And it's done

Oh the school year, you've dragged on forever around these parts. It's the last school day for most Toronto kids today and at our house we are celebrating loud and clear. They say the school year is only ten months long, but this one felt more like sixteen or seventeen, like someone added a few months in there when we weren't looking. Only the cats are a little disappointed that summer vacation starts tomorrow. 

I've mentioned before that this is has been a hard school year for Alyce, so in large part our palpable excitement comes from a deep need to leave this year behind. Her second grade teacher was a bad fit for her sensitive little self and it sparked all kinds of problems. (I once made the mistake of explaining to Alyce what homeschooling was and ever since she's been trying to negotiate her own schooling here at home. Not going to work, Alyce, I have babies to catch.)

I had been noticing this year that Alyce didn't draw anymore. Our walls are covered in Shira's artwork (we could wallpaper two houses with the piles and piles of her daily creations) but Alyce wasn't contributing anymore. I thought maybe it had something to do with her school struggles and it broke my heart to think that some of her joy--joy that I had been used to seeing expressed in her drawings and paintings--might be disappearing. I had such a sad heart for her all year.

But as we went through the ritual of bringing piles home school work this week (one of my favourite rituals), Alyce showed me her sketchbook. An artist had visited her class a few months back  and gifted each student with an blank book for drawing and doodling. Alyce actually sparkled when she started walking me through the pages and I saw drawing after drawing filled with colour and most of all, joy. I started quietly crying because that's what you do when you're brought face to face with feelings you had been trying to avoid for so long. I have been so deeply worried about her for so long now and it was weighing on me more than I realized. 

Alyce's sketch showed me that she is way more resilient than I had given her credit for. She's had a hard year but she's okay, she's still my Alyce. I've gone through the book so many times now, turning the pages with a big grin on my face. Much like the grin on Alyce's face when she proudly showed me her favourite drawings.

 And Shira? No, we haven't forgotten about the other one. She glided through her school year, or more accurately, skipped through it. Junior Kindergarten was a safe and happy place for her, and for that I am grateful. She's just as excited for summer, however, because she's convinced herself that summer vacation means ice cream for every meal. Sounds delightful.

Be well!
xo

Exhale and an update

Deep breath out.

I won't go into to all the reasons why I haven't shown up in this space lately, because there is only one: full-time school sealed my fate as a woman too busy to blog. If I had a spare moment after family obligations and school, I was usually to be found snoring on the couch next to Matty or asleep in Shira's bed. I would sometimes come home after a long night of studying and sneak into her bed, pretending to check in on her, but really just looking to snuggle up with her under the covers. I missed the girls so much over the course of this chaotic year, and it was healing to slide into Shira's bed. She wouldn't wake up, but she would know enough to roll into me and stick a hand down my shirt and maybe cup my face with her other hand. I would breathe her in, try to forget about the deadline I was probably unprepared for, and feel better. Sometimes I would even change into my pajamas first.

So without any giant promises or declarations, I'm back for the summer. I have the next four months free from school, I'll be working part-time from home, and I'll be doing all the daytime parenting until school starts up again in September. A week ago we took Shira out of daycare for the rest of the summer to hang out with me at home, both for reasons of saving some money and of me needing to spend some time with the girlies. For the time being it will be just me and Shira, and then at the very end of June Alyce will join us. It will feel like old times and will hopefully spark some oversharing right here on the blog.  Summer adventures await!

Now for the updates.

Alyce

• She is six, and enjoying the homestretch of grade one. She calls herself a "Grade Oner" and that makes me laugh every time I hear it. She dreams of the day she'll be a "Grade Twoer." 
• She loves telling me what she learned at school. A few weeks ago she explained kinetic energy with more clarity and passion than I could have mustered. 
• She writes book reports when she's bored. 
• Bouncing, skipping, and leaping are still her favourite modes of transportation.
• New freckles appear on her cheekbones every week.
• She received four dollars from the Tooth Fairy for her first lost tooth in December.
• She's the most generous person I know.
• Hanging from the monkey bars is her favourite after school activity. 
• She seems to be inheriting my perfectionism. I'm trying to model imperfection, which isn't too hard because I make a lot of mistakes.
• She actually sparkles.

 

Shira

• Yesterday she turned four. 
• Today she tried the big kid swing at the park from the first time.
• She's not all that interested in sharing, and still frequently yells at strangers when they look at her the wrong way.
• She has taken over the position of sous-chef in our kitchen and she is a delightful assistant. In the week she's been home from daycare we've made two batches of muffins, rice krispy squaures, tomato sauce, roast chicken, grilled salmon, and, of course, cookies. She takes her kitchen responsibilities very seriously. She steals pinches of brown sugar the second my back is turned.
• Still very loud.
• She's afraid of ants.
• She spontaneously declares her love for me at fifteen minute intervals.
• She's all mine. 

