Hi all!

Just a little hello, and a welcome to the sweet new look my blog will be sporting from now on!  Doesn’t it just make you want to pour a cup of coffee and get cozy? 

Special thanks to 3Fish Media who are my first and only resource for web/media help. 

Have a lovely weekend!

Life has a way

of stripping away the nonessentials

one birthday at a time

until we’re left

with our real selves,

unashamed before the world,

refined by experience,

shaped by the things

we’ve learned

and the passions we’ve pursued…

 And finally,

we know what we know,

and we love

what we love,

and we still have

this precious thing called time.

And it’s enough.

It’s more than enough.”

                                         ~author unknown

The above is my favourite quote to read on my own birthday.  It’s also my favourite thing to share with other people when their day arrives.  It reminds me that no matter how old I am, or who I am becoming, that there is still time to do what I want.  I don’t have an issue with age in the classic sense, in fact, I like who I am more now than I did in my younger years.  The number isn’t what bothers me, nor do a few lines that remind me of the biggest smiles and best laughs I’ve had.  What bothers me is the feeling that I haven’t done everything yet, that I want to do and be so much more…and go so many more places.  No matter how content I am with the status quo, you can bet I’m always three steps ahead in my brain, figuring out what lies ahead.

Today is my birthday.  I always say I don’t like my birthday, but the truth is I actually do.  I love all the well wishes, the people that take a moment to send a little message or note.  It’s like, for that moment, one more person in the world held you in their hand and thought something happy for you.  And in a world like the one we live in today, that’s got to be a good thing, right?  So.  I do really like all of that, I just have never been one for big celebrations.  Send me an email, send me some love, just don’t take me out and sing to me in a restaurant or bar, because oh my chocolate, so not my thing.

When I was young I used to write birthday lists.  You know, gift ideas for my family so they would know what to get me.  (Hey, after you get asked and asked, you figure they’re looking for help!)  And funny, any time I didn’t put up a list, my family would always comment and hint and say they were waiting to see the list.  I was always happy to oblige.

Then I moved out, started making my own money and the birthday lists stopped.  I am not really very good at receiving gifts, anyway.  When I was young and had lots of things I wanted and couldn’t pay for, it was great, but now?  I can buy what I want.  And I don’t need gifts to know who loves me.  Tell me you wish me well, send me warm fuzzies, spend time with me (whether on that day or another) – these are the things that make a birthday real to me.  A card in the mail from someone I really love that made me misty last week?  Better than a gift.  After that, any time they asked, I couldn’t come up with answers. 

What do I want?  What do I need? 

Nothing I can list on a piece of paper or that can be bought in any store.   Today I look at the life around me and see so many things I never guessed I would have.  I have this great, full life and awesome people to share it with.  It’s not that I don’t have irritations or things I wish I could change or that my life is perfect.  It just means that if I look around, there is so much more good than not.  I already have enough.

The only wish I have had lately was to spend more time writing, more time working.  To find a little more “grown up me” time now that my kids are getting more independent.  I wasn’t sure what this would look like, but knew something was coming.  I just had to be ready.   And the last two months have brought me an amazing community management job and writing opportunities with some really wonderful people over at EverythingMom…I couldn’t have predicted it or asked for it, but now it feels like home.  I have also started doing some freelance writing work on the side for WriteSourcing, and again, the chance to work with someone I like makes me feel so fortunate.

So again, this year, I can’t think of anything I want or need.  I can’t even imagine how to hold all the good that’s already come into my life lately.  I’m enjoying all my birthday wishes, messages and love today…and know that if you sent one, for a moment I held you in my hand and thought something happy for you too.

Tiny onesies, wee sleepers, piles of pink and blue.  A collection of infant carseats and other scattered baby items.  Extra diapers in assorted sizes.  I have kept them all.

Even as we prepared for our recent move, I refused to get rid of any of our baby items.  Our second was just over a year, and what a blissful year it had been.  I was shocked to find myself considering another baby.  For someone who once upon a time wasn’t sure she wanted any, thoughts of adding a third were very surprising indeed.  At any rate, I couldn’t make such an enormous decision in the middle of a move.  Slightly embarrassed, I stuck to my guns.  No decision would be made until we were settled in our new home.

And now?  For the most part, we are settled.  We are happy with our move back to our hometown, a routine is slowly taking shape and the two kids we have are happy, healthy and bringing us great joy.

