on the ground, sweet sound

For weeks now, the weather forecasts threatened rain. Almost each and every day the sun answered with warming glory amidst cloud gatherings and soft blue skies. We've been spending so much time outside, I don't even want to talk about the mountains of laundry we've made or the condition of my floors. Because it's far more fun to remember what it was like at the river beach just over a week ago, when we played on it's carpet, lush and green with its flowery flecks.

I am always amazed - and proud - at how much the babes' love being outside. 

They are only 3 and 5.  They're only starting to distinguish between the seasons with their whole bodies. 

Their wonder and awe at everything they see, touch, and smell is so potent. Excitable. Joyful. Spontaneous. Inspired. Celebratory. Comfortable. Free.

Their comfort is what enchants and I daresay, heals me most. Our days are so much more often filled with arguments and disagreements. As the kids get comfortable in their own skin, I am ever on a learning curve and react with hot-headed reflexes.  Even when my decision-making is sound, even when it seems that peace has been achieved in some way, I feel like the destroyer of all the harmony in the world.

With these photos I bring inside evidence of sweet sound: our laughter, rustling grass, dogs barking, bat connecting with a baseball for the very first time at the hand of the boy, the wife's coaching, the wife's cheers, the girl's pencil scratching in her notebook, the wind magnifying in aching silence the moments at which we are at the same time preoccupying ourselves with our surroundings. 

I hope these photos and this entry will help me remember what all this goodness sounds like, especially when all my memory hears the harsh in my tone, the arguments I instigate, and the increasing complexity of the dissent I must face. I need to be reminded that on many blessed occassions, I hear happiness too. 

hunting tradition

We tell them the Easter Bunny (E.B.) comes to our house to steal the eggs we decorate so he can hide them and we can hunt for them. The eggs disappear from the bowl we prepare and E.B. leaves the kids a note complimenting their eggs. This year, the word "dope" was used in the note - utterly confusing to toddlers, I realize now (well done, wife). 

The boy woke up at 02:45 very early on Easter morning, and of course, upon discovering the missing eggs and E.B.'s note, proceeded to carry on like it was time to wake up and make breakfast. We tell him to go back to sleep.

After being kicked awake by an over-excited boy, and then pacified by a giant latte (thank you, wife), we tell them (repeatedly, though not quite exasperatedly) that E.B. will text us the time and location of their hunt. We tell them that E.B. likes to play these games around the world with many families, all a little differently. Our hunt will happen when it happens. We tell them again. And again.

Finally, the text comes shortly after the wife is "called to work." She tells them that she is following a map sent to her by E.B (nice one, wife). 

I really was hoping for another hunt at the beach but the weather report called for rain all weekend and we just didn't want to risk getting soppy, being that we're all still recovering from our fourth bout of colds this year. So the train tracks served as our venue once again.

It went quicker this time. It will get quicker every time as these guys get older and wiser, which means that we will get all the more predictable. 

Not long from now our tradition will evolve into already-assembled Easter baskets - but not before this ruse of ours becomes more elaborate. The wife and I are already talking about actual maps they'll be able to read, perhaps a buried treasure, And actual bunny foot steps. We can even arrange for real bunnies if we wanted to really mess with them.

But for now, stumbling upon the eggs we decorated together and the candy eggs that are always a surprise in familiar stomping grounds - it's all a wonderful adventure for them both. They're still talking about it. 

I hope you had a lovely Easter weekend and a great start to the week!

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?  

herald

on friday morning, i woke up to a surprise. once again, this little blog of mine was selected as part of schmutzie's five star friday - alongside some truly wonderful and prolific bloggers (including nathan pyle,  whose letter to his son resonated with me rather loudly as a mother and as a woman. i've faved it for later parenting reference).

i am humbled and honoured. i can only express my gratitude to alma who nominated me (again) and to schmutzie, with borrowed words from the bard.

"silence is the perfectest herald of joy.

i were but little happy, if i can say how much."

