I just got back from my 2nd appointment with my midwife. As seems usual with midwifery appointments, it was a warm and welcoming experience with a lovely, friendly, intelligent woman. I love the midwifery model of care, and couldn't imagine going any other way for the monumental occasion of bringing a new life into our family and the world. It's important to me that when I see my care provider, they offer me lots of time, invite me to talk about my pregnancy and birth on an emotional, spiritual, and physical level, and present me with options but don't tell me what to do. And what's better, I checked out totally healthy so far, and got to hear the wonderful whoosh whoosh whoosh of Peanut's heart beating away. I look forward to that sound every time, just to know s/he's in there, alive and well.
It was also nice to be able to talk about some of the choices I am struggling with around whether to wean the Boodge or tandem nurse my babies, and to have her share with me how beautiful her experience was tandem nursing her daughters. It's so hard to find people who even nurse to two years, let alone even consider nursing 2 babies, that it's an immense relief to be with someone who actually validates the idea rather than look at me like I'm a total kook. Honestly, I didn't think that I would consider tandem nursing myself, but now that I'm here with a babe who loves to nurse and another on the way, it seems to make sense.
This pregnancy is so different from the last. The physical differences are minor. I'm still a lucky one--no morning sickness (don't hate me) and generally great health and energy (after the first trimester). But mentally, there's no comparison. With Boodge, the pregnancy was always there like a little gem in the back of my mind, one I rolled around and watched sparkle in different lights. Also, there was lots of fear of things like miscarriage or whether the baby would be born healthy and alive. I spent hours reading about pregnancy and birth, I talked to him and sang to him in utero, I rubbed oils and creams on my belly and took pictures of it as it grew.
This time, sorry little Peanut, I think more about Boodge than I do about the baby inside me. The reality of my day is that Boodge is there in front of me, grabbing the eggs out of the fridge or running for the potty or pushing his chair over to the hot stove to climb up. I have to think about him in the moment, and I can only think about Peanut in stolen moments--just before sleep, or at stoplights. But I also think about him in relation to the arrival of Peanut. How will he adjust? How can I make it easiest for him. What will help him welcome and not resent the new baby? Will he be OK during our time away birthing the baby? What will I do about nursing?
We're already making some changes to Boodge's life in anticipation of Peanut. The night weaning was the first one. This week, he will give up his last "boo" in the bed, the nursing he does in order to fall asleep. Sean is taking over bedtime. This was partly precipitated by my meltdown a couple of weeks ago, but it's also been part of the preparation plan for Peanut's arrival. I can't be sure that I can lie down with Boodge for half an hour every night and nap and nurse him to sleep, especially if I'm listening to Peanut scream that infant scream in another room. And I don't want to discover I can't do it after Peanut is born, and have to make that dramatic change to Boodge's life when so much other change is also happening. Plus, we want to encourage bonding with his Dad now, since his Dad will have to take over certain tasks, like waking up with Boodge in the night.
It feels right, but also sad. I guess it's a precursor to how it will feel to have 2 children--torn trying to meet the needs of both. I am looking forward to Peanut, but I'm sad about how it may affect my bond with the Boodge. I love that little guy like crazy. I love being able to sit and nurse him in a leisurely way, take him outside to play for hours, accept his rations of hugs and cuddles whenever he's willing to offer them. I am sad to know our bond will change. But I'm happy to know that he will bond more deeply with his dad, and eventually, with Peanut too. I'm trying to focus on the ways that the love in his life, and our family's life, will expand, even if it is changing.
I'll take the new free time at bedtime to go for an evening walk with Peanut. S/he deserves a little Mama time too, as well as a Mama who gets some exercise and will actually have the stamina to birth him or her. And I'll give Boodge extra loving through this tricky transition, and listen to what he is telling me about how it's going for him. I'm learning to be a Mama of two. We're learning to be a family of four. Peanut, little as you are, you are squeaking in there and making your mark. And we welcome you.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Cousin Lovin'
I'm writing this post from my brother's place in Kitchener, Ontario, where I'm visiting for 8 days. I came for my Dad's 65th birthday, and to spend some time with my brother, who's had a rough year so far, and his kids. It's my last trip with the Boodge in the wonderful fly-for-free under 2-years-old grace period.
Since Boodge was born, I've been lucky to be able to stay well connected to my family, who are scattered throughout eastern Canada--Mom in Montreal, Dad in Renfrew (near Ottawa), and Bro here. It's not always easy to see them all since it involves a 5 hour flight and then, if I want to go to all three homes, several long drives and adjusting the Boodge to new places. But it's so important to me to stay connected, that I've made the trip at least 2 or 3 times a year since he's been born.
Sometimes I come with Sean, but he can't always leave work so I come alone as well, for shorter trips. I don't like taking the Boodge away from his Daddy for too long. Sean misses him like crazy (and me, but the fact is, Boodge holds the bigger heartstring for both of us now), and we miss Sean too. I am missing him a lot today, realizing that the best part of my visit is pretty much over. My bro has to work the rest of my trip, and his kids are with their mom, so the Boodge and I are knocking around this townhouse and I'm wishing I was home.
Still, it has been worth it to see the little cousins play together. My brother and I grew up with a close clan of cousins, spending endless summer days playing at our cottage, or tearing up the musty concrete down in my grandmother's basement. As teenagers, we went through our own particular misfit stages in our own towns, but when we were together, we always fit. Holidays with my cousins were a time where I could remember who I was and where I came from. My cousins are some of my best friends, and when I'm with them I know I'm with people who know me in a way very few people could, and love me simply for who I am. What an incredible gift.
I hope the Boodge can have something like that with his cousins (including not just my brother's kids, but the children of my cousins too). Watching them begin to develop their own connection is so special. Waking up at my Dad's the other day, as Boodge and I came downstairs, his little 3.5 year old cousin walked up to meet him with a hug, saying sweetly, "I love Boodge SO much!"