Two years ago, I was about four and a half months pregnant with our second baby.  I was ecstatic to be so blessed.  My first pregnancy, the one that brought us our son, was a road we had walked so easily.   However, the road became distinctly less smooth as we walked it to reach our daughter, our lovely second baby.  We learned how precious the life we were trying to create really was.

I loved being pregnant.  With both my children, it felt like a miracle.  Pregnant with my first, I remember joking “It’s like having a hidden superpower!  I can make people!”

And when our second babe was four months old, deliciously cuddly and sleeping such long hours…well, I couldn’t get enough of her.  She had the perfect peach fuzzy head, and was so content; I thought…I could do this again.  Maybe a third?  What if?  Maybe this was our destiny, a houseful of children.

And yet, here we are.  We have a sweet and smart boy who will be six come fall, so full of imagination and laughter.  And we have a bright spark of a little girl, 19 months old, who charms everyone and makes us laugh like crazy.  They adore each other, and we them.  My mind and heart almost cannot hold how fortunate we are.  I look at them and know that there are no dreams I have that are unrealized, that these two beautiful children complete our family.

As much as I miss that little peach fuzzy head and the sweetness of my babes when they were small; I look forward to our future with these two.  I can’t wait to travel more easily with them and to have them take in all that the world has to offer.  I’d like to talk with them and hear what they think of this big, crazy planet.  And there are days when I’d trade our lovely long afternoon naptime for two kids who could go all day and take in outings longer than three hours.

I do not wish away these young years, yet I wonder at starting it all over again.  Something inside tells me we might have our perfect family already.  Two years ago, at 22 weeks pregnant with our second baby, I looked like this.  And I am left to wonder, will I again?  Or are the two we have more than enough?

(My only belly shot:  a cute, but fuzzy pic of me taken for friends out of town who were sad to be missing seeing me pregnant.)

Last year, after a frazzled start to fall, I posted the following on Twitter:  “I’m declaring November ‘Take Care of Me’ month so I don’t go into December totally depleted.  Who’s with me?”  I got reply after reply.  I was amazed.  I tried again later…and again, moms were retweeting it with an “I’m in!” and “ME!”

I realized that we were all doing it.  Every time a child’s needs change, or something new needs doing for someone else, we make it happen.  We make time.  We stay up late, we sacrifice sleep or leisure time and get it done.  Yet we endlessly cut corners on the things we do to stay healthy and happy.

I’m a mom of two, and they keep me hopping.  We just moved, we own our own business and I just started a new job; I need multiple to-do lists to get it all done in our busy household.  Lack of sleep, busy days, jam-packed schedules:  all of these things add up to a frazzled mummy who isn’t giving or getting her best.

So here’s what I decided to do.  I hate the feeling of deprivation that comes with immediately stopping all indulgences.  I always found it hard to stay positive.   This time I’m going at it from a different angle.  I am adding in good habits, and as I go along, they will crowd out the bad ones.  That way, my focus is on what I am adding, rather than what I am taking away.

My goal is to add each good habit one at a time.  At first it will be things that don’t hurt.  Taking vitamins.  Tea or water mixed with juice in the afternoons instead of more coffee with cream, sugar and usually chocolate.  Club soda and reduced calorie juice instead of pop.  Increasing the  vegetables in my lunch, and remembering how I used to love fruit.  Nibble chocolate chips instead of eating whole chocolate bars.

As my energy returns and these become second nature, I will be more prepared for the challenges ahead:  getting more sleep, getting friendly with my elliptical trainer again and cutting back on my sweets.

In short, I decided that declaring a “Take Care of Me” month was just another symptom of the care I wasn’t willing to give myself.  I’ve decided to aim higher.  I’m declaring this my “Take Care of Me” life.

Who’s with me?

This piece was originally published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  Fun for yummy mummies (and delicious daddies)! 

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/take_care_of_me_jen_taylor

Is it me, or does the sun seem to be shining a little brighter today?  We step outside of our hotel, and blink into the sunlight.  It is a special day, one my children will remember forever.

We are fortunate to be able to be in attendance as world leaders converge in this proud city in our fair country.  It is history in the making, and we are here to be part of it.

There is a celebratory air downtown as crowds gather to greet and welcome our international visitors.  Our flag flies high above the festivities and, as always, we feel proud to be Canadian.  One by one, the leaders arrive and are escorted through an excited crowd.  The police have been called in to assist for the day, as the crowd may become overexcited in taking photographs or attempting to shake hands. 

