This isn’t meant to be an admission of my closet antisocial qualities or my unwillingness to engage with those who choose to drop by unannounced. (Although admittedly, there are teeny shreds of both deep down somewhere.  Seriously, who are you people and would it hurt you to call…oops, sorry, email or text first?)  No, this is simply accepting a fact of our household…we really, really like to dress down when we are home for the day.  And I mean dress down.

In fact, knock on our door late Sunday morning, you’re likely to find us all still in our pajamas.  Heck, Sunday afternoon you might find the same thing.   My five year old son is already a huge fan of “pj’s and bedhead all day” on Sunday.  He will actually get out of his pajamas and choose something new…perhaps a fleece pair with penguins printed all over?  Perfect.  And that rooster tail he’s sporting?  Just completes the look in our minds.  

Now this doesn’t mean I go wandering the neighbourhood in my jammies.  I actually do a pretty good job of pulling myself together when I go out: I can usually manage jeans and a blazer, maybe boots or sandals depending on the season.  At the very least, I’ll grab a bright hoodie and cute sneakers.  And yes, I wear makeup when I leave the house.  I fake it with the best.  But I’ve lost count of the times someone has knocked on our door at 5pm and found even my husband in his pj’s.  

A friend once had her mom make all of us matching pajama pants…in the most outrageous bright orange flannel with, I’m not even kidding, glow in the dark googly eyes all over them.  We wore them until they were no longer wearable.  To this day if I leave my walk-in closet light on any length of time, it’s certain later I’ll be greeted with little eyes glowing from a random shelf.

It’s just our thing.  We’re happier in our jams.  And it’s funny, our favourite people to be around are those who have stayed over and hung out in their pajamas with us.  We like people to join in and be comfortable.

So go ahead.  I dare you.  Try knocking on our door unannounced.  I’ll try to remember to answer “Ah simply can’t open the door right now!  Ah’m not dressed!” and try to sound like a proper Southern lady caught in her unmentionables…but really, you know I’m wearing pink pajama pants that say “cute”, “bff”, “spaz” and “sweet” all over them like I’m fourteen.  

Maybe you might want to be careful, lest you get more than you bargained for. Besides, I’d rather you not disturb me; I’m busy shopping online for a new door – with a frosted window.

See ya ‘round the flannel aisle.

This piece was originally published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  It’s a true resource for moms (and dads):  articles, blogs, contests and ways to connect with other yummy mummies (and delicious daddies)! 

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/pajama_party_jen_taylor

Today we have a little something that I will blame the boys for buying, but admit that I ate my fair share of it as well.  Then I checked the label and kicked myself. 

(And no, at this point I don’t think I’m going to be revealing the actual names of the items in question…the whole point is to ridicule the junk that goes into some of this stuff, not call out one company in particular.  Also, I want you to start checking labels in your house too.  So if it freaks you out, let it.  Then go read some labels and eat a piece of fruit.  We’ll both feel better.)

“Ingredients:  Icing sugar, sugar, wheat flour, water, hydrogenated vegetable oil shortening (canola and cottonseed), vegetable oil (palm kernel, canola), liquid egg white, liquid whole egg, glucose (contains sulphites), modified milk ingredients, cocoa powder, modified cornstarch, salt, mono- and diglycerides, artificial flavours, soy flour, dried egg-white, soy lecithin, sorbitan tristearate, tartaric acid, potassium sorbate, sodium benzoate, sodium acid pyrophosphate, sodium bicarbonate, propylene glycol monoesters, sodium stearoyl lactylate, sodium aluminum phosphate, citric acid, bakers yeast.” 

Fascinating.  I am happy to see my old friend “propylene glycol monoesters” again – or actually, wait a minute, I never did figure out what that is.  Scratch that, I don’t think that one is friendly after all.  What about artificial flavours?  Mmm.  Sounds tantalizing.  And let’s see…I know what sodium bicarbonate is…but what is sodium acid pyrophosphate?  Oh, the mysteries abound. 

A tip?  Read the label before you buy an item.  And definitely before you eat it.

And, being the type A that I am, I’m a bit of an obsessive label reader.  Once I started reading I couldn’t stop, but some things sneak in unnoticed or I/someone else in the house can’t resist buying them (and I know you’ll be shocked but it’s not always me!)

