little catch up.

We just spent a few days in Victoria. Finally got in to see the Royal BC Museum, which has some amazing exhibits. Smootch was completely fascinated with the natural history portion and completely bored with the human history. Not surprising to me. Did I mention that Smootch is keeping a 'specimen jar', with various organic (as in not rock, not chemical free) odds and ends that are interesting to her? So far it contains a bird bone, which Birdie found somewhere outside and sucked it like a lolly for 10 minutes before I wised up to what it was, one of my toe nails, which finally came off last month after it's run in (literally) with the baseboard heater a few months ago, and a stick I picked up the night I met her father some dozen years ago. Don't ask me why I still have the stick, I didn't mean to, it just sort of happened. Like her father :D

Birdie slept through the museum. Thank god.

I got some new wheels, which everyone else seems as excited about as I do.

Vrooommmmm!

My new wheels are faster, less sticky, and all around slick. I took them to derby practice last night and promptly sprained my ankle. Somehow, I managed to skate the whole practice with a hurt ankle and drive home (along the way I was stopped by the police in Nanaimo, a whole other story) but today is a major bugger to get around. My ankle is all swollen and bruised. Ugh. It's my sewing machine pedal foot too, which is extra annoying.

I am healing from my dental surgery two weeks ago. I've got kind of a phantom tooth thing going on, where I can feel the molar that was pulled as still there, but, of course, it isn't. I hate losing body parts. I'm sure I'm not the only one. Also, Smootch is still bummed out I didn't get the tooth from the dentist for her specimen jar.

Birdie is a No Boy. He says 'no'. He says, 'NO!' He says, 'Nnooooooooooo!' A hundred variation on the word 'no' that we are just beginning to realize are substitutes for whole other words, depending on where he puts the emphasis or inflection. If he just says, 'no', well, that's pretty much straight forward. But if he says, 'no-o?', he actually means 'yes' (you have no idea how much relief was felt after we figured this little bit out). When he feels threatened by his sister he says, 'no no no no no no no no!' in chain saw massacre victim mode, but when he's the aggressor with Smootch he says a sharp, 'No!' usually followed with a smack.

Birdie really is a completely unreasonable guy. It's amazing Smootch not only puts up with way too much of it, but actually defends him and tries to include him when she's playing with her friends. Even when the friend says, 'hey, let's ditch your little brother; I won't play with you unless you get rid of him,' she still stands by him. Beyond the call of duty, I believe. She's a good kid.

I love those kids. It's a good thing too, because otherwise I might follow up with my threats to list them on Ebay. Happy Monday all!

tuesday

2010-01-26T23:13:00.000-08:00

Hello, we're still here! The weather is rainy, but nice. It's dark, January-esque, but the temperature is always above zero and sometimes, maybe once a week, we can almost see a bit of sun break through the clouds and fog.

The children are growing. Smootch is still herself, only more so. She's begun drawing. Drawing all sorts of things, almost any thing that she can think of. A month ago, if she was asked to draw a dog, she would say that she could not, as she did not know how. But one day she got this idea in her head to draw a dog, for example, even if she really did not know how, and since then she's drawn pretty much everything there is to draw. Our home is covered in bits of paper with a hardly a white bit showing through, with doodles of everything. Castles, trees, the Butchart Gardens, the ocean, boats, fish, our family, presents, sword, hearts, flowers.... We always have to make sure that there is a piece a paper by her, otherwise she'll draw on the table, walls, or herself. Like she can not help herself, she must draw.

Birdie talks. Mostly Birdie says, 'No.' Or rather, 'No! No! NOOOOooooooo!!!' like he's confronting a chain saw murderer. He's got a hideous new pair of boots, two sizes too big, handed over to us from our neighbors. They are really, really orange. Birdie will wear nothing else. He even wears them in the house. He is a child who knows what he likes.

We are plodding away here. Smootch has her classes, Birdie has his toys and his outdoors (he loves being outside), The Man just bought a guitar, and I am doing my thing, but now I also do it on roller skates. Mostly we are waiting out the winter and hoping for some drier days. Even when it's not raining, it's actually misty enough to get us a bit wet. Lighting a fire every day or two is more about keeping out the damp then heating our home.

Hope you all are keeping dry and warm.

xoxo

monday

2010-01-11T20:57:00.000-08:00

Birdie is learning to ride a tricycle. I keep telling him that his brain isn't prepared to pedal yet, not to mention that he can't even reach the silly things, but he doesn't care. He crawls right up up on the tricycle and gives 'er.

I've been doing a bit of sewing for Smootch lately - she has been oddly neglected in that realm of late. Going through my fabric choices tonight, I asked The Man's opinion (I know you can already tell it's a mistake) and he suggested that maybe I should sew her something neutral to maybe balance out her wardrobe.

Balance? I believe Smootch's wardrobe is very balanced: Nothing goes with everything. What's the problem?

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

2010-01-09T22:43:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday to The Man's Old Man - I hope you had great day!

Don't ask me why Smootch is topless - that's just the way she lives lately.

ps, me going to roller derby, though admittedly laughable, is not a joke. I've even got a new blog going here. I am a blogaholic. On wheels.

derby sit in

2010-01-04T10:07:00.001-08:00

Last night Smootch and I sat in on roller derby practice with the Harbour City Roller Derby in Nanaimo. HCRD are just starting up as a league, only a dozen-ish members thus far, so I'm in an unexpected position of being able to join without having know what I'm doing.

This next Sunday, I am to become Fresh Meat, which is a technical term for 'woman who will be knocked on her ass'. This is slightly different than a more experienced derby girl, who is a woman who will be knocked on her knees, having learned how to fall without breaking too much or getting your fingers crushed under someone's wheels on the track.

You are wondering why a decidedly sedentary woman in her (gasp) mid-thirties who divides her time between sewing and taking care of her small children, one who is still actually nursing, and who's favorite activity is reading in a prone position while eating bon bons, is interested in joining a contact sport on wheels?

Well, mostly because a woman in her mid-thirties with small children and eats too many bon bons is a woman who really needs to smack somebody and there are few opportunities for such a woman to do so legally or with good conscience. Also, it seems like good fun, there is a possibility of legwarmers (something is child of the '80s has a strange weakness for), and I'd really like to meet some girls, now that I've gone and move 1200 km away from home.

Right now I'm waiting for it to stop raining so I can get outside and practice. I could use some (alot) of practice, though I'm sure that I will be learning quickly, having seen some of the drills at practice. I'm a bit freaked out about being out of control on skates at the same time as learning a high speed contact sport. Not to mention I'm a bit timid (oh excuse me, ignore me, I'll get out of your way, just give me a push if I'm in the road). I'm going to have to cultivate a derby personality, one that has a bit more, umm, balls?

Smootch loved watching the practice, although she was pretty upset that she didn't bring her skates. I won't be bringing her along to practice for the next while, it is mama's thing after all, but we will be skating together often. While the ladies were doing sliding drills (where they throw themselves down on their knees to stop), Smootch was giggling and cheering like the maniac she is. One skater managed to slide herself into the exit door and halfway out into the parking lot. Smootch thought that was brilliant. I started to wonder about the quality of my second hand tired looking knee pads.

I'll keep you posted on my derby progress. In the meanwhile, if there is anyone in the Parksville area also interested in derby and wanting to carpool, let me know. This 30 minute commute in the dark, along which yesterday there was a bald eagle sitting in the grassy bit between the two highways eating something sinewy, could end up being a bit lonely.

Happy New Year

2009-12-31T21:14:00.000-08:00

It's been a busy year. Much drama and many changes. We're feeling the loss of what we left behind in Alberta rather sharply right now. More than anything this moment, I want to go home to my people and my farm. But, still, I know spring here on the island comes sooner and I can hold on for a few more months and see how I feel once the sun begins to stay out later than tea time again. We will definitely being going home next year for Christmas.

Thinking back over the past year, some things come to mind. I wish that I was somehow more profound and mature, having made so many changes, but I'm afraid that the only real change I've experienced is that I now have a glass of wine after the kids are in bed.

Still, I've encountered many new things these past 12 months. Here is a totally random list of some things I've learned in 2009:

- it is not only possible to take off your underwear without removing your gymnastics bodysuit, but it's fun too (thanks, Smootch).

- it is best to wait until the cat does his morning business in the box before you transport him to his new home.

- for sale by owner is a rough road to go. But I still don't regret it.

- good times is about people, not places.

- one car + two children + two adults + two cats + three days = all the excuse you need to buy more wine.

- garbage sucks but sea glass is cool.

- when you have two or more small children you should take as many pictures as possible, because you are never going to find time to fill out their baby books.

- if a car is going to break down just one time a year, it will always be just as you are boarding a ferry.

- if children start to whine you should feed them and put them to bed. There is no other cure.

- getting rid of all my stuff sucks. Sure it's a burden, but so is reacquiring it all, because there is, in fact, a reason why you bought it all in the first place.

- Still, I really do not need much to live my life. Just some food, shelter, shower, and a good book. Oh, and a laptop, internet connection, telephone, and a shelf for my book. A bed too. With sheets, and maybe some towels for the shower. Plus dishes and pots and pans, and the kids could really use some toys and books of their own. Also, a couch, a lamp, a desk, a bedside table (for my glasses). And some roller skates. But other than that, I really don't need much.

I hope that you guys can also benefit from these things I have learned.

Happy New Year
xoxo

hello family

2009-12-24T22:29:00.000-08:00

Hope everyone is having a good holiday. We are terribly, sadly lonely here, with no family or friends. But don't cry for us, we've got chocolate, palt, and roller skates by the beach. So, you know, we're doing ok.

For those of you who were worried we were going to give you junk for Christmas again, you can stop dreading the post. This year, we've decided to support handmade and have actually gone even more eco-friendly. I hope this isn't too much of a spoiler, but if it hasn't arrived yet, Here is a preview of your gift. Don't worry about the extravagance of your present. We wanted to get you something special because, frankly, you rock.

Love you, Merry Christmas xoxo

rolling

2009-12-22T22:34:00.000-08:00

Mission: To fight the fear and (re)learn how to roller skate, while ignoring the voice in my head reminding me that I am 30 plus years old and probably more suited to drinking sticky drinks than to have sticky skates.

My last time on roller skates was when I was about 10 years old. It would of been the same summer I broke my wrist navigating a curb, being the super awesome skater I was.

I may have taken awhile to jump back on this horse, but I learned myself up good. Check out my armor:

Check out my smile :D

Skills learned:

1) Stopping; using snowplow method (great for when I have 20 or more feet clear before actual cessation of movement becomes necessary).

2) Turning; by shifting my weight to one side. It's finally good for something.

3) Falling; by standing in one spot, squeezing eyes closed, and following the directions provided by slapstick pantomime of person making flinging themselves from a great height onto a very hard surface from The Man who is standing on the other side of the nearly sound-proof plexiglass. Someday I will learn to fall accidentally.

today's moments

2009-12-20T20:16:00.000-08:00

most familiar: hugging both children at once, with one wrapped over each shoulder, sweetly enjoying their warmth and love until the back of my head gets knocked as they start swiping at each other behind me.

gluttonous: checking out 63 books from the library. And then spotting another interesting cover on the way out of the building, going back, and checking it out too.

most old couple-ish: when both kids were finally sleeping, having The Man clap his hands together and say, "Okay! Let's get some shit done!" Housework is the new romance.

yummiest: The Man made cabbage rolls for lunch.

most irritating: having the toddler catapult an entire cabbage roll at my head during lunch.

freakiest: buying black leggings of the type I haven't worn since I was ten and bicycle shorts were all the rage. I've already worn them.

weirdest: having the boy repeatedly ask me to give him snake bites on first one forearm and then the other. Repeatedly. At first I say no, but after being asked for a solid 10 minutes, I really, really feel like he deserves a couple.

slackerish: having a 20 minute nap (every night) while I help Smootch fall asleep.

slackerish part II: blogging rather than tackling the dishes.

worrisome: bringing in an armload of wood for the stove, dropping it into the wood bin, and then watching as dozens of spiders and ants are flung into the floor from the impact.

most horrifying: bra shopping with the preschooler ("I don't know, mom, they just don't look right from down here.")

most liberating: buying a bra for the first time in 6 years that doesn't have easy access flaps.

funniest: After sending the kids off to clean up a mess they made, Smootch whispers to Birdie, with the camaraderie of a fellow inmate, "I know. She's pretty mean, eh?"

You don't know that half of it kids. Wait until you actually comprehend what a blog is, my sweet darlings, and the public horrors you will face. Remember, it's all because I love you so much!

Mwaahahahaha!!!!!!

princess sticky skates rides again

2009-12-16T11:19:00.000-08:00

I don't want to overwhelm you with pictures of Smootch skating (but, I could, if you like :D) but I had to post just one more. This kid slays me. Her latest dramatic play involves her being a princess who's domineering and evil mother won't let her derby because princesses aren't supposed to play rough sports. I suggested that maybe she make the 'mother' in her game a 'step mother', whom her father shacked up with after her own sweet mama died in a horrific derby accident (though, I suppose I'd rather be the bitch than dead). Smootch considered my version for a moment before she looked me in the eyes and said, 'No, I think I'll stick to the regular mean mom.' And I guess that's all there is to say about that.

We're waiting for it to stop raining before we can get outside and get rolling. Smootch has been able to skate around the house a bit, her bearing are pretty tight and she rolls a bit slower, but mine fly like mad and trying to move around a 5 foot square space is an invitation to muscle cramps in the legs. Getting going at the same time as having to stop is plain silliness. I can't wait for a couple dry days.

princess sticky skates' living room roller derby

2009-12-14T21:37:00.000-08:00

It's surprising how much speed one can pick up in a 65 foot long trailer. We had to pry the skates off her feet after brushing her teeth so we could get her into bed. She's picked herself off the ground more times today than when she was learning to walk. And she's been studying roller derby tutorials on youtube (she paid particular attention on how to hip check your opponent). So, you know, be warned.

monday

2009-12-07T20:27:00.000-08:00

For those of you in Alberta: ha! Look, the boy is out in a t-shirt and the ground is bare!

For those of you in New Zealand: oh, no, the kid is in a toque it's so damn cold!

xoxo

the irrepressable glamour of my life

2009-12-04T18:26:00.000-08:00

I was completely convinced today was Wednesday... of next week. I don't know how, but my brain jumped ahead a whole five days and I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that it's Friday. Even Smootch knows what day it is. She was trying to tell me that today was the 4th of December, but told her she had to be wrong because it was Wednesday.

Wow.

Maybe it's got something to do with this:

My increasing connectivity. Between working on the computer, email, facebook, my blogs, skype and my new found love of playing YouTube roulette while doing dishes in order to escape the desire to punch myself in the head with the tedium of it all, I'm sort of losing track of real life here.

Apparently I think blogging about it will help.

I'm not the only one with a media obsession. Smootch is still embroiled in her Sailor Moon phase (I know, every female under the age of 25 has had one, yes?) and, being the independent creative sort that see potential in almost anything, it's terribly difficult to distract her from it.

Smootch is very serious about her fun.

Let me state that Sailor Moon is completely inappropriate for five year olds. The whole, "I Will Punish You!" thing has way too many bad connotations for casual use around the house and during play. There's also Smootch's refusal to be called any other affectionate nickname but "meatball head". This is the sort of thing that may affect me long term.

Superheros and special powers are just beginning to enter Smootch's consciousness. She's just getting the good vs. evil thing. I'm pretty sure she thought Sailor Moon was exclusively a love story between Serena and Darrin, and sometimes that guy at the arcade, until about a month ago when she finally noticed that there seemed to be some sort of point to all the costume changes the Sailor Scouts were doing. The transformation from ordinary mortal to super being is starting to seep into her dramatic play. Wands are more now than to just wave around. They can also shoot people. My girl is actually starting to turn almost every pointy object in her hand into a gun. I can't wait to hear how that fits into everyone's gender theories.

It is, of course, all about power. Or, rather, Power, with a capital 'P'. Special abilities, super powers and guns are her drama of choice now. She wants to rule the world and smite any enemies who get in her way. She will punish you!