Anyone who has the chance comes out to try to catch a glimpse of our visitors, both domestic and international.  It is a day where policy will be written, important ideas will be discussed and grave challenges that face the world will be considered.  Those in attendance, or watching through media streams, know that it is not a perfect world and that politics are not always simple.  But they also know that change doesn’t happen unless someone starts a dialogue.

We have faith in the leaders we have elected to discuss the issues that concern us most.  We feel connected to the process, knowing that we took part in the voting and that we engaged in respectful debate during any election.  Our issues have been raised in the appropriate forums, through intelligent and engaging discussion and writing.  Today is not a day to wallow in disagreement.  It is a day to take a deep breath and realize that change may well be within our grasp.

I look around as we get closer to the event site and I see I am not the only parent who has chosen to bring their children today.  For this is an event we want our children to remember and take part in.  We delight in the opportunity to show our children the way the world can work together when it is needed.  We want our children to know that great things are always happening and that action can always be taken when challenges arise.

I want my children to see world leaders, learn their names and realize that they are real people, with histories and experiences that have led them to this day.  Why?  Because we are all raising the next generation, and one or two or a handful or perhaps hundreds will be the ones effecting change for their peers one day down the road.  What better way to raise the next generation of world leaders than to take our children into the heart of change and tell them, “These are the people to whom we have entrusted this task.  They are listening, learning, sharing and working together.”

We must tell our children that politics are about discussion, debate and inspiration.   That they will work hard, educate themselves through books, experience and the people around them.  And that someday if they want to be a part of this amazing event, they will speak and be heard.  And that they will be a part of this circle of inspiration, rather than outside of it.

I want to tell my children that to have a voice and opinion that others will respect, one must first respect the voices and opinions of others.  That connection with others comes from opening your mind, your heart and your hands. 