So we’re going to start playing a little game I’ll call Mystery Food.  I’ll write out the ingredients of something I found in the house, and we’ll all raise our eyebrows/nod smugly/recoil in horror together.

Ready?

“Ingredients:  CRUST: Wheat flour, whole oats, sugar/glucose-fructose, whole wheat flour, vegetable oil, water, chicory root (inulin), honey, dextrose, milk ingredients, wheat bran, salt, cellulose, potassium bicarbonate, natural and artificial flavour, mono and diglycerides, propylene glycol mono fatty acid esters, soy lecithin, wheat gluten, corn starch, sodium stearoyl lactylate, carageenan, guar gum.  FILLING:  Sugar/glucose-fructose, glycerin, apple puree concentrate, strawberry puree concentrate, water, blueberry puree concentrate, natural and artificial flavour, sodium alginate, raspberry puree concentrate, modified corn starch, citric acid, malic acid, methylcellulose, calcium phosphate, colours.” 

Mmmm….good, right?  And the boys wonder why I keep “accidentally” forgetting to pick up more of these.  Sheesh.

And I have a question:  with 25 ingredients in the crust, and 15 in the filling…do we really need to also write “natural and artificial flavours”?  What, 40 ingredients weren’t enough, there are actually MORE substances needed to make this resemble a tasty snack?

Yes.  Yes, they are.  Provided you actually use them.  But when you do like I do, stalk the pretty ones, drool over photos, purchase to add to the shelf of gorgeous potential – well, it gets a little sad.  Why do I keep buying them?

Case in point?  My latest indulgence, the eye-poppingly tantilizing David Rocco’s Dolce Vita:

I dare you to flip through this book without wanting to take it home, make it a cup of espresso, gaze at it lovingly and start talking about your future together.  People talk about food porn, and yes, okay, there is a certain lustful quality about the photos of delectable dishes, fresh ingredients and the lure of life in Italy.  But for me, it really is about dolce vita, translation:  ”the sweet life”.  This is the best definition I’ve ever come across to describe what I spend my days trying to create.  What I want most of all for myself, my family, my kids.

So does buying the cookbooks become part of the sweet life for me?  Is it the time I steal from the overflowing lists of things to do?  Time to sip a coffee, wander a bookstore, dream of days with nothing else to do but savour time, food, cooking, wine?  Yes, that counts.  For me, that is a moment of sweetness.

Having them in my kitchen, knowing that all this potential lies at my fingertips, that someday my life will slow down enough to create some of the beauty that lies between the covers of each volume.  Knowing that perhaps the quiet, sweet life I dream of lies around the corner of all this chaos…yes, that counts too. 

Dreaming of seeing the Italian countryside for myself someday, imagining the warmth of the sun, the smells of the markets, the taste of the wine counts also.

Back to real life.  For now, I’ll be happy with what I have.  A life that has much sweetness of its own, and a little time to gaze dreamily at this:

and this:

and this:

What are your favourite “dreamy” cookbooks?  Have you ever bought a gorgeous cookbook and not used it?  Are your cookbook purchases always practical?  

*Please note:  the photos above are my photos of this beautiful book open on my counter offering inspiration and temptation.  In no way do I mean to suggest that the actual photos are MY photography…the book lists Francesco Lastrucci as the photographer, as well as additional photography by Devon Tsz-Kin Hong and Rutendo Sabeta.  This is just to give you an impression of the beauty of this book.  In real life, the book is packed with photos like these, each more beautiful than the next…none of them taken by me.  ; )

