The Knitty Gritty Homestead

{this moment}: the pianist

2012-02-10T07:27:00.000-05:00

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour and remember.

If you feel inspired to share your own moment, or to see more from others, visit Soulemama's blog.

Have an inspired weekend!

Show 'Em the Love

2012-02-09T08:48:00.000-05:00

I whipped these up in about half an hour, using fabric and paper scraps. Thanks to this blogging mama for the idea!

Love Tree

2012-02-08T06:56:00.000-05:00

I was born two days before Valentine's Day. My memories of this day are entwined with the taste of cinnamon hearts on a white birthday cake, my sisters waving red and pink balloons at me as I got off the school bus, and all those construction paper heart crafts we used to make at school. I also loved those little punch-out "seals" our teachers used to stick on our papers with lace and violets and hearts. And paper doilies? Love 'em.

I love Valentine's Day. It bugs me when people rant about commercialism and consumerism because in my mind, no one is forcing anyone to go out and buy a dozen roses or a box of chocolates or Hallmark cards. In my mind, there is nothing bad about a day where we focus our hearts on love. We should and do express our love every day, but in this house, we'll take any and every excuse for a party: decorations, homemade cards, love letters, and heart-shaped cupcakes with pink icing. I say YES to all of the above.

Still, I don't have time to create heart-shaped quilted pot-holders or knit a pile of heart pillows. Holiday decor in this house must be a)quick, b)simple, and c) thrifty.

I had my kids help me generate a list of people and animals we love. It went something like this:

Me: Margot, who is someone you love?

Margot: Nanny.

Me: Violet, who do you love?

Violet: Sarah and Jamie.

Me: Margot, who else do you love?

Margot: Nanny.

(Margot and my mom have a real thing going on...it's DEEP love).

After lots of prompting and thinking, we came up with this list:

I used my tag-punch, but you could just cut rectangles of paper. I used a silver pen to write every person/animal on our list on the tags. Then, I hole-punched them, threaded a ribbon through them, and let the girls hang them on a branch we found outside.

Voila! Simple, and thrifty, and so eloquent.

I hope your Love Tree is positively bedecked with tags bearing the names of loved ones!

Chicken Coop Surprise

2012-02-07T08:40:00.000-05:00

We've been fortunate in our chicken farming experiences, in that our hens continue laying faithfully throughout the dark days of winter. I hear of farms where there are few eggs to be had when the daylight hours are scarce. We collect every day at about ten o'clock, wash any really dirty eggs (which are few and far between), and plan the week's egg meals.

Sometimes this daily rhythm is shaken up by a surprise, like this tiny egg we found the other day. The girls were delighted, and Jude was convinced that there was a wee little chicken inside it. Then they decided we should fry it up. Jude ate it with ketchup and claimed it tasted just right.

Portraits on a Snowy Day

2012-02-06T06:22:00.000-05:00

Our farm is small by Ottawa Valley standards, where 100 acres seems to be a minimum requirement for using the title, farm. We have just under four acres; for us, it is just enough. We have fenced pastures, a few good barns, a pond, and a rough cedar bush that is just the right size for our small children's explorations and adventures. The smallest one doesn't last long out there (seeing as how the snow is up to her chest), so I trade places with Daddy when he brings her in for her nap.

I find a few snowy wood-folk out amongst the old cedars; these children are made of sturdier stuff, and would play all day in the snow if hot chocolate didn't call their names from time to time.

This one smiles shyly for the camera, and my heart is captured once again, as deeply as it was on the day I met her for the very first time.

And of course, the barn cat follows us on all outdoor adventures, hoping for a rub around the ears. He always gets lots of loving when we're outside with him.

I am flooded by memories of my own childhood: endless wanders out to "the bush" behind our house, following trails we created with our travels to landmarks we'd named: Dead Man's Tree, Rabbit Hill, Mayflower Field, The Great Pine. I remember our dad taking us on winter hikes to the old mining property in Quebec where he spent his childhood; he'd make a fire, and we'd cook hotdogs and warm up hot chocolate. I remember steering myself, on skates, around poplar trees and grassy mounds on the edges of a frozen lake.

I've always been more of a stay-inside-and-knit kinda gal, while others go on outdoor adventures. This winter, though, something has shifted in me. I'm craving the joy of skating on an outdoor rink at night. I want to make a fire in the snow and cook lunch for my children. I want the roses to be on my cheeks and the snow in my hair, too.

::this moment::yogurt for breakfast

2012-02-03T06:50:00.000-05:00

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour and remember.

Visit Soulemama's blog to see more moments, and to share a link to your own!

Have a restful weekend.

Grab Your Camera

2012-02-02T06:35:00.000-05:00

You will go downstairs to find your whole living room floor spattered with green paint. In times like these, the best thing you can do for yourself and for your children is to just get the camera.

You can also teach your children about the artist Jackson Pollock, and add a new verb to your family lexicon: pollocked, as in "The bathroom mirror has been pollocked with toothpaste".

The next day, I create an environment where my children can play with this new verb, showing them how to "sprinkle" paint with an old toothbrush, then cutting them loose to make a mess of their own design.

Each painting has its own signature, and reveals the age and personality of each creator.

My son's face has been pollocked by nature, but Margot's has a bit more colour after her artistic explorations. Violet's use of a cotton swab dipped in paint mysteriously results in her bellybutton being full of paint. The messy fun ends with a warm bath, and a reminder that in order to preserve our art, we should splatter paint on paper rather than the floor (towel, sink, etc.).

Words to take away from this post? Grab your camera. It's saved me from missing out on the fun and spontaneity of childhood many times (when I might have yelled and reprimanded) by encouraging me to document my children's doings and thinking about the clean-up later. These are the moments that will make me smile when they are all grown up and flown from the nest.

Yarn Along

2012-02-01T05:57:00.000-05:00

Joining in with Ginny over at Small Things for this week's Yarn Along.

As usual, I have several things on the needles, and several books on the go: one fiction, one non-fiction.

On the needles are some nifty legwarmers, a gift for my friend over at Wabi Sabi Wanderings. They're made with Tahki's "Donegal Tweed". You may recognize the yarn; I bought 11 skeins of it to make a sweater for myself, and instead use it for all kinds of small things (like baby sweaters, hats, and legwarmers). The other ball of yarn is Fame Trend's "Party", which will hopefully enjoy its new incarnation as rainbow socks before winter is out (I finished my Noro Kureyon socks and have worn them daily ever since. They are officially my favourite socks ever). If you're a knitter intimidated by the idea of making socks, please find someone who can help you with the tricky bits. There is really nothing like them! If you are a local friend and want to learn, you know who to call...

My sweet friend Rachel sent me Haruki Murakami's The Wind Up Bird Chronicle in the mail. Isn't it delightful to receive a book in the mail from a friend who knows your tastes in such things? This is unlike anything I've read and has me thinking about all kinds of philosophical concepts that I haven't thought about before. This is fun for my brain!

Non-fiction is a bit harder to get through. Gut and Psychology Syndrome by Dr. Natasha Campbell-McBride describes a natural, diet-based treatment for all kinds of conditions (autism, schizophrenia, ADHD, ADD, Dyspraxia, depression, etc.) It's fascinating to explore the idea that by changing your diet, you can actually heal from many conditions that experts consider incurable. It's controversial because it flies in the face of research that suggest the MMR vaccine has nothing to do with autism, and draws a very clear connection between digestive and mental health. I'm considering following the GAPS diet in order to heal Jude's digestive system, but need to read the whole book first. It is a costly book; if you want more information before buying it, do send me an email and I can give you more background.

(Thanks to my sister Julie for getting this one for me!)

What are you reading/knitting these days?

roadside attraction

2012-01-31T07:50:00.000-05:00

Some people stop to smell the roses.

One of my favourite things to do when the stars align (ie. when I'm alone in my car, am not rushing to be somewhere, and have my camera at hand) is to stop to pet the livestock.

I was busy being nuzzled by one horse, when the thunder of hooves made me look up to see this fellow coming to check out this stranger in a toque.

With much whuffling and snorting, he greeted his fellow-horse, and called the small herd of highland cows that were resting nearby to attention.

(I need a bumper sticker that reads, "I Brake For Highland Cows"). The horse started interacting a little more feistily, so the cows decided to wander off to whiter pastures. They were kind enough to stop and pose for me.

Then the horses went all wild-west on me, rearing up, hoofing at each other (is this a verb?), alternately pooping and sniffing each others' poop.

In the Ottawa Valley, this is what we call a Roadside Attraction.

Mistakes Made Right: Valentine's Craft

2012-01-30T08:08:00.000-05:00

At the arts retreat I attended last week, I took part in a watercolour session where we learned a lot of basic techniques in a short period of time. The amazing local artist who taught the session was full of confidence, praise, patience, and a "so what?" kind of attitude that allowed us to try stuff without fear of doing it "wrong".