Matty

• He is leaving on a ten-day, all-fun trip to France "for work." His job? To tour around Paris, Nice, and Cannes with university students. I'm too green with jealously to say anymore about this. 

Me

• I've finished year one of a four-year midwifery degree. 
• I am exhausted.
• I can't wait to start year two in September.
• I have grown out my short hair cut. My secret? Don't get a hair cut for fifteen months.
• Red lipstick has become my new favourite accessory. 
• I have jumped into a summer reading season, beginning with Game of Thrones.
• I am searching for a gluten-free challah recipe for Shabbat dinners. Know of any?
• I cultured my lab partner's vaginal flora in lab this semester. And my own urine. It was awesome.
• I was super sick between February and April. Strep throat that required a visit to the ER for morphine and steroids, another trip to the ER for an inflamed gall bladder that will be removed sometime this summer, and a stomach flu straight from Hell. 
• I totally called Connecticut's victory in April. #marchmadness
• I'm pretty excited to have a whole summer with the girlies.

Monsters: My morning at kindergarten

Every Thursday morning I spend an hour or two in Alyce's kindergarten class. It is a split junior and senior mix, so the age range of this zoo classroom is three to almost six. Alyce falls into the almost-five category, as she reminds me constantly in the week leading up to her birthday next week. I volunteer in class for a few reasons: I'm nosy, I'm curious, and I'm a sucker for kindergarteners. There is one little boy who is so completely delicious that I want to wrap him up, put in my pocket, and take him home with me. (I didn't in case you were concerned.) There is also a sweet-as-pie little girl who almost knocks me over each Thursday morning to ask if she can read to me. Every week it is the same boring book about a train, but I'll take the boredom for the grin she gives me in return. Alyce is in a large class, twenty-nine monsters in total, but the teacher and assistant do what they can. They rely on parents for an extra hand, which is where I come in. It gives the kids another adult to pester with stories. No word of lie, one little one interrupted the teacher this morning with a story that went on for five minutes. He got lost in the twists and turns of his own plot and everyone in the room was glancing at their watch. We'll all cut him some slack, though, because the poor guy is only three.

Most of the kids don't like bananas. I know this because their first job of the morning, after hanging up coats and stuffing lunch bags into cubbies, is to write their name on the daily survey. Last week the question was "Do you have a sister? Yes or no." They all take turns with the marker and painstakingly print their names in the appropriate column. Today the question was "Do you like bananas? Yes or no." Like I said, most kids fell on the "no" side of this debate. I do like bananas, so this morning I sneaked my name on the "Yes" side, right next to Max's. Next the kids are instructed to find the appropriately aged book and sit down for some reading. This totally happens. Well, some of them try. One little one wanders around the whole time begging Alyce to sit next to her and rarely actually sits down with her book. I don't know what happens most days when I'm not there, but on Thursdays Alyce wants to sit with me, resulting in the other one threatening to un-invite Alyce from her sleepover (which I'm pretty sure is an imaginary sleepover, since all of these kids are too young and loony for a sleepover). A few other children spend reading time telling each other very loud stories about what happened on the way to school. About ten kids each week bring me very long books about dinosaurs to read to them. (Another dinosaur book! Again! Ok, fine.) And then that sweet-as-pie little girl asks me again if she can read that story about that bloody train. But how can I turn down that pile of sweetness in pink corduroy pants? I just can't. Can you?

The rest of the morning follows the same lines, with the teacher giving instructions on a variety of projects. Today it was drawing pictures about the last time they went to the doctor. I thought Alyce would illustrate a scene from a few days ago when she went completely over the edge screaming about a flu shot, but she went for a generic (though, lovely) smiling Alyce next to a figure in a white coat. There wasn't a scream, tear, or terror on her page. The teacher gives instructions, the kids set off running, and the rest of the time is spent on damage control. I like to keep close to the sweet little boys in the corner who try so very hard to sound out the sentence "I went to the doctor because I was sick" with their thinking tongues poking out the side of their mouths. In the end it looks more like this: "IWntTDrirCSk."I was so proud.

At snack time it's my time to escape. Alyce has usually enjoyed my time there, showing off that her mama is in the classroom, snoodling in my lap when the teacher reads them a story. Today I threw her off by bringing my own snack, pulling up a chair, and eating with a table of four year olds. I like to shake things up in kindergarten, I'm telling you. Until next week.

