This post was tentatively titled “Why I didn’t yell at the kid who dumped coffee in my laptop” and also ”kijiji is no place for your adorable children” but I figured I’d start at the beginning.

So after a bit of crazy week, I got up Saturday morning with my youngest, and took her downstairs for some quiet playtime.  My oldest was already up, getting in some Wii time in the basement, and I waited to call him up, figuring a bit of peace first thing was a nice treat.  Ever notice how when kids get together, the volume doesn’t just double, it multiplies enormously?

Well, we were enjoying ourselves, and I took the time to make a cup of coffee, and sit down with my laptop to jump online.  That’s how my son found us twenty minutes or so later when he came bounding up the stairs and into the kitchen.  No, he didn’t tackle me and spill my coffee.  Yes, I set it down as he approached, just in case.

No, he wanted to sit down at his own computer, an older laptop we have set up for him, so he settled into his chair and slid his laptop over in front of him.  Doing so moved a large piece of brown paper we have had covering the table, and it made a large raised area of paper, and so I stopped him, asking him to move it back before we messed everything up.  He shoved it back, the paper yanked out and my coffee toppled, sloshing all over my laptop, and over half of the keys.

Time froze.  I froze.  My kid didn’t even realize what had happened, and in truth, I still don’t know how it could have spilled.  Two movements, back and forth.  Two seconds, lost in time.  And suddenly I’m moving, and I realize it’s on my laptop, it’s spreading near my Kobo, my iPod and I’m wondering why the hell I’ve gotten in the habit of dropping them near my computer.  It seemed handy, and logical before but as I madly tossed them onto dishtowels to absorb the coffee and started cleaning, I cursed myself.  Ugh.

My son realized something was happening from my quick motions, and watched me jump up.  Before he could ask, I told him what had happened.  I could tell he didn’t understand at first that he had done anything, didn’t realize that his movements had caused it.  And in that moment, any anger that might have started building, disappeared.  I cleaned up as best I could, I gritted my teeth in worry at what might come next if it didn’t work after being dried off, and I explained to my son what had happened.  I was right – he hadn’t realized.  And he was sorry, I knew.

I tried to find a way to be more mad at him, after all, I knew the laptop might be dead.  I thought about saying more, knew I could raise my voice or yell if I tried.  But, because a few minutes had passed before he even understood, I had a hard time getting mad.  Don’t get me wrong, I get frustrated with my kids, I get irritated, and I’ve yelled over far less.  And I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t mad, but it just didn’t seem worth it.  He hadn’t meant to do it, he wasn’t being random and rough, he hadn’t jumped on me or tackled me.  My coffee wasn’t taken out by a swinging sword or light sabre, and he had been sitting down the whole time.

I gave up, accepted his apology and just worked on cleaning it all up.  I did give him the eyebrow when he asked for breakfast a while later and told him they’d have to wait a bit until I was done, what with the drowned laptop and all.  Hey, I’m human.  But that was it.

Sometimes you have to see the big picture.  Sometimes you have to realize when things happen due to carelessness or when they are just lousy luck.  Sometimes kids deserve to get yelled at for being thoughtless or rude, but he hadn’t been either.  Sometimes you don’t know what’s coming next.

Seven hours later I helped him get dressed and ready for a birthday party, helped him with the card I had bought, got the gift I’d picked up all organized and sent him off with a kiss.  Sent him off to a birthday party that had actually taken place the day before, right after school was let out.  Through some misunderstanding, and miscalculation, I had noted the party down on Saturday in my calendar.

And that’s why sometimes it’s safer not to yell.  Because less than eight hours later, you’re going to screw up too.

If you get lucky, your kid will make the same decision you did and not yell at you.

Hey.  Parenting is hard sometimes.  So is being a kid.

We’re both gonna be okay.

Some days I can’t hide anything from my kids.  They catch me sneaking a snack, hear me if I rustle a bag that I don’t want them to see; it’s amazing.  Other times I manage to hide a big cardboard box in my office for days, out of plain sight but easily visible to anyone who entered.

The delivery had come just before lunch a few days earlier but I’d waited for the perfect moment to bring it out.  I wanted both my kids home, with enough relaxed time to play and enjoy without suddenly having to head out somewhere or eat dinner.  The box I was hiding, you see, was our first delivery from Fisher-Price.

Well, Sunday rolled around and suddenly we had this window of time – afternoon snacks were done, dinner was a couple of hours away and things had been goofy, noisy and we all needed to find a way to slow things down.  But I didn’t want to ruin the kids’ fun, they were playing together, but oy, the running, the squealing, the games of tag.  We were all getting too tired for yet another tag wipeout.  I have two kids spaced four years apart – the three year old keeps up, and gives back plenty but collisions are usually dramatic and tired kids don’t take corners very safely.

Enter, the big cardboard box.  I called the kids over and got their attention pretty quickly.  We unpacked their goodies and their eyes got wide.  Okay, mama’s work just got a whole lot cooler.  There was an adorable My First Dollhouse for my three year old, and an Imaginext DC Super Friends The Joker’s Funhouse for her older brother.

We got it all unpacked, and it just so happened that we were out in our living room rather than in the family room with the other toys and the television.  In the moment it seemed like an easier spot to unpack things.  It was kind of nice, just late afternoon sun, no other toy clutter to distract them, and they busied themselves with the new toys.

And there was quiet.  Oh, they were talking, and playing, and showing each other the toys, but the vibe was relaxed.  They played for a while, and we started organizing for dinner.  I realized after a while that they were playing together - not just side by side. They were curious about what the other was playing with.  I wanted to be in the same room as they were, listening in.

Seeing the sweeter sides of our kids is a good thing for all of us.  They enjoy each other, and we want to be around to watch them.  I always want my kids around, but some days they bicker, or play too wildly, or need interventions to keep the peace.  I love when they can just play, and the intensity dials down, just for a while.

Funny, the two toys are still standing in our living room, where I don’t typically allow them to keep toys.  They’ve added one more, and are calling it a neighbourhood.  And somehow it is neutral territory, free to either of them.  I can’t quite tidy them away, just yet.

Welcome to the neighbourhood, Fisher-Price.  Our first delivery, and opportunity to experience the new offerings, and so far they’ve gone over wonderfully.

“Disclosure: I am a Fisher-Price Mom and I receive special perks as part of my affiliation with this group. The opinions on this blog are my own.”

When the mercury drops without mercy, and snow covers the ground, there are days when I wonder why I live in a province so well known for its unforgiving winters.  I’m not someone partial to cold, I don’t particularly embrace winter sports, so what on earth am I doing living in Saskatchewan?  And that’s not all – born in Ontario, I’ve also lived in Manitoba.  It’s like a buffet of cold weather.