I've always been a high-achiever, and have been hard on myself if I don't like the results of something I've made. I'm growing as the years pass, however, and am learning to create just for art's sake; it's about forgiveness, and a sense of humour, and reinforces my New Year's Resolution to be gentle with myself.

I was content with the waterscape, but not happy with the results of the birch tree study.

What I took away from Joyce's class was that it's OKAY to not like what you've created. It doesn't negate the experience or the learning that takes place when you just do it, or the joy of just putting a paint-loaded brush to paper.

A few days after the retreat, I decided to just make something I liked out of the birch tree painting. So I cut it up.

With Valentine's Day just around the corner, I needed something beautiful to hang along my window. I cut the painting up into hearts, then glued them together back-to-back with a ribbon in between.

My painting looks quite beautiful in its new incarnation, wouldn't you say?

These little hearts hang at varying lengths, and look so pretty against the white backdrop that is our winter landscape.

You don't have to love everything you make, and you certainly don't have to frame it.

But re-imagining it can bring new eyes to your experience as an artist. Just be brave. Get out the scissors. As Shel Silverstein says,

“Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
'Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain't been there before.”

All art needn't be high art. Sometimes it can just be something simple, something beautiful, that you create with your own hands to tape to the window frame.

::this moment::knitting circle::

2012-01-27T07:04:00.002-05:00

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour and remember.

Pop by Soulemama's blog to visit other moments and to share your own.

Have a peaceful, weekend with lots of rest, knitting, and reading in it!

A Child's Work

2012-01-26T07:50:00.000-05:00

The Kindergarten curriculum in Ontario supports the belief that playing is a child's work. All the planning I do is focussed on play-based learning, where the children freely explore open-ended activities that will help scaffold future learning. We've all seen this in action in observing our own children's play at home. Children learn through real life experiences, helping with chores, visiting friends and neighbours, and interacting with their siblings in imaginative play.

Play is a vital part of a child's development and sense of self, of finding their place in the world, and especially of learning.

And so, every evening, I struggle when Jude gets home from school. I empty out his backpack, and see the words, "Math, Spelling, Reading" written in his agenda. He groans as I pull a math sheet out of the backpack. The loose guideline given to teachers in regards to how much homework a child should have is "ten minutes per grade". So, grade one students should have work that takes ten minutes.

This is the guideline.

I've always been a bit of a rebel when it comes to sending home work from school. Even before I had children of my own, I felt that I was somehow invading the child's home life with "leftovers" from school. I knew that as an adult, I just wanted to go home and be off at the end of the day, and had a strict: work at work, play at home policy for myself. I should clarify that I did send home work if a student had spent the school day goofing off; the deal in my classroom was that we should use the time at school for working and learning, so that when they got home they could do what they wanted to do.

Alfie Kohn states "I discovered that decades of investigation have failed to turn up any evidence that homework is beneficial for students in elementary school. Even if you regard standardized test results as a useful measure, homework (some versus none, or more versus less) isn’t even correlated with higher scores at these ages. The only effect that does show up is more negative attitudes on the part of students who get more assignments."

You can read more here.

I'm in the unique position of being a teacher, and parent of child in my school. I found myself arguing, fighting, bribing, and cajoling my child into completing work every night (that took at least 30 minutes); by the end of it, we were both cross and exhausted. In a typical school day, I have my son for about three hours. I began to resent the fact that we spent a sixth of that precious time struggling through more work.

Homework frustrations are compounded when your child has a learning difficulty. I dreaded this time together, which in turn broke my heart, and turned me into a task-master.

Alfie Kohn's article gave me the confidence to write a note to Jude's teacher (who is also my colleague, and wonderful teacher) today. I feel it is not in Jude's (or our family's) best interest to spend our time together fighting through homework. I agreed that we would continue to work on his spelling words, reading, and a science project on Dingoes, but that all else would have to wait.

We also practise piano and stepdancing in the evenings, and encourage the kids to run upstairs and play their sibling-imagination games. We often do puzzles, play board games, wrestle, cuddle up and read, and watch movies together.

The other incident that inspired me to write was that Jude tearfully told us last night that he was held back from gym because he'd done some work "wrong". Granted, he had a supply teacher; we've already clearly expressed to his teacher that we don't want him missing gym or recess for any reason.

There is an art to expressing concerns to your child's teacher. Often, his/her actions are dictated by the powers that be; most schools have policies regarding homework and protocol in regards to work completion. I have been at the receiving end of parents who express their concerns by shouting at me, writing nasty notes, or emailing the principal without talking to me first. Here's a quick guide, off the top of my head, to dealing with concerns:

1. Give the teacher the benefit of the doubt. Breathe deeply, and keep calm. Shouting in his/her face isn't likely to be effective, as it will create a feeling of defensiveness which is never helpful.

2. Try to get a clear picture of what happened from your child, without judging the teacher or bad-mouthing him/her. One of the biggest struggles a teacher faces is being expected to manage a classroom of children whose parents have no respect for the teacher, and have expressed that to their children.

3. Avoid the "sneak attack" (waiting outside the classroom in the morning, or showing up unannounced through the day). Write a note or call the school expressing that you'd like to meet with the teacher, giving a brief synopsis of your concerns (e.g. "I have some concerns about the amount of homework Jude is receiving; could we meet to talk about what we can do together to support his learning?")

4. Be respectful of your child's teacher, as you would of any other professional. Yes, they are caring for your most precious person, and are paid by taxes that you pay. Your doctor also plays this role, but I imagine doctors receive less aggression than teachers do. This does not give you the right to shout at, insult, or attack them verbally. You'll get much further with honey than with vinegar, if you know what I mean.

You'll do more for your child's success at school by maintaining an open dialogue with their teacher than you will by creating a dynamic where the teacher feels that you're going to argue with every decision he/she makes.

By expressing your concerns and questions respectfully, you're modelling problem-solving and conflict-resolution for your child.

So. This morning I'm feeling a bit more peaceful, having expressed my concerns in a way that acknowledges my child's teacher's professional judgement, but also establishes my role as care-giver of my child. I want him to have time in the evenings to help with the wood, examine chicken bones from dinner with his magnifying glass, draw pictures, and just dream. Childhood is such a fleeting time; there is plenty of time to train children to be "good little workers".

In the meantime, I'm still trying to figure out how we might fit in a year or two of homeschooling in the coming years.

This post was supposed to be about homework. It's evolved into something else. Most of my "rant" posts are like this; I don't write a draft, edit, the rewrite...it's all off the cuff.

Yarn Along

2012-01-25T07:47:00.000-05:00

I'm joining in with Ginny at Small Things for her weekly Yarn Along!

The socks I started last January (toe-up, magic loop, two at a time up to the heel) are within three rounds of being DONE. I wanted them for my birthday last February. But other little projects butted in line and now I'm finishing them, a year later. I have a skein of Fame Trend "Party" for my next pair of socks, because I'll admit; I'm officially obsessed with hand-knit socks.

I usually have two books on the go: one non-fiction, for picking up here and there through the day, and one fiction for those moments before I pass out at night. "Root Cellaring" is a great guide to get you started on the road to keeping that homegrown produce through the winter. "Bride of New France" is a historical fiction, drawing on the stories of young women from France who were shipped to Canada in the 1600s to marry soldiers and populate the new colony. These women were often orphans, prostitutes, and other unwanted members of French society, and had no idea of the hardships they'd have to endure to gain a foothold in early Canada. The protagonist, Laure, is a bit more courageous and unconventional than her fellow travellers; at this point, they're still on the ship and have just started spotting the icebergs near "Terre Neuve" (Newfoundland). I'm excited to find out how she fares in the land of "snow, savages, and wild beasts".

Now it's time for me to get ready for work! Have a wonderful day, knitting, reading, working...whatever your day holds (hopefully a bit of everything)!

GratiTuesday: Art Matters

2012-01-24T06:34:00.000-05:00

Once a year I gather with a group of wild women, shy and boisterous, artsy and not-sure-if-they're artsy. We spent a weekend together, teaching each other and learning from each other. Sometimes we share our gifts in formal sessions, and in the quiet spaces between scheduled sessions, we teach each other songs, how to cast on, and how to live with joy.

This year I presented a guitar workshop, as well as a belly dance session. I knit a few more inches on those darn socks that seem like they'll never be finished (I started them at last year's gathering...)

Once again, I was drawn to the drumming workshop. This year, I asked the question that had been whispering at me: can I try the djuns? With the patience and encouragement of that sweet teacher to my left, I had it.

Her wisest words to me when I kept saying that I have no rhythm, that my husband is the drummer, that I can't coordinate my hands were:

That's the past. Why talk about it anymore?

So. In this present moment, I do have rhythm. I am a djun player, albeit a beginner.

