time and bloom

"And the day came when the risk to remain in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom." - Anais Nin

We've been on poppy watch for weeks now.

Finally the buds loosened their hold.

The blooms are unfurling one by one and the entry way to our home is feeling a bit like Wonderland. 

The petals, now free, give sway in the light and shy away in the shade as they are wont to do.

 These pink beauties are the size of my hand. 

The colours within are ludicrous against their showy frills.

The babes call me over, always excited to tell me that more poppies have bloomed. I love that they stop their zoom on bike or scooter just to marvel at the poppies with me. It's the best, makes me feel like I'm doing something right.

I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. Whether or not I am any good at the gig now is for my children to evaluate. I am my own worst critic, as it is. All I know is that I adore my babes to distraction. 

And I can feel time accelerating on these fleeting toddler days. I catch myself staring at my children, taking mental photographs to commemorate the joy in my heart. Or wishing very hard for a do-over. I welcome (nearly) every opportunity to cook with them. I read to the boy a little longer.  I hold the girl a little tighter. I kiss them both incessantly, tell them I love them every time I think it. 

But on Mother's Day, the wife and I took a good chunk of the day off to reset and reconnect with each other. Because while mothering is an honour I do not take for granted, dividing awareness between children, the family's collective needs, and the-work-that-pays can be a serious a strain -even on a relationship that is 19 years strong. 

So we gave ourselves a break: time away from from Wonderland, just the two of us. We didn't have a destination in mind. We took a couple of buses and meandered through an aimless adventure that started at a yarn store, was followed by a meal at our new favourite Japanese tapas place, and ended at a bookstore. The time we stole was just what we needed to set our restraints aside and move forward together: mothers, partners, spouses, best friends. Such a great Mother's Day gift to each other. 

A belated happy Mother's Day to all my fellow mothers! Whether your title is mother or mothering is part of what you do, I wish you time to take care of yourself and stay connected to those you love so you can return to your Wonderland rejuvenated in all the ways you need. Then hug every single one of your charges. Hold each other tight, then set yourselves free.

for the boy's 5th birthday

It's been 2 weeks since your birthday, son, and you haven't yet received your birthday blog letter. 

Between your actual birthday festivities, your birthday party, rearranging our entire home so you can have your own room, and the daily grind (which now includes regular after-school play dates in which your mom and I find ourselves cheerfully providing food, drinks, and our home as a general venue), I haven't found the time to reflect on what I wanted to share with you here. 

I've been giving it a ton of thought though, and so here goes.

For the last 4 years, as your birthday approaches, I inevitably think about carrying you, how much I loved every second of being pregnant. I think about the moment I realized that my water broke at the stroke of midnight and waking your mom so we can prepare to meet you. I try to remember how it felt to be in labour, how it was that I was able to reach in through time and space with my voice, seizing every contraction as an opportunity to open up an entire universe that would suddenly include you. I close my eyes and make myself remember the moment you were on my chest for the first time. This is the way my psyche usually prepares for your yearly milestone. 

This year was a little different.

This year, I did make myself go through a play-by-play of your birth day. But mostly, I found myself in a planet of regret. I was beating myself up for all the things I should've been but wasn't. None of which has anything to do with you. It's just that you're 5 now - a whole hand to represent your life - no longer a toddler, a milestone for you - performance review time for me. And if I were to give myself a self-assessement at this point in my motherhood: I met most of my expectations but I feel like I failed you - and myself, rather miserably, on several counts. I'm afraid I yelled much of your most impressionable years away. I'm afraid I let you watch too much TV. 

What you need to know now is that my regret served as potent alarm: a wake up call to change the patterns in my behaviour - and in doing so, influencing yours in kinder, gentler, more mindful ways. I began this shift earlier this year and I feel like it's already made a difference for us both.

For me, your turning 5 marks the beginning of a great transition. You're ready to open up to this brave new world of inviting friends and all sorts of other influences into your life. (It's already happening. You're already asking our neighbours to come over to have a snack - without checking in with me first.) And while your mom and I are gearing up to welcome the flood of new folks and experiences, I know we're never going to actually be ready. I'm excited for you but I'm also scared, because the bonds we have worked so hard to forge over the first 5 years of your life are about to be tested - and kindergarten is just the very, very beginning. 

So after giving into regret, and instead of dwelling in the sweet cozy memories of your babyhood past - all the while refusing to give into my motherly fears, in the weeks leading up to your birthday, I chose to marvel.  I marvelled at your lanky limbs and newly-formed angles. I marvelled at your willingness to help others. 

I have seen you lead. I have seen you follow. I have seen you recede into the background quietly and respectfully, when you are out of your comfort zone. I have seen you take ownership of your mistakes. I have seen you clean up your mess.  And although you rarely spare a kind word to your sister, I have watched you kiss her goodnight, shield her from danger, and buy her gifts with money you earned from doing your chores- all without our prompting. 