P.S. I forgot to tell you one thing: watching and listening to twenty-nine three to six year olds yell the Canadian national anthem is up with my ten favourite sounds. If you can only give up a few minutes of your week, I suggest you show up in Room Two around ten o'clock in the morning, just before the birthday announcements. They won't let you down.

Welcome back, Monday!

I need to catch my breath. Could anyone else use a moment, too? I'll wait.

September is my new year (in many ways). Even before becoming a parent of a school-age child, my 456 years in school have trained my senses to know a proper new year when they meet one. I feel September all the way down to my toes, toes that ought to be sporting brand new back to school shoes. Even in the first year of my PhD I bought back to school shoes, beautiful red leather Mary Janes, in celebration of the new year. Now, of course, I have new September rituals, but the feelings are the same. There is so much potential (which I adore) in September's air, but more than that there is action. A lot of action.

I guess it has to do with the beginningness of September, but there are just so many things to be done this month. No other season begins so abruptly as fall does in September, and no other time when I rush out to accomplish so many tasks. Of course I love buying summer sandals as much as the next shoe enthusiast, and I often find myself craving the early summer harvest of asparagus and strawberries months in advance. And as much as I love winter, there isn't a single moment that defines the beginning of winter for me (Thanksgiving in Canada happens far too early to help usher in winter. It is firmly a fall holiday). No, it is September's suggestion of fall that gets me every time. Time to get moving.

Needless to say, the first week of September has been a busy one. First the girls and I joined some friends at the Toronto Zoo to mark the last day of summer vacation. Then there was the baking of the night-before-senior kindergarten macaroni and cheese along with the first-day-of-senior kindergarten chocolate chip cookies (make sure you use the really good salt). Next we welcomed a new routine of Matt walking Alyce to school while Shira and I waited for the afternoon to roll around so we could pick her up. Every morning we had to remember to pack her backpack with her lunch, snacks, and water, and then remember to walk to school an hour later to drop off the things we had forgotten. There were after schools snacks (that's where the cookies came in handy) with glasses of milk big enough for dunking. In between all of this there were dinner parties with old (for Matt) and new (for me) friends, a birthday party for another friend (perhaps the most impressive forty year old I've ever met), and a week filled with cooking, something I haven't felt like doing in a long time. I'm exhausted just writing it all down.

And now we get to get started all over again! But since I'm such a nerd for Mondays, I don't even mind at all. I've decided that since I'm not quite busy enough that I'll add a few extra posts into my rotation again. It's feels like months since I've posted regularly and I miss writing here, especially the opportunity to capture my days right now. I hope to see you back here again, too. Maybe you'll tell me what your week looks like?

On Instagram? Follow me @mostdaysiwin and let me know where I can find you!

Dear Alyce

First day.

Dear Alyce,

We often write letters to people when we aren't quite sure how to say what we're feeling in person. Or, maybe when we really want to make sure that we're heard. We talk a lot, don't we? Sometimes you do most of the talking, other times it's me who can't stop going on and on. Do you like our conversations? Do you wish they were mostly about princesses and rainbows and sparkles, and less about responsibilities and manners and growing up? You might, and I'd understand that. You're four (and a half) and your primary job in life is to surround yourself with things that make you smile. On most days I want you to concern yourself with imaginary friends, fairy tales, dress-up clothes, and dancing, but sometimes I have to direct your attention to things that don't at first seem like any fun at all.

Like school.

You and I are alike in more ways than I ever could have imagined. We both adore moving our bodies to music and singing loudly in the car. And I think given the freedom to do so, you and I could spend the rest of our days wandering around the city, bouncing from bakery to bakery, delirious from all those quality carbohydrates. I think you'd choose chocolate cupcakes every time, and I would probably alternate between an airy pastry of some kind and a good baguette with some chocolate. We also both love so hard that sometimes we get all wound up in the intensity of those feelings. Because we love so much we get hurt a lot, not in the grand, dramatic kind of heartache, but by those smaller (though powerful) wounds. And don't think I haven't noticed how much time you spend worrying about other people's feelings. I could write a book on that skill, and I'll lend it to you some time, though I'd rather not. And it's funny, isn't it, how we can so immediately become wrapped up in each others feelings?

Off to school.