This retreat stretches the limits of who I think I am, year after year. I come home replenished, confident, and certain that the arts will be the saving grace in this troubled world. I am reminded of the magic that is conjured when women gather together creatively in a place of support and love.

I am so very thankful.

Goat Love: Part 2

2012-01-23T10:10:00.001-05:00

I've always loved workshops, studios, places where people create. I especially love when people create right in their homes, so that the tools of their trade and the fruits of their labour are all around.

There's a beauty to the order that people create when they make lots of any one thing: socks, toys, candles, or in this case, soap! Homemade shelves, systems to keep track of what's what, handwritten labels, and baskets and bins of their products characterize the home workplace.

When you walk into the home of Opeongo Mountain Meadow Soap, the first thing that hits you is the beautiful scent of lavender, and the many other essential oils that go into making Laurie and Jack's beautiful soaps. This is a special scent for me, as we gave away their soap as favours at our wedding.

Their house is simple, warm, and inviting; cats come to greet us, heat radiates from the woodstove, and baskets of onions and garlic adorn the kitchen wall. This home has all the charm and quirks of a house built by hand, and we feel welcome as soon as we enter.

I ask to use the washroom, and am directed through a snowdrift to the outdoor privy. Did I mention that it was -25 degrees Celsius when we visited? It gives a whole new meaning to the expression "freezing your ass off"...

Perhaps my admiration of home-studios comes from a deep-seated desire to have one myself. The dream of working in jeans, having lunch in my own kitchen, sitting to work in the light from a window to craft something useful and beautiful and unique with my hands is almost too dear to me to dare express it out loud.

I love to ask about the leap the artist took to start a home business, and the answer is often the same: "We had no idea it would get this busy. We just wanted to use up our extra goat milk/wool/wood". A hobby turns into a livelihood in small steps, and most craftspeople I speak to seem incredulous that they're actually doing it.

I get daunted by the details: Could I? Should I? What if I don't make any money? This is foolish...I have a great career! It would be crazy to not use my university degree.

Then I think of the fleetingness of time, and the relative shortness of this life here on earth, and I wonder...maybe I should just give it a try with no expectations, and see what happens. Maybe someday I could be the incredulous one, wondering how my little hobby grew into a successful little business!

I am inspired by these craftspeople who spend the day working in their home, heating up soup for lunch, petting their cat now and then, coming up with innovative ways to use the space they have. They help me to keep dreaming when I become too serious, and give me hope that someday, I might just try it myself.

Do you work out of your home, or dream about it? Tell me a bit about it in the comments section!

::this moment::

2012-01-20T06:33:00.000-05:00

::one photo, no words; one moment from the past week that I'd like to pause, savour, and enjoy in the years to come::

Visit www.soulemama.com to see other moments and to share a link to your own!

Have a wonderful, wintry weekend!

Goat Love: Part 1

2012-01-19T07:35:00.000-05:00

I felt curious about goats the other day, so I asked Jude and Violet if they wanted to go for a road tour.

Laurie and Jack run their business, Opeongo Mountain Meadow Soap out of their home just off the Opeongo Line.

The view is beautiful, and the goats?

Well. It didn't take much to convince my kids that what our little farm needs is a few goats. They just spent some time with Laurie's kids.

I was sold on the idea when we tasted some of Laurie's goat cheese, and drank some fresh goat milk. An hour after Jude drank the goat milk, he reported that he had no bloating, cramps, or gas. This is the kid who hasn't had dairy since he turned two. To say I'm thrilled would be understating my excitement.

As if these faces aren't enough to convince anyone of the charms of goats...

Now we're on the lookout now for a couple of does of our own. Store-bought, pasteurized goats milk tastes...well, kind of goaty. Fresh from the goat, however, it is sweet and mild.

What's not to love? Time to start reinforcing fences.

the musical fruit

2012-01-18T06:24:00.000-05:00

I'm involved in a whirlwind romance. With beans. Dried beans, to be exact.

I always have jars of them in my kitchen. They look so pretty, all colour and texture, shape and size! But the other day, after a visit with a friend during which she gifted me with these charmingly (and aptly) named Orca beans,

I got those jars out and took a new look at them. I think what always put me off about dried beans is the planning and time involved in preparing them. It always just seemed easier to open a can.

But now all I can think about is beans. Growing them. Soaking them. Simmering them. Sprouting them. Making them into delicious things: dips, soups, or baked beans! In addition to being nutritious, delicious, and versatile, they're cheap AND easy to grow! I got my Terra Edibles catalogue in the mail yesterday and will definitely be checking out their bean selection for this summer's garden.

Beans take care of themselves in the garden. If you just leave them on their stalks, they'll dry right up; for good measure, you can uproot the whole plant once they've dried, and hang them in your barn or basement to finish drying. Then your kids can help unveil the little treasures inside the pods! Store them for eating, and save a few for next year...what could be easier (besides, ahem, opening a can)?

In the past week I've made Black Bean Cilantro Dip (from Jae Steele's Get It Ripe), Yellow Split Pea Soup (from Sarah Kramer's La Dolce Vegan), mung bean sprouts, and split pea and ham soup. Oh, and baked navy beans, too!

I find that soaking the beans overnight, then boiling for one to two hours softens them sufficiently for most recipes. In Feeding the Whole Family, Cynthia Lair recommends cooking your beans with a piece of the sea vegetable kombu. Sea vegetables aren't easy to come by in these parts, but apparently they soften the beans and reduce their flatulent effects!

That little handful of Orca beans made me feel like Jack must have when he bought the magic beans (before his mother berated him for his poor bargaining skills, of course).

Now I'm hooked on beans as I journey towards a healthier, more whole way of eating.

Christmas Card Garland

2012-01-17T08:05:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me to take a picture of this unexpectedly pretty and tidy corner the other day. I liked the simplicity of it.

The rocking chair was a gift from my parents, made by hand by my Grade Nine English teacher, who uses only traditional wood-working tools and local trees to create his beautiful work.

The quilt was made by me, and I never tire of its rustic plaids and sweet little pine trees.

The poster I got in Montreal after I saw it in a friend's apartment. It's travelled with me for almost fifteen years now, and suits every room I've hung it in.

The garland? Well, that you can make, if you haven't thrown out all those Christmas cards yet!

I can't even remember where I saw this idea. If you did it on your blog last year, let me know and I'll link to you!

Simply trace around the top of a mason jar to create circles out of the most interesting part of our old Christmas cards . Cut them out and hole-punch them on two sides. Then thread a ribbon through them, linking them all together.

So simple, right? And thrifty. And quick. And best of all: pretty.

Over the years I hope to have one of these over every window; these cards are from last year, so I'll soon make this year's cards into a new garland.

I can't help but imagine this done with rainbow paper or printed scrapbooking paper...imagine them as birthday streamers! Oh...must try that soon....don't you love how creating spurs on your creativity?

Thrifty: Repairing My Favourite Sweater

2012-01-15T15:36:00.000-05:00

My favourite sweater was purchased in August 1997, just before I headed up North to teach for a year. I was twenty-three years old, and just embarking on my teaching career. I loved this sweater. Blue, rust, chocolate brown, gold, all in a classic pattern. Plus, it was a cardigan. I wore it with jeans, I wore it with dresses, I wore it with skirts, I wore it with nightgowns.

The trouble is, this sweater was 100% wool. Warm, yes. Durable? Not so much. Wool tends to wear through wherever there's any steady rubbing or pressure. So, with time, the elbows gave out. A moth or a mouse nibbled a small hole near a button.

There were times when I thought I'd just felt the thing in the washer and make slippers out of it. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It's everything I want in a cardigan: nice fit, not too thick, beautiful colours, classic design. I just couldn't do it.

Today was what we call a "Two Fire Day" (fires in both the wood furnace and the kitchen woodstove); it was that cold. It was the day to fix my sweater.

First I had to choose a fabric that would be both complimentary and quirky!

Next, I created a pattern for a patch large enough to generously cover the holes.

A small book inserted inside the sleeve offered a good flat surface on which to stitch (and ensured that I don't catch the other side of the sleeve). Peter Rabbit is the perfect size!

Using an iron, I pressed a rolled hem around the edges of the patch, then used embroidery floss to stitch it onto the elbow of the sweater.

While sewing, I noticed a few stitches that were beginning to "ladder", so used a crochet hook to pick them back up, then secured them with a stitch.

Not so scholarly as leather patches on tweed, this dear sweater of mine feels even more mine with the addition of pretty patches.

The patch over the hole in front wanted to be a heart-shape. Now, instead of looking ragged and worn, this beautiful garment has years of life in it, and will be worn proudly until I wear through the patches.

::this moment::

2012-01-13T07:13:00.000-05:00

One moment from the past week...one moment to pause, savour, and cherish forever.