Now before I had kids, cold days were a perfect time to cuddle up with a book, a quiet activity, or a movie.  It was nice to meet a friend over a steaming cup of coffee, especially if we could sit somewhere with a view of what I really love about winter – the beauty of a world covered in sparkling white.

Ah.  There it is, the reason why I stay and stay, though winter challenges me every year.  But now, with two young kids, how do I get from November to April without losing my mind?  I’m not going to pretend that it’s always easy, or that there aren’t times when my imagination fails and tempers run short.  We’re human – little and big, we have our limitations.

Most days go by pretty quickly though, and we just seem to find a rhythm that works.  I find it helpful to forget about facing a whole winter cooped up.  That gets scary fast, my friends.  No, for me, it’s all about taking things a day at a time.

When we feel slow and quiet, we read or build with blocks or building sets.  When they want to be close to me, but I have work to do, we gather at the kitchen table.  It’s become the space where we get to be creative together.  My laptop is parked there for writing, and each child has a generous stash of crayons, markers, paper, colouring books, activity books, and other supplies.  My oldest has more books and markers, of course, but the littlest has a magnetic drawing board and small chalkboard to use as well.  We keep everything handy in a hutch nearby so anyone can grab a project and come to the table to share creative time.

Rotating through our toys seems to help – my kids love toys that engage them and allow them to play in different ways, so we try to keep this in mind when buying.  Swords and costumes help them role play, toys that encourage open play help them have fun in different ways each day.  My youngest loves anything to do with food, so loves her play food, tea set, coffeepot and sandwich fixings.  Sometimes she cooks in her kitchen, other days they picnic on a blanket in the family room.  They also both love to help in the kitchen, so we got them matching personalized “Head Chef” and “Sous Chef” aprons for Christmas.  And if all else fails, we build forts or hiding spots out of pillows, or even just a big jumping pile for them to take turns leaping into.

There are some great ideas over on the Fisher-Price site in their Play & Learn Family Activities section that I can’t wait to share with my two kids, especially my youngest.  At three, she’s still home with me a fair amount, and loves anything new I can bring to the table for pretend play.

My final solution to cabin fever is to get out of the “cabin”.  Yes, we play, we pretend, we read, we snuggle but once in a while it’s time to brave the cold and go back to my roots.  I said I loved to spend time over a cup of coffee, didn’t I?  And I still do.  Only now my coffee dates are either or both of my kids, chairs pulled up close with milk and a cookie in front of them.  They love to be treated like grownups, and I love to have the time with them.  And amazingly, we all come home happier and ready to play.

What’s your favourite way to keep your kids busy when the weather outside is grim?  Do you find the winter days longer than summer?  Any survival tips to share?

Disclosure: I am a Fisher-Price Mom and I receive special perks as part of my affiliation with this group. The opinions on this blog are my own.

“Sit on the couch, please.”

Such a grown up tone for a small voice, but she knows it helps me take her seriously, helps to set the mood.  She has something to show me, and it’s clear I’m to pay attention.  Amazing how a three year old knows how to set the stage so all the players know their lines, isn’t it?

She patters to the centre of the room in bunny slippers that are standing in for ballet shoes – in her mind, there is nothing to separate the pink nosed creatures from real ballet slippers.  What, yours don’t have ears?

I had asked if she wanted help putting on her tutu, and was held off with a hand and a quick answer.

“No, Mama, I got big and now I can do it all by myself!  Watch this.”

Sigh.  For her, every change is a celebration, hard evidence of babyhood left behind.  I celebrate them too, but certainly in a much more bittersweet way.  She will need me for other things, so why be sad that she doesn’t need me for this?

She doesn’t need me for this.

And that’s the line that threatens me lately – with my youngest having turned three, I can’t really say I have any babies in the house.  And although I commonly refer to her as “the babe”, the reality is she is growing swiftly into the girl she will be.  I am starting to see who she will be, I see her gaining strength, coordination, sly ways of communicating that don’t come naturally to toddlers.  No, she is exploding into girlhood, elbow dimples be damned.  (God, I will miss the elbow dimples.)  She is bold, chatty, strong, sweet, and so clever.  We try so hard to do more than fawn over her looks, knowing we don’t want her to think we only value the precious curve of her cheek or her silky hair.  But beauty she has in spades, so we will just love it all and be happy that her looks come with fiery fearlessness and keen thought.

I sit where I’m directed and wait as she fusses to straighten the pink tulle, and brush the hair out of her eyes.  And then the magic happens – there is a ballerina in the room.  Maybe only the tutu would give it away, but I’m treated to a performance with as much heart as any other more easily recognized.  She moves from each piece of furniture to the next, holding on as though grasping a barre, extending one leg behind her.

Ballet is her special thing, you see.  Months ago she started showing off what she called “her moves” and they were pretty impressive for a two and a half year old.  Where did she learn it?  No one knows.  Yes, a few shows have a bit of ballet in them, but she has a big brother and not many would ever get screen time.  And she sees plenty of other things she doesn’t adopt and develop a sweet affection for.

And just like that we are done.  I’m charmed, and heartbroken all at once.

“Bravo, bravo!”  I clap for her and she bows, again and again.

A grand finish.  I carry her to the next room and breathe in her silky hair, and pretend time isn’t completely slipping through my fingers.

Anyone know if that actually works?

So last week was a bit crazy, juggling work and solo parenting and coffee – oh, I was in fine form.

It’s easy to tell when you are running a bit off your normal pace, isn’t it? I can always tell the difference between smooth sailing and choppy waters, and oh, my boat was rocking.  Two kids, two businesses, husband in the US for the week – did I mention my sitter went back to university in September?

But it was all for good reason, and I was balancing it all until Thursday rolled around and I dropped something messy.  I can’t think now what it was because all I remember is letting out an “oh sh*t!” in front of my almost-three year old.  Sigh.  Of course.  You would think at the rate my husband swears that he would be the one teaching the kids these lovely words (and in fact, he inspired this post about the “f” word when my son was younger.)

This time, though, it was me, and sure enough, her eyes twinkled and she chirped it back at me.  I bit my lip and started to correct myself and distract her, but she was having none of it.  Nope, she gave me a smirk and with a dimple she chortled “Ha ha – Mommy, that sh*t makes me laugh.”  It was all I could do not to burst out laughing.  Off she went, and I hoped we were done.

But of course we weren’t – and you’ve all been down this road, right? The next day she couldn’t get her ski mitts back on by herself while we were driving.  She was in her carseat, struggling, and I had to ask her to wait because I was driving.  She insisted on doing it herself…and then I heard:

“Sh*t!”

Sigh.  I tried pretending to misunderstand her by asking if she’d heard me say “sit” the day before.  Nope.  Was it “skit”?  Nope.

She’s nobody’s fool.  She knows what she heard.

