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

stand still

i believe this was the last really warm day we had before fall's nip began really imposing itself all around. three weekends ago, these photos were taken. we were so ready for fall, then. we came to conquer with long sleeved shirts, sweaters, rain accoutrements. we even brought butternut squash soup. but we were met with a searing, startling heat. the kids stripped and played in the water while the wife and i were trapped in our long sleeved shirts and under our summer sweater kal projects.

(my sweater, as you may recall, is at a stand still. the wife's sweater is going so well. she's knitting from the top down and is at the bottom of the sweater. the part of the process where you feverishly want to keep knitting through work and sleep and toddler squabbling because the suspense of getting the thing off the needles is just too much. i'd show you a picture but she and that sweater is attached at the hip. they are at work right now.)


we haven't been back to the river beach - or anywhere so care-freeing since. some play, some lovely times with friends, to be sure. but mostly, life has been a flurry of hurry up and wait since my last post.

we've heard about another death in the family, also distant. our cousin lost her father.  my heart is broken for her. i never knew the man. and they had a difficult relationship. but i fear the ground beneath my feet and the air i breathe would never do again, were i in her shoes. i want to rush to her side to comfort and feed in her time of grief. but, rather unfortunately, there is a space between us that only she can cross. so instead, i stand still and wish her love and peace as she comes to terms with her loss.

we are hearing today - officially, about whether or not we get to move to a unit that has opened up in our coop. we saw the place over the weekend and actually fell in love. it's not that much bigger than our home now. but it boasts features that our current unit does not: 3 bedrooms, a more spacious living space, a safer entryway for the kids, closer park proximity, and my personal favourite - a dishwasher! a dishwasher! i plan to call it antonia and make it my kitchen best friend. that's an hour and a half back to my day, yo. my entire adult life has been a dishwasher-less, apartment-living existence, and my new kitchen bff is going to give me back an hour and a half of my life every day. good friends like antonia-the-dishwasher don't let friends ignore the dishes to knit, not her. she will do the dishes for me so i can go forth and knit 100% guilt-free, whilst watching all of my fall programming. oh yes she will.

of course, if we move, it won't be until the end of november. and there is muchmuchmuch work to do (on top of the daily grind) before antonia-the-dishwasher and i get to the business of getting to know each other. so for now, we stand still: plan, dream, and brace ourselves for all the packing in the universe.

and then there is the work-that-pays. it's ramping  up in a learning-curve kind of way: work i know how to do but because some of the rules and the players are entirely new, it's bit of a challenge. living out in vancouver and working with colleagues and clients across the country is challenging on most days, but i've had it down for a while now. except that higher profile projects + new players + new sets of rules + my remote location = a bit more whelming that i am used to. i plan to rock the pants out of all of it though. and i will.

for now, i have to force myself to recognize that standing still is an opportunity: to remember to take a chill pill breath, to take things one step at a time, to choose not to rush, to realize that it takes time to learn new things, that i can do all of this on very little knitting time (gulp), that blogging can wait.

i have a feeling my entries will be few and far between in the coming months. yes, months. i hope to be around as often as the 1-3 entries a week i've been doing. but in the event i am not, know that the stand still is over in one area or another and that i'm working hard to find my rhythm so i can rock out to the ever-changing beat of the chaos of our days.

in the forest, part 2: deer papparazzi

in the forest, i made friends with a doe and a deer. 

i couldn't sleep our first night there. i had to pee really badly. but i had no intention of walking in the utter darkness of the forest by myself. there were bear warning signs everywhere. so i held my pee and woke myself up at first light to make my gravel-crunching journey to the bathroom, the quiet echoing through the trees. 

that's when i saw, my friend the doe. she was just there, in the middle of the camp site throughway, munching on some leaves. she stopped eating as i approached and looked into the forest. i thought she was going to bolt. and like a giddy groupie, i waved hello. and gave a high-pitched whisper only moths could hear, "it's okay. go ahead, and eat. i'm fine right here." (i think i even tee-heed.)

the doe munched on some leaves, made eye-contact with me (oh-mah-gosh), crossed the gravel path, took a sip from some water that collected on the ditch, and silently walked back in the forest. all this happened in about 30 seconds, though i could swear to you, it was at least an hour because time stands still on moments as still and magical as this. i don't think i took a breath until she left, sweet thing.