You can cook an egg 3 different ways from start to finish. You can write your name. You like listening to chapter books. You let me cry in your arms last week because I was worried for your great grandmother. You empathize like nobody's business.  You stand your ground. You love a good laugh. You still need your daily snuggles. 

You are a good kid. And this is the year that I have to start choosing to let go (a teeny bit, just for now - you're still a kid after all) and just have faith in you, in us, and in our family. It's a giant leap that I never expected to have to make so early in your life,  but I think that's the point because I suspect we're both going to be playing tug of war with your independence well into your adulthood. 

For now, let me just say: in those darkest hours when I am everything that is in the way of you and your happiness (which these days amounts to gum, chocolate, TV, angry birds, and everything your sister happens to have in her hand), it's because I love you that I think lessons in kindness, consideration, and moderation are too important not to land. There is nothing in this world your mom and I wouldn't do for you. I am whelmed well beyond the point at which the cup runneth over because I am your momma. Thank you for being you.

Love, 
Momma

P.S.
I'm super stoked you loved your birthday cake and incredibly glad that you like wearing your birthday sweater. I promise to work on making your sleeves longer as soon as possible. 

happy place

I always know we're long over due for a walk to the river when:

• Our 3-bedroom apartment that felt palatial upon move-in feels like the toddlers are multiplying and launching themselves off of every surface in every direction (and mostly onto me)
• Every corner of our home looks like it's been ransacked by thieves and trampled upon by herds of elephants who invited their friends, the fraggles,  to the food in our fridge 
• The wife and I haven't made real eye contact in days
• There's screeching, there's fighting, there's constant whining, and even the cat is twitchy from overexposure to her younger human siblings. 

And March break for my preschoolers has only just begun. 

It gets ugly, people. It really does - and only being out in a wide open space can help it most days.

Thankfully, blessedly, yesterday felt just like spring should and to the river we went. 

And we were all happy.

(Until bedtime. And then all over-tiredness broke loose and house war 246 erupted over teeth-brushing and taking too long on the potty. But we take what we can get. Especially because the wife took all of it. I was already in bed, knitting.)

The end.

---

This post is dedicated to single parents, parents with larger families than mine, all families who live in spaces under 1000 square feet. I salute you.

mothering sound byte: on the girl's birthday eve

When we began our birthday tradition, I never thought or even expected that the children would care to be involved in any of the birthday eve preparations. 

The week before the girl's birthday, this boy was relentless in talking me into letting him stay up so he can help bake the cake and decorate the house.

I didn't take him literally. 

I let him stay up on the girl's birthday eve - intending to put him straight to bed the moment he got grouchy signs of toddler fatigue struck (wishfully thinking this would be a maximum of an hour after the girl went down).

The next thing I know, I'm in the kitchen, gathering ingredients and reading from a recipe - when I realized - I wasn't doing any of the baking. The boy was doing nearly all of it. I remember blinking, then thinking, "my goodness - he's baking his sister's cake!" He's baking his sister's cake! This boy who is really only kind to his sister half the time, is baking his sister's cake and doing a really good job scraping down that bowl!

It was like I took an instant joy elixir! I turned to him and squealed, "You're baking your sister's cake! All by yourself! Oh my goodness I'm so proud of you!" I think I hugged him or kissed him or snarfed the top of his head or something. I may or may not have also startled him. He responded by half rolling his eyes, giving me a look, then saying, "don't get happy!" At which point he turned back to his work. 

I howled, tears in my eyes, a smile so wide my face disappeared. "Shhhh! You're going to wake up [the girl!]" he says. 

When I told the wife of this exchange, she responded with, "how is he already 17?"

The boy stayed up until midnight and we all worked together to get the house birthday ready.

He was mostly helping. 

We knew we would pay for it the next day. And we did. Toddlers aren't meant to stay up until midnight. He's not actually 17 (thank goodness!). So we were totally prepared to deal with the wrath of the boy who got too little sleep. We were all calm and light to his irritability (which probably made him a bit more irritable but we got hugs and some smiles back in return).

He baked his sister's cake. 

He helped us make magic. 

He added to the tradition.

Sorry kid, this is kind of stuff that gets me squeally happy.

for my 3-year old girl

Our girl and littlest in the household turned 3 yesterday. 3! 2 was such a wonderful year of growth and change.

Right now, you love all things pink, wear all the accessories, listen to stories voraciously, and swirl paint through a page for at least 10 minutes before boredom sets in. You like pre-school. You're still learning consistency when it comes to the potty but we've declared you more or less potty trained. You adore your brother. You fight back and stand up for yourself when you are prompted but overall you are happy to give into his whims. Your hugs are tight and earnest.

You surprise us everyday with your sense of humour, your warmth, your very loud and opinionated voice. You charm us with your wit. You disarm us with your affection.

You inspire me with your creativity, your gentleness, and your bravery.

On your birthday, we did all of your favourite things. You woke up to a birthday cake breakfast party. We went to Granville Island. We watched a play. We spent time together as a family. You were so exhausted, you passed out on the couch at 5pm. I was so exhausted I didn't photograph you splayed out and snoring, still wearing your birthday crown.

