Crush

I was all set to offer up a post on how I need to get my act together (in attempts to rediscover my lost energy), but I need to set these selfish matters aside and first share something else with you. Because today I broke my little girl's heart when I accidentally squished her pet bug.

Me and the girls were on our way to run some errands, Shira packed into the stroller and Alyce marching alongside. Alyce, who has recently become obsessed with non-flying bugs (for the love of all things please don't get her started about bees), found a bug on the sidewalk early on in our walk. It was one of these, something I have always called a Potato bug, because it rolls up in a ball when disturbed by a predator such as my daughter. Alyce was instantly smitten with her bug and declared it her pet. I think the feeling was mutual, because little Potato bug immediately uncurled himself and wandered around her tiny hand. We were already on our way to the dollar store to pick up some extra bubbles, and I excitedly told her that we could find a special bug box to make a new home for her new pet. Wasn't that nice of me?

That girl of mine carried that bug for twenty minutes without so much of a squirm or complaint.

We entered the dollar store, where she was instructed to hold on tight to that bug, lest we lose him in the middle of all that plastic and reduced priced candy. We found what we were looking for, a cheap, clear, reusable plastic container, and waited in line to pay. Just before it was our turn in line Alyce, with concern in her voice, piped up: Oops, Mama. Where did my bug go? I stepped aside to help her look for him. Do you see where this is going? Are you preparing yourself?

The bug crunched under my foot. Alyce gasped. I gasped. And then the tears began. Alyce's first words to me (because this was all going on in slow motion, it seemed like hours before she spoke up) were, Mama, why did you kill my bug? Of course she's asking me why. In her mind I would be just as careful around her pet bug as I would be if Shira were underfoot (note: I've stepped on Shira at least a dozen times). I wouldn't step willy-nilly without thinking, so then I must have done that on purpose. Right? But of course I didn't. I treasured that little Potato bug because my Alyce was treasured it so.

Her tears were big and they were real. They were not the "I didn't get what I want" tears, but the "my Mama just crushed my soul" kind. I scooped her up and apologized, reminding her that I was sad, too, that I had accidentally killed her bug. She accepted my apology, wiped her eyes, and explained that the only thing that would make her feel better was candy. Since we were right next door to a Dairy Queen, I did the next best thing: ice cream cones before lunch. All was forgiven.

That didn't stop her from asking me repeatedly on the walk home, why did you kill my bug, Mama? Fortunately, since I was getting tired of answering that question every thirty seconds (I had already grieved and moved on), she was soon preoccupied with filling her new bug box with special things for the new bug we were looking for. And did we find one? Yes we did. He was named Princess Bug.

What do you do for your children when you crush their spirits? Ice cream is my usual, go-to fix for all serious troubles.

***

(At the time of this writing, one hour later, Princess Bug escaped her clutches and is currently hiding under the deck. Alyce is taking a rest now from bug hunting, but she's promised to find another. I'll watch where I step from now on.)

Catching up from the weekend

Hello, Monday! It's that time again. Time to get yourself ready for the week, write a new list (or three), and get your act together. Or, maybe that's just me.

But first, how was your weekend? My weekend was delightful. A birthday party for Shira and the best Mother's Day on record were the highlights, but our weekend also included finishing season one of Sons of Anarchy, our new favourite show (have you seen it?), and some very delicious food. The weather was everything I dreamed May would be: sunny, warm, but not too warm, a little breezy, and flowers blooming at every turn.

I also spent the usual time nursing Shira, who at two years old is showing no signs of weaning. That's cool with me, we're good. I'm curious what her doctor will say today at her two-year check-up. When I took Alyce for her 18-month check up a few years ago the nurse practitioner told me that I should stop breastfeeding. What? I'm not sure if she was just misinformed, or offering terrible advice just because she's not a fan of breastfeeding a toddler. Whatever, we kept on nursing.

Speaking of extended breastfeeding, here is an incredible post on how breastfeeding helped a four year old girl recover from a difficult and stressful surgery. See Yes, she's 4, and yes, she's still breastfeeding over at Normal, Like Breathing. (Thank you, Jo, for passing this along!)

Last week was a busy one, so I also spent some time this weekend catching up on Reader. Here's what I found:

Helen Jane's Solutions for a painful internet. Really, this is a must-read for anyone who spends time online.

Anyone want to join me in an online cookbook club? The first book is  The Language of Baklava, by Diana Abu-Jaber. This club comes from the same woman who inspired my own cookbook club, and I'm excited to get reading.