I want to tell my children that a summit like this is a meeting of the minds, a collaboration of power and the opportunity of a lifetime.  Inspiration at its best.

~~~

Sigh.  With a shake of my head, I realize that I have been daydreaming.  Dreaming of a kinder, gentler world where peaceful dialogue and intelligent debate stand in for riots, property damage, and rampant violence.  Dreaming of a world where people could bring their children, not gas masks, to be part of such an important day.   Dreaming of a world where we would take photographs of leaders from far and wide – not broken storefront windows and burning cars.  Where the constant media updates would bring us news of discussion from inside the summit, all serving to inspire those of us lucky enough to attend.

Instead, I realize that almost everything I know about the summit is about the protests, the police, property damage and the shocking photos making their way through social and mainstream media.  Faceless acts, angry crowds, embattled police and random violence.  I have been exposed to only the worst of what people have to offer when their faces are hidden and identities disguised. 

And who has ever, ever been inspired by that?

I wrote the following back in January while we were planning our recent move, but decided to save it for our anniversary.  Twelve years ago today we were married. 

It seems both a moment and a lifetime ago.

“What are you two, the poster children for marriage?”

This question was posed to us by an acquaintance, years ago, after we were first married.  Apparently we had shocked him with an exchange where we managed to ask a question, answer a question and both use terms of endearment while doing so.  Apparently, done with the right amount of respect, affection and loving looks it can really shock the crowd.  Who knew? 

And we were kind of the poster children back then.  We had put a lot on the line when we got together, a crazy whirlwind of a late night talk, one unexpected declaration and a resulting impulsive decision (no, not that impulsive decision, tsk tsk).  We had gone from friends with an unidentified connection to a “we” over the course of 24 hours.  We went from zero to “what kind of jam do you like?” at the grocery store in three days.  Heads rolled, most people questioned us and our “crazy” decision, but we knew we had something worth taking a risk for.  People knew we weren’t fooling around…we had made a commitment, and it mattered.  That was fifteen years ago, and no one questions it now.  But back then?  We had a rep to protect.

We worked hard at being a team, though things were never perfect and we argued as much or more than anyone else we knew.  But we had an unwritten code…never in public.  Oh, sure we’d disagree; we’d even argue in front of close friends…they knew we were the same as anyone else.  But we decided early on that we didn’t want to be the couple fighting at the restaurant while the rest of the table squirmed.  We tried to treat each other with respect, and tried to make sure the other person didn’t lose face in front of others.  We also agreed on all the big issues, and both knew in the end we only fought about the little things.

Nearly twelve years later, we are no longer children, but remember the comment.  At first it was a joke, something to giggle about.  Later it became a reminder of what we had been, a way of making sure we weren’t getting too far from our roots together.  We still bring it up now and again, sort of a gentle nudge to make sure we remember the days when our exchanges contained more terms of endearment and loving looks than grocery lists and itineraries.

I’d say we’re still on the poster.  The poster has gotten a little banged up over the years; I’m sure at least partly due to all the moves we have made together.  The corners are dented, and there are at least one or two wrinkles.  But we’re moving again and the poster is coming with us.  I’m shopping for a house with just the right spot to put it.

“We should all go out for drinks sometime!”

Amazing how simple an idea this would have been before children.  Friends who enjoyed each other’s company during the day deciding that a girls’ night out would be great fun indeed.  They would have made a plan for an upcoming weekend, gone out and had a great time.

But the idea gets complicated once kids are involved.  Oh, we all know that moms need to get out and play, and of course absolutely deserve the time.  But what happens when life keeps getting in the way?  I’ll tell you what happens.  In a year and a half, these friends made it out for drinks as a group ONCE.  And even then, one ended up arriving late and leaving early as she juggled the near-constant needs of a two month old baby.

Did I just hear you gasp?  It’s crazy but true.  The moms in this story were like most others, with full and busy lives and six kids between them juggling for priority.  Add in one husband working shifts, one mom travelling to the US regularly for work, and one very tiny babe and plans have a way of slipping through fingers.  Never mind trying to foist bedtimes onto husbands and hoping very young kids wouldn’t be upset as mom left in heels at 7 pm.

Then one mom had a brilliant idea.   We all lived in the same neighbourhood.   A Facebook message appeared:  “Hi!  Tomorrow night hubby has a business dinner.  My kids will be asleep by about 8:30.  I’ll be drinking wine…anyone want to join me?  I’ll text when the kids are asleep, just sneak in.”

And the whine, wine and cheese nights were born.  Come as you are, bring what you have, don’t fuss over the details but just show up.  We drank wine, ate simple but delicious food, vented and talked and at times laughed ourselves silly.  We giggled to hear each other using language that never appeared during play dates.  We managed our wine nights when kids were sick and when invariably one husband was working or another away.  We had them when there were teeny babies in the house who might need feeding, and once, when one of us was 8 days overdue with her second child.  (Inexplicably, that evening lasted the longest, until 2:30 a.m.   Yes, the pregnant one was me.  And yes, I had permission to go into labour at my friend’s house.)  And the clincher?  Walking home afterwards, not a single one of us getting behind the wheel of a car. 

So what’s the moral of the story?  Yes, it’s fabulous to get dressed up and go out on the town.  But when what you’re really craving is a break from it all or time with your girlfriends, and circumstances keep getting in the way – be creative.  Find a way to make it easier, and you’ll find yourself doing it much more often.  And really, isn’t that the point?