Oh well.  There are far worse things she could have repeated and I haven’t heard it since, so I’m crossing my fingers and running my lines. Hopefully next time I drop something I’ll be able to save myself with an “Oh, sugar!”

Swear jar, anyone?

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

Just wanted to take a moment to thank any of you who came to read me over at the Electrolux Canada blog these past couple of weeks. I’ll be writing a weekly blog post for them and am really looking forward to sharing all I have planned!  Today is Sunday, which means a new post is probably going up tomorrow…ooh, can’t wait!  It’s a good one too.

They were kind enough to officially introduce me here, and then I started off with my first post, called “The Sweet Life“.  I confessed to plenty of shortcomings, shared a bit of what I love and what I think about this whole business of waking up and realizing that a whole household is revolving around me.  (Well, not just me…but you know what I mean.)

I love being able to create the life we want, and make it fit our dreams, our goals.  But I know we’ve met damn near every hurdle along the way, and if we haven’t hit it yet, I’m sure it’s coming.

So here’s what I think about the whole “be more amazing” thing.  I think it’s an awesome way to acknowledge that what we do already is impressive.  All the planning, the effort, the energy – it’s daunting and enormous and I love being part of something that says “it’s already fantastic”.

Looking for ways to do more, make it easier, enjoy more – all right up my alley.

So I hope you’ll continue to read and enjoy what I’m sharing over on the Electrolux Canada blog!  I promise to try to help you do more, make it easier and enjoy more (and I’ll share where I’m succeeding and slipping up along the way!)

Raise a glass, or a coffee cup, whatever you have with me, won’t you?

Cheers to being even more amazing.

Because I love the idea that we already are, where we are today.

Don’t you?

Disclosure:  this post was written by me, without any prompting from Electrolux Canada.  This one is just for fun.  

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

I’ve been looking through pictures from my son’s birthday.

He turned seven recently, and I’m still so amazed by him.  I know we all go through that initial swoon period where we are floored by our ability to create these small people.  I’m sure I’m supposed to be quite over it by now, and trust me, there are moments when I am so over it.

But those are the moments when I forget all the good, all the special things that I would never stop to notice without him.  With him by my side, I pay attention to details, I wonder at the world and I laugh more at silly things.

I could write a list of a hundred things that I love about him.  When I write about him, you can tell what he means to me.

He’s smart and sweet, funny and honest.  He’s sensitive and stormy, loyal and curious.  He’s handsome, and can already knock me down with giant hugs.

That’s just ten things and I’m sure you’re already rolling your eyes. So what I will tell you today is one of my favourite things about him.

Out of the blue it will come, sometimes mid-conversation, sometimes out of the silence.

And it’s so sweet, so often, that we sometimes forget how enormous it really is.  We are raising him with love, and we tell him we love him, but there is something beautiful happening right before our eyes.

He loves, on his own terms.

He says “I love you” all the time, and he says it first.

And not just once in a while, it’s all day long. “I love you more, no backs.” “Je t’aime.” “Love you.”

Anything I could write about how it makes me feel to hear it would fall short.  We love to know our kids can love like that, don’t we?  Their love is sweet and pure.

But what I love best, is how willing he is to say it first.  And I wish upon him a future where he doesn’t lose that confidence, that security in the people he loves.

I want him, as a teenager, to be able to say it first.  I hope for him, as an adult, to tell the people around him what they mean to him with ease.

I want him to love with his heart wide open.

Imagine, if we all did.

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

There are pumpkins everywhere, scarecrows and ghostly creatures share space in each room and I’ve been sneaking Halloween candy for a week.  Fall garlands with orange and red leaves add to the décor, and we are happily immersed in October fun once again.

This year, we’ve added a small fenced in area on the lawn complete with a tombstone and bones, and are having fun juggling spooky and cute decorations.  With a toddler and a seven year old, we need to find a balance!

One of the funny things about being a parent is creating new holiday traditions for your new family while reminiscing about everything that made holidays special when you were a kid.  Somehow I am the grown-up, buying costumes and candy, but I can’t help but remember candy in pillowcases, and the desperate glee of sorting through my haul of goodies.

I might still have that sweet tooth.  Okay, fine, I’m known for it, and even though I’m sneaky, my kids are showing signs of their own.  So we eat lots of healthy, fresh food, brush our teeth often and we’re all the happier for our treats.

We have always purchased and handed out candy, even before having kids.  It just felt like we should get into the spirit of things, and we loved seeing the costumes.  Back then we bought whatever happened to catch our eye for candy, and we always bought lots – heaven forbid we run out!

Then we started our own family, and the first year we took our son trick or treating opened our eyes.  He was just eleven months old, and we took him to the homes of just a few favourite neighbours.  Those neighbours brought their wee ones to our door as well, and we were faced with a quick realization – none of these babies or toddlers had tried nuts, nor did we want them to quite yet.  And while none of them needed more than just a taste of this or that, we figured out a plan.  From then on, we bought candy labelled peanut-free, and prepared little bags ahead of time for the smallest of our visitors.  That way, when they got home, their parents would be able to tell which candy came from us.

Now our kids are older, but new concerns still keep us buying peanut free.  Good friends have kids with allergies, and we figure the least we can do is keep up with the nut-free purchases and make our contributions to the holiday safe for all.

This year, we are taking a trip back down memory lane and have a bowl full of Allan candy to hand out.  It’s funny, I can remember the logo from when we would buy candy as a kid – two “L”s side by side looking like little rabbit ears – remember?  They’ve been around for 77 years, and who doesn’t remember Big Foot candies from when they were kids?  That’s a 25 year old memory, friends.  Very cool.

I’m always happy for the chance to get to know a company better – if I remember a name from when I was a kid, and I know they are peanut-free and made in Canada, you can bet I’m going to feel good about making them part of what we do for Halloween.  And that’s what making new family traditions is all about – careful choices that make the holiday all about what matters to you, your partner and your kids.

Our son has an October birthday, and for the last two years has chosen a Halloween theme for his party.  We love it as it gives us good reason to decorate even more and keep it festive for 2 or 3 weeks instead of just a day.  And loot bags get easier when we make them into little trick or treat bags, complete with a few sweet treats.

Halloween will find us handing out handfuls of candy, one of us heading out with the kids to knock on a few favourite doors.  My husband has plans to add more decorations to the front entry as well as to play spooky music through a nearby window.  Our youngest is turning three next month and this will be the first year she really understands all the excitement.  I can’t wait.

And that stash of Sour Grape Slices in my desk?  It’s all in the name of research, friends, and a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

This will be a fun week for us – hope you are enjoying all your Halloween preparations, and that your candy thieving is stealthy.  If you need some inspiration, I’m available for consultations.

