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.

centre stage

I don't know where she got the idea but the girl has been asking to go to ballet class since the New Year. 

Maybe it was the hand-me-down tutu she received from dear neighbours. Maybe it was from a book we read or a show she happened to watch while the sitter was on duty. But she asked about going to ballet class every day until I finally told that her I signed her up. The whole month we waited for the Spring class to start, she asked when she would be going to ballet class. Then at long last, she finally got to go.

She's been to 2 classes so far and she just LOVES it! 

photo by the wife

At her first class, I would be the mama with the camera face, snorting and bawling, shuffling in all corners of the room to record this milestone. She looked so HAPPY and FOCUSED just being there. 

photo by the wife

I loved ballet as a little girl. I think my parents signed me up for a few classes but then very quickly took me out. In their defence, I did't know my left from my right and I could never be described as graceful even in my toddling days. 

But this girl - even in this class that's all about the fun in the fundamentals, she's darling.

It's only just the beginning. I don't know if her interest in ballet will take us to the world of rigour and recitals. But it has been so lovely to see her embrace her time in the community centre dance studio so completely. 

For now - and pretty much her whole life, we're going to absolutely let her take the lead.

We're only too happy to follow in the wake of her changements. Especially if it means her happiness, too.

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. 

champagne anniversary

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove:O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken"

- William Shakespeare, excerpt from Sonnet 116

Tomorrow, March 19, 2014, the wife and I celebrate 19 years of togetherness.

It was on that day 19 years ago that the wife and I succumbed to the inevitable. We were in high school. We were on our March Break. I was 19. Teenagers still, our first date - though we did not know it at the time - was at Red Lobster.  I slept over. The next day, some bird poo landed on my arm. After which, we scored $20 balcony box seat tickets to see Tommy at what was the Pantages Theatre. We got free makeovers at Visage.  We took photo booth pictures (which I still have to find in the memory boxes we've yet to unpack). Our hands brushed regularly when we walked down the street. We lived in a bubble of pure bleary-eyed bliss. Even then we talked about a family together.

Just for fun, I thought I'd share a photo of us 2-3 years later.

I have a feeling I'll be sensing my university friends howling at this memory of us. My son giggled, anyway.

The wife, as you can see, is lovely as ever. I like her hair long like that. She does not. But she did love that thrifted shirt she's wearing. 

We look so much like our children.

We were both in our 2nd year at university, then. I was living in residence. The wife was still living with her dad. I had very recently given myself a truly bad haircut (which my dear sweet roommate and BFF tried her best to fix amid the emotional wreck-over-the-bad-hair that I was), which  I now realize is pretty much my son's current haircut.  At which point, I took the opportunity to explore the butch in me. Although my butch persona didn't quite take, and labels are lame anyway, I can now look at this photo and remember very clearly that no matter how angst-ridden, terrified, and tormented I was at that age (for all the coming out and coming of age reasons) - we had each other and we clung to that knowledge as if it were breath itself - with only landlines and pagers to assure each other of our existence when we were in entirely different cities. 

19 years later, our cell phones keep us connected on the days we find ourselves each managing our own episode of the days of our lives in the same room - and thank goodness for that!

Happy 19th anniversary, wife! I am ever so grateful for the way that time continues to shape the path we find our feet firmly planted upon. The moments haven't been dull. The twists, the turns, the splinters,  the knee scrapes, and the toddler drama in between, they've all been manageable because you are holding my hand. I love 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

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.

mothering sound byte: toddler f-bombing

the boy has discovered swearing. well, he's been dropping the f-bomb for a long time now, since his first pre-school stint. but it's only lately that he's been saying the f-word with any regularity in its proper context - usually following some sort of denied request: candy, screen time, outside play, etc. 

i used to love to swear. once upon a time it was my favourite sort of rebellion. i swore not so much because it was cool but because it empowered me to be emphatic about my individuality. i've curbed my penchant for vulgar hyperboles since motherhood. but in all sincerity - and this may be controversial, i think nothing of swearing. 