Sitting at supper tonight, as I finally figured out today was day it really is, I had to tell Smootch she was right about the date all along. It's worth it to tell her that she's right just to watch the gleeful smile spread across her face (she loves being right). But then I jokingly accused her of stealing my special power to know what day it is. Her face registered some shock - I can steal powers?! - and then cunning - What other powers can I steal? That's my girl.

I asked Smootch, "If you could steal any super power from another person, what super power would you steal and from whom?" Smootch responded immediately with, "Auntie Cathee's k-words." A 'K-word' belongs to the same catagory of words a the 'F-word', so named by a preschooler who really couldn't see any difference between one letter or another when initially introduced to the subject of forbidden words. Smootch has heard a whole lot of K-words in her life, partly because of aforementioned Auntie and partly because her mother has no filters that tells her what is and what is not okay to say while in the presence of children. My kids aren't particularly innocent in that realm, and thus have to learn when it's appropriate to curse and who it's appropriate for.

Smootch believes that K-words are powerful, maybe like her Auntie, and that merely speaking them will punish your enemies. Tonight Smootch asked for a special treat. I said, no, automatically, thinking that she's asking for more ice cream or truffles (The Man has been busy in the kitchen) but instead she asked to be able to say a 'K-word'. More amused than I, perhaps, should be, I said, yes, but only once and if...

Before I could finish, Smootch triumphantly yelled out, "Shit!" And with a huge, world conquering grin, went to sleep.

I can't tell anymore if this parenting gig of mine is going terribly wrong or terribly right. But I do know we are all having a lot of fun.

Have a good weekend everyone. And thanks Auntie Cathee, for the LunaRock cd and K-words. It's too bad that you don't like kids because they sure like you.

sticks and rolling stones (warning: very frank and open discussion ahead)

2009-12-03T20:31:00.000-08:00

Apparently little brothers are good for more than just teaching to run up and down the halls screaming or convincing to go sneak leftover Halloween candies. They are also handy to have around for comparative anatomy. Smootch has been wondering lately just what exactly did happen to her penis? Good question.

At first we told her that we took her penis off in order to grow her brother. As in he grew like a sprout from a penis, which is actually how he probably views himself - a penis that just so happens to have a boy attached - given how much he seem to enjoy the fleeting moments of access during baths and diaper changes. Smootch took us seriously for about a fifth of a second before she decided we were as full of it as the cat box. Seems she actually already knows a frightful amount about reproduction and could probably qualify to teach prenatal classes. Our second attempt at misinformation, telling Smootch that they had to plug the hole she had in her heart as an infant with an extra part - a penis graft, if you will - was also summarily dismissed.

Finally, in a lapse of imagination, I told her the truth: she never had a penis and most likely never would. Smootch was a little ticked off, I mean, look at how much fun Birdie has with his, but was interested enough in the following anatomical discussion to set aside her irritation. As it happened, in the course of our very frank and open conversation, the word 'clitoris' entered Smootch's vocabulary. Upon further reflection, Smootch figured that a clitoris was the female counterpart to a penis. Belonging only to females, the clitoris is actually the epitome of femaleness, which, with her five year old gender rigidity, also means the very essence of femininity. Sort of like girls are princesses and boys are either princes or frogs. Right, mom?

Yesssssss. I suppose.

"Then I'll be Princess Clitoria, and you can be the Queen," says Smootch.

Uh-oh.

In other news, I've somehow committed myself to learning to roller skate. Or, I should say re-learn, since I fancy I was somewhat of an diva of the Almost-Competent roller skating set when I was younger. At least I was until grade five, when I sort of broke a bone and stuff. After that I was forced to drop out of the Almost-Competent set down to the Danger-to-Self-and-Others skill level.

Ahem.

But, as it happens, Smootch is completely gobsmacked by all sorts of strange wheeled and bladed boots. She loves ice skating. She cruises right along with out holding onto anything, which means she's got me beat. Her father was a power skater as a youth ("It sucked, though." Edit: he sucked. Sorry. The Man has just clarified.), but her grandpa was pretty good on his pointy, slidey boots, so maybe there's something there. Anyway we look at it, the whole skating thing seems to make her excited enough to bug us every bloody day to hit the ice, so we take her take her every chance we have.

And then she found out about roller blades. By a girl who would climb over playground equipment in them no less. Oy-vey. My position was that she could get a pair in the spring, along with the necessary safety equipment (no need to break bones and stuff) and, hey, go have fun kid. But there's this whole thing with dad going ice skating with her. Shouldn't, in the interest of fairness and balance (another five year old thing) Mom go roller blading with her?

Um, no.

I've owned roller blades for years and spent a total of five minutes on them. I don't think it's going to happen. Nope.

Somehow, though, roller derby has come up in our family culture. You know roller derby. It's that very strange thing people used to do back when roller disco was something people could talk about without laughing. Where you race around a track and knock each other over? Well, it's back in popular culture (though it never actually left completely) and there is a roller derby league now in almost every town. Hey, there's even new movies about it. Hmmmm. Fun stuff!

We've been doing some explorations (okay, watching You Tube videos) and, damn, I can see now why it's the fastest growing sport among women with children. Roller skates and cool nicknames like 'Calamity Carnage' and 'Haul Ass Hanna' and stripey tights and naughty underwear and helmets and, yes, hitting people! Good stuff for moms! I probably don't need to mention this, but moms generally have some rage to work out. And they aren't particularly afraid of pain, being on the other side of child birth and all.

I'm in!

Oh, wait. I can't actually roller skate. Well, only there's only one way to fix that. You can see Smootch grinning ear to ear when she figures out what I'm thinking. "Hey, mom, are we going to get some roller skates? Like, now? Now? Now?"

So, I said, yes, we can look into getting roller skates and yes, we can do it soon, since we'll probably be able to use the pavement throughout most of the winter here, and yes, yes, yes.

Now. Ish.

I'll keep you updated on my bid to break bones and stuff. In the meanwhile, I'll be trying to think up a funky handle for when I become a roller girl. What do you all think of 'Queen Clitoria'?

the organizational man

2009-11-28T22:36:00.000-08:00

I know I'm not supposed to compare my children (as if) and if I do, I certainly shouldn't go on about it (but people with blogs always go on about things), and I definitely shouldn't be applying over-simplied cliches to them (me bad sociology major) but I find the similarities and differences between Smootch and Birdie continuously fascinating. Why are they similar in some ways? It it genetic or they way they are being raised, or it because they are growing together and, like anyone who spends a lot of time with someone else, they tend to develop similar interests and characteristics? What about their differences? And how much is it got to do with them wanting to individualize themselves or stages in their lives or social programming or vaginas vs. penises?

(Okay, maybe me good sociology major... there's a reason why I was able to stand four years of the stuff.)

Even more so, I find children to be interesting to watch all in themselves. People watching in general is absorbing, and people watching on the level of observation from conception and onwards is the greatest journey. What a blessing it is to have a front row seat.

Both kids have, of course, secret inner lives that I can only glimpse from time to time. I try not to intrude too much there. They are vulnerable, particularly to me, Mama: giver of food and hugs, and I have this feeling like I'd be like a rhino in a restaurant, banging into the furniture and knocking over all their careful constructs. I am content to sit outside and guess what's inside.

With two kids there is an added bonus of different manifestations of their stages of development. Smootch, as brilliant as she is, still only made, say, half the list of what your baby/toddler/preschooler may be doing put out by the What to Expect type popular literature. For instance, Smootch never did wild tantrums as a toddler, or were so rare as to not even register. She always, even as an infant, would sit down and listen to as many stories as you had the breath to read. She did 24 piece puzzles at 18 months. She can't throw a ball to save her life. She follows instructions and works on pleasing people (for the mixed blessing that is). I had no idea that kids could be different. I thought it was my wise parenting that was producing such a smart and focused kid.

Ha.

Birdie is the other part of the list. He is so the tantrum drama. He'd rather throw a book than read it. He does not listen. If he doesn't physically experience something (read: grab, shake, poke, taste and eventually smack his sister with), he will not be able to learn about it. There is no still, only action. Even his little feet are always roving around, kicking, and scratching with his impossible to cut toe nails. He frequently tosses puzzle pieces a good 6 feet.

None of this is terribly surprising, given our ideas about girls vs. boys or birth order.

But these kids are full of curve balls. As soon as we think we have them pegged, "THIS is what this kid is about," they show us that they are, after all their own persons. Theory says, Smootch is the fussy, tidy first born girl. Not so, on any level. Smootch is an incredible slob. She thinks it's funny to see how long she can go with ketchup on her face before someone holds her down and washes it off. She keeps nothing organized. She is a girl who lives in her ideas and inspirations and can not be bothered with the mundane details of actually knowing where stuff is. (hmmmmm... sounds familiar.......)

It probably works out well that she is a genius of improv and able to create almost any prop needed with a bit of glue, paper, and felt pens. She thinks, "I can't find my magic wand. Guess I'll just make another one!" And is happy doing just that.

Birdie Boy, Mr. baby jock, is, in huge contrast, rather neat with his things. He's loves to clean up. He tidies with glee. He lines up, organizes, sorts according to colour and shape. (Smootch never did that. The shape sorting toy was her arch nemesis as a toddler.) Birdie can actually be a bit anal about some things, like having his hands cleaned after dinner.

And he holds a pencil properly, something that Smootch, in all her brainy and artsy gloriousness, did not learn to do until she was three.

I'd like to say that I will stop comparing the kids, but I know I won't. It just provides too much intellectual fodder, not to mention all sorts of entertainment. Everything I do with each one of them is new. I never really know how they're going to react, despite all my observation and note taking. I'm excited to see how their interests and passions will unfold as they grow, and, hopefully, be able to lay all sorts of helpful ideas and projects down in their paths so they can experience all that they want to. In the end, it really doesn't matter what I may think of them or if my guesses about who they are are correct. It only matters what they think of themselves and their place in the world.

Damn, I really hope I'm not screwing this up.

at the interent cafe, just a mile past the cows by Smith's ol' barn

2009-11-23T08:36:00.000-08:00

Okay, so Shaw cable has no idea what they're doing. Apparently they can not use a calender ("we showed up three days early - that's good right?"), nor make simple logical connections ("Okay, we'll put you on the waiting list and give you a call if we have an avaliability to connect your telephone"). We are still without internet or phone until friday. That is, assuming they will show up.

Until then, I've got a coffee shop with wi-fi about a 5 minute walk away. Which is, frankly, a brillant thing, considering the rest of the place is rural and semi-rural, with the closest grocery store being a vegetable market with actual goats on the grass roof a 10 minutes drive away. Or, I could go into town, just 12 minutes away, but I have to make a turn right by the public beach to get to the store and I tend to get distracted by the ocean.

The ocean!

Alright, I'm still not over it. I've spent a lot of years in Alberta; it's going to take more than a couple of months to wear the shine off this place for me.

Vancouver Island has made good on its promise for a wet fall. November is usually rainy, so I hear, but this year has a been a good'er. Our firepit, just this past week, developed into a pond, then a river that flooded down through the yard, under the car and finally drained away in the trees 2 acres over.

A pond, with tree islands, makes a great play space, by the way, if you don't mind getting your boots filled every once in awhile.

The kids are good and sick. They've got some sort of hive creating virus. You'd think they have measles, but they don't. Weird, the stuff you pick up in Port Alberni. They're okay, though. They both had a day or two of fever (but not the same days, of course), but frankly they look awful, with pasty whitey white skin and red blotches. Their mood is good, still, and they definitely love exploring our new space. Again, as long as they don't mind getting a bit wet.

In our yard we can hear chickens, ducks, a turkey (everyone has birds) and goats (some people have goats. I hear they are not for everyone.) There's some llamas around too, but, then again, there is usually is. Oh, and a teeny tiny herd of cows (as in, there are a few cows, not that the cows are small), such a rare thing, that we actually use them as a landmark to remind me to take the next right to the shops.

It's not all mellow and laid back, though. There are some moments of excitement. A couple days ago, Smootch and I were walking to the store and I looked up into the antlers of a deer patiently waiting for us to walk by so he could cross the road. I did this (embarrassing) little shrieking jumping dance, scaring the deer and Smootch. I was surprised, okay? I know I used to accidently bump into the bellies of bull elk in Jasper walking half awake to work and yes, I just moved from a place where you are as likely to run into a bear as you are to your neighbor when walking around your block, but I'm still not that brave.

And, we rescued this guy from the flood (hope she doesn't eat all the trees).

So, that's it. Life is wet, happy, and novel. I've got a good amount of work done, not being distracted by the internet I suppose, and The Man and I have cooked up an ambitious new projects for the new year. More on that later...

For now, my big decision today is which way to go to explore next.

We are truly in love with where we live.

orange boy

2009-11-08T20:45:00.000-08:00

Birdie boy has come to realize the world is just not built for someone his size. All the good stuff (chocolate) is way up high and even the most utilitarian things (chairs) are so difficult to use that alterations (booster seat) are necessary.

Which is why he loves when he finds something smaller than even size small.

Four days ago when he first laid eyes on these tiny mandarins he has eaten, oh, forty, fifty or so?

Which has been a little bit evil on the other side of the pipe.

What we suffer for love...

owly

2009-11-02T21:09:00.000-08:00

Smootch's present fascination is owls. Which is why we were happy to discover these great printable masks today.

Night owl and owly girl. Birds a-feather.

juicy butternut squash

2009-10-31T12:42:00.000-07:00

It's amazing the amount of water in vegetables. This is what you do when you are thirsty but aren't big enough to reach the tap.

Try some?

my wife The Man

2009-10-28T19:31:00.000-07:00

Well, we've been here on the Island for, what?, two months and change now? Things are just starting to settle down a bit. When I was younger, childless and relatively man-less, two months in a new place would be about the time that the whole town would start to get a bit boring and I'd have a map out looking for somewhere new. Two months now, with family includings cats and sewing machines, I'm still trying to get a grip of where the light switch is in the hallway.

I'm still disorientated.

The kids are just calming down. If you think that children are resilent in the face of change and their spirited little minds naturally look forward to novelty and brand new adventures than you out of your mind. Children handle change like snowballs handle hell. They melt. They fry. They lose all shape and intergrity and turn into frothing puddles of unreasonableness.

At least that is what mine do.

Thank goodness there is someone else here with me, someone familar, weathering the child storms, and equally flummoxed by the strange, unintuitive position of the hall switch. A little normalacy is a good thing.

Oh, did I mention that in addition being the company to my misery, he also cooks most of the meals (all of the ones that don't involve peanut butter or jam), cleans up the abode, makes most of the household acquistions (except linens... I guess that is still my area), and takes more than his share of the childcare.

He's the guy telling the stories, playing cars on the carpet, pretending to be a malfunctioning robot and doing the crafts with the kids lately. He's the one with the imagination and stamina to keep up with the girl.

And the patience and mindfullness to be with the boy.

And he's doing fine, fine work.

Thanks handsome :)

wild sunday afternooon

2009-10-25T22:39:00.000-07:00

We went to see Where the Wild Things Are today. Great show, really well done, and totally not okay for the kids. Here is why living not watching television sometimes bites us in the butt. We get most of our new movie informaton from print sources, which doesn't give you much of an idea about shows, considering that they considered periphery supports to video promotions. Okay, yes, we could of watched the trailer online, but we thought it was a bit of a no-brainer. Great children's book film adaptation = take children.

No, don't take children. Or, don't take my children. Birdie Boy slept through most of it, which is the way I like to watch shows with him anyway. He's much less distracting when he's unconscious. On the other hand, Smootch is great to watch movies with - if they are animated. She does not like live action. She'll say, "I don't like live action." And that's it. So, don't show her a live action if you want her to sit through a whole movie. We really thought Where the Wild Things was animated. Not so, as we were to learn.

But, there we were, in the theatre, with suddenly with a live action film on our hands, which was shaping up to be a thoughful, psychological journey into the mind of a lonely and emotionally distrubed boy, accompanied with a non-character singing/dancing soundtrack. Neat. For me. Because Smootch's response was, "When's the cartoon going to begin?"

She watched though. Quietly. Hmmmm. New problem: child is not bored with movie about lonely and distrubed boy because she's identifying.