Happy Halloween!

~~~~~

Cool stuff to know:  Allan Candy Halloween treats are all made in Canada and are peanut free – the line-up includes:  Allan Intense Jubes & Jellies, Allan Chewy Rascalz and Allan Fruit Buddies (look for Big Foot, Sour Big Foot, Green Thumbs and Hot Lips, as well as Sour Watermelon Slices, Peach Slices, Sour Cherry Slices, Tangy Wild Strawberries and Sour Grape Slices!)  You’ll find these selections at key retailers, including Wal-Mart and Loblaws.

Disclosure: I am participating in the Allan Candy Company program by Mom Central Canada.  I received compensation for my participation in this campaign.  The opinions on this blog are my own.

It is the time of year when I look at my children and marvel.

There will be birthdays, two.  There will be cakes, two.  There will quite possibly be pangs of the heart, many.

For my babies will turn seven and three this fall, and though two small lives are more than I ever thought I would create, it twists a bit in my stomach to know that they are both moving through these young months and years so quickly.

Time is a terrible, wonderful thing.  I am so addicted to their changes, to seeing newness light in their eyes, to their endlessly clever ways.  Yet, I miss the sweetness of the babies they once were.  My arms were full of sweet cheeks, soft blankets and pink toes many moons ago; now strong, brave, noisy children have taken their place.

Their voices mingle and mash, their energy swirls through the house.  Most days they take me along with them – for isn’t it easier to let the wave take you than fight the current once you have fallen in?

We spend years looking inward before we become parents, then as soon as we lay eyes on that newborn face it’s as though we suddenly see so clearly how much of our lives we will give so freely.

Looking down at one’s own path, looking inward, looking behind are pale stand-ins for looking forward, standing first before, then behind a child of your own.  Their horizons reach further than your own and you realize the ocean you are sailing suddenly has no shore.  You become them, they become their own and so on and so forth and if you are lucky, so it continues.

These wee creatures are already eyeing their own ships – who knew it would come so soon?  But I can see the twinkle and the future in their eyes.

An arm around one, the other snuggled on my lap.

We rock in calm seas, and I am overwhelmed at my good fortune.

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

It goes without saying that I’m known for having a sweet tooth.  I have a reputation for all the ways I love to add a little sweet goodness to my day…and I can be shameless about it, I’ll admit.

Here’s one secret:  there is no happier magic than the application of heat to something sweet.  For all the goodness that a few simple ingredients hold on their own, there is no end to the delight they could create given a little dose of warmth and the opportunity to melt together into something ridiculously tempting.

So imagine my reaction when I was invited to check out Hamilton Beach‘s new Quesadilla Maker.  I’d already admired its shiny red good looks online, and imagined tasty quick dinners when with a simple suggestion it suddenly all became clear – what if we used it for desserts?

My imagination ran wild.

But first, let’s get the basics out of the way.  Yes, it’s as cute as it looks in the picture.  Yes, it’s as easy as tossing on a tortilla, filling it with whatever you’d like, covering with a second tortilla.  But the trick is in how it seals shut, intensifying the heat and ensuring a perfect melt.  Two minutes later, we’d pop it open and discover our perfectly melted quesadilla inside.  We tried chicken and cheese, then added tomatoes and salsa.  Our six year old decided he wanted to choose his own fillings – and he ate what we made and what he created.  This is a joy to see in any house.  And the next day, our kids asked for more and so our sitter volunteered to use up whatever we had leftover for fillings and she made fresh quesadillas for lunch – a welcome change from their usual sandwiches.

But back to my raging sweet tooth – and our knowledge that further potential sizzled within reach.

First, we kept it simple.  Marshmallows and chocolate chips, then we added a drizzle of butterscotch sundae syrup.

Sliced bananas with chocolate.

Strawberries and bananas, with and without butterscotch (warm strawberries made me feel like I was sneaking bites of homemade jam out of a saucepan.)

All melted together beautifully, all were delicious.  We had the most success with combinations that included something that would melt nicely together for a bit of hold (cheese, marshmallows, chocolate) but even the one I made that fell apart was delicious – just messy.

The recipe book suggests apple pie filling and cinnamon and it’s next on my list (this one makes me drool at the thought of adding a scoop of ice cream).

I also am thinking of a cheesecake we had this week and will be trying cream cheese and strawberries.

*licks chocolate from fingers, continues typing*

Will we continue to use it?  Absolutely.  We made a fast healthy dinner with it, our sitter was able to use it easily for the kids the next day, and oh, people, the desserts we will make.  I’m not one to make time for baking, and hate food projects that take up huge amounts of time.  I loved just tossing a few ingredients together and then enjoying the warm, melty goodness a few minutes later.   It currently retails for $29.99, and for the price, I’d say we’d easily get our money’s worth out of it with just the dinners, or the lunches, or the desserts.  The potential for all three makes this a happy addition to our kitchen.  And cleanup is a snap.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go shopping.  A friend once made me a delicious mango and brie quesadilla with cilantro, and in six years I’ve never thought I would be able to recreate it.

I bet you can guess what I’m having for dinner…

Disclosure:  I received a quesadilla maker from Hamilton Beach to see what sweet creations I might come up with at home.  However, all opinions are my own and as many would readily attest – I’m not easily won over.  ; )

September has arrived, with the smell of freshly sharpened pencils and the squeal of the school bus brakes.  Some days are still gorgeous and blue, the sun still comforting and warm.  Other days hold cloud and a hint of mist that whispers…fall has arrived.

These are the days for which I wait.  Swoon.

Oh, but those of us who love September so madly need be very sneaky around all those summer lovin’ types.  Those who dream of the beach and hot summer sun will cringe at the mention of cooler days and warmer clothing.  We must be sly in our affection for this month, and tempt naysayers with warm drinks and promises of boots and fuzzy sweaters.

Apples, anyone?

One of the best things about this month is getting everyone back to school, back into combed hair and clean shoes.  We fill backpacks with notebooks, kiss cheeks, dole out hugs but there it is…another moment to let go and realize, yes, grow they do indeed.  Look at the long legs that stretched through yet another summer.  Watch the long arms reach and wave, and realize small boys turn lanky in the sun.

Summer held hours, days, of family time and relaxation.  Holidays added exploration, and recreation.  But as August drew to a close, we knew it was time for more.  Every year the pattern repeats, and we are glad to welcome September once again.

This week I hugged my newly minted second grader, wished him well and sent him off to class.  His mind will once again be filled with new learning, his muscles worn tired by endless games and races.  He will come home to us tired out in a way that an almost seven year old can only be tired out when challenged both mentally and physically.

It’s good for all of us.

Fresh pencils, pages and a fresh start.  All tempered by a cooling breeze, under our warm prairie sun.

What will he learn this year?  What will move him?  What will catch his curiosity?

I’m ready to let him grow, again.

School’s in, people.