Stop on by http://www.soulemama.com/ if you have a moment to share, or would like to see the moments of others!

Get out sliding with your kids this weekend, and have fun!

the nicest teacher ever

2012-01-12T06:39:00.000-05:00

According to Violet, the best teacher ever speaks in a high-pitched, sing-song falsetto voice, akin to Disney's Snow White.

She is a good artist, and draws nice pictures of her students.

She always wears pretty sparkly ballet dresses, and fishes for compliments from her students: "Do you like my dress? I bought it myself!"

She allows feline educational assistants in the classroom.

She has excellent classroom-management skills, and encourages creative dress and knitting in class.

She sometimes needs to ask one of her pupils for help with her letters, but the best teacher ever finds no shame in needing help or making mistakes. She picks a special helper for the day, and prints out her name.

She wears glasses sometimes, because they make her look smart. She's the best teacher ever, and I hope to be just like her someday.

Yarn Along...finally!

2012-01-11T06:43:00.002-05:00

I'm always knitting. And reading. I haven't yet mastered doing both at the same time (unless it's a pattern I'm reading), but I'm working on it. I'm joining Ginny over at Small Things in her weekly Yarn-Along!

Two books we've been enjoying this week are Brian Selznick's Wonderstruck, and Shel Silverstein's Every Thing On It. These wonderful books feature both the writing AND artwork of the authors. My thirteen-year-old niece and I were wrestling over Wonderstruck (well, not literally); we both wept at the beauty and wonder of the story. If you've read The Invention of Hugo Cabret you'll know what I'm talking about. Please, please find these books and read them, then give them to your 10-16-year olds!

I've been reading Shel's amazing poetry to my older kids. They get a lot of the humour because of the accompanying pictures. I have to admit, I wept at the end of this one, too, as it was published post-humously. I have all of his books and have read them to students since I started teaching almost fifteen years ago.

He ends the book with this poem:

When I am gone what will you do?
Who will write and draw for you?
Someone smarter-someone new?
Someone better-maybe YOU!

My kids' eyes just went wide at that one. It's just like Shel Silverstein to pass the torch so graciously like that.

You know I'm obsessed with the Aviatrix these days. I've made four. The two most recent ones are in a lovely yarn sent to me by a blogging friend over at Wild Faerie Caps (along with some amazing crocheted creations for my children); she overdyed it; I believe it's something by Brown Sheep Company. It's beautiful.

The newborn-sized hat has an antique shell button, which looks just right. This will be a donation as a giveaway in my sister's childbirth preparation classes. The six-month size will be a donation to a silent-auction at this year's Artsquest event. I have a list on my kitchen chalkboard of "requests" for more of these little hats, so I'll soon be knitting them without a pattern. I know I've already raved, but what I love about this pattern is that it offers instructions for three different weights of yarn, so it's a great stash-buster (if you knit lots and lots of them!)

january dreams

2012-01-10T08:21:00.000-05:00

My new year's vows for this year is a bit different than in previous years.

It involves visiting our local libraries, scouring the shelves for books written in the 1970s on topics such as seed-saving and root cellaring.

I'm planning on making this our "shift-year": shifting into the life I've envisioned for so long, but have put off for any number of reasons (the biggest ones being busyness and exhaustion).

Simply put, I want to take a step beyond eating locally. I want to start growing some of our own food. The problem in the past has always been time to process/can the stuff I grow. It often ends up on the ground, rotting back into the soil, because the busiest times in gardening happen to coincide with the busiest times in the school calendar.

Root cellaring seems to be a possible solution. We have enough land here to grow potatoes, squash, carrots, beets, cabbage, onions, and garlic to store for next winter. I also hope to put away enough apples to get us through at least part of the winter.

January dreaming might just be my favourite kind; from the comfort and warmth of my kitchen, I browse seed catalogues, read up on starting seedlings, think about the wheres, whens, and hows, dash off a few emails to farmer friends, and wonder: could we raise a goat for milk? I wander through old, familiar cookbooks with new eyes, wondering: what can I make with stuff we grow ourselves? I'm far away from the realities of Colorado potato beetles, marauding deer, watering, weeding, and harvesting. I'm just...dreaming!

I know I'm not the only person who notices the rising costs of fuel and groceries (who notices it more than mothers, who have the mighty task of feeding a family AND keeping a budget?). We had a huge garden when Jude and Violet were little, but I'll admit my efforts since moving to a farm have been half-assed (oh, the irony). Thankfully, my children know the taste of "real" produce, thanks to our beautiful CSA farm; now I think they're old enough to participate in gardening here at home, or at least old enough to let me do the gardening while they play!

The long-term vision is to raise some/all of our own meat, and to get as much of our other foods locally. So far, I've compiled a list of sources for local: tea, honey, maple syrup, beef, and a variety of fruits. A friend's husband just started roasting his own fair-trade coffee in a stone oven in his garden (I know you're reading this, L!) It's all very exciting, isn't it? We raise our own eggs, plan to raise some more meat birds this spring/summer, and have plums, grapes, apples, and wild raspberries right here on our little acreage.

My husband knows what I'm up to when he gets home and finds the kitchen table looking like this. I sit, poised, with post-its and pen in hand, my favourite mug having been refilled all day, devouring knowledge in my favourite way: through books. We often joke that I need a table all my own, so I can spread out and not have to pick everything up again so that we can eat!

There are older "back-to-the-landers" in the area with a wealth of wisdom, advice, and cautions. Some smile knowingly at the folly of youth. But. Another small vow this year is to let my silver hairs be; away with hair dye! I had to pick up a pair of glasses for reading/fine knitting. And I've decided to be okay with that.

So. The folly of youth becomes the folly of the not-so-far-from-middle-aged. I'm good with that.

January dreaming. You gotta love it.

Monday Musings: Back to Work!

2012-01-09T08:04:00.000-05:00

Please visit Nadja's wonderful blog if you'd like to join in on Monday Musings!

Right now, everyone is abed (but me); I've written my morning pages (three pages of free-form, stream-of-consciousness writing by hand in my journal), read today's passage in "Simple Abundance", and have fed the cats. The table is set and ready for breakfast, the clothes are laid out, backpacks ready, and my bag for school hangs on the doorknob. Back to school we go!

This weekend, I went into my classroom to prepare for the return of my little Kindersurprises. I organised math "work stations" focussing on 3D geometric solids, cleared out a few baskets of paper, admired the cleanliness of the floor (thanks to our school custodian), rearranged my schedule to accommodate a longer language block in the afternoon, and took down the last of the Christmas decorations. On Sunday, I declared that it was FINALLY my turn to sleep in. I got up at 5:30 am, let my husband sleep till 8:30, then I crawled back into bed with Earl Grey tea, a sliced apple, almonds, peanut-butter toast, and an amazing book. THIS, to me, is luxury. Add a purring cat to the mix, and I can say I'm the richest woman on earth.

Some plans for the week: A dear, dear man and local legend, Barney McCaffery, passed away this past week, so we'll be attending his wake, and performing at his Irish wake. This man was a storyteller, musician, collector of folklore, homesteader, artist, visionary...everyone in the Ottawa Valley is mourning his demise. At any event, you'd be sure to see Barney with his long grey beard, old thrifted suits, snowboots, and accordion, playing original songs that told the tales of Valley people. He was a treasure, and will be sorely missed.

If I find some time for myself, I will nap in the afternoons on the days when I'm home. Yes, it's my guilty pleasure (except I really don't feel guilty about it!) I pop a video in for Violet, put Margot down for her nap, and doze off on my bed. Sometimes I get two hours (rarely), other times twenty minutes. It doesn't matter. Nothing soothes my mind like a little cat nap.

I am grateful for the two weeks I had with my children. I'm grateful I said, "Yes!" to their request that I play outside with them, because I learned that tobogganing down a hill with a child on your back is actually the secret to eternal youth. Belly laughing with a face-full of snow, flying over a snowback and landing so hard that you crack the sled...well, let me tell you. I felt like I was a kid again. What my chiropractor will say when I tell him how I hurt my tailbone, I don't know. Maybe just, "It was worth it".

Something that makes me smile: Purring kitties. Washing my hair with Lush products. Watching the joy on my husband's face as he introduced his kids to "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly". Margot flexing her arms to show me her muscles. Violet having a tantrum that was only ended when I very gently took her in my arms. Jude's wiggling teeth. Seeing a bald eagle fly over our heads when we were sliding today.

::this moment::a new year::

2012-01-06T08:22:00.000-05:00

One photo, no words: a moment from this past week that I want to pause, savour, and remember.

Stop by www.soulemama.com to visit other moments, or share one of your own!

Have a restful weekend!