One of the reasons why Sendak's book is considered a classic is because children (and parents) relate to it. It speaks to what is felt but difficult to articulate. Combine this with this particularly gripping movie adaptation, add in dramatic visuals, kickin' music, and lots of emotive facial expressions and you've got a little girl who got lost in the pervasive sadness and feelings of inadequacy.

Heart wrenching tears and clinging.

We were really not prepared for this.

Still, great film. I was pleased to not have to sit through another Cloudy with a chance of Meatballs, which was funny, true, but fart jokes rarely move me. Okay, I was crying when I left that movie too, I am Smootch's mother after all, but I'm sure I will be thinking about Wild Things for awhile. As will Smootch.

From now on, we watch Scooby Doo on rainy afternoons.

a couple of those thousanders

2009-10-22T21:39:00.000-07:00

my move. again.

2009-10-15T20:32:00.000-07:00

We've just put down a deposit on an acreage in Errington. We'll be in on the 15th of november. To keep things interesting, we are going to be using professional movers to shift our meager possessions a mere 30 kilos, after the 1200 km wth only a car and roof bubble. We actually have more furniture now than we ever had in our beautful blue.

Inn other news, both kids have post nasal drips and occasionly throw up tubs of flem. Pulp mill air is not helping. I'm not sure what to do about it since there are no doctors takng new patients here. Wait until it's bad enough to haul them into emergency? Feed them echinacea tea? I only know that tonight, if we are lucky, Birdie Boy will sleep okay in his car seat - the only way we have to keep his head elevated short of holding him upright all night (I've done that too. It's not pretty.) Wish me luck and the kidlets optimal breathing.

once again

2009-10-07T18:26:00.000-07:00

Some photos of one last visit to Butterfly World before they shut down for the season.

(This is Birdie Boy's 'smile' when asked to do so for the camera.)

(And this is Smootch's 'smile'.)

(Thank goodness they both have brains to fall back upon.)

another ho hum day

2009-10-04T20:49:00.000-07:00

Alright I just wrote a whole post talking about how much better life is here than back home. And then I realized I was talking about 'back home' and the homesickness kicked in. So I erased it and only now want to say that I miss you all.

And, still, life is good here.

Nah, nah.

Yesterday, a hike in the woods. Trees too big to wrap my arms around. Ferns and wildflowers. Waterfalls. Thousands of salmon fighting their way upstream to spawn. (Squint at the pic, there are a few to be seen.)

Watching overfed, lazy black bears fish in the river. I feel like I'm living in a nature documentary.

The only solution, as far as I can see, to the homesickness is for you to come visit. We'll be waiting for you :)

peer pressure-less

2009-09-29T21:41:00.000-07:00

Three months of out school and she's finally beginning to think for herself again!

I know how rude that sounds, but shortly after Smootch entered preschool she stopped using her own needs and desires are references when making decisions, and begin to use the generalized (bland) taste of girl, ages 3-5, as filtered through Disney princesses and Family Channel. Stages we all go through will affect our decisions, and obviously there is something in the over the top, las vegas/barbie style of feminity that appeals to little girls. Much like a super macho, ultra violent masculinity is pervasive in boys' play. I consider this normal (and fun).

As Smootch entered preschool, though, group-think hit her hard and the diversity of things and experiences she could take pleasure from shrunk down to a very narrow, mind-twitchingly glittery, world. Before starting school, Smootch had seen a few Disney princess movies, and she liked them, but she also liked Wee Sing videos, teletubbies and even that wretched Dora. Cinderella was just another movie, with long boring bits about falling in love.

Once in preschool, however, she got Disney religion. Cinderella was elevated to the role of demi-god. Hannah Montanna was high priestess and High School Musical a choir of angels, singing sweet songs of licensed merchandise and a Bring It On attitude. There were no longer any other colour than pink (bubble gum pink to be exact). There were no other princesses but Ariel, Aurora, Cinderella, Belle, and Jasmine. Eyes rolled in the back of head and hand pressed to slanty hips was the only way to address parents.

Hair could only be long and straight.

The few months since leaving school Smootch has been going through a real wild-girl hair stage, refusing to pin it out of her face, tie it up, or even brush it if it was possible to avoid her mother in the morning. Starting at a dance academy with a strict dress code has been a major point of contention. Hair has to be worn up, off the face, in a bun if possible. Smootch hates this, and will cry if I even mention a hair elastic. There is a real conflict with her idea of how her hair should look - long and flowing - and with the demands of her life: hair tied up for dance and brushed every so often. She's constantly fussing with her hair, annoyed, flicking it off her face and brushing it out of her eyes.

But no longer. Today we went for haircuts.

Both Smootch and I had our hair cut short. I was so very surprised when Smootch requested, without any prompting, her hair short "all the way around". I didn't even know this was up for negiotation. Last I heard on the topic was that Smootch wanted hair like a princess, which was interpreted as a style sported by a komondor dog. Smootch knew the appointment was coming up, and she gave it some thought, ultimatley deciding what she really wants was to walk into dance class and just dance without feeling like her scalp was being pulled off the back of her head.

Yes! She looks sooooooo sweet, pixieish, with short hair, like she should be wearing a flapper dress and doing the charleston. Here she is, zoned out watching tv, but looking cute and not at all feral as her hair of late has suggested:

I suppose can't actually totally credit homeschooling, or, rather, the lack of being in a preschooler hothouse, with this change of stance on hair. Smootch is maturing (too fast!) I can tell you this for sure, though: Smootch would of never, ever considered cutting her hair short when she was attending preschool. No way. She worried too much about what her friends would think. As with the other ladies in her class, the word, "princessy," was evoked as a value call on almost all decisions. As in, this thing/activity is 'princessy,' hence good or this thing/activity/style is not 'princessy,' hence bad. These days I hardly hear a thing about princesses. She also lists a good four or five colours now as being her favorite (but, yes, pink is still on the list, numero uno).

Which brings me around to Smootch's other hair decision. One that does involve pink. Having had her idea to dye her hair pink rejected, the second best was to purchase a pink wig, a la Stephanie of Lazy Town. The short hair facilitates the wig wearing. As Birdie Boy found out:

The wig looks nice on Smootch too (along with about half a dozen neighborhood kids that have also had a wear - anyone know how to wash these things?!)

Here's what I learnt about the whole thing. First, don't underestimate my kid, she's in there somewhere, no matter how much she sounds like an episode of Hannah Montanna. Second, it's not so much of what she is watching on tv, given that there is a variety to what is seen and a life happening away from the screen. What is dangerous is when that other life, the one that she engages in with all five (or more) senses, is overly concerned with what happens on the screens. When everyone else is talking 'princess' and only wears pink clothing with licensed images, Smootch can't help but conclude these princesses must be more important than she initally thought. She revisits, studies, and joins in. She is, after all, a smart one.

See, we are all learning, all the time :)

(Home school rocks!)

I confess

2009-09-27T22:10:00.000-07:00

Okay, here it is, the real reason why we moved to Vancouver Island...

Butterfly World! Yay!

Smootch loves all things buggy and beautiful. Ever since we visited the Island two and a half years ago, Smootch has been talking about Butterfly World. This is definitely her world.

I was pretty nervous about Birdie Boy, though. I wasn't sure how my busy, grabby little boy was going to handle hundreds of butterflies swooping around his head, not to mention dozens of birds, both flying and on the ground, koi, and turtles. When we arrived Birdie was sleeping and didn't open his eyes until we walked into the main habitat and a whole swarm of butterflies erupted from a flowering bush, startled by our arrival. Birdie peeped this spectacle of rainbow wings fluttering everywhere, his eyes grew into perfect circles, and this beatific smile spread across his face. He was so gentle with the little creatures. He was amazing, almost a different kid.

And I got to be with my two babies blissed out on it all. Watching children having an almost transcendent experience is as good as prozac. Who can worry when the people around you are exuding joy at almost the same rate as they spread sticky fingerprints over every surface in the vicinity? So, there you go. Why we are here, really.

saturday night is good for sleeping

2009-09-26T22:36:00.000-07:00

Everyday, all day, these kids are doing sweet and funny things, which I always think, 'I should so blog this!' And in the evening, after the now, between the two kids, running into 2 hour long bedtime routine and the toddler who wakes up at 4 am, and the preschooler, with homesickness, who now wakes up at 2 am, and The Man who snores loudly, damnit!, I'm just so happy to be awake enough to remember where the light switch is in this unfamilar place.

So, even though the children are continuing to display more then adequate amounts of curosity and intelligence, I have no cutsey stories for you tonight. I apologise for my antedotelessness. Just so you know, we continue to live much like we did before in our beautiful blue home. We read stories, go for walks, play, argue, craft, eat peanut butter and jam a bit too often, paint, tell stories, and watch movies. The kids and The Man get in my face and I get in theirs, and we should probably eat more vegetables. Same old, in a lot of ways.

Still, the differences overwhelm me. I'm feeling so very grateful for the salt water air, the sunsets over the mountains, the amazing old growth forests. All the lovely unfamilarity and profound beauty. It helps me focus on what is important. Through all of this, my healthy kids, my good man. It's good.

I try hard not to think of the other shoe. My garden variety mommy paranoia and the child-of-divorce legacy of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I hope the peacefullness of this inlet will mellow me. I walk beaches with measured steps and count my breaths. I take care to take in the good and let the bad flow on by.

I know, I'm starting to sound like a west coast hippie. I'll cut that out and try to actually write down the sweet things the kids do so I can report back later. Until then, sleep is needed. And perhaps some peanut butter and jam toast.

innocence is so last year

2009-09-22T20:59:00.000-07:00

Earlier today Smootch and Birdie Boy were pretending to be my litter of overgrown puppies. Something I said about needing kicked out of the den after having to wrestle them both for control of the cd player volume button (I eventually took the knob off the cd player and hid it on top of the tv). They make very cute puppies, though a bit icky when they tried to lick me. To distract Smootch from giving me sloppy kisses, I mentioned that a female dog was called a bitch. Smootch loves facts, especially ones that have an edge of the illicit. Giving her this bit of information was a mistake, however. Smootch is fully aware of the other meaning of 'bitch' and wasted no time in using her new information in her typically smartmouth, fiendish way.

Smootch says, "Ah, so you are my bitch mama!" with the sweetest smile that said, oh yes, I meant it to mean exactly how it sounded.

Make no mistake, she is a precocious child. If I wasn't her bitch mama, I'd be so proud.

monday

2009-09-14T21:12:00.000-07:00

I know these kids of mine are quite young, and it's probably a bad idea to forecast any particular future for them based on their current interests and quirks, but there are a few things that have been relatively consistent in each child that looks like it is probably something about them rather than their particular age or passing fancy.

Like Smootch's desire to poke, prod, and squish any avaliable living creature. She's got a bit of science geek, particularly natural sciences, in her that becomes really obvious when she calmly studies the spider she finds running across her hand rather than doing the shrieking hyper speed running man that other little kids do (and quite a few adults too). Beetles, crabs, worms; she has no idea these are supposed to be icky. Her curiosity has always outdone any attempted socialization (read: censorship) about particular aspects of life. Like when she presented her auntie with an anatomically enthusiastic (if not, in fact, correct) cutaway view of her mother's uterus. Or talk about anus' and what are they good for, really?

Sometimes all we can do is to make sure she washes her hands frequently.

I think animals can sense the curious objectivity in her, the desire to know about what makes them tick rather than seeing them as cutsie critters to love and pamper. Smootch likes animals, and seems to have a developing sense of empathy for them, but cats and dogs really do not like Smootch much in return. They must know that Smootch finds a dead cat more interesting than a live one.

Birdie Boy, however, loves animals for their soft fur and sloppy kisses, especially dogs. The sight of our cats always brings out this huge, crinkly eye smile, and a joyous, "Kitty!" He also talks to birds and can imitate crows and seagulls. If there is a bird around, Birdie will be off trying to get a hug.

Another thing Birdie does well is rhythm. He loves singing along with the radio (which is fun, considering most of his speech is a long string of vowel sounds), beating drums, or getting rhythm anyway he can, even if it's just splashing in the water.
Birdie is always listening.

For entertainment on our long car trips, Birdie has begun to teach himself the harmonica. Really. We have a couple of harmonicas that we sometimes play with. Birdie began by just trying to make a sound (which is tough to do when you're only 16 months old but he was quite determined) and has slowly been developing his repetoire. Right now he's playing two note melodies - with one low note and one high note, alternately played in a simple rhythm.

Birdie is very physical. He will never look at something - it will always be in his hands before he can visually identify it. Unfamilar books are for throwing (books that he has heard us read to Smootch many times he will tolerate, but as long as they have a punch line with a tickle or a roar somewhere in them). If Birdie was my first born, I would chalk it up to him being a toddler, but Smootch was so very different. She watches and learns. Listens and follows instructions. She focuses on my words and will not move a muscle while she absorbs new information. Birdie thinks that my mouth opening and closing while giving him instructions is only about having something to put his fingers into. He kicks, hits, and squirms because he has to move. I pity anyone who gets in his way.

I know many people believe that the differences in my kids is about their sex or birth order. Maybe somethings, I concede, but not all. In the end, though, it really doesn't matter. They are here, now, and I am in a prime position to enjoy their pecularities and innate talents and never have to worry about what all the other girls and boys or first and second borns are doing because it's really not helpful right now. I'm just going to watch my kids and encourage them to follow their passions and challenge them a bit to strengthen their weaknesses.

Knowing these things about my kids is one reason we are pursuing the homeschooling. Smootch's method of knowing about the world is so much different than what we've seen of Birdies'. I can't even imagine them trying to learning from one teacher using one method. Each kid has their way of learning and tolerance for frustration (Birdie: pretty good, Smootch: none at all). It's going to be such an adventure!

beaches

2009-09-10T21:49:00.000-07:00

Sprout Lake

Parksville Public Beach

Rathtrevor

Long Beach

Chesterman

Chilliwack

2009-08-30T18:47:00.000-07:00

We are en route to Port Alberni, without Sybil. The RV has been deemed too scary for mountains (not to mention that she doesn't start without some serious electrical voodoo) and is parked at a farm, awaiting our visit in the spring, when we will hopefully take her on an Alberta road trip to visit family and take in the North Country Fair. We've got our little car, the kitties, a roof rack and bubble. We have no things. No dishes, towels, pillows. No toys. No books. No can opener. Tomorrow we ride the ferry to the Island and start looking for an apartment.

Right now The Man is walking Birdie Boy around the Travelodge, trying to get him back to sleep. with the drive, even trying to keep down to only 4-5 hours of car time a day, his erratic sleeping habits have gotten even more nutty. I've seen more sunrises lately than I care to.

Here he is crashed out in the car with a popsicle. When I tried to remove the popsicle he would wake up and cry until I slipped the stick back into his little paw.

We've had time for some stops, mostly taken in various states of undress. It's been hot and smokey.

We also got to stop at the Enchanted Forest, just west of Three Valley. I haven't been there since I was a kid. Of course, the best part was watching Smootch - heavy into her fairytale time - explore the castle and forest.

If you do plan on visiting yourself, bring lots of quarters for fish and duck food. Smootch highly recommends getting up close with the ducks. Apparently it is an experience to write home about :)

I'll update next time I find some internet and time. The Man just brought back some wild picked blackberries and a wide awake Birdie Boy so we're off to do some impromtu harvesting. Later!

Plan B

2009-08-20T12:15:00.000-07:00

Alrighty, so Sybil is still in the shop and will probably be there until monday, making it a full week without our things. Sybil's electric system is best described as majorly screwed up. Buddy who had it before did his own electrical work, and it seems he's a bit of an idiot. This, my friends, is a lesson learnt. Painfully.

On the upside, so far, looks like having only 2 days worth of clothes with us is just fine, providing there is a laundry within reach. We've decided to park Sybil, once she's sprung from the shop, out on a farm for the winter (where she's got lots of space and playmates in other abandoned vehicles) and when we come back in the spring we shall have a mobile home to do our two month visiting/festival stint in May and June. In theory.