I know they probably won't remember this visit, but they will remember each other, and the connection they are beginning to form. The airplane spotting from the car-seats on the drive to Grandpa's, the scraps over hockey sticks and balls, the mimicking of each others actions and words....it's all the beginning of what I hope will be as nourishing and long lived a bond as I have enjoyed with my cousins.
After this visit, I suppose our visiting strategy will have to change. We'll have two little ones, and flying will cost twice as much. And in 2 more years, three times as much. We'll have to come less often, for longer times. Maybe rent a cottage in Ontario for a month, so Sean can work from there and the various factions of family can come and stay together. I'm hoping we can find a way to keep the bonds strong, so I can give Boodge the same gift I have received. I know that I can't control who he bonds with, and the circumstances of his cousin-hood are different from mine--more geographic distance, less cohesive family structures. But I'm certainly going to do my best, and the rest, I suppose, will be up to them.
Since Boodge was born, I've been lucky to be able to stay well connected to my family, who are scattered throughout eastern Canada--Mom in Montreal, Dad in Renfrew (near Ottawa), and Bro here. It's not always easy to see them all since it involves a 5 hour flight and then, if I want to go to all three homes, several long drives and adjusting the Boodge to new places. But it's so important to me to stay connected, that I've made the trip at least 2 or 3 times a year since he's been born.
Sometimes I come with Sean, but he can't always leave work so I come alone as well, for shorter trips. I don't like taking the Boodge away from his Daddy for too long. Sean misses him like crazy (and me, but the fact is, Boodge holds the bigger heartstring for both of us now), and we miss Sean too. I am missing him a lot today, realizing that the best part of my visit is pretty much over. My bro has to work the rest of my trip, and his kids are with their mom, so the Boodge and I are knocking around this townhouse and I'm wishing I was home.
Still, it has been worth it to see the little cousins play together. My brother and I grew up with a close clan of cousins, spending endless summer days playing at our cottage, or tearing up the musty concrete down in my grandmother's basement. As teenagers, we went through our own particular misfit stages in our own towns, but when we were together, we always fit. Holidays with my cousins were a time where I could remember who I was and where I came from. My cousins are some of my best friends, and when I'm with them I know I'm with people who know me in a way very few people could, and love me simply for who I am. What an incredible gift.
I hope the Boodge can have something like that with his cousins (including not just my brother's kids, but the children of my cousins too). Watching them begin to develop their own connection is so special. Waking up at my Dad's the other day, as Boodge and I came downstairs, his little 3.5 year old cousin walked up to meet him with a hug, saying sweetly, "I love Boodge SO much!"
I know they probably won't remember this visit, but they will remember each other, and the connection they are beginning to form. The airplane spotting from the car-seats on the drive to Grandpa's, the scraps over hockey sticks and balls, the mimicking of each others actions and words....it's all the beginning of what I hope will be as nourishing and long lived a bond as I have enjoyed with my cousins.
After this visit, I suppose our visiting strategy will have to change. We'll have two little ones, and flying will cost twice as much. And in 2 more years, three times as much. We'll have to come less often, for longer times. Maybe rent a cottage in Ontario for a month, so Sean can work from there and the various factions of family can come and stay together. I'm hoping we can find a way to keep the bonds strong, so I can give Boodge the same gift I have received. I know that I can't control who he bonds with, and the circumstances of his cousin-hood are different from mine--more geographic distance, less cohesive family structures. But I'm certainly going to do my best, and the rest, I suppose, will be up to them.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Coming out
A while back a friend of mine e-mailed me describing some stresses she was having with her family life. She introduced the topic by saying she'd been catching up on my blog and didn't know how I could manage to be so "zen" about everything, even when it was hard. Immediately I sat down to reply, wanting to disabuse her of any idea that I somehow manage to maintain perfect calm and balance in the thick of this parenting and married life.
It's important to me to be an open, honest person, and not to pretend that my life is a bowl of cherries when it feels like a bowl of shit. I believe that we liberate others to be themselves when we can show who we really are: imperfect homes, parenting mistakes, relationship struggles and all. How intimidating and unapproachable are those people who seem to have it all together, who never admit to the struggles that frankly, we all face in our daily lives. I want my friends and family to feel safe revealing the good, bad and ugly with me, to know they can leave their dirty socks on my living room floor because I offer a place of comfort over a place of perfection. So I try to tell the truth, without veering into negativity, because I am blessed in countless ways.
That being said, I think we all present different faces to different people depending on the context and relationship. If we could be a fly on the wall in most people's homes we would see sides of them we have never seen. It's not a matter of not being genuine, it's a matter of having boundaries and of choosing how I want to be perceived, and what I want to put out into the world.
When I started this blog, I wanted it to be an honest place to talk about the struggles and joys that go with parenting and trying to live in accord with my values. But I also wanted it to be a positive place, a place of reflection, and a place where readers could find solutions or at least some small comfort that they are not alone, and it is not as bad as they thought. It's also important to respect my family's privacy, so you will never see me writing here about marital issues, and my extended family's personal problems, or certain aspects of my child's life (especially as he grows). That doesn't mean those things aren't happening and affecting me daily.
Still, I generally try to stay positive, to practice gratitude and to give of myself to the people I love and to my community. I make it a priority to maintain my inner peace, so whenever something throws me off balance, I like to try to address it right away. The problem is, as life moves forward and changes, often the balance point shifts, and I lose sight of the fact that I am toppling down, down, down into burnout and exhaustion. This is what has been happening lately, and if you had been a fly on our wall this week you would have seen a side of me that even I haven't seen since I was a teenager, a person filled with rage, throwing things, crying, out of control. I blew my top.