This is going to be a tough year for us, I'm afraid. If my experience with your brother at 3 is any indication, we're going to get serious about our regular battle of wills. I am going to react to your behaviour based on my realm of experience (38 years worth of fantasy, melodrama, bathroom humour, fiction, and gross reality), which may or may not actually reflect on you. I'm going to apologize for that now because sometimes it will appear as though I am laughing at your pain but I'm really not. It's just that your tantrums are nowhere near as... robust as your brother's,  and at such moments, all I can think of is how adorable you are.  Other times, I really will be parenting hard - which you are not going to like - but it's my job to be your mother: to keep you safe, to guide you towards kindness and consideration, even if it means showing you my ugly face with a warning tone, then flying you to a nearby corner  (I can make a corner anywhere in the world. Remember that).

You really should know that when I am at my most angry, I would much rather be laughing with you. You should also know that I know that I am not a perfect momma. This may be my second time around parenting a 3-year old but this is my first time parenting 3-year old you.  We are both on a learning curve.

You're learning the logistics and rules of what it means to grow up in your little world. I'm learning how to be a good momma and a good person - easy enough on most days, all things considered. We are both going to be testing our boundaries. Being on a learning curve means making mistakes and then choosing to do better, and get better, so we can soak in all the good things that this life has to offer.

Let's promise to work hard at living life wider than our limits. I'm going to be following your 3-year old queue by living the next moment with an open heart and laughing eyes. Let's see what we can do to get your brother and mother on board too, okay?

I hope you enjoyed your birthday celebrations - much preparation was made by your family in anticipation of delighting you on the day you made me a momma again, the day your presence completed our family.

With love, a ready hug, and a hand for you to hold for always,
Momma

this stage

So, the New Year is off to a cracking start.

In between recovering from the last month of the last year (moving out of our old home, moving in to our new home, friends visiting, my father-in-law's visit, my cousin's visit, my parents' visit, Christmas celebrations, celebrating the New Year in Kelowna), there was the week I battled strep throat, and passed it on to the wife. That same week, my daughter started pre-school and the wife interviewed for a new job. The following week, my wife got the job she interviewed for, at which point, our family was plunged into an entirely new schedule, and we all suffered through the cold the girl brought back from her first week of pre-school. Shortly after recovery, we spent some time with friends, registered the boy for kindergarten, and then my cousin came for another visit.

Still with me?

We are at the tail end of second month of the year and like most families, (after overcoming yet another cold virus cycle - that makes 3 sick cycles this year so far - if you're keeping up) the spectacle production of our days feature 2 pick-ups, 2 drop-offs, 2 full-time jobs, not to mention the very serious and laughable work of parenting - which includes but is not limited to: 3 meals, 2 snack intermissions, some sort of educational or creative or active adventure (preferably outdoor), television breaks, hugs, kisses, toddler tantrums, mommy tantrums, tickle fights, actual fights, all the clean up along the way,  and then (finally) the dancing bedtime finale that ends with a final pirouette and spirit fingers when toddler eyelids drop like curtains. 

Then of course, post-production activities ensue: strike whatever the living room and kitchen ended up looking like after the toddler frat party. Pre-set for for the opening breakfast number the following morning. Discuss parenting production notes with the wife. Knit-frog-knit-surrender-to-sleep.

Everyday is a comedy of errors, I tell you. Every day is full. Every day is an opportunity to restart, redo, reflect, reconnect, and get better at the craft. 

I have vowed that every day there will be a glass of wine.

I turned 38 yesterday.

I spent 9 hours of my birthday with the wife, away from our daily performance as co-parents and worker-bees. We went to the ocean and amused ourselves with the triptych of water, sand, and snow. We visited with a friend. We ate Cambodian food (best chicken wings in the city, I think). We did a teensy bit of shopping. 

While I enjoyed every second of it, wished for more time even in the moment, I missed my forever birthday gifts and fellow cast-members all together, centre stage.

This boy has been wrapping presents for me for weeks now, in anticipation of my birthday.  Each gorgeous bundle is a meticulous wonder of tape, ribbon, and paper. Each wrapped token: a toy car, a single wooden block, a box of tea from the cupboard, his love, his intention to delight, all of his generosity, every ounce of his creativity. 

This sweet little girl that hugged me happy birthday and tells me she loves me everyday. She sings to her own tune with her own lyrics.  She, who loves to sit and be still, read to. She, who lets me hold her hand any time I want. She is everyday, her own gift. 

This wife who works so hard to give me everything I want, to make all of us happy. Even when making me happy includes making me another throw pillow (because I really believe that there can never be enough, ever). Not only is she a true partner in every respect and I basically think she is the most adorable and best person on the planet, she bought me knitting needles for my birthday. 

Today I am back to my regularly scheduled performance as myself at the job-that-pays, at home, and at heart. 

I have been focusing on working hard for the job-that-pays, tempering the temper, laughing often, loving up on my family, mixing wine with chocolate (after actual working hours), then (hopefully) knitting.

How have you been?