~Stephanie

Big Art

2012-01-05T06:53:00.001-05:00

Our easel comes and goes; sometimes it takes up so much space, we tuck it away until it becomes "new" again. I put small ziploc sandwich bags in 125-mL Mason jars; these hold the paint, make clean up easy, and can be zipped for reuse when the painting's done.

With two of my nieces visiting for the week, there was some big art happening around here.

We had to make another round of these, as the originals were all given away and I wanted some for our walls!

Sometimes, when five cousins want to create together, the art gets bigger than originally planned:

It starts out with a green "warlock mountain" with electricity spewing from the top. This electricity traverses the volcano, and across the entire artwork of flowers, a snow scene, a portrait of Persephone, and Violet's "tomato". A request for clarification reveals that this is actually, a tornado. Jude's electricity manifests itself as arrows coming out of his character's head.

The painting goes on for over an hour, with polite requests to pass a particular colour, paper-turf wars, Violet protesting that the electricity went behind her volcano, compliments, and advice.

Great things happen when children are cut loose with paper, paint, and brushes. The bigger the paper and the more the kids, the better!

Aviatrix

2012-01-04T07:18:00.000-05:00

I had some Fleece Artist "Scotian Silk" left over from Margot's Rainbow Sweater; it is irresistably soft and colourful, and was the perfect yarn for this: The Aviatrix Baby Hat.

I'm kind of knitting them obsessively now; the first was green in newborn size. This second one is in the size 2-4, and fits both my girls perfectly. It looks particularly stunning with ribbon-strapped ballet dresses.

The earflap shaping is simple, clever, and beautiful.

It knits up in about two hours (that is, if you have two hours uninterrupted knitting time).

Now I'm scrounging for newborns to make these for, because really? Every newborn should have an aviator-style knitted hat, right?

Art Project: Winter Birch Trees

2012-01-03T07:35:00.001-05:00

Margot's creation on the left, Violet's on the right.

When they unwrapped these paintings, framed in white, the grandparents were mightily impressed with the work of their precociously artistic grandchildren. Simple, impressive, and nice enough for gifts...how could I go wrong?

The materials are minimal, the process quick and painless, and the tutorial clear and simple.

January is a perfect time for winter artworks, non?

Monday Musings: A New Year

2012-01-02T06:55:00.002-05:00

Visit Nadja to join in the fun of Monday Musings!

Right now...the house is cool because the fire has died down overnight. The kittens (who are now teenagers) are chasing each other and making a ridiculous amount of noise. Everyone is asleep; someone just got up to pee, but thankfully crawled back into the warm den of their bed for more sleep on this dark January morning.

This weekend, we celebrated New Year's Eve with friends, here at the homestead. A lovely meal, wine, kids running all over the house, then sliding outside in the dark followed by fireworks! Sunday, we turned down two invitations to parties and opted to laze around in our pyjamas. We've had a really busy holiday, and it was a real luxury to just eat whatever came to hand (leftovers!), and watch a few more movies than usual! We all napped in the afternoon, which was a rare blessing.

Some plans for the week: My sweet nieces will be arriving today for a few days; we love the time we get to spend with them (though somehow it never feels like enough). We'll just hang out here at the farm; I hope the mild weather since yesterday will create perfect snowman snow! I hope to get into my classroom to get organized for next week. I want to look into ordering some books on creating a cold storage room, and saving seeds. Recommendations?

If I find some time for myself...well, I've been intentionally carving out a bit of time each day. I wake up earlier than everyone, and have been writing morning pages (Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way" is such an inspiring book) each day. I love how it frees up some space in my brain, to get those early-morning, free-form thoughts down on paper. I'd like to go out walking, and will look into yoga classes. It's part of my New Year's goals, to be intentional about time for myself (rather than hoping for leftover time to fall into my lap) to exercise, reflect, and rest.

I am grateful for dear friends and their sweet children, and to my parents for floating us a small loan for this past week when money got really tight. I'm also grateful for the fact that today is my payday, and tomorrow is my husband's! Feeling grateful for memories of my Grandmother, who passed away a year ago.

Something that makes me smile: Snow-people. Cats sleeping on a bed. Children sitting on a snowbank in the dark, saying, "Oooh!" as they watch fireworks against the backdrop of cedar trees. Cold cheeks warmed by hot chocolate. Playing Strawberry Shortcake with Margot in the bathtub. Violet's storytelling. Jude's dance moves. Old men clearing snow from their driveways with big old tractors. Hearing my children say, "I remember when we visited G.G. and...", knowing that they haven't forgotten her. Cuddling up for stories. A whole week to just be with all three of my children, resting, playing, doing puzzles, colouring, reading.

Remembering Pearl

2012-01-01T10:45:00.000-05:00

Today is New Year's Day. We look ahead to abundance, travelling towards goals and positive change.

Today I also look back.

One year ago, my family gathered around the bed of my dear Grandma in my mother's beautiful sunroom, and witnessed her passing from this life.

It was a defining moment in my life.

I miss her every single day. Sometimes she visits me in dreams, always wearing rich jewel tones, and what always stands out is her special scent. She never speaks to me, but all the same, she tells me, I am here.

A year ago, I wrote this post to help process my grief, and the privilege of keeping vigil as she died.

Today, I remember.

Pony Express

2011-12-31T07:24:00.000-05:00

As we pulled into my father-in-law's driveway, we saw his partner, Granny Sue, waiting for us. She held the halter of a pony, and my first thought was, "Oh my God. Did they get the kids a pony for Christmas?!"

Turns out, this new addition to their farm was saddled up to provide the children with conveyance from the van to the house. Jude was first up for a ride.

I love how the rusty apples match the details on his hat so perfectly. Photographic serendipity, I love you!

Violet could hardly wait; she popped on her brother's hat, and was completely at home in the saddle. I'm one of those people who have never owned a horse, and has ridden very little, but is convinced that I am, nonetheless, a horse-person. On my list of things to do before I die, owning a horse (or a few!) is in the top five. Until then, we can always visit Grandpa and Granny for a ride!

Violet's tights were just so sweet in her snowboots, against the detailing of the saddle.

Something tells me that, had they not received any other gifts but this, this pony ride would have been more than enough to make their Christmas bright.

this moment

2011-12-30T09:34:00.000-05:00

Violet shakes her gift on Christmas morning.

Please stop by http://www.soulemama.com/ to visit other moments or to share your own!

Mermaid Sisters

2011-12-29T00:27:00.000-05:00

I knit them simultaneously, so that they'd be finished at about the same time. This "time" happened to be at 1:00 am on Christmas morning. I tucked them lovingly into my girls' stockings, and collapsed into bed. It occurred to me that the hours I spent working on these mermaids exceeded the hours I spent labouring to bring both of my daughters into the world.

They are mermaid sisters, and I explained to the girls that mermaid sisters always look out for one another. They speak nicely to each other, and help and share. I hope their lovely mermaid manners will rub off on my two little women, who go out of their way to aggravate each other.

These ridiculous dolls have quickly taken up residence in our home and my girls' hearts, and are now required sleep-aids, along with the beloved blankies. Violet told me yesterday, "Mommy, do you know why I don't play with my other Christmas toys? Because the mermaid that you made for me is my very favourite".

I swear, I haven't pressured them in any way to play with them. They sit at the dinner table with us, and we have to act bewildered as first a fishy tail, then a girl's blue eyes peep up over the edge of the table. Then we act amazed at the "magical-mythical-mermaids!" that appear to our astonishment. This has replaced the barrage of knock-knock-jokes-that-make-no-sense that is our usual dinnertime entertainment.

The hours of picky knitting and even pickier making-up of these mermaids were worth it. Like giving birth, I'd do it all again...but only for these two sisters.

On Christmas Eve

2011-12-28T06:50:00.000-05:00

I've been so inspired by so many sites this Christmas. Money has been particularly tight for us this December, as our beautiful cat, Camino, came home with a badly broken leg early in the month. Her vet treatments were covered by the money I'd set aside for Christmas. Then our clothes dryer broke. While I found inspiration in the hand-mades I saw online, I walk the line between thrifty and incredibly busy (the last week of school contained two snow days, two Christmas concerts, Mass, Advent celebrations, a pizza lunch, sugar-cookie decorating...you get the idea); there is only so much time. I was staying up late in the evenings to finish the work-intensive handmades I was creating for my children, burning the candle at both ends.

The day before the last day of school (December 23), we brought Camino in to have her splint changed before the holidays; the news wasn't good. Her bones were not knitting, and were once again poking through the skin. Amputation, to be honest, was way out of our budget, and held no guarantees. Our wonderful vet felt that in spite of the excellent care she'd received, it would be most humane to put her down. Many tears were shed as we made this difficult decision, and said goodbye to an otherwise perfectly healthy young cat.

I'm sure I'm not alone; it seemed that, as the mama of the house, I'd worked my ass off for six weeks making sure Christmas would be bright for my children, my students, my husband, our families...baking, decorating, singing, reading Christmas stories, anticipating, knitting, wrapping, smiling at those moments when I got a good deal or found the perfect gift.