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/whine_wine_and_cheese_jen_taylor

You have to wonder who came up with the brilliant idea of windows built into our front entrance doors.  Oh, I know the sun is lovely, the light so welcome, and the sunbeams so…wait a minute, how the hell am I supposed to pretend I’m not home?  

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

Welcome to round two of the little game I’m calling Mystery Food.  Maybe you saw my last post where I started this little theme – if not, you can read it here.  And if you don’t happen to think reading labels is worthwhile, someday I’ll tell you about the beef shepherd’s pie I once bought that had chicken fat in the ingredient list.  I kid you not.  After I threw up a little in my mouth, I swore I’d never buy it again.  Shudder. 

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.

It’s a well known fact by now that I like my chocolate.  I would be the last to say that I eat all healthful foods all the time.  But for all my indulgences, the reality is that I actually do buy and eat quite a lot of healthy food.  I prefer to keep our kitchen stocked with skim milk, whole wheat bread, cheese, yogurt, fruits, leaner meats, veggies and healthy cereals.  When I buy snacks and treats, I usually try to make sure that there is something redeeming about each item, or that at least they are made from reasonably healthy ingredients.

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?

What is the lure of a beautiful cookbook?  What is it exactly that draws me in, lifts my hand to the cover, begs me to open it to see inside?  I have a confession…I am a closet cookbook addict.  Addict, you say?  How can you be addicted to cookbooks?  They’re so practical, so useful! 

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.  ; )

The post that follows was inspired by a great idea from Mabel’s Labels.  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 is one of the most important, most difficult, most frustrating jobs I have ever held.  It asks for sacrifice, sleepless nights, bottomless pools of energy and unending patience.  It pushes me beyond what I think I can do, eats at me when I don’t measure up, and drives me crazier than I ever thought possible.

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

What is money?  Have you ever really sat down and thought about it?

It’s how you get all the stuff you need, right?

So, really, is that all that money is?  The stuff you spend it on?
 
It seems that when you are young, money is primarily about getting.  You use it to get the things you need, the things you want and probably a few things you really shouldn’t buy. You want to get a house and nice things to fill it up, you want to get a new car, you want to “get ahead”, you want a big wedding or to “get away” on trips. 
 
Later on, as you get older, getting slowly turns into keeping.  You want to keep the house in good repair, you want to keep the household running and maybe you even want to keep up appearances.  You might be trying to keep up with the “Joneses”. If you did a little too much getting in your early years, maybe you need to keep up with payments, or worse, keep the wolf away from the door.
 
Still later, you look around and wonder how to get rid of some, or most, of your stuff. You want to get rid of your debt, perhaps even your mortgage, so you can sleep soundly at night. You hope to simplify your finances to get rid of the stress that can surround a complicated financial life.
 
When did money become all about stuff?  If you look at your life over the long term, doesn’t it seem like you could solve a lot of problems by buying less “stuff” to begin with?  What if you stopped thinking of your money as “stuff”? What if you used it to build the life you really want?
 
So stop. Young or old, financially savvy or not, take some time this year to think about how you are spending your money. Are you spending in a way that is in keeping with your values? If you make a list of all the things that really make you happy every day, did any of your stuff make the list? Or is your list primarily things like family, friends, staying healthy, spending time with a significant other, getting out into nature with your kids? Open your bank statement and really look at where your money went last year. How much of it went to the things you say are important to you? Did it go towards things you will keep and treasure when you are older? Did it go towards experiences that are irreplaceable in your memory banks?
 
It’s time to make sure you are spending your money in ways that will have lasting meaning. Create a budget, plan where you will spend your money before it comes in and be sure you can afford the life you are living. If you can’t, make the necessary changes now. Stop confusing money with the stuff it can buy and start thinking of it in terms of the life it can build.

Once you figure out the difference between money and stuff, life becomes a whole lot sweeter.

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/what_is_money_jen_taylor

Happy end, happy beginning.  

I came across this quote in a book a couple of years ago, and it became my wish for the last nights of December, as we pour champagne and try to choose words that will shape our year to come. 

It has been ages since I have had time to sit down and clear my thoughts to write.  I have had time, moments here and there, keeping up with this and that online.  But a clear mind has been a far off goal.  So here I am, a month after my last post wondering how to weave all the threads back together, how to wind up a year, begin a new one and make some sense in the middle.

I guess I dive in.  Fall is always a busy time for us, two kid birthdays, our business year end, not to mention back to school and Halloween thrown in for good measure.  And we’re all crazy busy come holiday time, right?  But then December disappeared for us, after being well all through fall two terrible colds took hold and we all got sick.  One by one, both parents, both kids, and round about a second time it went.  Between nursing my little ones during their worst days, keeping my son home for the last week before school holidays (all you parents out there are cringing, right?) and trying to swim through the ocean of holiday to-do lists with my own poor health…well, it wasn’t pretty. 