 ~~~~~~~

The larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of wonder.      ~Ralph W. Sockman

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

Love comes into our lives in many forms, through many channels.

If we are lucky, we love and are loved in return over and over from birth to our final days.  If we are blessed, we have many who want to share their love with us, who create for us a safe place with their love.  If we are wise, we are open to it, seek it, give it freely.

Out of a sea of possibilities, one of the most touching kinds of love is that given and received by children.  Tenderness between one of my children and me, or between my two children has an effect on me unmatched by most other kinds of sweetness.

Is it the pureness of their love?  How wholeheartedly they express it?  Could it be that the sweet, genuine need of a child surpasses all other responsibilities, leaving us helpless in its wake?

This week I bade farewell to my children, and my heart is having to do without them for nearly a week.  There isn’t a way to explain to a toddler what this goodbye means, or how long it will be until I return.  How to explain a destination so far away when all she knows is how far up and down our street she can see?  How to explain the time that will pass as “six days” to a wee girl who can count to ten but two months ago still counted “one, two, three, seven, thirteen”?  Even my soon-to-be second grader only understands at the simplest of levels.

The answer is – you can’t.  I couldn’t.  All I could do is hug and kiss them as much as they would allow, bid them good night and send them an early morning wish as I tiptoed out, hours before they would rise.

I have been so filled up, and inspired during my time away, and I speak with them daily.  I know we will all be excited upon my return, and I know they are in good hands with their father.

Yet, my heart is lonely for them.  Loving them makes me a better, happier version of myself.

Our children, in fact, any children sweeten our lives in ways we cannot always explain.

My advice to you is simple.

Welcome children into your life – your own, those of your friends and families, whenever you can.  Show them love, watch them grow and if you are lucky enough to have them return it, never take it for granted.

Love somebody little.

It just might be the best thing you ever do.

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

Two small heads – one towheaded, one hinting of ginger – are bowed over a small pile of toys, as my two children bicker and giggle and play.

We are on holidays, and one might say they have had to “make do” with the toys we have brought for them, having left the bulk of their belongings at home.  They have had to “get by” with a handful of books, a few toys and the souvenirs and toys we have added along the way.

Fresh fruit has been theirs to enjoy, crisp vegetables, rich cheese and meat.  Cool, satisfying milk.  Restaurant meals, desserts and treats.  They drink clean, cold water from their own colourful travel bottles all day long.  The oldest pops flavoured vitamins each morning, picking out his favourite colour.

Their skin glows.  Their eyes sparkle and their hair is silky soft out of the bath.  Wrapped in clean towels at night, you can see their pink and healthy glow.

This is the life my children live. This is the life my children know.  They are not yet old enough to know how fortunate they are.

Yet…the real world exists right outside our door.  I protect them fiercely from it, but just as fierce is my intention that they should see it, as they get older.  There is a real, harsh and cold world where some children don’t have the luxury of nourishing foods and new toys, where some children will never feel the contentment that a full belly provides.

There are children living in countries far away who struggle daily to survive, and there are children living in my city who do the same.  How to ever know them?  How to help them?  Will reaching out ever make a difference?

We’re about to find out.

It’s time to tell you about Heart for Art, a movement started by the fantastic Stay at Home Babe in the UK to benefit a group of children living in an Balinese orphanage.  Here is her post that will tell you all about it, but what I want to tell you is this – no, we can’t help every child in need.  But what if, today, you could read about a group of children who are in need, and reach out to them in a very real way?

Are there practical ways to help?  Of course there are.  Donations, supplies, of course these things are needed.  But what we are asking for with Heart for Art is a little of your time.  Perhaps you can get your children involved.  Maybe you have a network of moms who might like to be involved.

A work of art can be a thing of beauty, but so can a caring thought, a wish sent out into the universe and a hand held out from land and sea away.  Sitting down with your kids to talk about how fortunate they are, and what life is like in other parts of our global community is a great learning opportunity.  What might your kids share with others in need?  How do they feel about what they are hearing?

Today, create something beautiful.  Join hearts with other moms and bloggers and share the Heart for Art story.  Tell your kids about these children, and ask them to help you make some art to share.  Know that your time, effort and caring matters – if you can do more, wonderful.  A variety of ways you can help are listed at the bottom of this post.

What if each one of us did something good, whenever we had the chance?  What if it makes a difference to one child?  To two children?  A dozen or more?

I will tell you this – when I watch over these two small heads, and imagine my children living a very different life indeed, I can tell you, even helping two would be enough.

What will your heart move you to do today?