Then, by the time the day came, I felt spread so thin that I could hardly summon the strength to actually enjoy it all! On Christmas Eve, in spite of the beauty around me and my many blessings, I felt sad, stressed, worried, frazzled, and frustrated that I was feeling that way after so much work and preparation!

So, I put on my rubber boots and took a quiet, solo stroll just to the end of our lane way on Christmas Eve.

I looked at our house from the end of the lane. The clutter and mess and unpainted rooms are unseen from this perspective. The children arguing, the parents worrying, the animals demanding: unheard.

All I feel is home.

The rooster was beginning to crow in his cozy harem coop; a heat lamp keeps their water from freezing, and I pictured them roosting together, feathers fluffed to keep in the heat.

I smile at the burdock (not sure if I've ever smiled at a burdock before), because of the little hats it wears. My grandmother always wore a tam at a jaunty angle, and I'm reminded of her once again.

I wonder if bangs are in this year; straight but jagged seems to be the style.

The icy rain that fell a few days ago didn't miss the opportunity to cling to every little strand of chicken wire; I love this icy beehive.

Even the barbed wire was softened by the appearance of ice; one twang of the fence and the ice would tinkle to the ground.

The smokehouse, with a tiny decorative sled on the door, sits as if in wait for the next photo session. It, of all our buildings, is my favourite subject in all seasons. It calls to mind magical stories of small beings who eat hot buttered toast and tea for dinner, and invite any passersby in to sit by the fire for awhile.

As I step up to the front door, I turn once more to the lightening sky. A deep breath before I enter into the busyness of a Christmas-Eve-Home, a renewed feeling of well-being; sometimes all a mama needs for peace of mind in a hectic time is just her feet taking her out of the house and down the lane way for a few quiet moments.

Blessings

2011-12-23T07:00:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas to you, from all of us at the Knitty Gritty Homestead! I wish you all peace, rest, and abundant time with your loved ones.

Love, Stephanie

The Stockings Were Hung

2011-12-21T20:04:00.000-05:00

When we were growing up, we each had a huge striped knitted stocking, with the letters of our names stitched down the stripes. I loved that handmade stocking (and still have it). As each child reaches the age where they "get" the whole idea of stockings, I've created a handmade for them as well.

Jude's features a quilt-striped motif, with giant buttons as the O's in "Ho, Ho, Ho!"

Violet's was made from a thrifted sweater that I washed in hot water (on purpose!). I then stitched buttons on in the shape of a V. Margot's stocking is the most recent addition; I made it this past weekend! I found the free pattern online, and it includes a boy elf! I may have to make them for all my kids; they're so cute!

My husband's stocking features a treble clef shaped from antique shell buttons. I love the "old" feel of this one; the buttons are beautiful against the old brown velvet.

Now, to dig out my own stocking, in hopes that Santa will find me worthy of a few treats! I always loved how my parents included clementines and nuts with our stocking gifts; they remembered the joy of receiving their very own orange at Christmas time (oranges would have been exotic in the 40s and 50s, right?). I continue that tradition with my own children, and hope they will continue it with theirs.

What special treat do you always include in your family's stockings?

Big Sister and Little Sister

2011-12-20T15:06:00.006-05:00

A spontaneous conversation took place in our bathroom a few days ago. It involved all the wisdom a four-year-old can summon, to instruct her little sister on how to use the potty.

First they read a story together, giggling and taking turns with the parts they have memorised.

Then Violet offered her words of experience, in the voice of a sage:

"Margot, when I was a little girl, I learned to pee in the toilet, too! My seat was different from yours; it was blue. Peeing in the toilet is a very special thing. You can poo in your diaper, but you have to pee in the toilet. Keep your legs together so the pee doesn't go on the floor...now you just have to push the pee out!"

These two little girls, who so often fight, push, clamour for attention, compete, and aggravate each other, shared this moment as if I weren't even in the room with them.

This little exchange made me reflect on the many lessons I must have learned from my two older sisters, lessons that I've incorporated into my life without even knowing they taught them to me. I imagine they must have had lots of advice for me when it came to potty training! Let's hope Violet's advice works before Margot turns three in March!

A beautiful book on the topic of what sisters learn from one another is Big Sister and Little Sister by Charlotte Zolotow.

::this moment: the multi-tasker::

2011-12-16T13:03:00.000-05:00

Visit http://www.soulemama.com/ to share your moment, and to see the others' moments!

Getting Ready

2011-12-15T07:48:00.000-05:00

I hear her little voice engaged in a play conversation.

I sneak up to see her playing with our Nativity figures.

I don't know what her game is, or what the figures are saying to one another.

Her game has something to do with gathering around a fire, standing on trees, and waiting.

The shepherds guard their sheep, as they should.

Suddenly, she turns to me and asks, "Baby Jesus coming soon?"

Ah. So this is more than just a random game. She's been taking in all the traditions of Christmas, from Santa to the tree to presents, to this sweetest and simplest of stories: the birth of a baby in a humble stable so long ago.

She wanted to make sure the barn was warm enough for the baby, and that the grown-ups were all ready.

Am I ready? I'm working on it.

First Tooth

2011-12-14T07:32:00.000-05:00

I can remember the moment like it was yesterday. We were visiting our friends, and Jude was on my lap, happily gumming away on my thumb. Suddenly, I felt the sharpness of his first little tooth, and we rejoiced in this milestone.

Now that baby boy is six-and-a-half, and his adult teeth are coming up fast and furious behind his baby teeth. That first little tooth has been wiggled and twisted, pushed and prodded for what feels like ages. Jude is a bit of a baby when it comes to even the mildest pain (this past summer, when we had to remove some prickles from his foot, he cried, "DON'T CUT MY FOOT OFF!!!" as I approached with...tweezers), so we waited until it was absolutely hanging by a thread.

Tonight, I cajoled him into letting me have a pull. And then there it was in my hand, that tiny little pearl of a tooth. His little freckled face was astounded; he didn't realise what had happened until he looked in the mirror, poked his tongue into the space where his tooth had been, and admired the new grown-up tooth behind it.

The girls were just as excited as he was. We placed the tooth in a little cloth bag, and tucked it carefully under his pillow. I sang them to sleep, as always, but Jude seemed...older somehow, like this new milestone has set him on the path to being a big kid. He reached for my hand as I sang "his song" (I Will, by the Beatles), and I held back a tear.

Tonight I will creep into this room to place this little note under his pillow, written in the tiniest of print:

Dear Jude,
You lost your first tooth! I will take it with me,
and will turn it into a star. Maybe one day you'll
make a wish on it! Take good care of your new
grown-up tooth!
See you again soon,
Love, the Tooth Fairy

This is a first for me, too, and I'm reminded of how much I love this mothering gig.

For a Winter's Evening

2011-12-13T07:50:00.000-05:00

I've had the good fortune of being whisked away twice a year to a cottage in the land of spruce trees and moose-crossing signs. A bag for such a journey is packed quickly: comfy, cozy clothes, a tootbrush, my knitting, a good book, and food. Oh, and beverages.

When we all finally arrive, we hang our bras on the deer antlers, and the fun begins. This year, we added a wintry beverage to the menu: hot whiskey.

Hot Whiskey can be considered a medicinal drink. When my Nanny (who would be 106 years old this year) went to work in the lumber camps as a young woman, her brother used to bring her this drink when her menstrual cramps were bad. My sister remembers Nanny doing the same for her when she was a teen with cramps.

However. You do not need to be sick to enjoy a Hot Whiskey (also called a Hot Toddy).

Here's how you can make your own:

Hot Whiskey

2 heaping tablespoons brown sugar
1 oz. Irish whiskey
2 oz. boiling water
a slice of lemon studded with cloves

Put the sugar in a glass; pour liquids over. Give the lemon a wee squeeze before dropping the lemon slice in.
Curl up by a fire and savour. Then make another.

A friend gave me the use of her fancy phone with apps to take these pictures; she took some, too! Thank you, friend! And cheers to you.

Cabin in the Woods, Year 2

2011-12-12T06:24:00.000-05:00

This was our second year at the Cabin in the Woods; as we pulled into the lane, Violet exlaimed, "I remember this place!" I put a pot of soup on to heat, added some wood to the woodstove, and lit a candle in preparation for the arrival of my parents, and one of my sisters with her family. In a spark of wintry kismet, we had enough snow to transform the countryside into a veritable wonderland. There was also just enough to go sledding.

I remained in the house while my sister and her husband slid the kids; she assured me that I used to take HER kids out when they were small, because she didn't have the energy. Feeling absolved of any guilt, I took up my knitting, and watched the fun through the window.

Ice popsicles are the perfect snack when sledding, although I don't recommend them if one is hypothermic.