Write a post on your blog in response to the following hypothetical situation: Electrical storms are going to wipe out the Internet (perhaps forever). You have one day left to write about your passions: what do you want to say to the blogosphere in 300 words or less?

 ~~~

In Real Life

We have just moved back to my hometown, and I am happy.  The funny thing about upheaval is that renewal is never far behind.  This marks our second return to this city, and I hope we never leave.

I took a sentimental drive around the city last week and realized it represents much that I am passionate about.  It holds the life I want to live.  I want to watch my sweet children grow up in this home we have chosen.  I have a spot for a kitchen garden and a pretty room with a window waiting for the words I will write.  Friends will sit at my kitchen table knowing they will always find fresh coffee, understanding and good chocolate. 

I want my kids to know my Dad.  I want to take them to his cabin and watch them lose track of hours the way I once did.  We’ll roast marshmallows, and get sticky eating s’mores.

I want to take them to their Grandma’s house.  I want them to sit at my mother-in-law’s kitchen table, eating freshly baked buns the way all the other grandchildren have, beaming, jam on their chins, feeling warm and loved.

I want my kids to know family and old friends.  I want them to see our old houses.  And for all we have talked of Paris and London, first I want to take them to my favourite diner on Broadway and to the zoo. To the hotel downtown that looks like a castle and the double-decker bus that sells ice cream.

Oh, and my online friends?  They are real people.  We can write and call, and I’m already plotting my visits.

You see?  I’ll still be connecting.  And if you’ve been using the internet properly, so will you.

This job is the ultimate commitment.  It is one of the hugest projects I ever dared to think I could take on.  This job pays me nothing, and in fact costs me thousands.  This job is…parenting.  Five years into this adventure – I am amazed.  Amazed at what the job has demanded and at what I have managed to give.  Astounded at how it has motivated me to push past barriers, past limitations, past personal shortcomings to do what needs to be done. 

I think most people would agree that raising kids is a huge undertaking.  No matter how you juggle career, childcare, home responsibilities…adding children adds mountains of work.  This isn’t to debate staying at home versus working outside the home.  Neither role is easy; neither role creates a better sleep at night because we have found “the secret”.  I don’t think the war out there that some people would have us imagine exists.  Most moms I know, myself included, are making up their own rules and using any combination we can come up with to balance feeding our souls, being there for our kids and paying the bills. 

But I’m curious about something.  Do we as a society put the value we should on taking years from traditional work roles to raise our kids?  Why, then, does it seem a lowly choice on the success ladder?  It seems as though we still define success as a dollar figure.  If you aren’t being paid for the work you do, if we can’t put it up on the wall and measure it against other jobs, we don’t know what to do with it.  If both parents work, there’s an admiration because we figure the household must be running that much better with a second income in the mix.

Imagine standing at a cocktail party and being introduced to a lawyer, a professor and a stay at home parent.  Is there anyone in the room who would assume that the stay at home parent is as smart and as capable as the others?  My guess is no.  The assumption for many is that staying at home to raise children or stepping off a traditional full time career path is a fallback, a plan B.  Is this where we place our kids in our priorities?  I chose to have children, I wanted these kids, and consider myself ridiculously blessed to have them.  This doesn’t feel like a fallback plan to me.

I think of all the parents I know who are raising kids full-time, part-time, those who are working from home or in any other way coming up with non-traditional forms of juggling it all and think…these are some of the smartest, most capable people I know.  I’m proud to be in their ranks, and I’ll stay here as long as needed for my soul and my kids, and as long as we’re still paying the bills.

This, too, is work.  Of that I have no doubt.

This piece was originally published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  It’s a true resource for moms:  articles, blogs, contests and ways to connect with other yummy mummies! 

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/labour_of_love_working_mom_jen_taylor

Oh, sure, I took him shopping.  As a baby, he couldn’t keep track of what he’d seen in a store and what appeared at home.  When he was a toddler, I explained that the toys on the shelves didn’t belong to us, so he could look for a minute and then we would put them back.  It was the truth, and it worked.  As far as he knew, none of the toys ever made it into our cart, and he never saw me actually buy anything.  He was never with me when I returned and purchased the items for him.  And he would jump up and down excitedly when something appeared in his playroom or from behind my back.  It was BRILLIANT.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I love my son, and want him to have all kinds of cool stuff.  And he has loads of it, much of it purchased by me.  But I never wanted to end up standing in the toy department hissing “Just stop crying, you’re not getting anything today!”  Was I more afraid of what he might become, or I?  Perhaps it was a bit of both.