There is no-one to blame in it, nobody intentionally made me angry that day. What happened is this. I got pregnant in early February. That cat's out of the bag now. As happens in early pregnancy, my body started sucking my energy down into my womb, building another person, new organs, blood, and a volatile cocktail of hormones. I became tired and testy, and I craved solitude and quiet time. But we were moving. So I packed, cleaned, ran errands and arranged details. I also decided to take on night weaning because I saw it as the first step in a process of getting the Boodge into total sleep independence before the baby came. Sleep became severely disrupted--pile on the exhaustion.
After we moved, many friends and family came to visit to check out the new home and offer help where they could. It was lovely to see them all, and generous of them to travel and give their time to help us. I am grateful, and to show my gratitude I worked hard to suppress my craving for solitude and peace and to hide my exhaustion and irritability. Instead I cleaned, made yummy meals, and forced myself to be cheerful and loving with my guests. And I did feel cheerful and loving. But when each person left and I had a day or two until the next, I felt myself decompressing, trying to soak up the emptiness of the house and the safety of being with my little family.
There's another side to all of this, which is part of who I am. We all have ways of coping with stress. If you study psychology, you learn that there are some pretty typical patterns. There's the person who buries their head in the sand, or runs away somehow through work, substance abuse, shopping, or whatever his or her drug of choice happens to be. There's the person that creates more drama and chaos, so that all resources and attention go their way (this can be a great way to stop parents from fighting when you're a kid). And there's people like me, who go into super-caretaking mode, unconsciously stuffing my own needs away and instead making sure everyone and everything around me is getting what they need to make this stress a bit less stressful. Because if they're OK, I'm OK, right?
I used to be much worse than I am now. But still, when stress hits, it's easy to revert to old habits. Plus, my whole life was shifting--home, town, and body. Hormones are affecting me in ways I don't understand. That makes it harder to consult the inner compass and see that I'm straying off course.
So the last of the visitors left last weekend and I felt my soul reach for "me" time. But then my son had little wee naps and refused to go to bed early but woke up at 6am anyway, and so my days dragged on in exhaustion, I got no time to myself, and my resentment began to build. Finally, on Thursday, after finally getting the little dude to sleep only to have him wake up the MINUTE I finished doing what I had to do and sat down to relax, I blew.
It was ugly. I scared myself, and probably also my husband and child. And I felt embarrassed afterwards. But I also realized that I had let it get to this point by ignoring, suppressing, telling myself I could do it, just a little longer, just hold it together. Eventually, the body and soul have to send a clear signal, and mine did. Two days later, I came down with a flu.
So here I am on the other side, reminded that I am not superwoman. I realize that some of the long term parenting practice I have, such as nursing my babe to sleep and always being the one to comfort him in the night, have got to change. There's a new kid in town now, and the little peanut is already carving out some space for him/herself. And Mama needs her space too. As a dear friend told me the other day, I'm the most important one, because I'm the Mama. But that is so hard to believe, with all the sacrifice of self that motherhood demands, and all the cultural mythology of the perfect, all giving mother that is out there.
It's time to make some changes, set some boundaries, and ask for help. And I have begun that process. It shouldn't be that hard, but for me, it often is. I feel guilty, and I get down on myself for not being the person I could've or should've been. I wonder, just as my friend who e-mailed me did, how other people can handle it all so well when I can't. But I suspect everyone has moments like these.
So I guess I wanted to share this with you all, not to invite your pity or sympathy, but just to admit the truth, and hope that you all recognize that truth in yourselves too. Hope that I am not alone. And to remind myself, and you all, that the expectations we set for ourselves in life are just expectations, and just our own. It is only a matter of giving ourselves permission to be human, and to do differently. I hope you can be better than I have been lately at listening to that voice inside you telling you what you need to change. It's always in there, but it is all too easy to ignore.
It's important to me to be an open, honest person, and not to pretend that my life is a bowl of cherries when it feels like a bowl of shit. I believe that we liberate others to be themselves when we can show who we really are: imperfect homes, parenting mistakes, relationship struggles and all. How intimidating and unapproachable are those people who seem to have it all together, who never admit to the struggles that frankly, we all face in our daily lives. I want my friends and family to feel safe revealing the good, bad and ugly with me, to know they can leave their dirty socks on my living room floor because I offer a place of comfort over a place of perfection. So I try to tell the truth, without veering into negativity, because I am blessed in countless ways.
That being said, I think we all present different faces to different people depending on the context and relationship. If we could be a fly on the wall in most people's homes we would see sides of them we have never seen. It's not a matter of not being genuine, it's a matter of having boundaries and of choosing how I want to be perceived, and what I want to put out into the world.
When I started this blog, I wanted it to be an honest place to talk about the struggles and joys that go with parenting and trying to live in accord with my values. But I also wanted it to be a positive place, a place of reflection, and a place where readers could find solutions or at least some small comfort that they are not alone, and it is not as bad as they thought. It's also important to respect my family's privacy, so you will never see me writing here about marital issues, and my extended family's personal problems, or certain aspects of my child's life (especially as he grows). That doesn't mean those things aren't happening and affecting me daily.
Still, I generally try to stay positive, to practice gratitude and to give of myself to the people I love and to my community. I make it a priority to maintain my inner peace, so whenever something throws me off balance, I like to try to address it right away. The problem is, as life moves forward and changes, often the balance point shifts, and I lose sight of the fact that I am toppling down, down, down into burnout and exhaustion. This is what has been happening lately, and if you had been a fly on our wall this week you would have seen a side of me that even I haven't seen since I was a teenager, a person filled with rage, throwing things, crying, out of control. I blew my top.