My littlest one is always very reluctant to join outdoor play, and usually ends up back inside after five minutes in the snow. Forget the fact that it takes 15 minutes to get her into her snowsuit. She was happy to join her mother, and mine, in observing the cavorting from beside the woodstove.

O, Christmas Tree

2011-12-11T07:34:00.000-05:00

We live about ten minutes from a tree farm. This year, after participating in a local parade, we quickly picked out a cut-yesterday tree, tied it to the roof of the van with some baler twine, and took three tuckered-out kids home. They waited patiently while we wrestled this eight-foot beauty into the house, sawed a bit off the bottom, got it into the tree stand, and argued the need for extra support in the form of string tied to nails in the wall. My husband assured me that it was fine, and the kids set to hanging the decorations on the tree's many branches.

This is the first year that all of the kids have really gotten into this task. The older two remember their favourites (remember Violet's spawkly staw?), and I too cherished the memories of each ornament as I hung the higher branches. Much discussion was had about who would place our snowflake-star on the top. Daddy had gone out to pick up pizza for dinner, so we decided that we'd wait till he got home, and then they'd EACH take a turn topping the tree.

We settled on to the couch to read a Christmas story and to wait for daddy.

About three pages in, disaster struck. With barely a whisper, the tree started to lean forward, and with a terrifying crash, it came down, face first, shattering many a glass ornament.

Chaos, of course, ensued. The various links between the Christmas Tree and Santa's arrival were explored in varying pitches of shrieking, wailing, and weeping.

The kids were devastated. I've never seen them like this, about anything. Violet was wailing that Santa wouldn't find us, Margot was screaming that Santa's Grandma (Mrs. Claus) wouldn't come. Jude disappeared to cry alone on the stairs, mumbling that this had been the best Christmas tree EVER.

For long moments, I just sat with my hands over my face. Sometimes this is the best thing a mama can do.

Then I gathered them around me, and asked them all to take some deep breaths so they could listen. I asked them if we'd always celebrate Jesus' birthday at Christmas time. They nodded. I assured them that Santa would find us, even if we didn't have a tree, or if we lived in a cave. I assured them that as soon as daddy got home, we'd fix the tree up.

We sat there, a little circle of disbelieving faces, staring at the mess of pine needles, glass, and spilled water that a few moments earlier had been our biggest, prettiest Christmas tree ever.

I asked them which ornament had been their favourites, and we crossed our fingers in hopes that they'd still be intact.

We cleaned up the mess, and found that the damage was not as bad as it had at first seemed. I lost the super-tacky polar bear-standing-on-a-bulb-labelled-Toronto that my brother gave me last year as a joke, but aside from that, most of the breakage was cheap glass bulbs I'd bought in a set a few years ago. My children's "First Christmas" ornaments were all okay, as were the children's favourites.

As Robin and I finished securing the string to the wall, I overheard Violet telling her little sister, "Mawgot, even if we lived in a CAVE Santa would find us". Margot replied, "Santa's Gwandma, too?" Violet assured her little sister lovingly, as I had assured them all just a while before.

Before bedtime, we spread out a quilt so they could all marvel at the prettiness of the tree. Everyone went to bed peacefully after a busy, Christmassy day. I like to think this experience has added to their bank of memories: that even in the midst of apparent disaster, hope and optimism abounds, and that things aren't always as bad as they seem.

::this moment::

2011-12-09T05:43:00.000-05:00

Please stop by http://www.soulemama.com/ to see other moments, or to share a link to yours!

Have a wonderful weekend.

Snow

2011-12-08T07:12:00.000-05:00

White are the far-off plains, and white
The fading forests grow;
The wind dies out along the height,
And denser still the snow,

A gathering weight on roof and tree,
Falls down scarce audibly.

The road before me smooths and fills

Apace, and all about

The fences dwindle, and the hills

Are blotted slowly out;

The naked trees loom spectrally

Into the dim white sky.

The meadows and far-sheeted streams

Lie still without a sound;

Like some soft minister of dreams

The snow-fall hoods me round;

In wood and water, earth and air,

A silence everywhere.

Save when at lonely intervals

Some farmer's sleigh, urged on,

With rustling runners and sharp bells,

Swings by me and is gone;

Or from the empty waste I hear

A sound remote and clear;

The barking of a dog, or call

To cattle, sharply pealed,

Borne echoing from some wayside stall

Or barnyard far afield;

Then all is silent and the snow falls

Settling soft and slow.

The evening deepens and the grey

Folds closer earth and sky

The world seems shrouded, far away.

Its noises sleep, and I secret as

Yon buried streams plod dumbly on and dream.

Photos by Donna Keon

Song by Loreena McKennitt

Sugar Cookies

2011-12-01T13:57:00.000-05:00

It would be much easier if I just waited till the kids were in bed to do my Christmas baking.

But where would be the ~~mess~~ fun in that?

Decorating sugar cookies with children can be stressful for people with control issues. Having kids has been great therapy for me. I have mostly let go of my conceptions of how things should look. The only real rules when baking is that everyone must have clean hands and noses.

Violet's cheerful trio of Christmas lights.

Margot clarified to me that "these awe NOT Gwinches. They PWINCESSES".

I tried my hand at a few, then got carried away, making a bride, a snowman, a cookie that looks like my brother-in-law (whiskers and a plaid shirt), and two wrestlers. They're hilarious.

Now I need a nap. But first I have to clean up the sticky, coloured pools of icing on my island, wash some dishes, and make some tea to go with my cookies!

Here's the recipe:

Perfect Sugar Cookies

Cream together:

1 cup Crisco (vegetable shortening)

1 cup sugar

Then add:

1 egg

1 tsp. vanilla

In another bowl, combine:

2 1/2 cups flour (I used gluten-free)

1 tsp. baking soda

2 tsp. cream of tartar

1/2 tsp. salt

Mix dry ingredients with wet, then roll out till 1/4 inch thick. Cut into shapes! Bake at 325 degrees for about 10 minutes, or until the tops are no longer shiny.

These can be delicate, so move carefully onto a cooling rack. Mix icing sugar with water and colour to create glazes. Let your kids do it. It doesn't matter what they look like...they taste exactly as a sugar cookie should!

Simple Pleasures

2011-11-30T15:09:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I'm negative. I complain, worry, bitch, and moan.

But sometimes all it takes is a certain song to come on the radio...a song to make me bop, smile, sing along, and shake myself out of the funk I'm in.

At Christmas time, when money is tight and time is short, a song like David Myles' "Simple Pleasures" is the perfect balm for my busy spirit. In addition to being really catchy, it also has a wonderful message. It reminds me to be grateful for all the simple pleasures in my life.

Take a listen, then come back and tell me if it made YOU smile. It's worth listening to the whole thing through.

Basket

2011-11-30T05:48:00.000-05:00

In the evening, when all is quiet and the dishes are washed, I sit on the couch to knit. Two little kittens start the evening out by wrestling and stalking my balls of yarn, but (being babies as they are), they are soon tuckered out and find a place to sleep.

What could be a cosier bed than this basket of wool, on the table beside where I sit (conveniently close enough to reach out for a little rub or a pet)?

Their little blissed-out faces speak of full bellies, adventures outside, and mouse dreams.

Oh, to sleep the sleep of a well-loved cat!

Mad

2011-11-29T07:59:00.000-05:00

A while ago, the dad of the house lost his cool with Jude.

It happens.

Jude is particularly sensitive to raised voices, and although we know it's ideal to be calm and reasonable, we don't always manage that. Daddy raised his voice, and I watched from the sidelines, wanting to step in, but torn between presenting a "united front" and jumping to my child's defense.

When my husband raises his voice, it triggers an old terror in me. Don't get me wrong; our dad never laid a hand on us; he never had to. His raised voice and steely stare were enough to convince us that there would be hell to pay if we didn't do what we were told, and NOW!

When I raise my voice, it is usually with complete exasperation. The kids barely blink. But when my husband raises his voice, it cuts them to the quick.

It turns out, Jude doesn't need me to explain to my husband how his "mad voice" affects the kids. After the storm had subsided, Jude went to his desk to create this:

Jude loves to draw this "not allowed" circle-with-a-line-through-it symbols. He put them to good use here, eloquently illustrating his very tall father leaning over him with a mad face. He makes it clear that this is NOT ALLOWED.

Also not allowed: telling Jude to STOP with a mad face on.

This is the part of the picture that spoke most clearly and spurred my husband to work harder at keeping his cool: a self-portrait of the artist, his ears enlarged as if to say, "I can HEAR you and it hurts my ears (and my spirit) when you shout at me".

No parenting guru could have conveyed the message more clearly. I may take to drawing pictures to express my feelings, too, although I doubt I could capture the simplicity and eloquence of Jude's.