Create something beautiful with us.  Then share this post with other families, friends, artists or people in your community who you think might be moved to get involved in some way.

~~~~~~~~~

Here’s what you need to know, from the lovely Stay at Home Babe herself:

Heart For Art is not a charity, legal entity or official anything. It’s the title I’m giving to the movement that WE (you & I) are going to start. We’re going to make art, by ourselves, with our kids, with local artists or school art classes, and we’re going to send it to these girls. Then they can send pictures back to us. Simple, right?

There are bloggers across the world posting about this in the next few days and they’re going to be linking up below if you’d like to visit some of their posts. Please join us. If you blog and want to write your own post, then you’re awesome. Please do. Most importantly, bust out the art supplies and make something for these girls. Send it to one of the addresses below.

To get involved with Heart For Art (tweet hashtag #Heart4Art): we all just need to make something for these kids and get it sent to them! I’m going to serve as the mail depot for this side of the planet, to keep shipping costs from being prohibitive (it’s pretty cheap to send envelopes from the states to the UK… big packages get a bit pricier, but bubble pack mailers and especially just paper envelopes are way cheap). Sending the kids some stationary supplies they could use to write back would be cool but not a requirement. Once our art gets into Cate’s hands in Australia, she can either take it by hand on one of her trips if the timing is right or ship it on to the girls in Bali.

UK address is:
Lerner Farrington
Attn: Heart For Art
18 Suffolk Rd
Lincoln, LN1 2UG
UK

The Australian dropoff is:
Cate Bolt
Attn: Heart For Art
PO Box 239
Glass House Mountains, Qld 4518
Australia

If you would like more info or have any questions, please email HeartForArt18@gmail.com.

Obviously, the customary ways to support are always welcome. You can make direct financial contributions to Foundation 18 (the group home), or support Project 18, here’s some more information about that:

*Web Hosting Services: Wanna self-host, want discounted rates and know that the cash from your hosting service will go to an amazing cause?  http://www.project18.org.au/blog-hosting/

*Make a purchase from the Project 18 Inc. shop or Etsy shop.

*Buy a ‘brick’ of Fairtrade chocolate and help P18 build a ‘chocolate classroom’.

*Make a one off, or regular monthly contribution directly to Foundation 18, Indonesia

*Grab a banner or button from the Project 18 website and add it to your blog or website.

*Follow Project 18 Inc on Twitter and on Facebook

*Participate in Auctions for Education – pick up a bargain and know the money is going to educate kids.

Twelve years ago, my husband and I moved from Saskatoon to British Columbia.  We spent four years there before deciding it was time to come back to Saskatoon. 

And you might laugh, but one of the things that ended up on our list of positives about moving back was that Saskatoon had caught up with the times and had opened several Starbucks locations.

We love Starbucks.  Say what you will, agree or disagree, it’s one of our favourite things.  I remember the first time we went to a Starbucks, on holiday in Vancouver after hanging out with friends having wine by the water one evening.  (We were so enthused, and so ignorant, that one of our first questions was if it was a franchise!  Just goes to show you how off the radar it was anywhere east of Vancouver.)

It became part of our lives once we moved to BC.  Before we had kids, Starbucks represented a break, a treat, perhaps a quick date as we grabbed coffee to walk on the beach in spring or fall.  Our travel mugs were always Starbucks and to this day I have a large collection of their mugs.  I have made decisions where we should live based on whether there is a Starbucks in the city.

My son was four before he ever knew what a McDonald’s restaurant was.  Oh, we had stopped once while shopping, cracking under the pressure of too long a day.  But he was young, just a toddler, and barely sampled a few fries.  He had no memory of it.

I remember him asking one day “what’s that big yellow M?” as we drove by and feeling slightly proud.  But oh, the boy could spot a Starbucks sign at unbelievable distances.  And his younger sister is following happily in his footsteps.  They know it, they love it.

I’m raising the next generation of Starbucks devotees.

And I’m happy with that. 

Now that I have children, Starbucks represents something completely different.  Starbucks is where I have taken both my children on coffee dates.  It began with my son, and we would practice every bit of manners, every expectation of eating out in public.  He took it very seriously, and we had wonderful times together, but I took great comfort in knowing everything we ordered could be swiftly packed up and we could be out the door in a flash should things go awry. 

Now my toddler and I have our Starbucks dates while her big brother is in school.  She is learning to help order what she would like, and to sit nicely to eat and drink without a high chair or booster.  I love taking her out, and love the time we’re spending together.

If you aren’t sure if you can trust your kids to a sit-down meal, don’t miss the chance to take a step in the right direction.  Take baby steps.  They didn’t learn to walk in a single day either.

Hold their hand, tell them the rules, and try it out.  Let them know you are prepared to leave if things come undone.  And if it unravels, leave.  Every time. 

But here’s the funny thing.  I never had to leave.  Not even once.

It must be the magic of Starbucks. 

Decaf venti nonfat caramel macchiato, please.

I’m pleased to be hosting the May Mom Blog Tour today!  

The May Mom Blog Tour is a great concept created by Christine Marie and Nadia Romanov (my thanks to them for inviting me to take part!)

Here’s the idea – instead of celebrating moms for just one day in May, why not celebrate them all month long with a blog tour! There are posts from all kinds of talented women writing about all aspects of motherhood, so be sure and follow along.

Here’s a list of all the great blogs on the tour.

There’s also a Twitter hashtag so make sure to watch #MayMomBlog on Twitter for new posts!

~~~

I was never one to back away from a challenge.

Honestly, the easiest path has never called to me.  I have always gone for the more complicated, the busier, crazier life.  I don’t mean crazy in some wild, there-are-naked-pictures-of-me-waiting-for-blackmail way.  I just mean that if there’s something I want to do, for the most part I do it.  I say yes and ask questions later.  Or at least I get as close as I can, so that I know I’ve done what I can to shape my life into what I want it to be.  If it is something I want badly enough, I’ll face the risks and know that more often than not, that’s how I’ve wound up with some of the best things in my life. 

Sometimes you have to leap, and then look for the safe landing….or you’ll never get off the ledge.

Motherhood is sort of like that.  I can remember being young, and boldly saying I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have kids, and true enough my husband and I were together ten years before having the first of our two kids.  I think we needed to have that time to live, to move around and figure out what our life was going to look like if we started a family.

I remember being happy when we decided we were ready, and I was very excited to discover I was pregnant for the first time – but let’s be honest.  There were a few nervous moments of ready-or-not and I-hope-we-meant-it once I knew for sure.  We’ve all had them.  But you have to take that leap.  You have to decide that even though you have no idea what’s coming, no idea what your family might look like, what the future might hold – you are willing to jump anyway.  You jump out of a life that allows unlimited sleep when you are tired, clothing that only you spill upon, and nights spent out on the town without a second thought to sitters.  And you jump into a life that for all you know might be the end of your sanity.

That sounds tempting, doesn’t it?

No?

Motherhood is this crazy trip.  It’s hard to explain to people who don’t have children (and bless anyone who decides not to have kids, if it isn’t your gig, don’t do it.  Honestly, don’t.)  There are times when I don’t even know where to begin to tell someone who hasn’t been there that I spent the day holding, caring for and cleaning up after kids, and yes, I showered this morning and did my hair, because I’m stubborn that way, but that was 14 HOURS ago and oh, the things I have seen in those hours.

For all the sweetness I experience with my children, there are moments that can honestly only be taken with a large dash of humour.  If you can simply smile and shake your head because the kids are drumming on everything, that’s great.  If you can laugh and hug your kids when they get mad, have accidents, yell or stamp their feet, you have a good chance of survival in this crazy job of parenting. 

Being a mom always seemed to me like the most normal, average thing I could possibly do.  After all, it seemed like everyone was doing it….it was the expected path.  Perhaps that’s why it took me some time to get there.  But once I did, boy, did I ever learn fast that it was going to be the hardest job I’d ever had.  The rewards come by the truckload, thank goodness, but this is not for the faint of heart.  If you can’t make dinner while easing a toddler away from the stove while listening to your six year old tell a story of how a friend was running around being “Wienerman” at school, while unpacking a lunch kit and organizing homework, well, let me suggest you get yourself a pet… maybe a monkey, or a raccoon.  I hear they are less trouble. 

Motherhood is what happens in between the kisses and foot stamps, in between the yelling and the whispering.  It’s what gets you out of bed in the wee hours, again, to check in on a child in need.  It’s what gets you up in the morning to make sure everyone is where they need to be by 9 a.m.  And it’s what keeps you going when it feels like you can’t find a balance between work, kids, home, life, and love.  When you hug the kid who yelled at you five minutes ago, you’re doing it.  When you can stay calm when one or the other kid seems to be losing their grip on things, you’re doing it.  And when you love them, and tell them so, no matter whether they are happy, sad, sweet, angry, clean, dirty, anxious, stormy or loving, you’re doing it right.