This winter we shall still be on Vancouver Island. In fact, we hope to leave this coming wednesday, with 4 days travel (cats and kids, need lots of breaks) and be there by the weekend. The plan is to find some accommodation for the winter, with our very few possessions (have I mentioned that our car is a two door Neon sport), picking up what is needed in terms of livingware at the Free Store in Port Alberni.

The Free Store? What is that and why does it sound so cool?

Glad you asked! The Free Store is just as it sounds, with a significant portion of the second hand items offered being completely free (just take it!) and the rest being just a dollar or two. Drop off stuff costs a couple of bucks, but they do not refuse anything. The underlying principals are diverting goods from the landfill and encouraging reconsumption (their term) rather than consumption with the buying of the new, resource use heavy, goods. My kind of place, which also happens to be the brainchild of a couple of friends, but I've never been. (Nic, have you?)

This weekend we'll proceed with our scheduled camp trip with The Man's parental units and their parental units out in the Rockies. Smootch has already gone ahead, leaving us a few days early, preferring to spend her time basking under the full attention of two sets of grandparents rather than hang out with her very distracted and busy parents and the brother that bites and hits. (I just can't understand that girl's reasoning?! :D) Of course, we are borrowing a trailer for the camp (mama don't do no tent. Well, except when she does.)

We'll be back for monday, winterize Sybil (if she ever gets out of the shop) and clear up some final details (including the testing within range of our vet office of the kitty dope we're getting to help the cats relax on the car ride - I feel terrible for those critters and hope to do good for them at the end of this ride). Stuff - house, rv, books, games, toys - these are the things that have proven themselves to be the headaches of the past month and a half. I wish to be lighter, so much lighter!

Sybil

2009-08-18T08:27:00.001-07:00

Hi. I have some pictures from you, which I am not going to show you now because I can't. Actually, I can't view my own blogs either, since I am on a borrowed computer and apparently my sites contain 'adult content' and are blocked from teenagers (thank god I am not a teenager anymore.) So, just a quick hello, and give you an update on what's happening.

Sybil, aka The Bitch (I don't know how these 'adult content' ideas get started) is not acting like a good RV. Which is too bad, because I had high hopes for her. She's in the shop now, again, after two AMA calls, one tow, a smashed out back window, a need to buy a little gizmo that tells how many volts are in the battery (new battery, btw, and new alternater, that somehow drains WHILE DRIVING), a discovery of leaks in the fresh water that drains into storage areas and the place I happen to put my pots and pans, a discovery we will NEVER have hot water (or at least, without paying a whole 1/4 of what we paid for the whole RV), and learning that goes at 5 miles/gallon.

Five miles per a gallon.

I know RVs have issues, and older ones even more so, but when three different mechancial shops inspect, fix, and charge what has basically doubled our purchase price, all the while they assure us that she's a fabulous buy and runs great (which she does, actually, if you can get her going), not to mention the previous owners assertion that, 'Oh yeah, she runs great, by!' and then you find yourself calling AMA again... well, there is some serious discussion of cutting our losses and dashing to the Island in the car.

Okay, enough complaining (I know my MIL, who we are staying with for a few days, is thinking the same thing). I shall check in again soon. Hope y'all had a great week!

launch... delayed

2009-08-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

The u-haul for the sentimentals isn't coming until sunday. But we're only two days behind (not bad, unassembling an entire household with two small and very active children underfoot. We're pretty out the door, just some last details and probably a day of cleaning up the house for the new family.

I keep hearing that we should be worried about our children being too close in the RV. Like we're going to be couped up with a couple of understimulated and hyper active kids. I will miss the 750 or so extra square feet I have in our house. Hmmmm. Maybe, some days. But as of right now, the only place the children give me space is in Sybil. In the house, they climb on me, cling to my skirts and kneecaps (very uncomfortable), and bug me to watch a show.

In the RV, Birdie Boy stations himself at the wheel (no fakey hotwheels dashboard for this boy) and Smootch visits her books in the bedroom and I have an unaccustomed amount of room to move. The novelty will wear off soon, most likely, but that is when I can toss the kids out into the backyard, aka, the whole world.

So, two more days. It seems like forever, but I've waited a long time for this journey already, so I'll just do what I would tell the kids to do: focus on what needs done, take some breaks to have fun, and before I know it, we'll be off.

me me me

2009-08-02T11:43:00.000-07:00

A little while ago I was asked to write a guest post for Things Mommies Love blog, which, after some procrastination, I did. It should be appearing August 6th. I’ve also been asked to provide a picture and a small biographical paragraph. No probl… wait. A small autobiographical paragraph is an amazingly difficult task. Sure, I wrote seven thousand words about contemporary women’s relationship with handicrafts - that was fun! - but a hundred or so about me? Ummm… no, thank you.

I have a picture. It’s the only one I could find in recent months where my mouth isn’t beginning to form the sentence, “Don’t you dare take a picture of me!”

Biographical details? Yes, I suppose I could give myself a number of labels. Like mom. Or vegan. And unschooling parent, life long learner, sewer/pattern maker, blogger. I can even add deliberately homeless (or soon to be). But, of course, that says nothing about me really.

I could say something about walking a fairly regular path until about high school, when I decided to get a life instead of a diploma. Since then I’ve done some roaming (sea to sea in Canada), some reading (probably 10 thousand books or more), some formal educating (B of A degree, with distinction, thank you), some socializing (partying), some breeding (two gorgeous kids), and some life partnering (who also did many of these other things with me). All of which, in actual fact, makes me fairly typical (my ego believes otherwise, but I’ve also learnt to not take Ego’s advice very seriously).

You are going to say that I am over thinking this. Just say it plain, Charity, get over yourself. I am a vegan, unschooling mama to a preschooler and a toddler, and a partner to a great man. Hmmmm. Or maybe I am wife, mother, and pattern maker. Or could be that I am a business owner and creative craftsperson, who also happens to have a beautiful family and a 30 foot RV. What can I say that doesn’t make one aspect of myself more important than another?

And now I am feeling rather narcissistic. Not in the clinical sense, but like maybe my time could be better spent getting lunch on for that beautiful family.

Alright. To get it over with, what do you think of this:

Charity Beasley, aka Vegbee, spent too much time deliberating (obsessing) about what to write for her biographical paragraph that she ran out of time and decided you could find out for yourself on her blogs found here and here. If you figure her out, you can help by emailing her at vegbee@littleprintdesigns.com and let her know because she still doesn’t have a clue.

friday

2009-07-31T11:24:00.000-07:00

Things are moving along over here!

First, our big news, somebody loves our home enough to buy it! We've accepted an offer and it's all a go, with a possession date of september 1. In addition, we couldn't ask for better buyers - they are a small family we actually know a bit from the public library, with a girl the same age as Smootch (she even has curly hair too ;). They garden and ride bikes and just lovely in so many ways. Ah. Satisfying. They were to be our last viewing before we turned the whole thing over to the realtor (actually, I was giving The Man hell for not pulling our sign earlier since there is no time for viewings when you are downsizing, packing and preparing, so they just squeeked in, with only The Man's good nature getting them in the door.)

The shedding and preparing continues. We are getting to the nitty gritty. How many cookbooks do we take? How many days of clothes to wear before washings? Our home is mostly empty (yet still messy :O).

I should have some pics of Sybil soon, but I think we'll do our big clean up of her first. Her carpets and chairs need cleaning, and the mirrors washed etc. Yesterday we checked all her systems - heat, fridge, water, and they all work just fine. She was in the mechanics shop for a few days getting her spark plugs replaced and some other surprise issues (always something, yes?) She's actually got another appointment on tuesday because somehow the mechanics knocked out her overdrive while in the shop and now she doesn't want to do hills. Considering we have two provinces worth of mountains to get through, not to mention the whole Icefields Parkway to Jasper in a few weeks (the same mountain that killed my first car), we sorta need her to be able to go up faster than 20 km. So, one more trip to the shop.

But then we are out of here.

(yay!)

I will get back to sorting through our clothes, but leave you with some pages I've visited to inspire and help us out a bit as we've been downsizing.

Here is Families on the Road downsizing page. FOTR, btw, is an amazing site. Go there. Read the blogs. Marvel at the different ways families can live and learn.

DeliberateLife.com is my new favorite blog. They are a family on Vancouver Island who are now getting a bus to convert to a living space, but they also have all sorts of lovely thoughts on unschooling, unjobbing, and life in general. I've been trying to stalk them a bit, I mean, make friends, but so far no go :D Here is my favorite resource discovered there (for now).

WhyWork? has given us some food for thought. I know some think I'm nuts but everytime I hear of someone being laid off I think, 'Good for them!' Because being untied from a job is an opportunity (and, yes, maybe a tragedy too. Every situation is different, and with every second that passes are a number of choices, attitudes, and possibilites for personal revolutions... we mustn't put all hopes on the jobs provided by corporations and their shareholders because they will fuck us everytime.)

Cheers all, I'll be back soon!

My stuff has (almost) left the building

2009-07-29T20:51:00.000-07:00

My stuff.

It's funny, a few months ago I had a whole house of stuff that was of such importance that I carted it around for decades from home to home, I cleaned it, organized it, stored it, brought it out, and put it away again. I dedicated over a thousand square feet of prime real estate to my stuff, effectively making the cost of stuff storage over a thousand dollars a month. I have loved my stuff. I've kept it warm, dry, and clean. I've protected it and lovingly caressed its surfaces. I've nurtured my stuff.

Today I watched a box of stuff that I once declared I would like buried with my body once I die walk out in the arms of a stranger. I tried really, really hard to care. But I couldn't. I was glad it was leaving. My love affair with my stuff is officially over.

This is a mature point for me, the end of a long, rough journey I've taken cleaning out the house. While we are not quite done, enough has found itself new homes that I'm beginning to feel a bit of a veteran. The first bit was quite hard - crying jags over boxes of random items that just happened to have been abandoned in the basement about the same time that our first child was born. How I could develop an attachment to something that I had previously discarded just because I ditched it at an important time in my life is seriously convoluted, yet there I was. And then I went through the real mementos, many of which needed to go away, no matter how much they mean to me. Going through them it became easier to answer some essential questions: Do I need this now or ever again? Will the person/event I cherish be diminished/damaged/hurt by the passing along of this memento? What's really important here? Does my memory suddenly cease to work without this particular memento?

I've gotten better at keeping it all in perspective, especially with gifts given to me and the children. Gifts are not given in with the expectation that they will hence forth be forever strapped to your person and household and hauled around like a ball and chain. Gifts are about love and that's what we are supposed to carry.

A few days ago I became hardened (or exhilarated with the impending liberation) to the point where I became almost predatory, roaming around my house, spying out stuff that I could get rid of. This is the point where The Man started questioning my decision making but I make no apologises. My point: Can we live without it? Can we make do? Do I need to remind anyone that Birdie Boy flushed our bath plug away more than a month ago and, yet, since baths have been taken almost daily (with bath cloths doing double duty). Yes, it's useful, yes, we use it. But do we need to?

We still have a long way to go. Not just with the house, though we are on the last leg of the decluttering, but with the mental cage we live in when it comes to stuff. I am programmed to buy and acquire. I could say that a little less dramatically, but the truth is that buying, collecting, having, and hoarding are something I instinctively, or if not biologically programmed, then as a knee jerk response to almost any event imaginable. Need something to do? Get some stuff. Got an important event coming up? Get some stuff. Expecting a baby? Get some stuff (actually, a lot of stuff.)

The task now - the harder one I would argue - is to learn how to not acquire more stuff. I know that as we travel more and more makes its way into our lives and living space. And I tend to believe that once stuff makes its way in the door then it becomes like another child to me, a part of me, that needs to find a home within our home, and protected from the cruel world that seeks to seperate us. Don't laugh. I still have a stick - a stick! - that The Man gave to me on the night we met eleven years ago (minus one week).

Letting go and getting comfortable without my stuff armour. That is my challenge now.

Gulp!

We now officially have two homes

2009-07-21T10:35:00.000-07:00

Hey, a quick sneak of our new friend:

Not the prettiest of pictures (I think it's the one from the ad I found on our computer), but I will get some better ones soon. Of course, if we are to be living in the silly thing, there will be many MANY pictures anyway :)

I've started calling her Sybil after her shiny new license plate that spells out 'SYB', something I got to look at a lot yesterday as I followed her from pick up to the shop to have her batteries tended. The Man was an absolute god yesterday, between waking up at 4 am with Birdie Boy, then going to work (to quit), and then the running back and forth between towns to get the certified check, then the insurance and registration, then back to get Sybil, and back to the shop. Oh, and then tidied up our completely trashed house for a viewing at 6, then even took us all down for slurpees. Me? I woke up late, went to discovery canyon (outdoor water park) with the kids, did a bit of driving (insisting on a coffee to take along) and then went to the toy store to play. My job description is basically, 'watch the kids.'

Soon, though, I've got to get a bit more involved in the de-stuffing, as I have a ton or two of fabric that needs sorted and adopted. I feel a bit weepy thinking about it actually.

The kids, btw, are loving this whole process. They get to go out all the time now to strange and wonderful places like automotive shops, and there is always something pulled out in the house that is new (and usually not so good for children to play with). They've hardly noticed the slow thinning of their toy stock. We've been explaining and de-stuffing along with the children as much as possible but ultimately they've never been really interested in their stuff before, and seem even less concerned now. Both of them just want to get out of the house and see things. Perhaps our children's curosity with the wider world (and seemingly annoyance at having to be at home at all) makes this whole adventure viable at this point in our lives. By the time they're teenagers I'm sure things will be drastically different - or maybe not. Children never cease to amaze, and as long as they feel a part of the decision making, who knows where their adventurous hearts will take us all?

Can't wait! T minus two weeks!

how to lose weight quickly

2009-07-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

The title of this blog is about to take on a whole new meaning.

This is where the tv used to be: Smootch has made it into a little bed, perhaps a wake of sorts for her old friend.

The television is the latest casuality in our two mad weeks of emptying out the house. We are are just closing on the purchase on a 30 foot RV, which will be home for all of august and perhaps september. Maybe longer.

No, our beautiful blue home still hasn't sold. But we are turning the keys over to a realtor at the beginning of august. We wash our hands of it (but we'll take the check, when it finds a new family to live in it.) First up will be a two weekish tour of Saskatchwan, looking for a lovely spot to call home for the winter months. Then it'll be the annual family reunion in Camrock, and then up to Peace River for a visit with the family who lives underground. (Dad-Man, btw, is still kickin', though still going through recouperation, with at least one more surgery to go. Note to self: don't block the bowel. Retain gasteromic intregrity.)

Ideally, we should be able to keep most of our things in the RV. Which means that most of the things we currently own need new homes. How amazing it will be to go from a 1000 square feet to an RV! We will keep our mattresses and individual dressers, a few boxes of mementos and the lego (oh, why the hell do we have so much lego?), which will be stored in grandma's duck house until we need them for our winter residence (or if at all), but other than that, we fit in the RV or it goes.

Gulp.

Back to the house. How to slim it all down and quickly? The Man has been a Kijiji'ing like mad, and seem to be having a lot of fun, strangely enough. Good-bye squash raquets, spare dehydrator, and game box! Freecycle is also a brillant resource, if you can convince people to actually come pick up their stuff. Today a whole truckload left with MeMa and Auntie, and looks like I've managed to get rid of another couple of bookshelves too. (All I can say is that if you park your truck outside of our house right now, I suggest you don't leave it unattended or you'll find it filled up with furniture.) The whole 'getting rid of 95% of my stuff' is a roller coaster of emotions, but ultimately I just want to shed it all. Just think, I've probably lost over 500 lbs today - who doesn't love that feeling?!

Christmas in July

2009-07-08T20:11:00.000-07:00

One fun thing about having a bag full of candy from every holiday that passed over the last few years is being able to satisfy the almost any type of sweetie desire. Like when Birdie Boy has a yearning for peppermint. Have you ever met a baby into peppermint?

For being the kid who bites every member of his family daily, it's funny how he licks his candy cane down to almost nothing, never a bite (while his sister, who never bit her mother, still can't help but chomp on a sucker as soon as it hits teeth). Finding these quirks and oddities in the babes in one of my most favorite things about motherhood. Always having an excuse for candy is definitely a bonus too.

ready, set,...