This happened a few mornings ago. It was your first day of senior kindergarten and your first day at a new school. Holy cow, that's big. Of course you were a junior kindergartener last year, but somehow that seems so beginner, so part-time (and to think you were only three years old)! But this year is different and no matter our preparations, it caught all of us by surprise, taking the wind out of us a bit on Tuesday morning. Now you are four (and a half) and you're ready for the big-time (or the full-time, at least). I have been so excited for you, eager to help you pick out your favourite backpack, lunch bag, and back-to-school gold sparkle shoes. Now if only you'd put them on your feet instead of carrying them around all day. (That you carry your special treasures with you at all times in bags or in your hands is one of the things about you that sneaks into my heart, never to leave.)

They are awfully nice shoes.

But Tuesday morning was a tough one. I had stayed up late the night before making you a special back to school card and planning a chocolate chip pancake breakfast. I even put the good linens on the table. I am a hopeless (hopeless!) romantic when it comes to school. No matter the rough ending of my dissertation, school has always filled me with the same kind of joy that Mondays bring me, though on a much bigger scale. I love the potential of school, of all the things you can learn and all the ways your world can change. When I was younger, though a bit older than you, I'd daydream about running away to a school for dancers, or a private school where I could wear a uniform (influenced as I was by Fame and Dead Poet's Society). When I watch you take for your first steps toward school, my heart beats a bit faster because I can already see how much you and I are alike. I can already see how you look ahead to your own transformations, even at four (and a half). You are so ready to step out into that world.

That first day I was eager, I often am, and I was unprepared for your reaction that morning. Of course it really isn't a surprise that you rejected my card and refused chocolate chip pancakes. You were hurting and scared and all the while you were watching me, aware of how you were hurting my feelings and caught between wanting to make me happy and wanting to put your foot down in the face of your big first day. I am not going to school, mama. Not even once, you declared repeatedly. Not that you said much at all. You marched around the house trying to show me how much you were hurting by trying to convince me that you didn't care about anything at all. But you did care. You were missing your old friends, worried about making news ones. I tried to be brave in the midst of all these hurt feelings, but mostly I was disappointed that you didn't like my card or my pancakes.

Of course, and it was plain to see, my hurt feelings weren't really about you turning your nose at my card, but were about that panic settling in under my skin, that realization that you were leaving. Until now you've always been mine at home, even when you spent time in that other world. No matter anything else, you're still mine, and I'll hold on as tight as I can, even when I'm not paying attention to myself. Because if I had been paying attention I would have seen that the card, the linens, the new school clothes were really about me avoiding an enormous sense of grief over my first child growing older, and happier and stronger and funnier and sillier. Yes, of course, I'm grateful that I have the blessings of a healthy family and my grief isn't over the sadness of ill health or tragic circumstances. But it is still a grieving. Watching you grow is a complicated sport. I am cheering for you, encouraging you to reach further and faster, but I also kind of just want you to stay behind with me.

No wait, I don't want you to stay behind at all, I want you to move forward. And I'll always be here if you want to fill me in on the details. Like I said, it's complicated.

All of those feelings emerged when, a few moments before it was time to leave, you found your way into the kitchen where I was nursing my own sad heart and asked me if you could have some breakfast. I asked you what you wanted, and you only replied, I want you, mama, before running into me so hard I almost lost my balance. Your emotions, like mine, had finally come to the surface and you were able to just cry for a few moments, exposed as we were. I scooped you up on my lap and we sat for a few minutes, maybe more, just hanging out with each others fears. And then that was it. We love hard, we get hurt hard, but then we just get things done, you and me. You quickly ate your pancake (the ones I had planned the night before) and we all set off for school, you, me, Shira and Papa. Somehow I just knew that I should pack your back-to-school card, and I'm glad I did. You showed it proudly to your new teacher and have barely let go of it since.

There are many good things that come out of such intensity, so please don't ever apologize for that. Do apologize to your sister, however, who four days later is still completely devastated by your departure each morning. I guess you've got it all figured out now, but Shira still feels a bit lost. Thank you for giving her such big hugs after school each day. It brings her so much joy, which helps take some of the edge off of the fact that you run to her first after school, not me.  I don't mind waiting.

She waits all day long for you to come home from school.

I'm not sure if you'll remember this, but the first thing you said to me after school on Tuesday was this: This was the best day ever. Ever.  I think our work here is done. We are quite the team, aren't we?

Love,
mama

And, we're off

On our way to Alyce's last day at school.

Today just felt different. Alyce seems to have loved Junior Kindergarten, and watching her develop friendships with the other kids has been my favourite part of this entire school process. But as much as she loves her friends, and most of the other kindergarten world of circle time, painting, and learning how to insert potty language at every turn, Alyce has almost every day of this school year asked to stay home with me and Shira. I think she feels left out of the party a bit, perhaps deducing from our body language and our secret handshakes that the two of us stay home all day playing princess and eating chocolate ice cream. (We'll never tell.)

