Growing Versions

My 7 and 3/4 year old informed me, when I pleaded for help with cleaning the living room, that I just had to make a plan, follow the plan and then I'd be done.  She made it sound so logical and easy to do and follow through on.  I revisited  last year's resolutions .  My kids encouraged me to give up sleeping "when there is fun around".  They also encouraged more swimming and skating and less after school program.  Since I did not actually adopt the "less after school program" (it was only a suggestion after all) I won't worry about that one.  We did swim quite a bit but we've not really done enough skating for my liking.  As it turned out, I felt less inclination to nap during fun times this year, but also learned to love sleep on a much deeper level when there wasn't.  Check. Tomorrow is a clean slate. I am not making a list.  I am just going to try and keep light flowing through me. Whatever it takes, I'm going to turn against...

Two years ago we had a good snow year.  We had fluffy good stuff for playing in.  We head across the street to the community sledding hill and played our guts out, slipping and sliding down the "kiddie" hill.  Across the ball field, ominously tall and shimmery, was the "big" hill.  My daughter, then 5, was hesitant to try going down it.  My 2 and a half year old was definitely too small to attempt it.  However, more importantly I suppose, I felt queasy just looking at it.  It was so steep and so many rowdy "big" kids zoomed down the hill at high speed, wiping out plenty, but also screaming with glee. Last year was a bit of a write off as far as fluffy fun snow was concerned. This year though, we have had a nice dose of snow in the past few days and both kids were keen to get started on using their new sleds.  By the time we got outside though, it was raining.  Cold icy rain was running in rivulets down the street.  The wind tunnel...

If one were to measure growth of a little person based on their reaction to advent calendars (and I am going to), one would be able to chart significant growth and change from year 3 to year 4.   Last year's reaction to advent calendars  by my son spoke volumes about his concept of time.  "Tiny chocolates behind little doors?  That is all I need to know. Let's open all those doors, get those chocolates out of their little windows as soon as."  The idea that those little chocolate squares are behind little doors that have numbers on them was unimportant to him.  The idea that those same numbers indicated that  the doors were meant to be opened in a sequence  was also lost on him.  In fact, the idea that the shape of those numbers 3, 18, 23 ...were an amount of something or ordering something was also not quite in place yet.  If Christmas had come as fast as the chocolates counted down towards it, it would have been a very short season. ...

A tree house, a free house, A secret you and me house, A high up in the leafy branches Cozy as can be house. A street house, a neat house, Be sure and wipe your feet house is not my kind of house at all- Let's go live in a tree house. -Shel Silverstein

Santa's letter was sent on the wings and the underbelly of a paper airplane this year.  It was sent way back in November, so when my daughter's letter from Santa came right away, and his did not, we worried that the plane got caught up in a jet stream diverting it far away from the North Pole. But, as it turns out, it made it there after all.  He got a lovely response from Santa just last week.

"With their very first cry, this most precious, vital part of ourselves, our child, is suddenly exposed to the world, to possible mishap or malice, and every parent knows there’s nothing we will not do to shield our children from harm. And yet we also know that with that child’s very first step and each step after that, they are separating from us, that we won’t -- that we can’t always be there for them. They will suffer sickness and setbacks and broken hearts and disappointments, and we learn that our most important job is to give them what they need to become self-reliant and capable and resilient, ready to face the world without fear. And we know we can’t do this by ourselves. It comes as a shock at a certain point where you realise no matter how much you love these kids, you can’t do it by yourself, that this job of keeping our children safe and teaching them well is something we can only do together, with the help of friends and neighbors, the help of a community and ...

All the puddles and all the usual mushy places are crusted over this morning.  It is with great purpose that my son declares that there is ice to crack today.  Later in the day yesterday, once things had cooled considerably, he was anxious to get outside again to crack up some icy puddles. He has a baseball bat and jumping feet for the job. That crunch satisfies that urge to break the surface, after all, "leaves in frozen puddles do not move around." This ice breaking is not the loosey goosey corporatized kind of activity we, as adults have come to resent.  It's like work to four-and-a-half year olds, this ice breaking exercise.  