Growing up enough to be a mom, and to stand in this role, day in and day out, taking responsibility for two young lives…being able to make sense of their past for them, to support their present and to guide their future?  It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done. 

But I’m so glad I leaped. 

I wouldn’t change one wild moment of the ride.

~~~

Make sure you check out tomorrow’s post over at Transplanted Thoughts and keep up with the tour as the month carries on!

“Mama…

…thank you for who I am

…thank you for all the things I’m not.”

Are there sweeter words we could wish to hear when our children are grown?  My imagination runs wild to think of them, teenaged and lanky, grown and serious.  How amazing.

Enjoy this little slice of sweetness, mamas.

Happy Mother’s Day.

credit: (YouTube)  Il Divo – Mama

For those of us lucky enough to experience it, motherhood brings a unique combination of gifts:  joy, amazement, shock, exhaustion and ultimately, perspective.  We have nine long months to sample it as we slowly lose sight of our toes in pregnancy, then eternity with our children to obsess over the details.  Time with just a baby and yourself to talk to in the wee hours will reveal more truth than some would ever want to try to choke down in daylight.

I ate it up like dessert.

While pregnant with my first child, I read something that at the time seemed very wise.  The idea went something like this:  “Having a baby is like shining a magnifying glass on your marriage.”  My interpretation was that everything would be magnified, good and bad.  Whatever you love about being together might become extraordinary.  And whatever annoys you now will drive you batshit crazy later.  It made perfect sense to me, and I filed it away, feeling satisfied I had discovered something profound.

I was so naive.

What I couldn’t know is the scrutiny of the magnifying glass I held would be aimed in my own direction.  Somehow this act of bringing one small child into the world would not only thrust me into motherhood, it would throw open a window through which I would finally see myself.  Suddenly the magnification was of my own good, my own shortcomings.  I faced the very things that drove me mad about myself.  But in all ways, I stretched and reached and grew.  I became…more.  Revelations and contradictions tumbled over one another like runaway boulders as I discovered myself. 

I became much smarter, amassing a veritable library of baby and parenting advice and theory in my head, but realized swiftly I was not nearly clever enough.  Books and advice will only take you halfway along every path in parenting, if that.  The rest is up to our brains, our hearts and our instincts.  I will always be one step behind these brilliant, challenging little people.

Bravery came to me as I overcame my fear of doctors, needles, hospitals and managed a difficult delivery with my first child.  I swore an hour later I’d do it again, and I did.  Yet, in some ways I became more anxious after becoming a mother as every headline and statistic loomed like a spectre.

I wanted to chase ideals.  I wanted things to be just right and agonized over details like decorating and routines.  Yet I can also remember my firstborn peeing on my only clean jeans after two hours of trying to get us both ready, and going out anyway knowing the jeans would dry on the way. 

My feet became planted more firmly, grounding me, yet I have spent more time laughing, tickling and singing in the last six years than in any period of my life I can remember.

I am obsessed with the future.  What will each decision affect, what should we do, what if?  Two year, five year plans.  Yet, some days I want to cling fiercely to the present as it slips through my fingers.  There are moments each day I wish I could catch like fireflies in a jar, and make time stand still while I peer inside.

There is irony here, as I remember being young and unsure about ever wanting the limitations of having children.  But, today, I don’t feel limited by them, I feel freed by them.  I wonder, having created them, what else will I do?  The funny thing about motherhood is that it magnified almost every aspect of my personality, without changing who I really was.  I’m still me, only more so.  I can see myself more clearly.

After exploring and exposing every facet of my heart and soul, motherhood has allowed me the simple grace of knowing, and liking, myself.  

What a gift.

(photo by CLBuchanan photography)

It’s official.  My six year old son is obsessed with Star Wars.  I can’t put my finger on what the tipping point was, but morning until night this kid is eating, sleeping and breathing the Force.

This is a window into our life, into what it looks like to live with a very young, very impassioned Star Wars fan.  He sleeps with a lightsaber under his pillow, as well as the Star Wars dictionary and a flashlight for those early morning reading sessions.  He gets up, gets dressed into what is most certainly one of almost a dozen pairs of Star Wars socks.  Our conversations are peppered with endless mentions of battles fought and won, fought and lost, craft capabilities, powers, planets, anything and everything Jedi.

His baby sis has now adopted a lightsaber of her own.  What else would you expect when her big brother is on his second and desperate to share his love of them?  Now it isn’t out of the question to walk into a room only to have the toddler jump into a battle stance and wave a lightsaber warningly at me.  I’d be concerned if I wasn’t so amused.  They both make the noise too – don’t tell me you don’t know the noise.  Yes, you do.

We discuss Anakin Skywalker, Padme Amidala, Mace Windu, Ahsoka Tano and that dratted General Grievous all through the late afternoon and dinner.  On weekends it all goes into overdrive as he usually has more access to the Star Wars Lego Wii, someone to play with and let’s not forget all the movies.  Every night, we read Star Wars books before bed.

Again, I’d be concerned if I wasn’t so damn amused by it all.  Here’s how I see it.  These stories have been engaging the imaginations of kids and adults for decades.  I remember seeing two of the movies myself, in the theatre no less, as a kid.  I remember how my good friend next door had all kinds of Star Wars toys – the boys always did.  I never wanted to be Princess Leia, but I’m not entirely sure I didn’t want an Ewok.

Do I worry about his obsession with what is essentially a movie franchise stealing from more intellectual pursuits?  Do I worry that as he advances to level sixty-something of over a hundred in his Wii game that his brain will turn to mush?  Do I worry that he will turn into a couch potato?

Not in a million years.

This kid is all energy, all talk and all movement.  When he plays Wii, we need to clear the furniture to make room for his “moves”.  We have swordfights, light sabre battles and he is constantly practicing it all even when not playing.  I don’t worry about his energy level.  He’s 100% true Jedi (the Wii says so), and one hundred percent energized by it all.

And as far as his brain goes, I look at the books he reads when he’s not reading about Star Wars and compare them to the enormous volumes he is willing to tackle as long as the pages hold Jedi secrets and I know there is more here than meets the eye.  Without pausing, he will open any Star Wars dictionary, encyclopaedia or other collection and start reading, and at a level more sophisticated than I ever imagined he’d take on this year.

People say that today, May the fourth, is Star Wars day.  Catch the play on words there?

I say, bring it on.  I hope he likes the official Clone Wars episode guide I bought him today.  As far as I’m concerned this is an obsession that has entertained and rewarded us all.

Happy Star Wars day.  May the fourth be with you.

I am thinking about my late grandmother.

In my mind, I can see photos I have seen of her, picture her home and the small town where she lived.  I remember playing in the attic and the upstairs bedroom that seemed a secret hideaway.  I remember the pebbly green cover on the spare room bed, and can feel the weight of lid of the candy dish in her living room.   I remember the purple columbines that grew at the entrance of her enormous garden, the long grass behind her yard and the schoolyard nearby where my sister, cousin and I would play.