Then one fateful day last year father and son burst through the door, faces flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling.  Realization dawned.  They had been to The-Place-Where-Childhood-Greed-Is-Born!  That’s right, the toy store.  Wall to wall, floor to ceiling, underfoot…TOYS.  My son was beside himself.  “We went to The-Place-Where-Childhood-Greed-Is-Born!  And I got this leaf blower!  And this truck!  Daddy LET me!”

If our household had a control panel, there would have been a big flashing red button signalling systemic failures.  Communication, planning, trust – all compromised.  Okay, that’s not what I want to write.  What I really want to write is that was the day my husband BROKE our kid.

I’m just kidding.  He isn’t broken, and he’s still his sweet self.  It’s just that now he knows the truth.

But it’s okay.  It was bound to come to an end.  And besides, the other day I had the most delightful time shopping with my eleven month old.  We talked, and laughed, and she admired all the things I showed her and put in the cart.  I know she will be excited when they make their magical appearance later on.  I’m sure I have at least another year or two of this, as long as my son doesn’t spill the beans!

And I still keep a stash for him anyway.

This piece was originally published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  It’s a true resource for moms:  articles, blogs, contests and ways to connect with other yummy mummies! 

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/toy_store_shopping_jen_taylor

I’m so happy to see her change and grow, but there is a tiny part of me that wants to hold her and say “not yet!”  I was so happy to have another baby in the house…it was busier and more tiring because I was dividing my energy between two kids, but in some ways sweeter because I knew so much more.  I was so much calmer the second time around, less shaken when things didn’t go perfectly.  I felt like I was getting a chance to relive all those sweet baby moments and really enjoy them.

Here we are, back when she was too teeny to know how to smile at a camera when there was no one to smile at!

Maybe you read about my sweet girl in an earlier post.  You can find it here.  She has continued to be such a happy baby, even the appearance of her first two teeth hardly slowed her down.  (Had our first wakeful nights in months, but through the days she still smiled.)

Today was a day spent loving our girl, tickling her, making her laugh, listening to our son sing “Happy Birthday” to her.  We all helped her open her presents, then giggled when she ripped the tissue paper excitedly only to crawl full speed out of the room after each gift.  Apparently stolen freedom is as tempting as any gift at this age.  We opened gifts, had dinner and then brought out the cupcake cake.  And yes, the baby had her first taste of chocolate cake and icing…I held out a cupcake and peeked through the camera to catch her reaction.  Of course I misjudged the distance by an inch or so and she got a good handful of icing!  Boy, instinct takes over at that point, she was happily covered in icing and chocolate crumbs in mere moments.

A wonderful day.  I was so happy to see her this morning, as she laughed and threw blankets out of her crib in excitement just to greet me.  And I was so in love with her as I tucked her in, already asleep from all the day’s celebrations.  Sweet dreams, baby girl.  Tomorrow’s a whole new world.

What is it about mornings that make me want to jab sharp sticks in my eyes?  I love my son. He loves me.  I have no doubt about either one of these facts, but trying to get him going in the morning is enough to make me lose my mind.  I have tried to set up a schedule that works; I get up early so that I am ready ahead of time, he wakes early enough to get everything done.  I also know that he enjoys his school, and is always happy when I collect him from the steps of the school bus at lunch.

And such was the case when I went out to meet him that day.  He got off the bus, hat on crooked with one eye half covered and the other squinting in the sun.  He had a big smile, a story to tell and a full backpack.  I remembered our mildly traumatic morning and decided to shake it loose.  I took a deep breath, gave him a big hug and whispered in his ear “Hi honey, I love you.”  He beamed back at me and I continued.  “I’m so happy to see you, sweetie.”  We waved to the driver, and made our way up the driveway.

He stopped and looked up at me, and smiled.  It was as though the morning had never happened.  He took my hand to pull me down closer and whispered back, “I like that.  When you call me honey, and sweetie, it makes me happy.  It makes me feel all good in my feelings.  It’s sweet and good like…like candy.”  And he skipped toward the door.

What were we fighting about?  Nothing.  I couldn’t remember.  Sometimes this is how we get through the days.

Well, anyway, then I got ribbed about being a “cup with legs” so I sucked it up and posted a real picture as my avatar.  But some days I miss my little cup photo…it’s such a friendly way to start my day in real life.