Mornings are like payday for me. I wake up flush with unspent moments. I'm optimistic and ready to spend my time on just about anything. I'm generous with my time and excruciatingly patient with even the most trying situation or personality.  The jangle of hours clink happily together as I begin my day.   Not much is too expensive, time wise, in the morning for me. This, despite my warped sleeping profile, conditioned by years of interrupted sleep, of a crouching ninja. By noon, I'm still feeling rich with promise and energy to burn, but by 1, I start to draw on my savings.  The post lunch dive forces me to withdraw a little more than I mean to and I start being a little more miserly with my inner resources. As suppertime and early evening hits, I am seriously overdrawn and counting the minutes until I can start getting paid again.  By nightfall, all my loans get called in and I'm digging for coins in every nook and cranny and frantically checking ev...

The burn of defeat, the roar of the burning gas of success...or neither if I don't have the guts to play. Lately, we've been playing more board games.  We unearthed the game cupboard and straightened it up.  This time of year I start wanting to play more because it gets dark earlier, its colder out and its not t.v.  However, I am always confronted by something when I start playing games.  I have to stare myself right in the eye and play to the fullest, or, not bother.  I wrestle with this all or nothing paradox and board games are a great place to weed it out of my kids. Alas, my kids are already having a hard time walking that fizzy line between winning and losing and enjoying themselves either way.  Newer, more convenient adaptations are being cooked up on a fairly reliable basis.  One of the few games we can get through start to finish without tears or sighs  is Candy Land (unless one of us has the great misfortune of landing on licorice)....

When I woke up this morning, there had already been a fair amount of activity. A whole holiday cook book  (including Hanukkah recipes) had been hand printed, illustrated and bound, several presents had been wrapped and copious tiny gift cards had been created and distributed on said presents.  I think this is just about my favourite time of Christmas.  I get so delighted seeing all the little fragments of shiny paper and coloured pencils strewn around the tree. The lights are like tinder for a stream of gift ideas and decorations that just need a little paper and tape and creativity (and a stapler never goes amiss) to assemble. The elves are busy.

There was so much excitement this week about adorning the tree that there were a few dry runs first.  Many different possibilities exist for spreading light (as I'm sure anyone who has celebrated the holiday without a tree can attest).  A tiny pine cone filled in for a couple of days. When the tree went up, it was discovered that all kinds of things can be ornaments.  As long as things can shimmer or be suspended somehow and/or let light shine through them, just about anything can adorn a tree!

Cyril Blakeney died in 1973, 1 1/2 years before I was born and 25 years before his oldest grandchild got an email account. He was a family man, a business owner and a collector of treasures.  His dad died in the Halifax explosion and he worked hard from an early age to help support his mom while she raised three kids.  He was my grandfather and we never got to meet but he often enters my mind.  He lived his whole life in the same city I do.  I have lived in his home. My kids walk around his neighbourhood everyday.  I know people who go to his church.   I know the streets he walked like the back of my hand. I just don't have any memories of him directly. Up until recently, the house that he and my grandmother had raised my mom in from babyhood to university graduate was still in our family and I could get little glimpses of evidence even 36 years later that he had lived there, done the books at the kitchen table, stashed treasures in the basement, ...

I was captivated today when I came across this creative suite of appliances.  It not only freezes things but it also melts and cooks things too.  It is a real space saver too. It produced maple swirl banana grape pop lactose free milk shake right in front of my eyes, followed swiftly by veggie spaghetti.  

The merry-go-round has officially started to turn in earnest.  Even though a lot of us were cringing when we saw decorations on November 30th, a lot of us, myself included, were eagerly (or resignedly) taking out the ornaments December 1st.  Every year I am determined  to be more committed to a less consumer driven holiday.  I always  intend to make simple, homemade gifts for people and give fewer, but more thoughtfully chosen, gifts.  However, in the end, I usually end up throwing a heap of cash, that I do not always have, at what almost feels like a problem.   Everywhere I turn I find myself succumbing to the twinkly lights and sweets and endorphins and think, "oh what the heck."  I spend more money than sense on this holiday and I end up spiritually  feeling short changed.  The to do list is only a shopping list not a-what-I-want-out-of-this-experience list. This year I have been a little slower climbing on the merry-go-round. ...