There is no-one to blame in it, nobody intentionally made me angry that day. What happened is this. I got pregnant in early February. That cat's out of the bag now. As happens in early pregnancy, my body started sucking my energy down into my womb, building another person, new organs, blood, and a volatile cocktail of hormones. I became tired and testy, and I craved solitude and quiet time. But we were moving. So I packed, cleaned, ran errands and arranged details. I also decided to take on night weaning because I saw it as the first step in a process of getting the Boodge into total sleep independence before the baby came. Sleep became severely disrupted--pile on the exhaustion.
After we moved, many friends and family came to visit to check out the new home and offer help where they could. It was lovely to see them all, and generous of them to travel and give their time to help us. I am grateful, and to show my gratitude I worked hard to suppress my craving for solitude and peace and to hide my exhaustion and irritability. Instead I cleaned, made yummy meals, and forced myself to be cheerful and loving with my guests. And I did feel cheerful and loving. But when each person left and I had a day or two until the next, I felt myself decompressing, trying to soak up the emptiness of the house and the safety of being with my little family.
There's another side to all of this, which is part of who I am. We all have ways of coping with stress. If you study psychology, you learn that there are some pretty typical patterns. There's the person who buries their head in the sand, or runs away somehow through work, substance abuse, shopping, or whatever his or her drug of choice happens to be. There's the person that creates more drama and chaos, so that all resources and attention go their way (this can be a great way to stop parents from fighting when you're a kid). And there's people like me, who go into super-caretaking mode, unconsciously stuffing my own needs away and instead making sure everyone and everything around me is getting what they need to make this stress a bit less stressful. Because if they're OK, I'm OK, right?
I used to be much worse than I am now. But still, when stress hits, it's easy to revert to old habits. Plus, my whole life was shifting--home, town, and body. Hormones are affecting me in ways I don't understand. That makes it harder to consult the inner compass and see that I'm straying off course.
So the last of the visitors left last weekend and I felt my soul reach for "me" time. But then my son had little wee naps and refused to go to bed early but woke up at 6am anyway, and so my days dragged on in exhaustion, I got no time to myself, and my resentment began to build. Finally, on Thursday, after finally getting the little dude to sleep only to have him wake up the MINUTE I finished doing what I had to do and sat down to relax, I blew.
It was ugly. I scared myself, and probably also my husband and child. And I felt embarrassed afterwards. But I also realized that I had let it get to this point by ignoring, suppressing, telling myself I could do it, just a little longer, just hold it together. Eventually, the body and soul have to send a clear signal, and mine did. Two days later, I came down with a flu.
So here I am on the other side, reminded that I am not superwoman. I realize that some of the long term parenting practice I have, such as nursing my babe to sleep and always being the one to comfort him in the night, have got to change. There's a new kid in town now, and the little peanut is already carving out some space for him/herself. And Mama needs her space too. As a dear friend told me the other day, I'm the most important one, because I'm the Mama. But that is so hard to believe, with all the sacrifice of self that motherhood demands, and all the cultural mythology of the perfect, all giving mother that is out there.
It's time to make some changes, set some boundaries, and ask for help. And I have begun that process. It shouldn't be that hard, but for me, it often is. I feel guilty, and I get down on myself for not being the person I could've or should've been. I wonder, just as my friend who e-mailed me did, how other people can handle it all so well when I can't. But I suspect everyone has moments like these.
So I guess I wanted to share this with you all, not to invite your pity or sympathy, but just to admit the truth, and hope that you all recognize that truth in yourselves too. Hope that I am not alone. And to remind myself, and you all, that the expectations we set for ourselves in life are just expectations, and just our own. It is only a matter of giving ourselves permission to be human, and to do differently. I hope you can be better than I have been lately at listening to that voice inside you telling you what you need to change. It's always in there, but it is all too easy to ignore.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Homemade Cracker Recipe
In yesterday's post, I mentioned that I have been making homemade crackers. I thought I'd quickly share the recipe here for anyone who would like to try it out for themselves. I got a this recipe off the internet, and have been playing with it until we've come up with my recipe, below, which is less sweet and lighter textured. The great thing about making crackers, for the not so great baker like myself, is that the recipe is very forgiving, you can add and subtract and change without messing it up. You need a food processor to make crackers. We got ours at the Sally Ann...well worth the investment.
Katy's Half-Wheat Thins:
1 cup white flour
1 cup brown rice flour (I have also used 1 cup whole wheat flour here..makes a harder cracker, but very tasty too)
1/8 cup sugar
1/4 cup flax meal
1/8 cup flax seeds
1/2 tsp salt, plus salt to sprinkle on top
2 tbsp butter
2/3 cup 2% milk (skim doesn't have enough fat, makes a really tough cracker)
I also throw in some handfuls of other stuff, like slivered almonds, oat bran, oats, or whatever I have in the cupboard.
Preheat oven to 350.
Put all ingredients but milk in the food processor. Mix until it's mealy, about 30 seconds. Then stream in the milk while running the food processor. When the dough balls up and refuses to move around anymore, it's done. You may have to add slightly more or less milk to get to this phase.
Flour your countertop. Split the dough in half, and half again. Roll sections out using lots of flour so it won't stick, till it's very thin--maybe 3 mm. Sprinkle the top with salt and roll it in. Then, if you can, transfer the whole sheet to a rectangular cookie tray. I use silicone baking pads which keep it from sticking, but if you don't have these, a bit of cornmeal sprinkled on your baking sheet does the trick. Take a pizza cutter and cut it into cracker sized pieces. I do two pans at a time in the oven--this recipe makes a total of 4 pans. Bake at for 12-15 mins--you have to watch them closely because each oven is a bit different. Halfway through baking, rotate the pans (top pan on bottom, bottom on top). Cool, and store. They last a good few weeks (though, truly, never that long in our house!).
Enjoy!
