Why babies have special soap...

Happy Birthday Birdie Boy!

back from the farm

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?

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

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

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

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.

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.