Is it still morning? My son asks this question several times on a weekend.  I think he asks it because he wants to ensure that there is still plenty of time off left.  Yesterday, when I told him that no, now it was actually afternoon, he burst into tears. His timekeeping is confined to morning, afternoon and night time(to be put off and denied as long as possible). He also asks each morning.  Where am I going today?  If the answer is, "you are staying home with us", he's delighted.  He surprised me today when I said, "no, today is Sunday, you'll stay here today". He replied, "Oh, okay, and yesterday was Saturday, right?"  I have grown accustomed to his 4 year old elastic rules of time logic. For example, when he says "I did that last week." He means, I did that "sometime before now".  However. the elastic band is slowly being pulled taut around the face of the clock and a lot of knowledge about time is being crammed in...

" The colour orange is my favourite colour.  The only one that has a fruit and a colour name." "I like orange because it's red and yellow.  I like those colours too because red and yellow make orange." "White and orange makes a shadow, but it never comes out at night."  "Sometimes you can't see orange because it might be too light or dark, night and day, rain or shine, snow or fog." -Guest blogger, Molly

I published my first post on this blog on November 30, 2011. It has been fun. I'm still enjoying checking where hits come from, Saudia Arabia, Malaysia, Sweden, Russia, Brazil...I'm still having fun letting my brain hang open to ideas from the trees, from my growing kids and from all the places I had never thought of before. When I don't write I miss it and when I do write, I start to feel like myself again. Right away I started to realize that that had been a hole that needed filling. I chose to start blogging because I needed an outlet to express myself, I had only tinkered with public, creative outlets for the past 15 years, and I felt the need to create a venue. I am learning and seeing and noticing new things each new day by doing this, things that I hadn't had a space to explore for a very long while.  In fact, my focus on my kids and the process of raising them and the creative terrain of childhood is interesting to me because in many respects I feel like ...

Beads on a string. Hours in a lot of whiles ago. Drops on my head. Syllables in a sentence.

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning.  The end is where we start from. T.S. Eliot

Last night, as my son's restlessness and resistance to sleep intensified, I suggested "a talk".  Knowing that part of his challenge with falling asleep is letting go of the day and connection, I figured a talk would comfort him. He responded: "Well, we could talk about the problems for me at my old daycare." Me: "Okay, if you like." He changed his mind, "Or, we could talk about imagining things." Me: "That sounds like a great idea. You go first." "Carrots can talk to each other in the earth." "Monkeys can be camouflaged." "Geckos do not like to be touched but they like someone to talk to them." "Birds have special powers." "Okay, mom, it's your turn."

Last night we celebrated Thanksgiving. No we are not American, but for the first time ever, it felt like a perfectly normal time to celebrate this holiday and celebrate the first flurry fall.  My daughter helped my husband make the supper and she also took great care to decorate for the event.  We moved the table into the living room and fancied things up.  It was everything a fancy dinner should be: delicious, candlelit, eaten in pyjamas and full of conversations about all the other fancy meals we've had.  Last Christmas we braved eating duck and the kids had great fun thinking up other options: sushi, geese (plural), bear and moose and cow.    

I came across this article about  Untranslatable words  by Lauren McKay in Urban Times awhile back and the term that spoke to me the most was the Japanese term Mono No Aware*. This term, according to McKay relates to "the bitter sweetness of transience, and a sadness for the passing of things." I'm not a fan of endings. I definitely have a melancholy bent. I hate when books end. I cling to stages my kids are in long after they themselves have abandoned them (i.e. what? no more sippy cups (and breastfeeding before that)?, come on guys). I prolong saying goodbye in many different ways. I hold on to memorabilia, like ticket stubs and cat hair (okay, not anymore) and old letters.   I leave my Christmas ornaments up way too long and agonize over little changes (haircuts and throwing out my daughter's school work) and much bigger ones (moving house and swapping jobs) with almost the same measure. Beginnings I can do. I start lots of things on a regular basis. I star...

How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.-John Burroughs

Yesterday, I mentioned that I have not bothered to match my own socks for a long while.  Truly this has been a problem  for years. There have been spells when I have managed to get myself temporarily on track and, for a 2-3 week stretch, I match.  I still remember being mildly shocked to realize that people notice this sort of thing, when at my first professional job it became a running joke at my expense.  I simply did not (do not) pay attention to matching socks.    When it comes to my kids though, there is more angst involved.  I feel more responsibility to make sure they match.  However, I really feel like I'm working up hill most of the time.  The worn old joke about wondering why only single socks come out of the wash when a slew of pairs went in wears on me.  I am constantly tracking down mittens and socks and matching them up.  On really bad matching days, I literally contemplate sending kids with socks on their hand...