Katy's Half-Wheat Thins:
1 cup white flour
1 cup brown rice flour (I have also used 1 cup whole wheat flour here..makes a harder cracker, but very tasty too)
1/8 cup sugar
1/4 cup flax meal
1/8 cup flax seeds
1/2 tsp salt, plus salt to sprinkle on top
2 tbsp butter
2/3 cup 2% milk (skim doesn't have enough fat, makes a really tough cracker)
I also throw in some handfuls of other stuff, like slivered almonds, oat bran, oats, or whatever I have in the cupboard.
Preheat oven to 350.
Put all ingredients but milk in the food processor. Mix until it's mealy, about 30 seconds. Then stream in the milk while running the food processor. When the dough balls up and refuses to move around anymore, it's done. You may have to add slightly more or less milk to get to this phase.
Flour your countertop. Split the dough in half, and half again. Roll sections out using lots of flour so it won't stick, till it's very thin--maybe 3 mm. Sprinkle the top with salt and roll it in. Then, if you can, transfer the whole sheet to a rectangular cookie tray. I use silicone baking pads which keep it from sticking, but if you don't have these, a bit of cornmeal sprinkled on your baking sheet does the trick. Take a pizza cutter and cut it into cracker sized pieces. I do two pans at a time in the oven--this recipe makes a total of 4 pans. Bake at for 12-15 mins--you have to watch them closely because each oven is a bit different. Halfway through baking, rotate the pans (top pan on bottom, bottom on top). Cool, and store. They last a good few weeks (though, truly, never that long in our house!).
Enjoy!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Post Earth-Hour Review
We just finished observing "Earth Hour" and it got me thinking that I haven't really blogged much about anything to do with our poor endangered Earth-mother since I freaked out about climate change and made some commitments on this blog back in October. I just went to review those commitments and see how I am doing. As it turns out, the answer is: not as bad as I thought, not as good as I intended.
I didn't go so far as coming up with a family budget, then donating half of what I could save by active non-consumption. But I have really made an effort to shift my consumption habits. I'm not a huge shopper anyway, and I don't like wasting, but after October I got more serious about shopping second-hand and really evaluating what I buy and whether I need it or can make it myself. At Christmas, for almost everyone (except for my little cousins where I just out and out bought gifts--oops), we donated to charity on their behalf. I've also been trying to make gifts more often, rather than buying them. Doing both those those things has been really gratifying and the response of the giftee has also been wonderful. I'm finding that most people actually are happy to get something more meaningful than more "stuff".
I'm looking at how I can make more of the food items we usually buy. One staple we've stopped buying is crackers. We went through about a box a week--paper, plastic, shipping and all. Instead, I make my own and they are delicious and healthy. I can buy bulk ingredients, and overall it cuts down on the packaging. The Boodge likes to help, so the kitchen looks like the aftermath of Pompeii when we're done, there's so much flour everywhere. But whenever he sees the food processor, he asks me to "Make caki dough." I love that he's involved in cooking with me, and hope he enjoys the art of cuisine and the pleasures of eating as much as I do one day.
I did read David Suzuki's "Good News for a Change". I got it from the library--I haven't purchased a new book since October. It gave me a lot of hope and showed me that lots of the solutions are already out there, just waiting for people to notice them. The most important things I took away from the book was the idea that environmental activism is entwined with social justice activism, and that most of the really amazing changes people are implementing are happening locally, because they are attached to one place and want to improve something there.
That local connection is part of what excites me about having moved to a smaller community, and purchased property. We're no longer living the lives of apartment dwellers, disconnected from our space and land. I hope to become an active part of this community, and look forward to finding where I fit in that regard.
I did not find a place to volunteer with the Boodge. I did some research, but then house-hunting and moving and other yet to be discussed developments got the best of me. Perhaps that is a good place to start meeting people and getting involved in our new community. I will have to resurrect that goal.
I also committed to growing our own food. I am thrilled to finally be in a position to do this. I spent two hours today turning the earth in our planned garden spaces, and next weekend my cousin is coming to help me plant my garden. Sean is planning to build us a nice big compost bin so we can start re-using our organic waste. We're putting in berry bushes, fruit trees, and tons of veggies.
It's amusing how some people are questioning my ability to keep up with the garden (OK, I admit, they may be looking at the houseplants and going...hmmmmm). I know it will be a lot of work, but Boodge and I spend so much time outside now that we have a yard, how hard can it be to take a little time every day to weed, stake up some plants, and harvest the ripe veggies? We're starting somewhat small (11x7, which should yield lots), but I hope our garden will grow and the Boodge will learn what he needs to know about fending for himself and honoring where his food comes from.
I am also working on sourcing local food. I found a lovely, friendly family farm (Rockweld Farm) ten minutes away where I have been buying organic, SPCA certified chicken and eggs and a small amount of local grass-fed beef. There is also a delicious local yogurt, thick and full of luscious fruit, and some great local cheeses. But I'm having more trouble finding local organic produce. There is a natural foods store in town with a great selection of grains, herbs, and other organic products, but little produce. I suppose in the summer, when the farmer's markets start up, produce will be abundant. But in the meantime, I have to buy most of my organic fruit and veggies at a giant chain grocery store, which makes me feel slightly dirty.
My last commitment was to blog about what I am doing. So I've slacked on that a bit. But as the garden is planted and grows, I hope to share some of what I'm learning, as well as recipes I discover to use and preserve the food as it comes in. I feel like moving has opened up a lot of doors for us, so I'm going to enter them one at a time. I tend to want everything to happen now, but the longer I live the more I understand that the most important thing is to just keep walking in the direction you want to go, one step at a time. I may deviate on the way. I may never get there. But I'm definitely getting closer.
I didn't go so far as coming up with a family budget, then donating half of what I could save by active non-consumption. But I have really made an effort to shift my consumption habits. I'm not a huge shopper anyway, and I don't like wasting, but after October I got more serious about shopping second-hand and really evaluating what I buy and whether I need it or can make it myself. At Christmas, for almost everyone (except for my little cousins where I just out and out bought gifts--oops), we donated to charity on their behalf. I've also been trying to make gifts more often, rather than buying them. Doing both those those things has been really gratifying and the response of the giftee has also been wonderful. I'm finding that most people actually are happy to get something more meaningful than more "stuff".