2009-06-29T12:49:00.000-07:00

Today Smootch and I discussed what she would like to do over the summer. Without hesitation, Smootch generated an eight point list of things she'd like to do and learn:

-learn how to read

-do yoga with a video and mama

-read more books, more often

-have treats more often

-learn to sew with a stitch witch

-go to fun places like museums

-go to rec center for playtimes and to swim

-learn a musical instrument

Everything on Smootch's list is more or less do-able. What struck me, though, most about the list is how balanced it is. She's covered music, motion, nutrition, intellect, and spirit. This is me learning to trust Smootch's judgement, trusting that she knows best about her own self. It's an unfamilar leap from popular parenting philosophy, which is about micromanaging and hothousing children's intellectual growth. Smootch's plans feel calmer. More balanced. And it includes more treats. I'm in!

sad face/happy face

2009-06-26T11:40:00.000-07:00

On monday I went caffeine free for the first time since I was, what? Eight, nine years old? I was hoping that avoiding caffeine will help me get a grip on some of my moodiness (don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about). I have previously stopped eating cocoa and chocolate and have been much more even steven since. With the caffeine withdrawal, I expected the headache and some sleepiness. But caffeine detox is so terribly much more. Here is my cautionary tale.

Often my moods are reflected in the children, and theirs mirrored back on me. We tend to spiral up or down together. When I withdrawal from caffeine, the children feel it too. Monday's headache was bad, but tuesday was brutal with nausea, vomiting (no, not pregnant, thanks), and achy joints. I slept. I set Smootch up with a video and went for a nap with Birdie Boy. I felt like I was walking underwater under the influence of heavy sedatives. Smootch was drawing like mad all over the furniture (neglect and boredom, I suppose.) Here's a little example of her unhappiness.

Note all the unhappy, almost deranged expressions. Ahem.

By wednesday I lost the abilility to bend over to pick up the baby. My hips and legs were both numb and achy. I was stumbling! The going was rough enough at that point that I thought maybe I actually was coincidently coming down with the flu or some nerve destroying disease and mistakenly believing that I was being crippled by caffeine withdrawal.

To test my theory, I had a cup of tea - just tea - at about 3:00 in the afternoon. By 3:15 I was dancing - no joint pain, no numb hips - and by 3:30 I was shaking. Weird. But we all perked up and had the energy to smile once again.

Thursday I decided to have two cups of tea, one in the morning with breakfast, and one early afternoon. It was truly a fantastic day. Mind you this is significantly less than my regular 2 cups of coffee and 2 or 3 cups a tea a day, though compared to many it is laughably minor caffeine consumption.

Here's my little mood mirror, checking out her happy face:

With my little caffeine/mood experiment I learnt several things. First, the things I eat and drink everyday are sometimes more powerful than I think and their consumption should be questioned more thoughfully. No more autopilot for me with the coffee. Second, unnecessary suffering is unnecessary suffering. There is a balance with all things, and my job is to find the middle path between gluttony and starvation. Three: do not play with psychotropic drugs (caffeine and cocoa) while two small children are in my exclusive care. All of us here are on this crazy ride together, whether good or bad.

NCF 2009

2009-06-25T11:47:00.000-07:00

I'm back. In more ways than one. Not wanting to bother you with my where to blog dithering, we'll just go on from here.

And we're back from the North Country Fair, which was fantastic, thanks for asking. I've got hoards of pics for you.

Birdie Boy in the car before we embarked on our 6 hour journey.

Smootch sharing her fruit pop with Birdie Boy. His screen handle is quite suiting. Camp was set up in a field of dandelion puff balls. Yet, our hayfever sufferers remained healthy.

Camp also came with an extremely convient fence, handy for climbing, jumping, performing, and time outs.Down by the river the dragon flies were shucking their nymph skins and taking their maiden flights.To save them from the clompy sandled feet trouping down to the river to cool off, Smootch and her gang of friends were picking up the new flyers on sticks and carrying them around while their wings dried and were ready for flight.(yes, he's naked under there. Some of us don't wait until after dark to go skinny dipping.)
You are wondering if there actually was 5 or 6 thousand other people there sharing 3 days of music. NCF has 4 stages going most of the time. This year the family stage was all supped up, with new playground equipment and a fully stocked children's tent.

Both kids were very much into the music, dancing and general festival atmosphere. Birdie boy still wasn't into the sheer loudness of some of the bands. Delhi to Dublin gave us some inspiration to save Biride Boy's ears and allow him to enjoy the show.

So, it was a lovely weekend. Nature, music, hippies, sword play.

All good.

repeat after me: change is good!

2009-06-11T12:05:00.000-07:00

Hi folks.

Have you noticed how the world is beginning to become crowded with poor abandoned blogs? Sadly, this one is about to become an orphan as well.

I'm feeling all pulled apart lately, so I've decided to collate all the different blogs into one. Head on over to http://indietutes.blogspot.com/ for more Smootch and Birdie boy pics and stories. I blog there now every week day, so you'd better bookmark it :D

See you there!

right now

2009-06-02T20:34:00.000-07:00

The Boy. He doesn't sleep. The world is too amazing to close his eyes on for one minute. Oh, my coffee pot for a little cynicism!

peek

2009-05-28T14:40:00.000-07:00

Hey, look, it's my favorite people!

Classic Birdie Boy.

Classic Smootch.

Love the way these two are together.

And this guy is amazing.

Back with more pics soon!

check in

2009-05-26T15:07:00.000-07:00

Hi,

Just a quick check in. We are all good but the computer sorta blew up a wee bit. Got the laptop going but it's resources is a little thin compared to what we are used to.

But, we plug along. Another showing tonight of the house (or, as I see, another opportunity to take the kids someplace different with the car). Another week of school for Smootch (counting down, only 1 month left, and who knows when - or if - she'll grace the walls of a school house again...)

We've confirmed our plans to go to north country fair. So damn excited!

And I'm still combing out dreads. I have about a 1/2 dozen left. Really, they only take about 5-10 minutes to comb out a dread, but I never seem to have that little bit of time. Or if I do, there are 100 other things more important I should be doing, which take higher priority than my silly hair. That, my friends, is the reason why I decided to take them out in the first place. No time for grooming. Not during this blessed but busy part of my life. *this is what acceptance feels like*

And that's all the time for now, folks, but hopefully I'll be back with pics soon.

boredom: my gift to her

2009-05-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

A tin can pilfered from the recycle bin, a spoon, a water barrel, and an unplanted garden. A magician's toolkit. Ta-Da!

and the craisin ride

2009-05-15T13:18:00.000-07:00

Birdie eating dried cranberries yesterday. He's pop one in his mouth and then all these wild, tormented expressions would flicker across his face. Like this:

And this:

And this one too:

And here's another:

And my favorite:

And just when I think he's just going to burst into tears, Birdie would swallow the little cranberry, smile wide, and say 'yum!'

And then pop another in his mouth. And the fun would begin again.

mornings

2009-05-11T11:42:00.000-07:00

We've begun a new ritual here in the mornings. After breakfast the children and I have been getting on our jackets and shoes, with Smootch in whatever takes her fancy at that moment and Birdie boy in his touque and felted wool footie pants to keep the morning dew off his legs, and tromping out to our little patch of neighborhood green.

I've written odes to this little patch of nature before. We actually walk past it to take Smootch to school, it's been the scene of many a playdate, and we've gone on numerous journeys through the trees to watch the seasons change. You'd think I'd get tired of it. Yet visiting it every morning for just half an hour or so has deepened my love for it.

The thing about nature is that the more you look the more interesting it becomes. It's gratifying to be able to share this wisdom with my children even here in the middle of the city. Sometimes there is a sense in our public discussion that the only real nature is that which is pristine wilderness. Sometimes that wilderness is deemed valuable because of it's beauty and knowledge that it can teach, and, frighteningly often, it's because it's seen as an raw resource waiting exploitation or a challenging environment to rip up with an ATV or SUV. We often discount our tame bits of nature in urban and suburban places and the positive impact it has on our mental and physical health. We see the mountain tops and seasides as sites of healing and communion with our sacred selves. Yet to find this sense of transcendence you really do not need to take a long physical journey, just open your eyes to the possibilities right where you are. If you live by a small stand of trees, overgrown garden, or a bit of untended grassland in the city you know what a bit of magic that can be, especially if you are lucky enough to visit it with children.

For us, right now, our nature getaway happens every morning just as the sun is above the rooftops.

enslaved by bias tape

2009-05-07T19:40:00.000-07:00

2 AM - post party

2009-04-21T12:35:00.000-07:00

Still going.

Why babies have special soap...

2009-04-15T12:31:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Birdie Boy!

back from the farm

2009-04-14T12:13:00.000-07:00

Our Easter is usually spent at my maternal grandmother's farm. My grandparents are retired now, but in it's day the farm has produced crops, cattle, ducks, chickens, and turkeys. Today, only 3 horses belonging to my mother live there, growing fat on the nine acres around the homestead, and a single cat who has adopted my grandfather. This farm formed a large part of my memorable childhood landscape. I adore this bit of land.

The farm is one of those places that you say that the more it changes, the more it stays the same.

This is particularly true of the upstairs of the farmhouse, a place my grandparents rarely venture these days. With four bedrooms upstairs and no one to sleep in them, the upstairs attic has become a store room.

The walls, painted long ago, peel gently and the dust is allowed to accumulate undistrubed. It is also where we stay when we come to visit. A baby gate has been added to the top of the very narrow flute like steps to stop nighttime wakers from accidently miss stepping (a precaution no one thought my cousins, brother and I needed as children - remind me to tell you of the many times I fell/was pushed down!)

The upstairs may be in a bit of disrepair, but it is quiet and peaceful up there. All the colours have faded into soft pastels. Perfect for a bit of reading.

And napping.

There are those of us, however, who have no truck with peace, quiet, and sleep. For them, there is always outside.

Thank god.

And, at grandma's house, it is always somebodies birthday.

Hope your weekend was good too.

receive any strange messages from me lately?

2009-04-09T11:49:00.000-07:00

Wait, don't answer that!

But if you have, here is one reason why:

The phantom of the internet is here, by my hard drive

Birdie Boy got to do another photo shoot with mama the other day. I'm breaking him in slowly, trying to let him find his look (which is heavily in favor of floor monkey). We went topless for this one. Seems to work for him.

I will say this about both my children: they love to eat.

They'll try anything (particularly birdie). Curry, peppers, pickled this and thats, they'll try it. Might not like it, but still. They don't say yuck; they say no thanks. (I'm probably a bit too smug here - dinner tonight I'll be too stuffed on my words and not be able to eat ;0)

the many faces of Brodo

2009-04-02T12:07:00.000-07:00

This morning while making coffee Brodo managed to snake his little hand in the bag of beans and grab himself a handful. Quick as a wink he had one in his mouth. He knows to act fast because I am forever wrestling something frightfully choke-on-able out of his little fingers (this happens alot when you have a 4 yr old, 3 yr old, 2 yr old, and now 18 month old also in your house).

So, coffee beans: He was one stressed out baby as he crunched his way through the bean. He kept looking at me like, "mama, going to save me now from this bitter bean?" No, little man, this is called natural consequences. Plus, watching his expressions was way too funny and I had to find the camera ;0

Brodo is always eating something. Even washing him up after a meal we use at least two wash cloths, because he gets ahold of the first one and chews and sucks on it.

And then, after he is out of his chair, you realize that he did not actually eat all four pounds of food you tossed his way, but dropped, very deliberately, at least a pound of it down the chair.

And people wonder how come kids cost so much. Or have so much gas.

Hope you guys are enjoying the springier weather. It's amazing to witness another rebirth. The tulips are just starting to poke up out of the ground... must get out there with the camera for some time lapse tulip action!

robotics

2009-03-31T11:56:00.000-07:00

I'm always wondering how much I should be involving myself in the children's creative projects. Sometimes I need to be in there, not maybe for inspiration, but because someone has to weld the utility knife to cut the cardboard and remember exactly where the pipecleaners are stored. I'm also the official mixer of sparkles and white glue (though, application is not my territory) and the opener of acrylic paint tops. Occasionally I make small suggestions like perhaps cutting the eye holes within two feet of each other. I also am a great dispenser of the words, "what do you think?" Or the many varitions, "how would you do it?", "what else could you use?", and the direct, "do it yourself." I am a hands off kind of person when it comes to kids and crafts. I think that works really well with the wee ones I care for. (I had one child in my care actually throw her body over her craft at our public library when another lady, frustrated by my kidlet's slow pace, kept trying to take over threading straw pieces onto string for her. Me, I just make sure she's taken a pee before she sits down for a project and leave her to it.)

Letting Smootch lead herself with her creative work has taught me much. Like how being a bit of a slacker in housekeeping and keeping the kids on task actually enriches their environment (it's amazing what stuff Smootch can find for her collages if she mines the carpets). How paint can be applied with almost every part of your body and to every part of your body.* How right Bob Ross was to welcome 'happy accidents.' And it's how I learnt that robots actually have horns.

So much knowledge in one little brain.

*Inspiration there was probably Beaumont's 'Aint Gonna Paint No More' - one of our top ten favoritest books ever.

she says to me

2009-03-30T13:44:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I attended a conference for early childhood caregivers. Frightening enough, I attended one session called, 'Early detection of eating disorders.' And I had a preschooler in mind. (Not Smootch mind you. She has an amazing happy attitude towards food now. In my house we do not say, 'yuck' to food. The rule is that we prepare delicious food, and that if there is a problem that it is with the eater, not the food. Smootch has been coached to say, 'this food is not agreeable to my palatte.' Which is completely stinkin' cute to hear a four year old say.)

During the conference they had a mini trade show, where there was a Usborne books seller had set up. Completely unable to resist the 'That's not my..." board books series, I wandered over to have a looksee. I ended up buying a few books, including a big book of Things To Do. Because Smootch has reached the age where she is starting to flop around whining on about being 'bored.'

Bored! Good for her!

She'll discover all sorts of new ways to entertain herself now, because I am not going to help her out. Well, except for maybe providing the occasional bit of inspiration. The Big Book of Things To Do is sorta neat. Smootch doesn't often get new books, mostly we borrow from the library, so she was fairly excited about this book with all sorts of craft and dress up ideas in it for her. She's hoppin' around and bouncing, waving the book around, and she says, 'yay! I hope I get bored soon!'

I feel, somehow, we're taken the long, wandering, scenic path, but we are still heading in the right direction.

k.i.s.s.

2009-03-27T14:34:00.000-07:00

My life. I keep trying to complicate it. I have these lists of things to do. Housework, house selling work, sewing work, child work, work, work, busy work. I feel like with the extra hours of sun that I have this opportunity to fit even more to dos in the day. The details and minutae of the moments get lost, as the list grows longer with the day.

But, my life, is filled with these little hands that keep poking and prodding my attention towards the details. The small. The wonderously simple. I both curse and bless these little reminders. It would be all so much easier without the complications of children, but it would also be meaningless. Always trying to find the balance.

And always trying to remember that at least some of the extra sun hours in the day are meant to be spent lingering over dinnertime, enjoying each others company.

time keeps on slipping

2009-03-26T11:53:00.001-07:00

Having the house listed for sale is a bit like being suspended in a time vacuum. We've already packed up what we do not use often (and a few things that we do, like Smootch's rubber boots) but we dare not pack up more because, well, life continues on even though we are moving.

And life does move. Birdie's first birthday is just three weeks away. My first craft show is a week away. My sewing room is now a little corner tucked behind some boxes.

I'm making a few garments to demo my patterns for the craft/art show (Snell auditorium, saturday april 4, 10-5, if you are in my neck of the woods). It's been awhile since I visited some of the patterns. I had to consult with my instructions to remember how to assemble a lace up dress.

At least finding fabric in my sewing shanty is as easy as opening up a box from the top of the pile of fabric boxes. Finding a specific fabric, well, not so easy.