swearing is not a parenting hill for me to die on. i refuse to be a hypocrite about the use of such language as a form of expression - especially because momma-the-hulk often can't control herself (rather reguarly). so when the boy began singing "aw man f*ck it" over and over again, i stifled a giggle and proclaimed that such language should be confined within the walls of our home and it is not appropriate to use the f-word in public. which worked for a bit. the point is to know when it is appropriate and when it is not appropriate to swear, after all. 

more recently though, the boy has been pushing the limits of my proclamation to confine swearing for home use only, using the f-word at nearly every turn. so i started a game. that instead of saying "oh f*ck" we could use funny words and things. i offered, "oh fudge!" and the boy agreed, after just a little coercing that this was, indeed, funny. he countered with "oh peanut butter sandwiches!" to which i responded with, "oh gummy bears!" in fits of laughter, he called out "oh wormy!" which stopped me in my tracks and without missing a beat, the boy points at me triumphant, "i beat you!" back and forth this repartee went and such fun we've been having. 

the boy and i have been beaming with pride ever since. me, for my oh so clever parenting win. the boy, because he's found that there are many ways he can express his displeasure and disappointment without also getting in trouble. "mama! did you hear me? i said 'oh apple pie' and 'not oh f*ck!'" we take what we can get.

the other day, the kids were having a snack when the boy decided it was time to play again:

the boy: can we have chocolate cake now? 
me: no, we're saving it for dinner with our friends, remember? 
the boy:  oh swiper!
me: oh peanut butter sandwiches with turkeys on top!
the boy: oh gummy wormies with fudge!
me: that was a good one!
the girl (who'd been giggling with us all along): oh f*ck.
me: [doubled over, laughing, crying]
the boy: she beat you!
me: [tears in my eyes, shaking my head]

oh parenting fail.

what he sees

at the sanctuary last weekend, we decided to leave the stroller in the car and pushed our babes beyond their walking limits. they did well but just past the half-way point, we found ourselves desperate to keep the kids walking on their own to the end of the trail. the boy kept the girl going for us (only too eager to grant her big brother's request). but when he began to lag behind, i offered the boy my camera.

he's been learning how to point and shoot, you see. and i'm hopelessly in love with the photos he took!

his sister was only too happy to pose for him, the darling. i just adore how they look at each other in times of peace: how much she trusts him, how innately he protects her, how well they play.

and i often wonder how he sees the women in his life, this only boy of ours: the only fire sign in a house full of water.

i wonder how he sees himself, this affectionate boy who loves bugs, dinosaurs, cars, robots, superheroes, legos, who chose a pink bicycle with "hair" (tassels) on the handles, and whose favourite colours are purple and pink.

and i worry. i worry because i didn't realize that although i've come to terms with my lesbian self, my gender-specific programming regularly interferes with my actual belief system. i worry because i find myself gripped with fear when i think of what people may say to him and do to him because he has 2 moms and happens to like butterflies and kitty cats. i worry that because i am afraid for him, i may not be able to adequately stand up for him when he needs me to, whatever my intentions may be. i worry that i won't be able to model being brave when it counts.

this is the thing i'm learning about mothering, you see. loving each of my children for their whole selves is easy. coming to terms with my reactions - facing the fears i've long thought i've overcome - and actively choosing not to apply them to their life choices, that's the hard part.

while i know my fears do not define who i am or what i believe, and although my parenting choices are not motivated by fear, i have them all the same and i fight them all the time.

because despite my fears, i believe that what the boy sees, how he focuses, how he frames his life, what he defines beautiful, what he chooses to do next - belongs entirely to him.

all i need to do is be there for him -  this boy that i love so much, so much like me, and so much more himself.  be. there. be brave (for myself). and stay open - ready, to see the world through his eyes.

excepting the photos of the boy himself, all other photos in this post belong to him.