It is way to cliche to complain about being busy.  I am busy because I am privileged to have a job (which I like) and two healthy active kids (who I like).  However, these past couple of years have been strenuous.  I concede that I have taken certain (i.e. hundreds of) shortcuts to make things easier. Most of these shortcuts I am at peace with, (no vacuuming,wearing unmatched socks on a regular basis, not insisting on nightly baths and no homemade bread ...well, um, that never happened anyway).  There are hundreds of these shortened steps, I am sure, that I have gradually succumbed to accepting.  However, one of the shortcuts I am not so happy about has been cutting out baking and cutting down on cooking from scratch.  Cooking from scratch still happens but lots of shortcuts have been thrown into the mix which have also short changed  my joy doing it. In the process of saving time (initially to keep the impatient pleas from kids to a dull roar), I...

 I had an awesome (and these days all too rare an) opportunity to read to a little toddler this weekend.  Along with smelling great and being adorable, he was quite the little reader.  He pointed out all the puppies and babies on all the pages and requested each book be read 3-4 times over.  It was a delightful experience and reminded me how my own kids went from touching the page (sometimes chewing) on the page, to trying to pry the characters right off of the pages to slowly slowly, step by hundreds and hundreds of miniature step, begin to follow along. My daughter has always been very independent when it comes to reading and has disappointed quite a number of adults in her life when she insisted on taking over the reading duties from a young age--depriving us of snatching those little hair-smelling-kisses that come along with reading to a child.  (We still sneak them in).  Sitting on a lap and patiently listening to a story be read to her is just no...

This morning we were greeted by frosty grass and crunchy, icy leaves. The Christmas parade put us all in a hot chocolate frame of mind. The icy frost has properties that crumbly leaves and sugary sand do not. I am coming around a bend, my thoughts crystalizing, as the water solidifies while we sleep.

Here is a list of the iphone games my kids have requested recently.  Not one of them was available, all lost opportunities as far as I am concerned! -a "kitty painting game" "tuna make sandwiches for gold fishes" -a "zipline game, where your head is attached to a zipline going from a house" -a game where you "design a restaurant" -a "witch game and you have to make your own hat" -"monkey games out of fur" -"grocery store game and you have to time it but not break anything (or you lose points)." -"boy hair cutting game" -a "tea pot game and you put mashed potatoes in it to make food for people."

Have you heard of  Maud Lewis ?  She was a woman who was born with a disability in the early 1900s and ended up living in isolation and poverty in rural Nova Scotia.  She and her husband lived in a tiny house where she became famous for her quirky, child like drawings of the natural world and the world she knew growing up. She painted on the back of old Christmas cards, and breadboxes and chairs and even her own tiny little house.  Even when she was living, she drew people from miles around to check out her art and marvel at the beauty she had created in the woods. Years later, those simple paintings ended up in museums and are worth many, many times more money than she ever saw in her lifetime.  She is now famous and her little house is in the Art Gallery of NS.  Every time I see her work, I think how bland and non-descript most objects are in my life.  She took it upon herself to create colour where there was none and her spirit lives on in that e...

We got cracking on a big house purge this weekend.  As I have stated several times before, our clutter is always threatening to take us down and muffle our screams.  One of my biggest struggles has been with having a space at home where I can, when I am not bone tired, pull out the paints and suggest a craft project or where I can sort out the mounting photos we have in our midst, without feeling slightly sick afterwards, and  worse still, determined never to do it again.  Most of all, all this stuff was really starting to create barriers between us.  Together we finally took a big bite out of all this, and slowly but surely over the weekend, some treasures were unearthed, tons of useless (to us) things were either given away or discarded and places to work and play and eat and sleep and put clothes away in and read books and wrestle became distinct entities again.

 I have not worn a watch for a long while.  Cell phones fill in nicely, but really, in so many ways, I do not need one, especially, of course, on a free day.  It always astounds me the innate timekeeping skills I have inside me, that have gotten better with time. 37 autumns have taught me some things about what the light is like at 3:10 p.m.