I lucked out on the second box with an embroidered linen to make a lace up dress with for the show. I love linen. It's made of flax, a crop that uses much less pesticides and herbicides than killer cotton. It's long lasting, it feels good to wear, it breathes, and it's a dream to press. It's one fabric Smootch loves to wear and doesn't care that it's in a neutral colour. It says something about quality when the pink and purple queen wants to wear the taupe.

A few more garments before the show. I'll post them over at my portfolio as they come into being.

dayhome safari

2009-03-15T12:23:00.001-07:00

The Man and I have been reviewing a dvd that details a method of discipline encouraged by the dayhome agency we contract with. In the video, the 'expert' advocates parents and caregivers to think of themselves 'wild animal tamers'.

Last week I came upon this little tableau left on the floor after the kids were done tiding up.

A message, perhaps?

suncatchers

2009-03-12T19:56:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, this was us:

Today, though, was another story. Someone finally told the sun it is March and time to come out. I spent the day chasing the sun around the house. Well, when I wasn't outside basking in the gloriousness of it all.

I wasn't the only one chasing the sun today.

And birdie boy too...

I caught this little stacker toy hanging out in a sunspot in the living room.

While I was taking a photo I heard the distinctive thump squish scrape thump squish scrape of birdie doing his odd little bum scoot into the room while dragging along his favorite fairy wand (oh, come now, don't we all have our favorite magic wands?) Normally he'd be high tailing it towards my camera, being so close to the ground and invitingly grabbable, but the stacker in the sunlight was the focus of his determined scoot.

And then something neat happened.

I wish I could of taken pictures of all the wand waving birdie did trying to get the sun to sparkle just right across his feet. Eventually I ended up with the wand while birdie tried catching the sparkles. Holding up the wooden stacker discs and catching the sun to flash himself in the eye also provided a bit of entertainment and wonder. All told, birdie spent, oh, 10 intent minutes or so inspecting the properties of bright light and reflective surfaces. Which is a lifetime practically in terms of baby attention span.

And you will never be able to tell him ever that his fairy wand isn't magic. Or me, that the sun isn't medicine.

when you're this big, they call you mama

2009-03-06T21:24:00.000-08:00

I'm not exactly sure how this happened exactly, but it occured to me just today that I'm not really a housewife anymore. Yes, I know, given that I have the domestic skills of a nomadic sloth, and you could say that I haven't been much of a housewife ever, but still, I've been edged out of my figurehead position and into something a bit more suiting.

I am no longer sahm. I am wahm.

Right now I have two businesses on the go and am the sole income for this family. I am the breadwinner. I am the provider. I am... The Man.

Does this make The Man the Mama?
Perhaps.

While he does not actually lacate, he has more or less smoothly taken over as chief dispenser of food, bandaids, and fun during the six or so hours a day I need right now to take care of business.

When I mentioned to The Man today that I have crossed acronyms, he took a moment to figure out what his possible title would be. He looked fairly aggreived when he said, "does this make me a wad?"

But, no, he would be a sahd. Which he resents not being awarded the 'w'. Status seeking is a hard habit to break your first couple of months out of the workforce I guess. Of course, The Man's arguement is that what is doing at home is actually quite a bit of work, thank you very much, and he resents not having that acknowledged.

Well, duh. (rolls eyes)

Anyhoo, before I get too far down that road, I'm going to change tracks and just talk about me for a change. Let's talk work.

As many of you know, one of the things I do is make stuff. I've been busy revamping my previously published patterns, fancy new covers even, and busy developing a few more for an art and craft show coming up in april. It shall be my in person debut.

Everything I've done so far has been online, making my model's photogenic natures extremely important (they have to be photogenic to make up for my not so hot photography skills).

So far so good with Smootch. She's a natural. Even when I accidently click a picture of her feet while I'm hoisting myself off the ground and she is running off to do whoknowswhat in a stained tee shirt, she still photographs like a freaky vogue model.
The boy, though, has his mother's relationship with the camera. Not so good. Bit stormy sometimes. I know I shouldn't compare the kids, but for every beautiful photo of Smootch easily taken there is one of Birdie looking like the anti-gerber baby.

Observe, a fairly typical shot of Birdie:The absolute best picture we have of him in the last couple of weeks is of his reflection in a garbage can.I'm sure I need not say more.

He's not the worst of the models around here though. I'm afraid I've won that award. I may or not photo well, I can't tell. I know that I can hardly look at a picture of myself - my eyes are hardly ever open and I'm always making a weird face that looks a lot like I've been caught saying, "don't you point that freaking camera at me!" Oh, I'm fat too. But, whatever. The big issue right now is the what-the-heck-have-I-done-to-my-head dilemma.

Between the sketchy beginnings of dreadlocks, and the very odd mullet making regrowth of my post pregnancy hair loss, does anyone even notice the lovely circle skirt and wrap tee I've made?...

...

What? Oh, sorry. I was distracted by the dreaded mullet.

So, that this my new life as a worker bee. I have no idea what to make of my new position around here, but I am pleased that we all get to try out something different. The Man has an opportunity to enjoy a very close and slightly servantile relationship with his precious children, and I can enjoy the freedom of holeing up in our freezing cold basement to huddle over sewing machines. I am so liberated.

tuesday

2009-02-24T12:07:00.000-08:00

A little of what we've been up to.

Practicing our "#$!!&* with me, #$!!&*with my daddy" faces:

Playing in the sun

Making ugly cakes

Being amazed by magnets

Being very, very weird

Finding treasured hand me downs

Sleeping at inappropriate moments of the day

Having our parades rained on

my afternoons

2009-02-12T10:10:00.000-08:00

on the floor with birdie

on the other side of january

2009-02-10T13:53:00.000-08:00

A while back Smootch did a painting on cardboard. It was strangely minimalist, not her typical style. I asked her to tell me about it and she said it was for her glamour dolls to get married with.

Oh-kay.

Today I watched Smootch in action with her painting: Ah, an aisle for the bride to walk down. Of course!Don't know why I didn't spot it.

Birdie's love of books and birds continues.His new love: vegetables!His curiosity is boundless. One last tale, this one a bit gruesome. Last saturday Smootch did the oddest thing. She accidently swallowed a nickel. The accident happened while doing mouth exercises with the coin in her mouth.

Oh-Kay.

Don't ask me, she's too old for this, and it's all a bit weird.

But, monday the nickel comes back and what a strange sight it is now:The coin on the right is a regular, uningested nickle, the one on the left is Smootch's snack nickel. It's black (and it is clean!) I don't know if it's just tarnished, or if the nickel plating was absorbed by Smootch's system. Anyway you look at it, I'm quite certain Smootch won't be swallowing another nickel. Still, we are now all curious about what would happen to a penny...

tell me again why i have this job?

2009-01-29T20:20:00.001-08:00

Quick update:

my daughter is a beserker.
my home is crazyland.
my son is a biting, scratching lunatic.
i listen to whiny voices all. day. long.
i have no time.

aren't you glad you stopped by to see how we are doing?

fool me once...

2009-01-13T20:55:00.000-08:00

So, there was this guy who worked at this independently owned Canadian manufacturing company. It had its issues, but the guy was proud of his work and felt good about working for said company. And then the company was sold to an American corporation, which subsequently made the manufacturing company public. A few years later, after systematically stripping the company of the original ideas and products that made the company worth buying in the first place, the corporation shut the manufacture's doors forever, laying off hundreds of workers.

The guy was a little sad and worried about his small family with their infant daughter. But, he went out and found himself another job with another independently owned Canadian manufacturing company. That was important: no shareholders, owned by some local dude.

But, within a couple of years, the second little company was sold to an American corporation. A year or two later, after all of the interesting ideas and products were systemically stripped from the company, the corporation shut down the little company.

The guy is a little worried about his not as little family, now with an infant boy added to the mix. He's smart, though, and his little woman is even smarter, so they'll be okay. But starting to feel a bit silly and slow on the uptake: what is the lesson of all this?

imagine

2009-01-04T17:38:00.000-08:00

Hello again.

I'm sorry I've gone through the whole holiday season without a picture or even a generic pc 'happy holidays' or 'happy new year'. You should know that I actually blog all the time in my head. Particularly while I'm doing the dishes. And it seems I am always doing the dishes.

I would love to write more. No, rephrase that: I need to write more. Seriously, you think I'm talking to you, but really I'm working towards good mental health by blathering on here. But, life - don't talk to me about life - just keeps on getting in the way. Somedays I think I'd rather talk about life than actually live. Make that most days.

But, let's pretend, if I didn't have an infant and a preschooler to care for every busy day and through every weary night, would I blog more? If they didn't have places to go and people to see, and did not have to extend gross amouts of mental and physcial energy trying to get the 4 yr old to and from a school only 4 blocks away? How about if I didn't have the minimum of two additional kidlets during the week to fed, water, and do paperwork for. Or a whole other job making stuff. Let's pretend that there isn't a whole adult male who actually wants to spend time with me (enter requiste 'what's wrong with him anyway' comment here). Let's pretend I do not have two lonely cats that jump into my lap for ear scratches the 2 minutes a day it exists. Let's get rid of the living things - the plants to water, seeds to plant, the sprouts to water twice a day. Would I write more?

There is the never ending housework also that needs to be gotten rid of. I can't believe how much time this place sucks up each day. The dishes, the laundry, the constant picking up from the 3 foot high human tornado. The meals to make. The taking out of the compost. And the yard, with the snowing and icing up, and the car, with parking and unlocking the human door and the lifting garage door and driving and closing garage door and opening human-door, and closing and locking human-door. More time for blogging?

While we're at it, definitely need to toss the educating of self, the courses and assignments, and the reading to keep up on what's happening in the world. And all the maintainance required to just exist in our culture, particularly the stuff one has to acquire, buy, maintain, return, exchange, recycyle and throw away.

And let's say that perhaps I am not exhausted from my 5 hours of sporatic sleep a night, and the crazy making holidays, and my nearly crippling guilt from not having the time to keep up with my dear friends. And let's pretend that January isn't basically a mental and emotional shit storm for me as the world once again cracks open with grief.

Then perhaps I would have some sort of time to blog? Well, after I watched the 3 seasons of Dog the Bounty Hunter I have on dvd here. But then, yes, time to write.

But what would I write about?

Bring back the wee ones. I would be missing them anyway. And The Man, he's sort of fun to have around. And the kitties. They are as much a part of this family now as I am. But the stuff to do, the house to keep, the crap to buy - that can stay disappeared forever.

hmmmmm...

And after I write a little about how insanely wonderful the people I live with are, maybe I could sew a little something too.

bitterness before breakfast

2008-12-22T06:50:00.000-08:00

I think I'm starting to become suspicious and weary of people without children. I remember pre-offspring I would be sitting, for example, in the college pub after class with a classmate and they'd have to leave after only one beer to go pick up their toddler from daycare and I'd feel sorry for them. 'Awww, poor person,' I'd think, 'having kids is such a drag, man.' And the other person would rather charitably let me believe that they would actually rather be sitting around discussing obscure social theorists and their convoluted ideas about consumsuption and the modern individual with me rather than snuggling with their sweet smelling, cuddly babe while reading 'pajama time' for the 200th time.

Now I know better.

Bam, what a difference a few years can make. Now I think of adults without children as not really fully grown yet. They have an innocence about them. They carry life lightly on their shoulders, amusing unaware of the superficiality of their problems, of how irrelevant all of life is compared the bottomless responsibility and sense of forboding that having a few bambinos running around brings. Love is gruesome. It is a heavy, heavy thing.

Remember those 1970s or so little cartoons of naked people with sickly sweet little "Love is..." sayings. I've never quite gotten them, perhaps I was too young to really get it, and the fact that they never wore clothes kind of distracted me (don't they get cold? They don't live around here, I know that.) But now, here I am older and more tired, I know for certain that those nudies were totally out to lunch. The one I remember best is the the 'Love means never having to say sorry.' What the? In my experience, love means having to say sorry all the time. Over things that couldn't possibility be my fault, like the weather and socks that don't match (okay, maybe my fault, but, dude, I got better things to feel sorry about).

Love is spending years nursing, cuddling, feeding, dressing, sacrificing in a thousand ways to please, sooth, and nourish a child and then have that child pass you over for someone who keeps whacking them with a plastic light saber and pushes them down the stairs.

Love is carrying a collective 60 pounds of screaming raging children through the darkened house after a very long day, stepping in cat upchuck along the way, and still reading one child her chapter before bedtime, nursing and singing the other to sleep and making sure the cat gets a good scratch behind the ears before dragging your own exhausted body off to bed.

Love is not having enough time to trim your toe nails for five months.

Love is taking years off your life by only sleeping in 15 minute stints for years at a time.

Love is poop, pee, vomit and applying salve to strange rashes in places only highly paid doctors or prostitutes will venture.

Love is not hauling off and smacking the brat who wakes you up an hour and half before you need to and then going back to sleep half an hour later, leaving you to deal with the now completely awake baby, who then falls asleep 30 minutes before you must start work, leaving you just enough time to finally trim your toe nails and blog out a whine about the whole love and children thing.

For so many years there has been no such thing as calling in sick, of walking while swinging my arms, of using the bathroom alone. Love is the only thing that would motivate someone to tolerate these barbarous conditions, and to make a person insane enough to actually enjoy it along the way.

rambling rant

2008-12-19T20:14:00.000-08:00

The big deal lately for us is the colonization of the Disney Princesses of our house and our daughter's heart. I hate the Disney Princesses. I have violent fantasies about a big princess dismemberment and stewing party. Which makes me a little bit sad, because when I was little I thought Sleeping Beauty was about as great of a film as there could be. It's up there with Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal, Annie, and The Best Little Whore House in Texas for me. I even seriously considered naming Smootch 'Aurora', that film had such an influence on me. And as far as it goes, Aladdin is a great, Mulan is fabulous (though problematic politically, I know, but cross dressing is always a winner in my mind), and Cinderella, well, everybody can identify with Cinderella. I grew up with these movies and I love them (except Snow White - never could abide with Snowy's 'Someday My Prince will Come' *shutter*). These movies are not exactly a feminist ideal, they are a far cry away from the Grimm's fairy tales, but they've got something that I like anyway. Humor. Irony. Dragons.

But the princesses all together are now The Princesses, and they are a force to be reckoned with. The Disney Princesses are whores for an imperialistic marketing scheme. Their images are slapped loose and fancy free across everything imaginable without feeling moored to any logical connection between image and product: bed sheets, crayons, kitchen ware, toothpaste, wallpaper, sandwich bags, clothing, books, and on and on and on. The 'princesses', which are simply heroines of disney films, actually being royality is not a prerequiste, are pictured as a group, an uber princess, and their individuality is reduced to slight quirky preferences for certain colours, hair style, and pets. The princess personality (which I have extrapolated from my extensive research watching Smootch watch the Princess sing-a-long videos borrowed from the library) is mainly concerned with men and partying.

So, where am I going with this? I don't know (it's getting pretty late). I was thinking I was going to write about my revelation that I do not need to fight this silliness, because that is what it is. It is marketing, and the last time I checked, I am still not required to actually buy this crap. True, I resent the hell that shopping for the few things I do actually have to buy is about a faux-choice between this brand or that, having no trademark-less thing avaliable in my local shops (have you tried to buy a child's toothbrush without a cartoon character on it lately?), but it is not the only influence in my child's life. Of course, Smootch completely lacks the critical thinking necessary to defend herself from advertising and that Disney is horrifically predatory when it comes to imbedding their brand into the consciousness of young minds in an effort to create lifelong consumers, but, hey, such is modern life, right? Still, with two of her classmates actually going to Disneyland in the past month, and being asked continually about the Princesses, and what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas (she has already discovered that replying "playing with mom alone all day long" (poor Birdie was not invited) is not an acceptable response - that was poo pooed by a stranger on the bus today who refused to believe that Smootch's innermost desires had nothing to do with bubble wrapped plastic), and then having our video store carry at least half of their children's selection produced by Disney (the other half Nickelodeon), and nothing of any damn value, well, it's enough to make a mom rant.

Ahem.