A simple recipe, but a great one. Baked brown rice? It was the perfect companion to roasted veggies, some fresh sprouts, and some feta cheese.  I'll be making this again soon.

I'll be making these asparagus and gruyere tarts this week.


What are your plans for the week?

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Celebrating Two

Yesterday we celebrated Shira turning two. There were party dresses, cake, presents, balloons, and a few family and friends. It was a small gathering perfect to mark this very special day. Shira beamed.

We don't have a baby anymore, Matt told me last night after the girls were tucked in bed. I ignored him for a minute. I was unwilling to concede that detail. But he's right. We don't have a baby anymore. We have two children, four and two. Do you know how I can tell that Shira is no longer a baby? Because I watch her take comfort in people who aren't my boobs me. For the first two years she was all mine, breastfeeding or not. She turned to me for almost everything.
 

I think I'm witnessing the very beginnings of a transition in her, a move away from me and Matt and toward her sister. No, this isn't where I start sobbing that my baby is leaving me, because she will never leave me as such. She came from me, she is me. But the relationship that is growing between her and Alyce is something apart from me. I don't understand it because I have never experienced it, but I have my suspicions. There is so much emotion between the two of, so much intensity. They argue (oh how they argue), they manipulate, they scheme, they giggle so hard they lose their breath. At four and two (see, there it is again) they already have a special language, and I'm not included. Is this how it all begins?

Shira was the star of her birthday, and Alyce, devastated as she was that it wasn't her birthday, was excited to celebrate with her. Even when it was clear that Alyce's skin was crawling with birthday envy, she took joy in Shira's day. And maybe even one day, one day far into the future, Shira will let Alyce play with her new dollhouse.

Maybe.

P.S. If you are interested in Shira's birth story you can find it here.

And she's two

Shira Clementine makes my heart swell each and every day, even when I'm exhausted and irritated. Today she is two. Here is a list of things she enjoys: Alyce, butterflies, farm animals, lentils, hats, princesses, marching, painting, breastfeeding, and cake. I could go on all day but then you would surely roll your eyes and wonder why it was that you even joined me here.

She's excited about her birthday, but let me be clear: this birthday is really all about her parents. At two years old her birth is still fresh in my mind and I find myself daydreaming about my labour and what it felt like when she finally emerged. In case you are interested: a lot of pain, worry, a little panic, relief, delight, heartache (the good kind), euphoria, and hunger, in that order.

The harder memories, like the isolation I felt when she was born so many hours away from friends and family, are more distant. Instead I am grateful for the generous visitors we did have, who traveled very far, not just to meet Shira, but to offer us support. These visitors might not remember much about their trip to Delaware two years ago, but when I think of Shira's birth I think of them, too. Thank you doesn't quite cover it.

***

We are having a very small party tomorrow afternoon with some friends and their two young children. Today it is just me and the girls, as it is most days. I've spent the day baking this yellow butter cake and cupcakes, and even though we're saving most of the celebrations for tomorrow, the three of us shared a pink birthday cupcake this afternoon, candle and all. Now I'm off to assemble a wooden dollhouse for a certain two year old (please don't spoil the surprise)!

On limits and freedoms

Yesterday we found worms. Alyce dug them up in the garden and carried them around the backyard for a solid forty-five minutes, disappointed by my decision against worms as indoor pets. Shira, too, was excited by the worms in Alyce's hands and followed her around the backyard like only an almost two-year old can. Did I mention they were both in their jammies? Oh, I love non-school days. On the surface I look forward to school days because I get some time to myself to work while Shira is napping (like at this very moment), but there is something I love about hanging around with these two. I'm learning a lot from them, and not just about worms.

I'm learning a lot from others, too. After my post the other day about my resemblance to a lazy slug, my cousin, Lisa, reached out with some advice. She's an incredible mother to a one year old boy and I take what she says very seriously (she once took me white water rafting, and we didn't die, so I've learned to trust her). She told me never to stop moving during my days at home with the girls, and I think she's on to something. Not that our bodies don't need a break sometimes, but since energy often boils down to momentum, it seems like a good idea to preserve it once you've got it.

It's been making me think about my experiences working outside the home. I've never had an office job (and since I'm trying hard to forget that terrible office temp work I did in the fall, I'm sticking to my version of history), but I've worked plenty hard in other jobs. I've been a server in a bar and fine dining restaurant. I've spent years in libraries reading, writing, and trying desperately to translate Sanskrit and Tibetan (I was terrible at that job). I've taught university classes, in person and online, to hundreds of students. In all of these jobs I've often worked hard and fast, allowing the momentum to push me through hours of work that I didn't always enjoy. In these jobs I had clearly outlined tasks that kept me busy and I think all the uncertainty I've experienced in the past few years has stood in the way of the momentum that comes from becoming absorbed in the work that you do.