i have no photo to prove that any of this happened. but i know it did. and that's all that matters. 

the next day, my friend the doe (i'm calling her lily) brought her boyfriend, the deer (james) came to visit me. 

i am only including this shot to illustrate that there were 2 deer in my vicinity.
and that national geographic will never hire me for my wildlife photography skills. 

they happened to saunter rather nonchalantly through the woods behind our camp. so my friend christine and i, stalked them for as long as we could stand - my hands too shaky to take more than 2 clean shots of such forest patronuses celebrities.

i am aware that this is not a clean shot. but lily was feeling shy with me at that moment. 

the clean shots i took were of james, the stag.

i know. i am all sillyness. i enter the forest and suddenly i'm 12 again. 

next time, on "in the forest, part 3: the hills are alive".

parenting hard

i woke up this morning with a short fuse.

the kids took turns kicking and jabbing me awake and there wasn't any coffee in the house. (and by no coffee, the wife usually makes it for me as i'm not allowed to touch the espresso machine because she is afraid i will break it. and she was at work. tea just doesn't do the trick in the morning.)

i refuse to grumble grumble grumble away this opportunity to collect my thoughts and find some sense of serenity before awaking tomorrow to the grind of a regular work week (+ parenting drama + housekeeping + other miscellaneous responsibilities). so i won't. 

i will simply say that the weekend was productive and restful, with overcast patches of the grumbles. momma the hulk was most definitely around. a lot.

i will also say that the mouthy, argumentative, and insistent nature of a certain aries 4-year old (who eggs on his little sister to do inappropriate things) does nothing but fuel the fire. 

disciplining requires discipline itself: rigour, consistency, a willingness to be both repetitive and practically unforgiving. rudeness is unacceptable. violence will not stand. blatant disobedience masquerading as ignorance cannot be tolerated. all of which are hard lessons, even for grown-ups. but it's in these early years that these lessons have to stick. there needs to be consequences - as much as there needs to be many opportunities to start again and make better choices.

the measure of my success in parenting isn't so much the hopes and dreams i have for my children. their lives are theirs to live. their hopes and dreams are theirs to own entirely. my intention is simply to give them roots and wings to fly. my success in motherhood lies simply in the fact that on most given days, when in trouble or doubt, happy or sad, brave or afraid - that both my children allow me an opportunity to be there. i want the honour of having a place in each of their lives - not out of obligation or need - but out of a sincere desire to stay connected to me. 

i've been struggling with the lines that blur kindness and discipline. when does my willingness to forgive become an open invitation to be bullied by the impetuous reflex desires of a toddler or two? 

is the answer simply to summon up more patience? take an extended (more than 5 hours) break from parenting? permanently extricate the television from existence in our home? burn  hide all the toys? i'm not sure.

there are good days and there are bad days. the weekend was peppered with some good and much bad.

photo taken by the wife

i love my children. it's my job to teach them right from wrong. it's my duty to influence the choices they make while in my care.  and i will bust my butt do my best to help them become good people: kind, happy, healthy, fulfilled. 

photo also taken by the wife

i love myself, too. i am human. i have limits. and for my children to respect the boundaries of their strengths, i have to stand up to my own weakness for their little hearts. for my children to respect me, i will have to be ruthless about showing them what it means to respect myself. 

hard lessons indeed.

"isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is another day with no mistakes in it yet?" - lucy maude montgomery

here's to a clean slate and a peaceful start to the week for all of us.

parade float

we are a bit of a parade float when we travel together as a family.

since our favourite stroller in the whole wide world got stolen, we have since procured an alternate solution - one that we hoped, would satisfy our need to shuttle toddlers around and still get places even with all the necessary gear (without too much additional cost).

over the weekend, we trekked it once again to the river beach.

here's a little glimpse of our family float - 

up front: the girl in the stroller. 

taking up the rear: the boy on a buggy board

you will note that the float itself is a stroller dressed up with all their gear. we are a colourful motley crew. 

one of us, either the wife or i, pushes said stroller, while the other carries the reinforcements.