So, when I was a girl, I had toys. Some were character toys, though Branding as a marketing scheme was still in its infancy. I remember it being a bit of a scandal that they were selling toys related to Gremlins before the movie actually was released. Though with He-Man and GI Joe, cartoons created exclusively to support a line of toys, we were no trademark virgins. Still, it was a mere sideshow of influence, compared to the whole earthquake level of advertising now. What I would consider to be the most important influence on my own childhood play to be is the fact that every couple of weeks or so I would find myself out at an isolated rural acerage for an entire weekend, with virtually no toys at all. This is the time otherwise known as parental visitation with my father. My 'fun' resources were my brother, the land such as it offered for exploration (and amazing land it was!), and a few grown up games my father kept out such as Risk, Monolopy, and chess pieces. Yes, folks, I had to make my own fun and I'm sure I'm a better person for it (though I occasionally failed and could spend an entire day staring up at a slowly moving ceiling fan missing my nintendo, but I'm going to believe that was some sort of mind enhancing zen experience and not a complete lack of character and creativity).

One of my favorite play items was a set of chess pieces painted by my mother before I was born. They are little masterpieces of dedication and intricacy. I have them today and Smootch has grown to love them also.

I spent hundred of hours playing with these little figures, though, truth be known, never actually played chess with them. You can create almost any story you want with 32 pieces in two colours. I'm sure most of us have similar recollections of creating complicated plots and intriques with just a few raw materials. Good times, being bored on those weekends.

Now, back to marketing. I was thinking about this today while watching Smootch play with my chess pieces and a Dora the Explorer game set she received for her birthday. Now Dora is as insidious as The Princesses and her image has been slapped on everything under the sun and more. Dora isn't a friend of mine either, but Smootch's Dora game chest has been pretty good to us because we like games and the game chest contains classics like Old Maid, dominios, and checkers that have been modified slightly to be understandable to the preschooler set. Smootch has learnt to play checkers with the Dora and Swiper characters, and it is the game of checkers she likes, with the licensed characters being a bit of a bonus for her. So, there is some redeemable value there (though decapitating the Dora characters has come to mind...)

Back to it: this morning watching Smootch play (actually, I was playing with her, but she thinks that my part in the action is usually as spectator to the Great Smootch Show - but that's another story). Smootch had out her Dora game board, the Dora characters for checkers, and my chess pieces. She spent a good 15 minutes setting up the board, which went like this:Those are dominios, btw, with Dora characters on them. The set up was very deliberate and technical, with Smootch using whatever internal logic she had going on, followed by fussing, minor adjustments, and viewing the arrangements from multiple angles before she was ready to get on with the game.Which made me realize that Dora (and the Princesses) may be prominent in my daughter's material life, but they do not necessarily rule her imaginative life. This insight was compounded when Smootch, finally was ready to start the play after the hemming and hawing of the arranging, proceeded in a way that was wholly unexpected. With the final arrangement reminding me of some sort of Celtic ritual taking place by some holy ruins, perhaps they were trying to appease the gods?, along came The Baby. Baby the Destroyer.

Then a couple of survivors picked themselves up from the rubble and decided to get married (the marriage ceremony, btw, is a part of the play I'm allowed to speak in since Smootch can never remember exactly how wedding vows go).

Of course, the wedding took some time to set up. More arranging and fussing.

I do my slick as a justice of the peace, and then Smootch follows with the truly important part:

The ceremony ended with a scuffle between the bride and groom's families, with much drama, and whisper shouting, falsetto voices, and eventually a sword battle over how to set up the lemonade stand for the reception. (I laid back for this part and got comfy - Smootch's play brawls tend to go on for awhile.)

The lemonade stand was in the closet. Perhaps because of the differences of opinions between the families, it took a whole 20 minutes to set up.However, after a couple of lemonades, the guests all loosened up and the party turned out to be a great success with only a few broken tables.

Which brings me to my thoughts after spending this very entertaining morning with Smootch. Disney may be marketing evil geniuses, same with the crew of Dora, or the teletubbies or lazytown or whatever is the flavor of the week, but Smootch will, just as I did, make her own fun if she is allowed the time and space to do her own thing. The danger is not the Disney Princess stuff per se, it is failing to provide the head space she needs to create her own plots and dramas. Smootch needs time to develop her own style, to learn about her mind and body, and quiet in order to hear her own thoughts and recognize what is truly hers versus what has been suggested by others. Instead of fighting against the marketers, I need to focus on getting Smootch her time to play without distractions of commerical culture. Or without me or even other children sometimes. My job as a parent is to provide the raw materials and then get out of the way. Something to keep in mind, anyway.

happy wednesday

2008-12-17T20:38:00.000-08:00

If my kids were musical genres, Birdie would be reggae. And Smootch would be rock n roll.

holiday blues

2008-12-13T21:03:00.000-08:00

Is it me, or does the holidays seem like a really bad idea this year. I'm suffering terribly from the Christmas season. I hate shopping. I hate it so much I don't actually do it anymore. The shops are filled with things I don't need and at prices I can't afford. And increasingly I do not want. With The Man's great experiment, I am starting to see the shop shelves as filled with items that are only six months away from the landfill. In addition, it's hard to ignore that we pay only a fraction of the cost of any particular consumable. The price is much higher than what the tag says. Things not calculated on the sales bill is the cost to the earth's resources (trees, ore, oil), the cost to the people and governments (procuring, protecting and fighting over resources), the cost to our health (pollution, toxic byproducts like dioxin), the cost to human lives (low paid labourers working in unsafe, unclean factories), and the cost to my time (seeking, working for money to buy, buying, hauling, cleaning, and finally disposing).

A handmade Christmas is a lovely idea, but, honestly, I'm not sure that it gets at the root of the problem here for me. I am making the gifts I am giving, and am pleased to be able to make them. Especially nice is actually thinking about the person the whole time I make the gift. But, Christmas is not about the gifts. And because I feel strongly about this, damnit, I'm going to say it again: Christmas is NOT about the gifts. We know this, we say this, but our actions tell a different story. How many times does a child get asked what they hope Santa will bring them for Christmas before they think that the presents are the actual point of the whole shebang? Why do we pace our lives according to shopping days 'til Christmas? Why does every person I meet during the month of December ask me if I have my shopping done yet?

Okay, enough rant. Those receiving gifts from me this year are going to looking at them sideways, wondering what kind of negative energy I've infused them with. Just know this, I want Christmas. I want the family, the visiting, the food (oh, yes, the food!), the decorations, even the Christmas jingles. But I do not want material gifts. I feel grateful for all I already have and to be a part of your lives. No more is needed.

I'm not just a total bummer lately. I've been soothing my Christmas Rage (I'm not the only one who has it) by noticing how thrilled our children are with the simple things. Watching the kids play with a cardboard box is more than a reminder, it's a blueprint for life around here. Here are a few pictures of some of the things we enjoy around here.

The cardboard box play house. Which, just to prove me wrong, actually does contain one of last year's Christmas presents to Smootch, which Birdie loves to chew on.

What? You never seen a baby in a box chewing on a donkey before?

Smootch learning to sew. Watching her brings a phenomenal feeling for me.

Can't. Stop. Eating. Homemade. Carmel. Popcorn.
And more arrived in the mail yesterday :0

Dancing, twirling, booty dances. I think that this perfect dance floor in our living room actually appeared magically for Smootch to dance on. I can't imagine who we would be without dancing together.

Staring into each other's eyes. How beautiful and wonderous these children are! So, please, don't give us a bunch of stuff to distract us from each other. The gifts are just a side attraction, spending time with friends and family is the main event. Let's not get sidetracked!

growing

2008-12-09T20:16:00.000-08:00

Birdie is on his way to having a full blown personality.

His quirks and isms have been a bit slower to emerge than his sisters. However, it may be that he simply can not compete with the monkey master.
Yet. We shall see what the future brings.

my own personal gong show

2008-12-04T21:07:00.000-08:00

Boy: three teeth have broke through his gums in the past two days. That makes six this month. He has taken to grinding his teeth. And not sleeping.

Girl: is unnaturally cold, cranky, and having a tough time adjusting to the 'sharing mama with every bloody urchin that comes through the door, it's bad enough that that baby showed up 7 months ago, but now there are all these kids around all the time and I can't seem to get mom's attention, and further more...' Blowing major wobblers.

The Man: has developed a serious passion for wallowing in waste. Can not sustain a conversation unrelated to garbage.

Me: I had spaghetti in my hair at lunch today. It stayed there for an hour before I found the time to de-pasta my head. Enough said about that.

Let's move over to happy photos now.

Awwww, lookit the cute baby!

It's my weekend now. That means I do my other job sewing for fun and profit (otherwise known as my third shift). Hope you all have a good weekend (and G, damnit, get well!)

books: not just for eating

2008-12-01T20:11:00.000-08:00

Birdie is getting to the stage where books are something a little more to just taste or bang on his head. He spent a few minutes the other day stroking the cover of this book in a ridiculously loving manner. Every once in awhile he would look up at me and give me a wonderous smile that said, 'hey, lady, why didn't you tell me before that there is more to these things than indigestion?'

I tried to tell you, Birdie, but we all must find out for ourselves. Welcome to the world of books! It's going to be an amazing adventure.

open for business

2008-11-28T09:41:00.000-08:00

I've just finished my first two days of being a family day home provider. It was both interesting and exhausting. I learnt a lot. For instance, kids will eat and enjoy anything placed before them on the table until someone says the 's' word. Smootch says, to a child with a mouth full of milk, 'that's soymilk,' which she says happily, firmly programmed to see soy analogues as superior to animal products. The child, however, sets down glass of milk and never, ever picks it up again. Same goes with soysauges.

Unfortunately for all of us, the government requires licensed dayhomes (me, me) to feed the four food groups per a meal to the children in our care. And has anyone checked out what the four food groups are lately? Fruit/vegetable, grain (no difference mentioned between processed grains and whole grains), meat and meat alternatives (beans, soy, analogues), and dairy (milk, cheese, or analogues). What that means to us is that we have to feed the kids beans or tofu or nuts or analogues twice a day, which is okay, but also analogue milk or soy cheese (which is not at all nutritionally related to cow milk made cheese and is quite a junky product, not to mention doesn't taste very good). We have to ignore that a serving of whole wheat spaghetti has more protein in it than a glass of milk, soy or otherwise. And that spinach has more iron by weight than a hamburger. Apparently we need 'meat', not protein and iron.

This is a barrier to good nutrition.

Anyhoo, that is a topic for another day. Me vs. the four food groups. Nothing new there.

On the other hand, a really fantastic part of this dayhome biz is that it seriously stretches my creativity muscles. Not just the kiddie crafts, which are completely fantastic, see the fairy puppets that did double duty comforting home sick children:
But every aspect, from structuring the environment to be exciting but not overwhelming, to finding things to talk about, to guiding behavior (from crazed excitment to calm enthusiam), to just finding the energy.

As I said, interesting and exhausting. If anyone has any online resources for me on this dayhome/daycare dealie, I would love to know. Other than that, we will plod along, seeing what we can discover as we good.

cookie party

2008-11-26T20:10:00.000-08:00

la la la la la.

Hey, Booboo, this cookie making stuff is kinda fun, huh?

Yeah. I like to cut out the shapes. And what's this stuff your mom's got on the table? Sprinkles to decorate? I don't know, seems sorta weird, but I'll give it a go. I'm comfortable with my masculinity.

Oh, yeah, sprinkles are neat. Make sure you cover the entire cookie, you don't want to leave any brown stuff showing. Here, use the big spoon.

Poke them all down so they don't escape.
Wow, these sprinkles are pretty sticky. Hey, Booboo, have you tried these? They taste good. Kind of sweet and crunchy.

Yeah, you're right! Sprinkles are yummo. Try some more! Here, where's that big spoon again?
Wow, so good. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time that I was on the playground and this really funny lookin' kid came up to me and...

Huh, mom? Wha? Cookies? Oh, yeah cookies. Gotta put sprinkles on the cookies.

Smootch, you know what would be a really funny thing? How about if we use the tools to punch out the cookies? That seems like such a good idea right now!
One sprinkle for the cookie, one hundred sprinkles for me.
Dude, where have these sprinkles been all my life?

I know! They're, like, so good! I don't know why mom keeps them at the back of the cupboard.

Hey, check out this sprinkle container. I bet I could eat all the sprinkles in here all in one go.

No way! I dare ya! OMG, you totally did it! I want do one too!

Ha, ha, that last one (hic) totally made my throat (hic) burn.

Ha, ha! Okay, one more! Race ya!

Ah, no (hic) fair! There is no way you could of beat me. One more. I know I can suck them back (hic) way faster than you.

You wish, dude. I rule these sprinkles.

(20 minutes later)

I'm flying! Look at me, look at me, I'm flyinnnnnnngggggg!

Oh, no, dude, I've gone blind! I can't see! Somebody talk me down!
Mommy, why are you lying down? You know what you need? Sprinkles.

yesterday

2008-11-23T10:18:00.001-08:00

3:30 am Smootch can't sleep - tossing, turning, moaning - her legs hurt.

4:00 am Smootch finally settles asleep

4:01 am Birdie wakes up

4:30 am Birdie back to sleep

5:30 am Mama back to sleep

6:00 am Birdie singing his morning song - time to wake up

6:30 am Smootch awake, moaning. She has a fever.

7:00 am Smootch throws up on Mama. Bath to wash vomit from both our hair.

9:30 am Mama goes back to bed for nap.

12:00 pm Mama has coughing fit that brings up something youdon'tevenwanttoknowwhat. Mama has fever.

4:00 pm Mama has developed a limp from some sort of weird, painful swelling on the bottom of her foot. What the?! Are there limph nodes down there or something?

6:00 pm Smootch pulls herself away from 'how it's made' videos and announces it's nap time.

6:30 pm Birdie falls asleep

7:00 pm Mama and Papa feel like deer in headlights - should be be happy the kids are both asleep early, or are the kids regrouping for another long night?

7:01 pm Birdie up

9:30 pm Birdie down

9:31 pm Mama in bath. Mama accidently knocks glass of water off the side of the tub where it shatters into two millions pointy shards of glass, which all run this way and that in the water. Mama gets out of bath to clean up, just as cats knock over new christmas tree in living room. Mama takes a tour to pick up tree and as she does the base falls off BANG on the floor. Smootch wakes up, comes out to find a bathroom filled with glass shards. Smootch HAS TO GO NOW. Mama lifts Smootch over glass to toliet and promptly imbeds glass shard in toe. Smootch, stranded on toliet, panicking about blood dripping on floor while Mama wrestles with bandaids that do not want to stick on wet foot when Birdie wakes up and begins to cry in next room.

Mama cries.

12:00 pm No one crying, no one bleeding, no one awake.

6:00 am Pappa wakes up with a scratchy throat. Pappa has fever...

trashy talk

2008-11-18T13:31:00.000-08:00

Yesterday walking to school, I noticed everything that Smootch was wearing was handmade. Made me feel good.

Another good thing: The Man has begun a blog to chronicle his dumpster diving, junk yard scavenging ways. You can find his adventures and thoughts over on Squanderism.

Smootch is tremendously proud of her father's work to upcycle junk. She tells her friend this morning, "My daddy went to the dump!" while holding up a little treasure The Man found on one of his forays.

Smootch drawing with found felt markers:I admit that at first I was a bit squemish about The Man bringing stuff home from the dump. Okay, there is a high percentage of furniture I brought into this union that actually came from dumpsters (try all of the furniture I owed 10 years ago, a significant amount we still use today). Still, I was thinking dumpster diving belonged to my poor past, and now that we are solidly middle class we could maybe get stuff from thrift stores rather than dumpsters. Thrift stores are my idea of la dee da high class now :)

But just a small glance at what is actually being thrown out I'm absolutely blown away. I had no idea. It's sad and sickening and bewildering. But I'll let The Man tell you all about it over on Squanderism. I might even be allowed to blog over there too one day ;)

Let's just say for now, all of y'alls holiday gifts are coming from the dump. That is our gift to the earth this year. But don't freak out. You are going to find that reclaimed, salvaged, and rescued makes for a good home.

montessori make over

2008-11-16T12:11:00.000-08:00

Some changes around my house lately. When I say 'some', I mean the place has flipped upside down. I may as well confess now the main reason why I've been so lame as to getting things done sewing-wise is because I've been doing the massive amounts of paper work, course work and house work needed to be a family day home provider. I just signed the contract with a licensing agency on friday and I'm good to go. Now all I need are some people willing to trust me with their precious wee ones (every plan has a glitch, yes?)