I'm looking at how I can make more of the food items we usually buy. One staple we've stopped buying is crackers. We went through about a box a week--paper, plastic, shipping and all. Instead, I make my own and they are delicious and healthy. I can buy bulk ingredients, and overall it cuts down on the packaging. The Boodge likes to help, so the kitchen looks like the aftermath of Pompeii when we're done, there's so much flour everywhere. But whenever he sees the food processor, he asks me to "Make caki dough." I love that he's involved in cooking with me, and hope he enjoys the art of cuisine and the pleasures of eating as much as I do one day.
I did read David Suzuki's "Good News for a Change". I got it from the library--I haven't purchased a new book since October. It gave me a lot of hope and showed me that lots of the solutions are already out there, just waiting for people to notice them. The most important things I took away from the book was the idea that environmental activism is entwined with social justice activism, and that most of the really amazing changes people are implementing are happening locally, because they are attached to one place and want to improve something there.
That local connection is part of what excites me about having moved to a smaller community, and purchased property. We're no longer living the lives of apartment dwellers, disconnected from our space and land. I hope to become an active part of this community, and look forward to finding where I fit in that regard.
I did not find a place to volunteer with the Boodge. I did some research, but then house-hunting and moving and other yet to be discussed developments got the best of me. Perhaps that is a good place to start meeting people and getting involved in our new community. I will have to resurrect that goal.
I also committed to growing our own food. I am thrilled to finally be in a position to do this. I spent two hours today turning the earth in our planned garden spaces, and next weekend my cousin is coming to help me plant my garden. Sean is planning to build us a nice big compost bin so we can start re-using our organic waste. We're putting in berry bushes, fruit trees, and tons of veggies.
It's amusing how some people are questioning my ability to keep up with the garden (OK, I admit, they may be looking at the houseplants and going...hmmmmm). I know it will be a lot of work, but Boodge and I spend so much time outside now that we have a yard, how hard can it be to take a little time every day to weed, stake up some plants, and harvest the ripe veggies? We're starting somewhat small (11x7, which should yield lots), but I hope our garden will grow and the Boodge will learn what he needs to know about fending for himself and honoring where his food comes from.
I am also working on sourcing local food. I found a lovely, friendly family farm (Rockweld Farm) ten minutes away where I have been buying organic, SPCA certified chicken and eggs and a small amount of local grass-fed beef. There is also a delicious local yogurt, thick and full of luscious fruit, and some great local cheeses. But I'm having more trouble finding local organic produce. There is a natural foods store in town with a great selection of grains, herbs, and other organic products, but little produce. I suppose in the summer, when the farmer's markets start up, produce will be abundant. But in the meantime, I have to buy most of my organic fruit and veggies at a giant chain grocery store, which makes me feel slightly dirty.
My last commitment was to blog about what I am doing. So I've slacked on that a bit. But as the garden is planted and grows, I hope to share some of what I'm learning, as well as recipes I discover to use and preserve the food as it comes in. I feel like moving has opened up a lot of doors for us, so I'm going to enter them one at a time. I tend to want everything to happen now, but the longer I live the more I understand that the most important thing is to just keep walking in the direction you want to go, one step at a time. I may deviate on the way. I may never get there. But I'm definitely getting closer.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Whew
At first I wasn't going to attempt to write anything tonight, because I'm exhausted just like I am every night these days. But it felt like time to catch up with the the Mama Being, even for a short while. It's been a long 20 days since we moved, full of unpacking and trips to hardware stores and cleaning and dismantling and fixing and planning and....guests! I don't think I've ever experienced a move where I also hosted constantly right out of the gate, but this move has been extraordinary that way. We have been just the three of us in this house on March 1st, 12, 13, 14, 19, and 20. That's it, and the trend continues. Tomorrow, Sean's mom comes back for a second visit, of undetermined length, and on the weekend my cousin will come to help me put in my garden.
Well, this is what I wished for; a place with lot of room, where people could come and stay for a while and enjoy peace and fun and good meals. So I'm not complaining (OK, a little part of me is craving solitude). I'm happy that my house is being so thoroughly warmed. And each guest leaves behind a little something helpful; a fixed toilet, unpacked boxes, clean windows, planted flowers, and a happy little Boodge who had friends to play with. And all these guests are dear family or friends, the type that don't expect me to entertain them, that help themselves to food in the fridge and encourage me to take naps while they relax in the living room. If I was ever worried that we would feel isolated in Mission, I'm not anymore.
It feels good to be here. Really good. I love watching the Fraser River sparkle outside our window, the birds playing in the trees, the flocks of white geese flying spectacularly past the mountains. I love the way Boodge runs from room to room, stopping to roll around in ecstasy on the carpet or sit and eat his food on this particular stair or tuck behind a curtain and stare out the window. He seems so happy with his new house.
Last week I took him back to the old apartment building to get my bike, which we had left behind in the bike room. When Marneau, the caretaker, opened the door and I tried to enter, Boodge pulled my hand and refused to cross the threshold "No No!".
"It's OK sweetie, you don't have to live here anymore," said Marneau, and I explained that we were just here to get my bike. At that, he relaxed and allowed me to take him into the building. If that's not a sure sign that he loves his new life, I don't know what is.
Already, he's not a city kid anymore. Today he sat in a mud pile picking up chunks of sod and squishing them through his fingers. He spent the whole day outside running around after me or his dad as we tackled various jobs around the yard. And he was so, so happy. Which makes us feel so happy too.