                         - william shakespeare

the post that was featured is one that i struggled to write because the sobering effect of a hard look at the mirror included the gnawing hangover thud of mothering guilt. i was trying to work out what i felt was a mothering fail.

i've said it before. i'll say it again. mothering is hard - not least because you're responsible for little humans, their health, their well-being, and their early views of the world around them. every day mothering forces me to face my demons again and again, urges me to shatter hard-coded reflex reactions, and encourages me to just be better. and the truth is, i'm not always better. i'm just not.

there are many moments in a day when i feel like a super hero. i feel a surge of pride when the work that i do at the job-that-pays is recognized in some way.  i am triumphant when a meal i prepared from scratch is well-eaten. i am all full-on-whelming-heartening-joy every time a babe sits on my lap just to be there, just  to hold my hand. i even give myself a bit of smug relief when my night time routine included story time giggles and has the kids in bed by 8:30. i feel like a champion every time i'm happy with the knitting.

oh but then my kids watch tv far more often than i would like. i have yet to find alternative ways to channel the urge to yell. i knit more than i clean. i have flaws. and if i was being completely honest, i'm okay with them. because these are things i can change: problems with solutions, choices i can make, things i can do differently. 

and yet, every now and again find myself intoxicated with guilt: mothering, housekeeping, working, loving, friendly, neighbourly guilt. i can't see straight and i sway. buzzed with regret and with judgment impaired, i hear voices that aren't mine until finally, i collapse into a shallow heap. 

on saturday morning, i woke up to 2 simultaneous text messages. a great aunt passed away, claimed by cancer. and an old neighbour, one of my first canadian friends (and my grade 8 boyfriend of 2 weeks, i think) perished in a motorcycle accident. i haven't seen nor spoken to either my lola or my old friend in many, many years. but i feel their loss and deeply cherish their memory. it is my fervent hope that they lived their lives to their definition of the fullest and that they met their passing with peace in their hearts.

i am reminded that despite all the worry and the drama and the noise - real or imagined, pressing or passing, near and far, virtual or in-your-face - to see what i have in front of me, to do what i can, give up the guilt - just give it up, and just live.

this here blog - this public journal i began to practice creativity, where i share photographs and stay in touch with friends and family; this space that i use to focus on the loveluckbliss of our days, has also become the breath that i take to sober up from regret: to give myself the opportunity to look at a blank page and reflect on the possibilities of a fresh start. 'tis a recurring theme.

i truly appreciate the five star recognition, alma - and schmutzie. and to you for stopping by and having a read, whether you comment or not, i thank you for following along. i am humbled by your visits.

this morning, i woke up absolutely walloped from all sides by 2 restlessly sleeping toddlers, unaware of their growing strength. i had a mountain of job-that-pays-work to work through and housework i already know i'm going to avoid. and by golly, there will be knitting. it's going to be another loveluckbliss kind of day.

summer sweater kal: the finished sweaters

  

we took the kids and their finished summer sweater kal cardigans to the river beach for a shot at fishing and a bit of a photo shoot. the boy willingly modelled his sweater - which he claims to love. but the girl was having none of it today and that's just fine.

i'm really happy with how the kids' sweaters have turned out. i'm also well relieved that they are finished before the kal deadline (many thanks to the wife who sews buttons on for me. i don't love sewing buttons.) i may have already started a sweater for myself, with high hopes that i may just sneak it in. but time and circumstance will tell.  and in case you were wondering, the wife's sweater is getting on well, too. more on both of these anon.

we hadn't been to the river since before we went camping. today's leisurely visit through our favourite and familiar stomping grounds seemed to be just what we needed to reconnect as a family before the boy's school year officially begins.

have a fantastic first week of september!

sun soaking

outside or in, near home and about, in shade or without, every last bit of us from the tops of our heads to the tips of our fingers and the tops of our toes are soaking in every bit of the sunshine that is gracing this city right now. 

we will be needing the vitamin d fortification in our bones come winter, after all.

while the summer lasts, i plan to do a lot of stopping, staring, and taking close snapshots of the gorgeous moments that abound - with or without my camera - amid the busy-busy-slow-crazy of the working week. 

happy monday! 

postcards from our summer so far

i had not intended on being away so long. i meant to check in once or twice in the last couple of weeks. but the truth is, life has been rather full. and in the very best of ways.

our summer adventures are well under way. we've had friends come to visit. we celebrated the end of the boy's first complete school year. and we are just back from a long weekend in victoria with my parents, whose visits are always at least 10 days long but each one feels shorter and shorter because we enjoy them so. 

we're in for a break in july - a summer month with no real plans. so, i'm hoping for some time in the forest and the beach.

i also hope to be back here regularly, good and proper. there is always much to share.