So, some changes. One of the things I've done is give my home a Montessori make over. Which is to say that I've taken the Montessori method as a model for the environment in my dayhome. I chose Montessori for a few reasons. The biggest is that Smootch attends a Montessori preschool and the type of organization comes naturally to her. Since setting up I do not have to tell her to clean up her things anymore. That alone is worth the rearranging. Another reason is that Montessori environment is very friendly to groups of children of varying ages, which I will have in my dayhome. Also, the set up allows for the children to be very self sufficient. I am so on that - the more they can do for themselves (and I don't have to slump around getting things for them or cleaning up) the better.

Changes. Lots of hooks at child height, avaliability of kitchen linens, brushes, and rags. Small dishes and utensils, small jugs for pouring water and soy milk. I've also arranged Smootch's playthings and actitivites in a Montessori style, and added another shelf in the living room, to be used as a playroom for the dayhome.

That's my ugly shelf (one day I shall build it a cloth cozy). But you can see how the activities are divided up, readily accessible, neatly placed, and logically grouped. Not exactly how a Montessori school room would be arranged, but definitely a home friendly version.

I've also added some mats to be rolled out and played on. They are undyed cotton - I love them. Good for defining play space that can be respected by playee and those walking past.

Smootch playing a memory game she learnt for school. She has a song, "Something's missing from my tray, can you tell what I took away?" This is her favorite activity right now and, I hate to say this, but she is so bad at it!

Smootch has also been drawing up some playmats to play with the toys. This is her roads, and she has a dollhouse drawn on paper too (for the bratz dolls - please don't ask why she has them [but a grandma was involved, just so's you know]).

There are a lot of other changes but you'll have to wait for more pics. Now that the dayhome is approved, I've got a pattern to get out (which is way overdue) and, from a phone call I just received, a scoodie to make up for my young friend. (btw, I just got rid of the scoodie that went virual since I felt so weird wearing it around. Remind me not to post pictures of myself anymore.)

halloween pics

2008-11-15T13:29:00.001-08:00

I know I sort of missed the boat with these, but here they are anyway :)

Walking to the school party. Smootch was a fairy godmother.

Some warm-up trick or treating in the afternoon:

The real deal later with some goof friends:

eta: the above is supposed to read, "good friends," but I think I like this version too, so it stays ;)

birdie's gone crazy

2008-11-10T21:07:00.000-08:00

Brodo has gone completely bonkers with teething issues. He finally FINALLY pushed out a sharp little tooth nub yesterday morning but tonight he is completely manic with biting and sucking and being horribly grumpy towards everyone. He has 3 more little buds in there, all bluey, purpley soreness. He just fell asleep after a couple of frantic hours of sucking on fingers (anyone's digits that came with in a foot of his face) and the end of a toothbrush. Oh, and me. But not just the usual part of me that you would think. Any bare skin will do. I think I may have a hickie on my neck, where he latched on when I put him up to burp and couldn't get him off again.

So I'm off to bed early because I'm sure this is going to be a long night. In the meanwhile, I'm soothing myself with a pic of Birdie taken while we were cleaning up leaves last week. He's looking much happier than he is right now. For those of you who haven't seen him in awhile, you'll be happy to know he is sitting up, babbling, and discovering how much fun it is to make other people laugh:
Sticking his tongue out and making this sorta weird, crinkly nose face is a couple of favorite tricks to get us all laughing. And I think watching us laugh is his most favorite game of all.
Birdie is growing so quickly. He's been moved to a 20+ lb car seat. Our poor little car is bursting since the full size seat has to be rear facing.

He's so full of wonder at everything right now. Big eyes taking in as much as they can. He just likes to look, you know. Wants to see everything. Places with high ceilings, like our library, are his favorite. He also like cars, practically giving himself whiplash everytime a car drives by while we are out walking. His other favorite thing to look at is his sister. He will just gaze at her sometimes. Completely fascinated by her. Of course she is smitten with him. I couldn't of planned it better. Watching the two of them laughing at each other and playing - I remember all the games my brother and I used to play, the dynamic and familiarity we had that simply could never be replicated with another person who had not been there since the earliest years. The kind of knowledge of each other that could be used for good or evil - knowing what buttons to push for maximum irritation, or how to make them belly laugh with only raising an eyebrow.

I hope Birdie's teeth let him sleep tonight. And me. But if not I will comfort myself with how gorgeous he is (even when he's screaming at me). That, and the apple pie The Man made today.

'Night all.

ode to my green space

2008-11-10T10:23:00.000-08:00

I wish wish wish we lived someplace where I could take myself and my kids out our front door and be surrounded by trees, birds, animals, and all the heady nature we could handle. I would like to spend our days romping amoung the trees and bushes, much like parts of my own childhood was. When I was young, I was free range in fields, a farm, woodlands, and occasionally a lake. It hurts that I can not do the same for my own kids. We live in the middle of a city, on a busy road, surrounded by even busier roads. Sirens and diesel trucks roaring are more often the symphony we hear, not bird song, not the wind in the trees, not the busy sounds of millions of tiny creatures working, eating, and creating.

Which means that I am eternally grateful for the very rare, but very precious, square city block of green space just down the street from us. It's a rather tame little place - a few trees and a lot of grass. Mostly it's a place for people to let their dogs' relieve themselves. But to us it's a tiny corner of happy. It's good to walk on the green and fallen leaves rather than the pavement. It's good to be able to find enough natural material for a fairy home rather than resorting to using garbage blown around in empty lots. It scares me that this overcultivated bit of grass with a few trees represents 'nature' to my children. The natural hazards here are the occasional transient still crashed out in the trees when we walk through in the morning, broken glass, discarded drug paraphernalia, and dog doo doo. I'm glad we go camping to the mountains when we can, but, really, is this going to be it for my kids? Is the only way to reach nature going to be through driving several hours, using precious resources, creating an artifical home in a civilized campground?

I hope not.

In the meantime we make due. We love the heck out of a tiny stand of trees we can walk to. We play games and ooh and ahh the wasp's nest, the fallen leaves, the way the season's change familar plants.

Our new favorite game I lifted from Susan Usha Dermond's book (I think) is to blindfold Smootch and lead her to one of the trees, where she touches, smells, listens to, and even tastes the tree for a minute or two. Then I lead her away a bit, take off the blindfold, and she tries to identify which tree she was cozied up to. It's a good place for now.

once again, I'm glad I'm vegan

2008-11-06T19:20:00.000-08:00

I just learnt a new term: anal electrocution.

Apparently, along with gassing, anal electrocution is a popular way to kill wild animals that have been penned for their fur.

Anal electrocution. Fur is glamourous, don't you think?

on the way to school today

2008-10-29T19:54:00.000-07:00

the little lady, master builder

2008-10-25T19:25:00.000-07:00

After repeated warnings not to squish little birdie with over enthusiastic hugs, Smootch finally says one day, "I know, I know, I can't squish my brother." We thought she finally got the lesson, until she added, "because it's too hard."

the most perfect moment

2008-10-16T20:41:00.000-07:00

I can't not for the life of me remember where I read the suggestion to stop and consider that the present moment, no matter where you are or what you are doing, could possibly be the most perfect moment of your life. Sounds a bit silly, especially when you are wiping a bum, having a headache, or cleaning up cat yuk, but I give the advice a go sometimes. It usually is when I'm feeling put upon or unappreciated. And whenever I remember to ponder that this right now may be the most perfect moment of my life I always find myself stopping to listen and watch what other are doing around me. Often I discover my children, whom I was annoyed with only moments before, are actually happy and creatively engaged or that The Man is playing with them, or that the cat is curled up in his basket all ootchy scootchie warm and that makes me happy. And, yes okay, I'm wiping a bum, but wow, what a wonderful life I lead to be warm, well fed, and even bored with something so peaceful and marvelously mundane.

That was my thought tonight doing dishes. And in my could be the most perfect moment in my life moment tonight I stopped to really look at the window sill in front of me, with its collection of doodads that have accumulated there. Some were placed with purpose, but so much is just the regular flotsam of my life that I need to stash someplace quick. And I saw how this little collection of random and purpose was absolutely perfect right then. I don't mean to get mystical here, but this view:

inspires me to appreciate the amazing people I share my home with.

It's funny how often you can find something magical in the regular grind of life.

And how beautiful people are when they are not paying attention to themselves.

So, thanks kids, thanks Man, and thank you moments.

happy half birthday birdie!

2008-10-15T18:37:00.000-07:00

sleeping ON children

2008-10-14T11:52:00.001-07:00

Now that I've done my ranting about Soule Mama, I may as well fess up about some of my other influences that are bad for my brain. The big one, as far as parenting goes anyway, is Mothering magazine. When little baby Smootch was in hospital I used to hold her for hours on end (between having a gianormous hole in her heart and being 2 weeks old, she was always sleeping) and read back issues of Mothering magazine from the library. Being ever so slightly emotional (see 'hole in heart in 2 week old baby'), and also having a serious dose of those new mommy hormones to boot, the 'natural family' meme has been imprinted on my brain. Hello babywearing. Hello family bed. Hello prolonged breast feeding. Hello organic everything. Hello unschooling.

Okay, it wasn't hard for Mothering to inflitrate my brain, having serious leanings in that direction already. Still, they put an extra spin on my disposition towards anything labelled 'natural' and it has tossed me over the edge. I would look down at that tiny little beautiful tragically ill baby and promise I would give her all I could to help her develop to her potenical. Good food, good school, good love.

Fast forward four years and another baby. Much of the natural family stuff has worked for us. I suspect I would of done much of the same things even if I had never heard of it, but Mothering has given me some good reasons to stick to my guns when other people around me weren't quite on board with some things. Instead of caving to peer pressure, I listened to my intuition, reassured that other people in the world, if not here exactly, thought the same way I did. And thus I get to make my own mistakes rather than repeating someone elses, yes?

Here's the thing though: Mothering magazine, along with anybody trying to sell a point of view, will tell you many good things about their product but neglect to mention the downside. Everything has a downside. Parenting, like life, is a series of choices and compromises.

Let's take, for example, oh the family bed. Good idea with babies. No need to wake up mom and baby for a feeding, everyone cozy and warm all night. More sleep: yay! Family bed with a toddler. Okay! Parent and child cuddled up. Still no problems, everyone has a place. Family bed with a preschooler and infant... urm, wait a minute, what happened to dad? Which child gets cuddled? Who exactly is trying to nurse at 2am? Hey, no one's doing much sleeping anymore!

We're not totally dumb, btw. Smootch was in her own room long before babe #2 showed up. And she would sleep though until about 5 am and then crawl in with us. I believe it is the same with many families with preschoolers, family bedders or not. But now she's been waking up earlier since she's entered the age of nightmares (ask her about them sometimes, they are often doozies) and she sometimes crawls in with me and babe before dad has even gone to bed.

And both children cuddle up to me, aka Heat Source. So I end up between both kids, a collective 53 pounds of pressure trying to get unhumanly close. They love me, see? But which way do I turn to cuddle? Neither one of them wants my backside, for some reason. They fight for boobside property. And I get a headache if I sleep on my back and arms up in the air, which is where they have to go if I don't want to crush a child's face with my extra wave. I end up turning back and forth all night, annoying enough, but then everytime a part of me leaves contact with the bed a child flows into the space. If my arm is lifted, a little arm snakes underneath. When I lift my torso slightly to try to roll over on the spot (tricky!), a tiny baby head wedges itself beneath my rib cage. In the darkest part of the night I now wake up to find myself a full 8 inches off the matress as my kids have wiggled themselves entirely underneath me. The only point of myself actually making contact with the bottom sheet is my feet, which are hanging off the end of my short, bumpy, whiny bed mattress cover made of children.

So, family bed. Yes and no. I'm hoping to just survive the next 6 months or so until babe number 2 is able to hold his own with his sister and just pop the two of them down on the bed and they can work it out while I go sleep in the kids' room. (Which has a lovely princess theme to it now, so I can feel royal.)

Oh, yes, and I'm totally a person of my word. Sometimes. I'm scared of what's going to happen now that I've gone on about the family bed since I actually went out and bought Amanda Soule's book after I declared my hiatus from Soule Mama. Maybe I'll have to start letting the cats into the room at night? Is there a king size bed in my future? Or single parenthood 80

'K, gotta go check Soule Mama. Hope y'all had a good thankgiving!

Soule Mama is bad for my brain

2008-10-08T12:19:00.000-07:00

First off, I have to tell you how much I love Amanda Soule's work. Her book is fantastic, a new classic for us natural family meets the crafty sorta people. And I look forward to her blog everyday. It's a feast for the eyes and an inspiration to do better with my family, my home, and my ambitions.

But, damnit, I can't help comparing my life and myself up against her. And I come out the serious lo-ser. She's like a hippie Martha Stewart. I am drawn into her circle of order and creativity, but I will never, ever be like her. It's heartbreaking. She grows things and cans them. She homeschools. She helps her kids do amazing creative things. She writes books about doing amazing creative things with her kids. She's a prolific eye candy photographer. She knits. She blogs five days a week. She makes these little fabric/embroidery collages with themes and sells them for outrageous amounts. She's full of gratitude and wonder and kindness. I find myself checking her blog everyday, wondering at how picturesque her life is. How perfect. How utterly unlike my own life.

For instance. Soule Mama's pregnancies are lovely rocking in chair love affairs with her rounding body. All earthy, wholesome mommy stuff. My pregnancies were sorta of nine month long puke fests, while I complained bitterly when my ass no longer fit through doorways. She revels in the work of making a home, food, and providing for the the basics like firewood. I hate having to do housework, gardening, and cooking. I'd rather read a book on how to do it than actually do it. My fabrics aren't as nice as her fabrics. She makes these cute little skirts with her 3 yr old while making dinner. I lock myself in the basement to sew and when my 3 yr old knocks on the door I turn up my gwar-esque rock louder to drown out her knocking.

Mama can't talk now, sweetie, she's avoiding you.

Sometimes I try to get comfortable with my limitations as a mother and try to cozy up to my anti-domestic nature. I read Erma Bombeck and tell myself that kid's are resilent, canned tomato sauce looks just as yummy as sauce made tomatoes from my own garden and that germs from unwashed floors actually help immune systems develop. I chant 'good enough' all day long. But then I open up Soule Mama's blog the next day and I can see how far I am away from where I want to be. How I just don't measure up.

As it turns out I was actually paying attention at least some of the time those years at university. I know that we judge our own situations as relative to others. We feel rich or poor compared to our neighbors. We feel ourselves as good or bad parents compared to those around. It's not hard to figure out why I feel bad about myself when I have the whole of the internet in which to find the shiniest examples of everything. I am not the best mom, the slimmest, the healthiest, the most domestic, the most natural, the most creative, the most feminist, the most ambitious, the most crafty, the best anything. In this climate of the new domesticity, with type A housewives creating mult-million dollar brands out of their lives, I am not even in the race. Heck, my position as a spectator is so far away that I need binoculars to see the starting line. Though I can still see it's not real. Still, from far away over here, it's still beautiful.

Self-preservation instinct is kicking in. In order to help pick my self worth up from below magot droppings, I'm going to take a wee hiatus from Soule Mama. And from my many lofty tombs of betterness from the library, the self help, the how to de clutter my home, feng shi my insides, or deep cleanse my colon or whatever the hell it is that catches my fancy week to week that makes me feel completely inadequate. I think I'll limit my reading to areas that have nothing to do with me. Life and times of Mozart. The breeding of dogs. Romantic medieval poetry. Perhaps if I ignore all information that I am even vaguely interested in right now I may get back a measure of confidence in my parenting and running this household. When I only have reality to compare myself to.

Perfection will be banished from my to do list and my bookmarks. This will be me doing my own thing, not comparing myself to you.

This'll be me accepting my limitations.

(oh, darn, I think I've once again accepted mission impossible. I never learn.)

weekend at the farm

2008-10-06T20:00:00.000-07:00