I've been reading a lot lately about how to balance the scales between limits and freedoms. Creativity is the outcome of this balance. If you have too many limits there isn't any room for movement in any direction, but too much freedom can be paralyzing. Lately I've become a bit of an expert on the latter and I've felt frustrated when so many (good-intentioned) people have told me just to enjoy myself, to take advantage of all the time at home with my family. But they were right in many ways and from the outside they could see things I couldn't. Staying home with Alyce and Shira is a choice I've made, given both the reality of our (un)employment this past year and my own preference to spend as much time as I can with them while they are so young. The reason I was so often deaf to my friends' advice was that everything felt so unbalanced: I had so much freedom and no tangible limits, outside, of course, the financial limits imposed by months of unemployment.

Staying busy, for me, means finding that balance. If I want to enjoy some momentum I need to declare some limits amidst all my freedom. When I find myself feeling energy-less it is often because I just don't know which direction to move in. The girls want to play, I need to put in a few hours for work and plan dinner (usually for the entire house), plans need to made for our impending move out of my mum's, and, now, I need to complete my certification to become a labour doula. My perspective this last year, feeling a bit helpless as Matt and I try to navigate a new stability for our family, has stood in the way. As simple as it may sound, I have been unable to declare my intentions for my life in such a way as to live within both limits and freedoms. I've been floating around and unwilling to commit to the realities of our life, both the good and bad. Why have I done this? Fear, uncertainty, mostly fear. But without this balance I've been useless to myself.

Staying busy, listening to Lisa's advice, means staking a claim in the life I have right now. I am a mother staying at home who works part-time as a teacher and, hopefully, as a labour doula. This is where I am, so I need to stop wandering. I love all of these things but I need to remember that some days. When Lisa offered her advice she suggested that I just get up in the morning and start moving. Take the girls out on a bug walk, she said. Spend the morning outside. And so I did. We found worms and I had a fabulous day.

Listen to Lisa. Go find some worms

What you missed last week

 

• A trip to Riverdale Farm in downtown Toronto. We traveled into the city one day last week with Matt, and while he was working we enjoyed the most beautiful little farm in the centre of an otherwise very busy city. Also: I took Matt to the Riverdale farm on our first (sort of) date in 2005. He didn't know it was a date, but I did.
• Shira napped and I took a walk in the woods near Alyce's school one morning.
• I baked two loaves of pumpkin bread, one for home and one to charm my new classmates at the doula training I began last weekend. Yes, I am on my way to becoming a labour doula (I'll fill you in on that a little bit later) and I can't wait. It's a good way to spend my time this year. Anyone looking for a doula?

• There were many trips to the library. One of my favourite parts of the day is watching Alyce put her bed together each night, carefully placing her best library books in the just the right spot. Also on her bed: Bear and Mrs. Bear, a hair brush, a drawing of her best friend, a valentine, and a certificate she received after a hard morning of entomology training at Kindergarten last week.
• Alyce learned to feed pigeons. 
• We hosted a party for my grandfather (Mary Alyce's husband) this weekend and celebrated his eightieth birthday. At eighty years old my grandfather gardens all day long, has learned to cook for the first time in his life, and is not above playing baby stroller with Alyce.

• Took Alyce and Shira out for breakfast while we were visiting Toronto. 
• Sought refuge at a friend's house after a long day of errands with The Children. I love having friends who let you throw your kids in the tub with their kids.

Now it's a new week. I'm excited for some new beginnings and I'm already working on some strategies for rediscovering my energy. Do you have any suggestions? What works for you?

Raise your hand if you wish you had more energy?

Shira rests, briefly.

I spend most of days around two wee ones with more combined energy than, well, anything I've ever known. I'm sure all of you with young children feel the same way, and wonder, as I do, what it is that we're feeding these kids. Where does all the energy come from? They just don't ever stop. They fill their days (actually) hopping from one new discovery to the next, running instead of walking, skipping instead of strolling, talking instead of breathing. The world is so big, so exciting, that they can't contain their passion for living. Exhausted as I am some days, I am grateful to be in the proximity of this energy. Lately, instead of feeling overwhelmed by their endurance, I am feeling just a little bit motivated by it.