Last day of school watermelon sundress courtesy of grandparents!

That is to say that Alyce is Excited for summer vacation. She's thrilled to have the entire summer ahead of all three of us, ready to dive into princesses and ice cream. I think Shira is completely game for Alyce's full time return. While I thought briefly that Shira might miss our time together, just the two of us, I'm fairly certain she's more interested in tagging along after Alyce. I have mixed feelings about the summer, I'll be honest. There's the question of how we'll fill our time for two months. But that's not quite it. I think one of the reasons this end of school year feels so momentous is that we've been waiting months to get back on our feet, out in the world, and that's happening in four days. Our move signals so many things: new jobs, new surroundings, new goals, new fears. After spending more than a year trying to get started fresh in Canada, it's finally happening. I want to jump head first into the awesomeness of all these new opportunities, but at the same time I don't want to scare it away. Some days I'm afraid that if I breathe too easily it might all disappear.

Pigtails courtesy of the softest blonde hair on the planet.

You see we're not crossing over into some fantasy land of high-paying jobs and job security. We are getting ready for a new start, but that doesn't mean it's easy. It feels so exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. What if our plans aren't enough? What if things fall out underneath of us again? What if we're unemployed in a year? Please just give me a moment to collect myself.

This summer. This summer contains the first steps of many our adventures. It marks my first real commitment to staying home with girls while I work part-time, a path I'm choosing because I want to, not because I need to (and I'm grateful to begin this new phase in the busy centre of Toronto). It marks my husband's return to academic life, and I'm fairly certain he's there to stay. It will mark the beginning of my new doula business, something I've been very quiet about while so many details are in the works (but I can't wait to share!). But when I put all of that aside for a moment, more than anything else the coming of another summer, another year, means that our little family has done it again. We're seen one member of our crazy household complete her first year at school. We've seen another one learn to talk. We've celebrated seven years together and five years married. Graduation certificates for everyone!

Bring it on, summer. Let's do this.

P.S. In honour of her last day of school, I packed jelly beans in her lunch. 

P.P.S. My mum and I are also taking her out for a celebratory pancake breakfast tomorrow.

P.P.P.S. And we're moving to Toronto in four days!

Have the greatest of weekends, everyone! 

Anyone else excited about school tomorrow?

That's right, she's back to school tomorrow morning! The entire house is kind of excited. Alyce is all kinds of ready to get back to Kindergarten (or is that just us?) and in preparation for all that learning she's been trying on our glasses. I think you'll agree that this creature of ours is ready to be unleashed on the rest of society again. Let's hear it for the end of winter break!

Hope everyone is as excited for their week to begin tomorrow!

Any big plans?

Dear Maggie

Dear Maggie,

This morning you did something really special for my little Alyce. As you've seen over these past two weeks, Alyce feels really sad when it's time for me to leave her at school. She cries for a very long time, holding on to me as tightly as possible, hoping that I won't leave. I know she likes kindergarten, but saying good-bye and starting a new day at school is tough. But this morning you made a really big difference in Alyce's day when you asked if she'd like to hold your hand and walk into class together. Immediately Alyce's tears stopped and she nodded her head and reached out her hand. The two of you walked into Room 4 and never looked back. Today was a special day.

I know it's been tough for you to say good-bye to your Mama, too. I remember last week when I saw you crying before school. It's hard to let go of people you love, even if it's just for the day. But your empathy this morning made a real difference to my Alyce. Today the two of you walked into class together, older and braver than you were when you arrived at your new school just two weeks ago.

Thank you, Maggie. You made a real difference for me, too.

Love,
Alyce's Mama

Our house, after school

We made it.

The whole gang of us showed up at her Kindergarten class at 3:30 yesterday. Alyce didn't see us right away because she was too busy listening to her teacher and lining up against the wall with her backpack. But when she did spot us she ran over immediately, throwing caution and classroom rules aside, and landed in my arms for the most intense hug I've ever experienced. She didn't say a word for a two or three minutes, just hugged. I could feel all the tension of the day, both good and bad, melt away. I was so very proud of her.

We celebrated the only way Alyce knows how: ice cream. Then slowly, very slowly, we learned about her day. Did you know that she's not allowed to go in the jungle (the woods around her school)? Did you know that she ate lunch at a big table with her friends? And that she walked in a long line to visit the school library? I'm glad to know these things.

Thanks, everybody, for all your good thoughts yesterday. I needed all of them.