this time, i was saddled with the extra gear. and happily so, my hands were free to photograph our procession to the river beach.

like all parade floats, we got stalled along the way.

and like any other parade float performers, these babes stripped off some of their costumes as they got warmer.

that morning, the wife and i were so deliciously proud of ourselves. we prepared well for our beach adventure. we packed light, brought enough food to sustain us for at least four hours, dressed the children in rainwear to combat their inevitable water encounters, and we brought knitting. we puffed out our chests and patted ourselves on the back as we began the 15-minute journey on foot to the river beach at 10 am.

we were not prepared, however, for the fact that despite the fact that the sun shone and there was not a cloud in the sky - a most rare and precious state in this here city - it would be blustery cold by the beach.

the sun beat white. and the wind was relentless. it was so cold, the kids were grouchy as soon as we got there. and it felt like a long while until the sun penetrated the wind's insistence that it's not yet summer, before we all started to enjoy ourselves.

the boy buried himself in sand. i can't get over his resolute and absolute willingness to get dirty and i'm proud of it all the same.

the girl was content to explore her surroundings.

the boy and the girl actually played together - nothing short of a small miracle.

and for a while, for longer than we have ever anticipated in the short time we have been mothers, we were knitting together, chatting, one hairy eye on each of our children - but not at all actually mothering.

i don't know how long it lasted. it could've been 5 minutes. it could have been one hour. but in those moments, time stood still and all four of us were in a lovely state of pure bliss.

it was time to go home when the boy and the girl began to wander far and away from our picnic blanket, off in two different directions, blatantly refusing to be contained.

all in all, we lasted 3 hours before we took our little parade float on its march back home, a little deflated from the altercation that lasted the entire time we gathered the gear and reassembled - but no less renewed.

i took no pictures of the journey back: it was my turn to push the stroller after all.

the way forward

it's all happening too fast.

with the stealth of lara croft, my daughter snuck into my bedroom, spun around my office chair at least 13 times, snatched a handful of chocolate covered almonds, and stuffed them safely into her mouth, chewing them well before the 2 minutes it usually takes me to find her, wherever she is, in our home.

my little girl turns 2 in a couple of weeks and she constantly asks "why" with the sure wisdom of the word's pause-inducing power over her mothers. why, indeed, do we have to put her jacket on when we're still in the restaurant and not outside? why, indeed, does she actually need to stay in the stroller? why in the world does she have to go where we're going?

all the while, my son who turns 4 in a month is constantly giving us feedback and providing us with remedial training on just about everything: what to put away, how to cook, how to make him a glass of warm milk. today, i got schooled on the fact that i should not slide a glass across the table and just about an hour ago, he told me it was "so rude of [my wife,  his other mother]" not to have taken the time to say goodbye before leaving for her meeting.

there is a veritable onslaught of articles and blogs and books in these here interwebz on how to raise childre, "the right way" (never mind all that other noise on my untraditional family make-up). i read what interests me, take my grain of salt, and pay no attention to the rest.

i'm not a perfect person. i'm not a perfect mother. and like any other parent, i do what i feel is right for my family as things happen. i do my best. some days it's an uphill battle of wills (and let's face it, wits), made difficult by sleep deprivation and competing priorities - especially when i'm on auto-pilot (and make no mistake, it's ugly). other days, i'm thunderstruck with a joy that wells to the point where there simply are no words.

photo by the wife from the top of rock island in whytecliff park.
she and the boy scaled it together for the first time. 

right now, at this moment, i'm proud of my already-opinionated, very vocal, incorrigible babes. putting aside all necessary discipline measures, each moment of dissent (among other unflattering emotions) beams in me a glimmer of hope that these babes will stand up for themselves when it counts, that they will carry on feeding their curiosity, and question the status quo when they think it's necessary. 

every time they give us feedback, it is always humbling, yes. but it also lets me know that on some level - even as toddlers, they see us as human, as well as their parents.

the girl is only nearly 2 and the boy is only nearly 4. but it is so important to me that they know that the process of learning and communicating is a road that goes the distance, under often unpredictable circumstances, in both directions. 

and we can all take turns leading the way forward.

all photos taken at the breathtaking whytecliff park in west vancouver