However, the holidays arrived, the lists got completed, thrown out or lost and soon we were almost ready for Christmas.  The house suddenly got calmer, cards and presents were mailed and we could feel we had almost caught up.  Relief.

Time to breathe.  Time to heal.  Time to stumble into a fantastic opportunity back in our hometown for hubs: he works in an industry so specialized that you just can’t ignore chances when they come.  Uh oh.  Well, we are the nomadic Mochas, with ten moves under our belts, right?  It was bound to happen sooner or later. 

We talked about it off and on over a night or two.  Decided it was crazy.  Decided the timing was all wrong.  Decided it was the perfect time and we’d have to be crazy to let it pass by.  Decided to do it.  Hometown, here we come.  Grandparents, here come the little ones.  Family and long time friends, we are coming back.  We made the decisions, firmed up plans and told our families Christmas Day.  A great day all around.

Christmas blew by us in a whirlwind of joy, food, children, toys, and well wishes exchanged among friends and family.  We deliberately rested for two or three days to make sure we got the full enjoyment out of things and to make sure our five year old didn’t miss out on a proper Christmas.  But come the 27^th, the decorations came down and a huge clean/organize/tidy mission began.  It lasted two, almost three weeks.

We are now in the middle of our relocation, have already listed our home and will be moving as soon as we can line up possession dates and details.  We will so miss our friends here, but are looking forward to being back in a city we know so well, and seeing our kids around our families on a regular basis.  There are good days ahead.

I promise to stop spinning now that we have the hardest work done, and to get back here more often.  I’ve missed it more than I can say, and while I did not enjoy the absence, it told me a little bit about myself and where writing actually fits into my priorities.  When it kills me a little every day to skip it, I learn a little something about how important it is to me.  So I’ll be back to my normal self soon.  In the meantime, please don’t mind the chaotic swirling of a busy mind or the random absences as I try to pick up all of the pieces of our lives here and relocate them to a new home, new province and new life. 

Buona fine, buon principio.  Happy end, happy beginning.  It’s all I wanted for my new year’s wish, and all I wished for you all too.  Happy New Year, everyone.

For years my five year old son thought toys simply appeared in our home, materializing out of thin air and good behaviour.  I would pick things up for him, stash them, and bring them out when it seemed we needed a new distraction, or a happy reward.

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

We spent the day celebrating our baby’s first birthday.  A year ago our beautiful baby girl was born, making a big brother out of our son and completing our family.  I can’t believe the year has gone by already.  

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.

After a particularly fretful morning last week, I put my son on the school bus, waved goodbye and thanked my lucky stars we had survived the morning.  One argument after another, feet dragging, you name it, we had it going on that morning and I was sure we would be too late.  Or that he would wake the baby in his attempts to put brakes on the morning’s progress.  One way or another, the wheels fell off the wagon, and we were both so frustrated we could barely speak.

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.

I see him standing by his teacher and watch him jump and wave as he recognizes me.  She cautions him to wait until I’m closer, then as she sees me wave, she tells him to go.  He comes at a run, then slows to skipping as he gets closer.

“Mommy!  We were outside!  And I was standing there!  And I saw you!  Did you see me?  Guess what we did today?  Do you know what I have in my backpack?  I love my new school…I want to stay until DINNERTIME every day!”

And so ended our first full week at school. 

People asked me if I would be sad to have my son starting kindergarten.  If I would cry the first day, or feel weepy the whole time he is gone.  I answered honestly – that in the moment I may feel a little choked up, or that of course I was amazed, and a little sad that he was no longer a baby.  But truth be told, it couldn’t have come soon enough. 

Let me explain.  I adore my son…like rainbows and fireflies adore him.  He’s smart, funny, sweet, and full of beans.  He really is a well-behaved kid, but we have our moments.  And when the summer got too long, the routines slipped, everyone got sick of the heat…well, it got a little testy in the Mocha household.  We all felt it.  Too many times we asked him to play quietly or watch a movie while the baby napped or while I worked.  Too often it became just about getting through the days and the to-do lists while trying desperately to keep him entertained.  I felt like we weren’t enjoying each other as much as we could have been.

Two months have passed.  He is happily settled into his routines, attending public French Immersion half days as well as 2-3 half days in a private preschool setting.  He’s busy, but thriving and it’s proven to be a good balance.  He has the challenges of a new language and new school, but also the comfort and familiarity of his former school setting.  He has access to more specialized learning at one, but more gym time and outside play at the other.  He takes the school bus to one, and I drive him to the other.  And for us, it works.

And what I have now is a happy, engaged boy who has all kinds of outlets for his energy, and is actually tired out by the end of the day.  He has made new friends at each school and on the bus.  He gets the benefit of two teaching styles, and two different class sizes.  He is learning a great deal at both schools, but in different ways and I think it will give him a great foundation as he continues on with French Immersion.  He enjoys sharing his adventures with us and showing off what he has learned each day.  And we all are happier. 

Back to school?  Back to sanity!

(Now if I could just find a way to stay on top of the calendars, memos, fundraising, photos and artwork for two schools I’d be totally set.)

A cute holiday decoration that hubs decided to put in our powder room.  I love that he and the boy were taking over the decorating, but can I just say that it cracks me up to read “Do you see what I see?” as I go to…ahem…use the facilities?