I reach as far as I can back into the vaults of my memory, but sadly much of what I can remember is of a care home, quiet visits that left a younger me with questions, and trying to understand why a grandmother I was just getting old enough to know was disappearing before my eyes.  Oh, her body was still with us, certainly, but there were years of visits where she did not recognize those who stood before her.  Grandchildren and children were either confused or unrecognizable.  Good days and bad days took turns until it seemed good days would never return.  By the end, I heard her lapse into German once or twice, and wondered where her mind had taken her. 

After she had passed away, when I was 19 or so, I was given a quilt that she had made for me.  My sister and I each had been made one, long ago, and the decision had been made to tuck them away until we were old enough to understand how special they were, and to treat them accordingly.  I pass my hand over the fabric and remember dresses she would wear made from the same fabrics.  I recognize the green polyester zigzag pattern from the spare room bedspread.  And I think of her making this quilt, square by square.  And I remember…just a little, but more.

I have been thinking of her because I recently finished reading Still Alice.  The author, Lisa Genova, has written a compelling fictional account of a fifty year old woman diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease.   I felt I was living her characters’ lives along with them as they sorted through diagnoses and weighed options for an unknown future.  The book is hard to set down, but struck close enough to home as to unsettle me.  It was the diagnosis that upends Alice’s world that hit me so hard. 

Coming from a family where a grandmother was afflicted by this horrific disease, even much later in life, I found myself turning the pages faster and faster, almost as though I couldn’t bear to linger.  The writing was skilful enough to make me want to take my time, but it was almost as if going too slow would make it more painful.  It was painful enough.

By the time I turned the final pages and let the book fall to the table in front of me, I had laughed and shed tears.  I had felt fear and foreboding, and warmth and love for those who supported Alice through it all.  But, oh, the fear.  For all the fears I laugh off in a day, I will admit that a dark layer of worry lies in the deep recesses of my mind when I think of what this disease does.  Will this be my fate as well?  Time will tell.

I will wait, and sometimes I will worry.  I worry that I will inherit the gene or genes that will send me down that dark path.  I worry that I will one day forget all the beautiful and gritty details of this amazing life.  I worry that I will forget my family, my friends. 

But to live this life, forgetting is what I must do for now.  It is a weight I need carefully set down somewhere until perhaps the day arrives that I can ignore it no longer.  I will forget about my worries, forget about my genes, and live my life as loudly as I can as long as I am able.  And I will love those around me as truly as I can as long as I am able.

I will curl up under my patchwork quilt for yet another cup of tea.  And I will grow purple columbines, and think of my grandmother. 

Last year, at Thanksgiving, I wrote about feeling thankful.  I wrote about the blessings that surround me, about the life that has grown so big I can barely hold it in my hands and heart.  And I still feel that way.  I still feel as though life is being overly generous with me, doling out good fortune, a good life and good souls to share it with.

But in the interest of truth and balancing out the light and the dark, this story will be a little different.  This past weekend, I remembered a different Thanksgiving.  I remembered wondering if one of my favourite holidays would be forever shadowed. 

Three years ago things were looking about as good as they could look.  We were living in a different city then, but had friends we loved and a good life.  Our son was healthy and sweet, about to turn three.  We had just bought a business, and were happily busy.  And best of all, I was nearly fourteen weeks pregnant, and we were starting to share our good news…come spring we would welcome another baby!

We had our Thanksgiving dinner, felt the gratitude and abundance surround us.  I’m sure we spent the first two days of our long weekend eating turkey, spending time together and making our plans for the future.  Saturday and Sunday are lost in memory, but I know we would have spent them cozy and happy. 

I felt so thankful.  I felt so blessed. 

By the wee hours of Monday morning, I was miscarrying.

It was all over by about five o’clock.  I don’t know where the presence of mind comes from when we don’t fall apart, or why I felt so calm, so determined to not lose my composure .  I think for all my good cheer, all my positivity, I also carry a strong fatalistic vibe.  If something good is happening, I am happy.  If it’s gone, it’s gone.  I can’t change it. I can’t fight it.  Couldn’t fight it.

I spent most of the next day or two in and out of the hospital.  I immersed myself in three new paperbacks.  I rested either on a hospital bed or on my couch at home, and cried now and again when I thought of what it all meant.  I was totally caught off guard.  Somehow I had always wondered if I would get pregnant easily, or at all, one of those random worries we sometimes carry around.  But after getting pregnant easily twice, and having had a healthy baby already, I had let down my guard.  I said to my husband “I knew we would have sorrows in life.  I just never knew that this would be our sorrow.”

Three days later I realized that all the laying around made me feel worse, not better.  I had no desire to stay lost in the sadness, no fondness for the bleak feeling of letting my mind wander and sink.  And I had the cheeriest of toddlers bringing me books, stuffies, and smiles all day long.  Distraction was everywhere, and so I reached for it.

There are those who mourn the loss of a pregnancy, or an unborn child for months, even years.  Some do so forever.  I am not here to tell them they are wrong.  But I tried desperately to let the practical side of my brain take over.  This was not a pregnancy that had advanced.  There had been no heartbeat.  There was no baby to lose, just the pregnancy.  It was difficult for my mind to grasp at first. 

Somehow, my mind found a way to deal with it.  I decided that my old logical mind needed to take over.  The same way I never get happy before something good actually happens, the same way I was never happy about being pregnant until actually pregnant.  I decided that we would have the family we were meant to have, and it would happen the way it was meant to.  It was a desperate grab for sanity, in the swirl of what could easily have been a long, dark time.

This thinking isn’t for everyone.  There are many who would feel worse trying to find reason in terribly unreasonable circumstances.  Sometimes looking for light in the darkness, only exposes more darkness.  But for me, it made sense and gave me a path to walk.  It gave me a light to hold out in front of me so I could see where to go from where I was.  I decided that if we were meant to have a second child, it would happen.  And I let go.  I decided to be thankful anyway.

We got lucky.  The same fate that had knocked the wind out of us, came back with a lighter hand. A few months later, we got our chance.  We were expecting again, and all was well with the world.  We didn’t breathe or tell anyone except those very close to us until we heard a heartbeat, and knew we were past the fear.

The following Thanksgiving, I was seven months pregnant.  And that November, we welcomed the sweetest baby girl we could have ever dreamed up out of sugar, spice and love.  And we know she is our girl, the baby we were meant to have.  It just took us two tries to bring her home.

She was, and will always be, worth what we went through for her.  And I’m so, so thankful.