It seems like we did the right thing, making the leap and getting out of the city. And it's only been three weeks. I can't wait to see what else our new community has to offer. I'm looking forward to getting out with the Boodge, taking a class or two and meeting some other mommies and babes. It's going to be a long, slow discovery process, but I have a feeling we will uncover lots of treasures here in our new life. But first--to sleep!
Well, this is what I wished for; a place with lot of room, where people could come and stay for a while and enjoy peace and fun and good meals. So I'm not complaining (OK, a little part of me is craving solitude). I'm happy that my house is being so thoroughly warmed. And each guest leaves behind a little something helpful; a fixed toilet, unpacked boxes, clean windows, planted flowers, and a happy little Boodge who had friends to play with. And all these guests are dear family or friends, the type that don't expect me to entertain them, that help themselves to food in the fridge and encourage me to take naps while they relax in the living room. If I was ever worried that we would feel isolated in Mission, I'm not anymore.
It feels good to be here. Really good. I love watching the Fraser River sparkle outside our window, the birds playing in the trees, the flocks of white geese flying spectacularly past the mountains. I love the way Boodge runs from room to room, stopping to roll around in ecstasy on the carpet or sit and eat his food on this particular stair or tuck behind a curtain and stare out the window. He seems so happy with his new house.
Last week I took him back to the old apartment building to get my bike, which we had left behind in the bike room. When Marneau, the caretaker, opened the door and I tried to enter, Boodge pulled my hand and refused to cross the threshold "No No!".
"It's OK sweetie, you don't have to live here anymore," said Marneau, and I explained that we were just here to get my bike. At that, he relaxed and allowed me to take him into the building. If that's not a sure sign that he loves his new life, I don't know what is.
Already, he's not a city kid anymore. Today he sat in a mud pile picking up chunks of sod and squishing them through his fingers. He spent the whole day outside running around after me or his dad as we tackled various jobs around the yard. And he was so, so happy. Which makes us feel so happy too.
It seems like we did the right thing, making the leap and getting out of the city. And it's only been three weeks. I can't wait to see what else our new community has to offer. I'm looking forward to getting out with the Boodge, taking a class or two and meeting some other mommies and babes. It's going to be a long, slow discovery process, but I have a feeling we will uncover lots of treasures here in our new life. But first--to sleep!
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Story of the Big Move
Well, here we are on the other side of the Big Move. We now live in Mission, BC, in a house more than three times the size of our old apartment. Our possessions are strewn about and spilling out of half opened boxes pillaged to search for the coffee, the frying pan, the bath toys. The changing pad, my yoga mat, our bed bar, and various other things are AWOL. But we're here, and we're functioning, and every day gets a little better.
The move day went as well as it could. The day before, we worked for about 5 hours doing all the last minute things. Then, instead of knocking around in an empty apartment we decided to go downtown and meet some friends so we could check out the Olympic vibe before it was over. We took the SkyTrain (actually the tunnel train where we were), which was very exciting for the Boodge. As we emerged from the door at Granville St. I took in the giant murals plastered on buildings, throngs of people in the streets, and art and buskers every 50 yards. "Is this really our city?" I asked Sean. Then I smelled ganja smoke, unabashed in the crowds which were teeming with police officers. "Oh, yep, it is."
All in all, the trip downtown was a bit of a rookie mistake when it comes to moving with a toddler. It was all so exciting for him, and we got home a bit late, so he didn't get to sleep until after 10. We all woke at 6:30 and got busy--getting breakfast, packing up bedding and window coverings and toiletries. When the truck came, Boodge and I made our exit, going downstairs to play with the neighbour's toddler. It was great to be able to do that, so I could be there if Sean had questions, but keep Boodge out of the madness.
At naptime we headed to the new house. Boodge slept restlessly and woke as soon as we pulled into the driveway, but still maintained a positive attitude. I know he remembered the place, because as soon as we walked in he said "Where kitty-cat go?" A legitimate question too, because the smell of kitty-cat's urine was the first thing I noticed. We didn't notice any smell on the inspection day, so either kitty-cat got crazy during the move and sprayed all over, or it was there before and just got activated by their final vacuuming. At any rate, it is clear that heroic effort will be needed to locate and eliminate all the evidence of kitty-cat around here.
For a few hours, we knocked around the empty house and yard waiting for the trucks. The house was previously inhabited by 3 men and 2 kids, who were also grieving the recent loss of the woman of the house (grandma, wife, mom). So, considering all that, I'm not going to begrudge them not cleaning the ovens or fridges or floors or cupboards or toilets. I would've wanted to clean up myself anyway--so now it will be all the more satisfying. But, along with kitty-cat odour, I will admit it was a bit of a downer to see all that extra work ahead.
When the truck arrived, I took the Boodge away again to do some shopping for groceries and supplies, and get some sandwiches. He was still maintaining an awesome spirit--no meltdowns, not even whining, just going with the flow and even dancing to the muzac from his perch in the shopping cart. The girl at the local sandwich shop was nice and told me what a great place to live Mission is. She mentioned that you have to get used to the trains...they go by every half hour sometimes. "I'm so used to them, I wake up if I don't hear one," she said.
When we got back to the house, it was around 5:00. Walking into our new bedroom with Boodge, I pointed out that our bed was already there. Immediately, my little trooper totally melted down. "Boo, bed! Boo, bed!" he cried. (For the uninitiated, that means "Boob, on the bed, NOW!") I quickly hung up all the clothes the nice mover had taken out of the wardrobe boxes and laid on the mattress, located the bedding and made the bed.
When I lay Boodge down to change his diaper I found a big old poo which had irritated his skin quite a bit. Bad mommy moment--I had no idea it was in there for probably quite a while. He was howling by now, from the discomfort of being wiped clean and the exhaustion and confusion of the day. So we lay down to boo bed. And he fell asleep as I listened to the sounds of Sean paying the movers and giving them cases of beer.