I have been in hiding lately. But I needed some time to realize that their energy could motivate me instead of just making me very, very tired.

I have tried so many times in the past couple of weeks to share things on this blog, and every time I've fallen short of putting two words together. Yes, life is busy and gets in the way, but life is always busy. It always gets in the way. No, it isn't just about not having the time. It has more to do with not having enough of a voice. I'm not quite sure how to put into words how I'm feeling lately, how to talk about my days, or how to imagine what I want for the future. I feel a bit stalled, stuck in place. Each time I try to speak or write I draw a blank. For someone who has as much to say about the world as I do, it comes as a surprise. But amidst all of the good things, life can still feel overwhelming.

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I've suffered from depression before, particularly when Alyce was young and I was isolated from my familiar friends and family while we lived in Delaware. That was tough, and for now I'll leave it at that. Today, this time, it feels different. Instead of depression I feel more as though I resemble a slug.

I am without energy. We are planning for the future, I am working on new projects (like the online course I finally start teaching tomorrow), and I am adapting more and more to staying home with The Children. Of course some days are harder than others, especially those days when the three of us are stuck home, inside, feeling a bit stir-crazy, but most days it's good. In spite of these blessings, I am still slug-like. I feel incapable of enjoying so much of my day because my stores of energy, both mental and physical, are low. I've tried to acquire more energy from the sheer force of will alone, but it's not working, and I'm just left with a hurting brain (willing requires extreme concentration, but I'm just too tired to concentrate that hard. See above re: slug). It turns out that I'm actually going to have to do something different. I need to make some changes.

I'm in a rut. In some ways I was pushed into this rut on account of some very practical life details, such as moving countries, unemployment, living with my mum and stepfather for the past six months (which, of course, I am eternally grateful for), and I accept that I have been challenged a bit more than I've wanted to in the past year. But I know who I am and somewhere underneath all of these challenges is a person who is optimistic, passionate, and confident. I know these things are not lost and I'm desperate to make an effort to rediscover these things. This rut has been in the making for a long time now, and I need to speak up for myself again. Of course I speak all the time (overshare much, Danielle?) but it is a particular voice I fear I've lost lately. A voice that is confident enough to declare what I want in my life instead of feeling silenced by, well ... I'm not exactly sure what has silenced me.

I have a few ideas. I spend a lot of time apologizing for past mistakes and focusing on mistakes is a surefire way to suck out a person's confidence (take it from me). The problem is that it's hard to stop apologizing. Of course I'd rather think about new opportunities, and I really am an optimist, but it's a bit of a vicious cycle: as soon as my confidence started to waiver I would worry more about mistakes I'd made in the past because I was quickly convincing myself that I was incapable of doing things differently. I was soon convincing myself that I would always make the wrong decision (such as staying in a graduate program I wasn't happy in) or planning poorly for my family (not saving money for what turned out to be a year-long emergency of unemployment). And these mistakes I'm apologizing for? These go back years, not just the past year or two. I still have guilt about decisions I made in high school. Could I be more ridiculous?  If I keep up this way my confidence doesn't stand a chance.

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I follow Andrea over at Superhero Journal because I am consistently inspired by the way she lives her life. With confidence. With excitement. Always with purpose. I have all of these things, but sometimes I forget where I keep them. She has a tradition wherein she chooses one word for the upcoming year, a way for her to focus on her goals, to direct her steps, so to speak. She usually chooses this word at the beginning of the year (one year her word was thrive), and as much as I have wanted to follow in her footsteps and start the year off with some focus of my own, I've been stuck. Four months it has taken me to come up with my word. (Remember? Slug.)

Vibrant. Vigorous. Lively. Vital.

I am craving some vibrancy in my life again. The word vibrant, or, rather, my word vibrant (because I am choosing it for myself, to play with for the next year), can remind me what I crave so very much in my life. It isn't something I can have, but something I need to feel. Losing my confidence made me feel powerless, and feeling powerless stole my energy, allowing for sometimes-bad habits to turn into all-the-time-terrible habits.

So I have my word, my magic. Now I need to find out what is contributing to my lack of energy, practically speaking, and then banish those things from my life. (Except The Children. They are my muses. Exhausting muses.) Having declared my intention to feel vibrant again, I am now working on an inventory of things (both physical and emotional) in my life that threaten to steal my confidence or deplete my energy. I am not a slug. I can do this.

Next step? A list of energy-stealing offenders. You know I love a good list. Coming soon.