And it was over. Right away I cleaned the fridge so I could put away our fridge food, and then we settled into our new living room to watch the closing ceremonies of the Olympics (luckily, the cable hadn't been disconnected). It was a lovely night, with the moon full outside our window and the clouds drifting eerily over it. The sound of choo choo trains in the distance. Not so much in the distance, actually, but just down the hill.
When we headed to bed we realized that the sandwich girl was right, it would take some getting used to. We woke up every time a train came by, tooting 4 toots because of a crossing just below us. Worse, Boodge woke up, sat up, and shouted "Choo Choo train!!" every time. Sean went into a bit of a panic that we would never again get a good nights sleep and nobody would ever visit us more than once, but I'm pretty sure we'll all get used to it before long.
So here we are. It's been 3 days now, and I'm enjoying the little things, like having control over my thermostat, playing in the backyard in our jammies, using my garage door opener. My friend Cristina and her daughter Cora came to visit yesterday and warmed up the place considerably. It was nice to feel like we're not too far from our old life and the people we love. Tonight my Mama comes to help me get set up. We have a lot of work ahead of us, not just unpacking but renovating, caring for a huge house and big lot, removing the above ground pool (FREE! to the first taker!!), putting in a garden. But it's gonna be a blessing, I know it.
The move day went as well as it could. The day before, we worked for about 5 hours doing all the last minute things. Then, instead of knocking around in an empty apartment we decided to go downtown and meet some friends so we could check out the Olympic vibe before it was over. We took the SkyTrain (actually the tunnel train where we were), which was very exciting for the Boodge. As we emerged from the door at Granville St. I took in the giant murals plastered on buildings, throngs of people in the streets, and art and buskers every 50 yards. "Is this really our city?" I asked Sean. Then I smelled ganja smoke, unabashed in the crowds which were teeming with police officers. "Oh, yep, it is."
All in all, the trip downtown was a bit of a rookie mistake when it comes to moving with a toddler. It was all so exciting for him, and we got home a bit late, so he didn't get to sleep until after 10. We all woke at 6:30 and got busy--getting breakfast, packing up bedding and window coverings and toiletries. When the truck came, Boodge and I made our exit, going downstairs to play with the neighbour's toddler. It was great to be able to do that, so I could be there if Sean had questions, but keep Boodge out of the madness.
At naptime we headed to the new house. Boodge slept restlessly and woke as soon as we pulled into the driveway, but still maintained a positive attitude. I know he remembered the place, because as soon as we walked in he said "Where kitty-cat go?" A legitimate question too, because the smell of kitty-cat's urine was the first thing I noticed. We didn't notice any smell on the inspection day, so either kitty-cat got crazy during the move and sprayed all over, or it was there before and just got activated by their final vacuuming. At any rate, it is clear that heroic effort will be needed to locate and eliminate all the evidence of kitty-cat around here.
For a few hours, we knocked around the empty house and yard waiting for the trucks. The house was previously inhabited by 3 men and 2 kids, who were also grieving the recent loss of the woman of the house (grandma, wife, mom). So, considering all that, I'm not going to begrudge them not cleaning the ovens or fridges or floors or cupboards or toilets. I would've wanted to clean up myself anyway--so now it will be all the more satisfying. But, along with kitty-cat odour, I will admit it was a bit of a downer to see all that extra work ahead.
When the truck arrived, I took the Boodge away again to do some shopping for groceries and supplies, and get some sandwiches. He was still maintaining an awesome spirit--no meltdowns, not even whining, just going with the flow and even dancing to the muzac from his perch in the shopping cart. The girl at the local sandwich shop was nice and told me what a great place to live Mission is. She mentioned that you have to get used to the trains...they go by every half hour sometimes. "I'm so used to them, I wake up if I don't hear one," she said.
When we got back to the house, it was around 5:00. Walking into our new bedroom with Boodge, I pointed out that our bed was already there. Immediately, my little trooper totally melted down. "Boo, bed! Boo, bed!" he cried. (For the uninitiated, that means "Boob, on the bed, NOW!") I quickly hung up all the clothes the nice mover had taken out of the wardrobe boxes and laid on the mattress, located the bedding and made the bed.
When I lay Boodge down to change his diaper I found a big old poo which had irritated his skin quite a bit. Bad mommy moment--I had no idea it was in there for probably quite a while. He was howling by now, from the discomfort of being wiped clean and the exhaustion and confusion of the day. So we lay down to boo bed. And he fell asleep as I listened to the sounds of Sean paying the movers and giving them cases of beer.
And it was over. Right away I cleaned the fridge so I could put away our fridge food, and then we settled into our new living room to watch the closing ceremonies of the Olympics (luckily, the cable hadn't been disconnected). It was a lovely night, with the moon full outside our window and the clouds drifting eerily over it. The sound of choo choo trains in the distance. Not so much in the distance, actually, but just down the hill.
When we headed to bed we realized that the sandwich girl was right, it would take some getting used to. We woke up every time a train came by, tooting 4 toots because of a crossing just below us. Worse, Boodge woke up, sat up, and shouted "Choo Choo train!!" every time. Sean went into a bit of a panic that we would never again get a good nights sleep and nobody would ever visit us more than once, but I'm pretty sure we'll all get used to it before long.
So here we are. It's been 3 days now, and I'm enjoying the little things, like having control over my thermostat, playing in the backyard in our jammies, using my garage door opener. My friend Cristina and her daughter Cora came to visit yesterday and warmed up the place considerably. It was nice to feel like we're not too far from our old life and the people we love. Tonight my Mama comes to help me get set up. We have a lot of work ahead of us, not just unpacking but renovating, caring for a huge house and big lot, removing the above ground pool (FREE! to the first taker!!), putting in a garden. But it's gonna be a blessing, I know it.
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