Monday Musings

2011-11-28T08:00:00.000-05:00

Visit Nadja to join in the fun of Monday Musings!

Right now...I'm breathing deeply to recover from the chest-pain-inducing stress of getting three kids out the door, realising that my husband used the van all weekend and left the gas gauge on the fuel light, dropping my screaming toddler off at daycare, and arriving at work. On time. Amazing.
This weekend...I went on a whirlwind trip to a cottage in Northern Ontario. I spent the weekend with a gang of loud, outspoken, hilarious, warm women, eating beautifully rich food, drinking wine and hot whiskeys, painting our nails, sharing our stories, knitting, napping, and cuddling. This has replenished me more than a weekend at a spa!

Some plans for the week: Monday, I want to book an appointment with an optometrist...my eyesight is failing rapidly! I will start preparing for our weekend away, celebrating Christmas early with most of my family of origin at a cabin in the woods: gluten-free baking, packing for five, wrapping gifts, etc. My niece, Meredith, will celebrate her eighth birthday next weekend as well!
If I find some time for myself, I hope to get out for a walk in the continuing mild weather which is rather unseasonal!

I am grateful for my husband, again, for taking on our three kids and our two nieces this weekend so my sister and I could escape! Everyone was happy and healthy upon our return, and I never had a moment's worry. He's a star! Also grateful for the way I've been embraced by a gaggle of wonderful women.

A special prayer intention for the week: for myself, that I will learn to let go of harms that have been done to my children and myself.
Something that makes me smile: the sound of farts in the bathtub...always hilarious! Watching old Kids in the Hall videos with other people who "know all the words". The comedy of a naked toddler wearing my rubber boots, which go right up to her bum. So many blessings in my life!

Wee Apron

2011-11-23T10:21:00.000-05:00

While I'd like to be the kind of blogger that can link to the suppliers of the beautiful fabric she uses, I'm not. While I'd like to make it appear effortless to whip up handmades, it is not.

I hate sewing. I'm the only one of my mother's daughters who does it at all, and while I'm capable, I inevitably end up cursing at the poor machine (who didn't do anything, really...it was my fault the tension wasn't right), pulling the fabric out too forcefully, and putting the whole thing away.

Still, after lots of rethreading, tension-adjusting, and yes, cursing, I occasionally produce.

In this case, I created a little apron for my friend's daughter. What child doesn't need an apron? Aprons are wonderful! You can add various pockets depending on the child's interests. A painter's apron, a carpenter's apron, a chef's apron, or in this case: a pretty market apron (her parents are the CSA farmers from whom we acquire our summer fruits and vegetables)!

So. Seeing as how she's a little farmer in training, I needed a botanical print. You can't really see the details in the pink bib fabric, but it's got little pigs, chickens, and farm girls on it; I found it in a bag of vintage scraps that was given to me after I'd placed an ad in the local paper graciously asking old women to clean out their closets and donate their old sewing stuff to ME!

Now, I'm making plans to "whip up" another 22 of these, in Christmas fabric, for our Christmas concert (we're doing a song about baking cookies). Let the cursing begin!

Airing Out the Woolens

2011-11-21T10:22:00.000-05:00

I washed all our woolens last week, and hung them out to dry on what just might be the last mild day of 2011. The familiar forms and colours of sweaters and scarves danced in the November breeze, calling to mind Jan Brett's "The Hat", where the farm animals adopt a little girl's woolens as their winter garb.

The blue skies were balm to my November-weary eyes.

The cheerful stripes of these scarves, knit by a friend, will do their part to dispel the winter blues, when it is finally upon us.

Some items, like this little green sweater (the first I designed) will be put away; I don't have the heart to give it away (yet), and might just keep it for a grandchild to wear (provided the mice don't get to it first).

The clouds to the west speak of winter's imminent arrival. We'll be ready, with a basket of clean, fresh, warm woolens to keep us from the cold.

Ten Years: Part Two

2011-11-20T10:24:00.000-05:00

I remember preparing for dates when I was a single woman. Candles lit, romantic music on, hours to exfoliate, shave, moisturize, paint toenails, try on different outfits. I remember having pretty bras and lots of choices of what to wear. I remember the leisurely glass of wine and the anticipation of romance.

Dates as a married couple are a little bit different.

On Friday night, in the last moments of Margot's nap, I suggested to the kids that we get gussied up before Daddy's arrival home. Jude put on his shirt and tie, and combed his hair over with water. Violet found her "spawkwy dwess". I hopped into a tub full of four inches of water. Margot woke up and started banging on the bathroom door. The handle of my razor broke so I carefully pinched the blade-head to shave my legs. I threw on the same top I wear for every "special" occasion.

When I came downstairs, these two had swept the kitchen floor and cleared the craft detritus off the kitchen table, and put a tablecloth on it. They were so proud of themselves! They giggled as they anticipated shouting "SURPRISE!" when daddy came through the door. They set the table, and broke two wineglasses while they waited for him to come home.

I found the Billie Holiday CD we listened to on the night we met and put on my red lipstick. When my husband got home, we had a slow dance while Jude watched. Then Jude helped daddy light the candles. We each had a dance with our children giggling in our arms.

The kids ate their pizza while we sat with them and told them the story of how we met, and it occurred to me that everything our children will know of love and romance they will learn from us. A pretty tablecloth, candles, special glasses, a slow dance, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes go along way to keeping those embers glowing. These little ones took it all in, especially when we extended the story to include each of their births. The story of how we met is the story of the beginning of our family, and of the generations that will follow.

Once the kids had eaten, we put a movie on for them, and enjoyed our own pizza and some wine, and told stories we hadn't told before. It turns out, after ten years, we have lots more to talk about.

Ten Years

2011-11-18T07:39:00.000-05:00

This morning as our kids woke up and piled into bed with us in their usual order: Jude and Violet between us, Margot on top of me, I looked across their little heads to the man who shares this tremendous task of parenting with me. This is called love in a family; sometimes all you get is the brush of fingers across the span of a queen-sized bed you bought as newlyweds, unable to imagine how full it would be within a few years.

Ten years ago, I was 27. I was living in a one-room schoolhouse, and performing in a local theatre production, reprising the role as Maria Von Trapp that I'd played in The Sound of Music the year before. The show was called "Reflections" and celebrated 20 years of musical productions.

The young man who played percussion in the orchestra pit was not a complete stranger to me; his mother was a singer as well, and I'd seen him at the whitewater rafting company where I performed in the summers. He was cute; tall, muscular, tanned, musical. He was also seven years my junior, and hadn't really crossed my 'radar' except to notice that he was cute.

After the cast party on November 18, 2001, I saw him walking down the road; he planned to hitchhike home at two in the morning. I knew he lived on the way to my house, so I picked him up. We went to a local truck stop, ate grilled cheese and cream of cauliflower soup, and talked like we'd been starving for conversation all our lives. When we got to his house, we sat in the driveway listening to a CD of Lena Horne, Billie Holiday, and Ella Fitzgerald (he knew all the songs), and watched what turned out to be a meteor shower. We talked and talked and talked until the sun came up.

Neither of us wanted the conversation to end yet, so I suggested a road trip. That's something you do on a first (unexpected) date when you live in the country. We stopped by my house for coffee (and so that I could brush my teeth!), then headed out to Mount Saint Patrick, a wee settlement dominated by the Catholic church and a Holy Well, where petitioners visit to draw up water used for healing and blessing. We wandered the graveyard and signed our names in the Holy Well guest book. We drove some more and found a field where we cloud-gazed and talked some more.

After much talking and laughing, one of us got up the nerve to try a kiss.

The rest, they say, is history. After a brief separation where he went to Scotland ten days after we met, and stayed there for two months, we've been together ever since.

This morning we smiled at each other. Our faces show some traces of our journey: sleep deprivation, stress, laugh lines. Our bodies have changed, too: he's a little thinner, I'm a lot curvier. These days, we talk about how we're going to make the money stretch another month, argue about parenting, and feel like the proverbial ships in the night, passing in a hurry, kissing as we go out the door, handing the kids back and forth in what we call tag-team parenting.

We don't have a babysitter for tonight, but I think we'll find a quiet way to celebrate the fact that after ten years, we're still choosing to be together. The passionate tidal waves of those early days have quieted into the steady ebb and flow that is a marriage.

But if I look really closely, and listen very quietly, I see that man I fell in love with in his face, and feel that giddy thrill in my heart that I knew when I realised he might actually be mine.

I wonder sometimes about the Holy Well, and wonder what we'd see in our signatures in that guest book; can handwriting hold all the hopes, dreams, wishes, and prayers of two young hearts that were quickly falling in love? I suspect that when we make the trip back there, and look back ten years, we might just see all those things in our names, written side by side.

Shuffle One, Shuffle Two

2011-11-16T23:56:00.000-05:00

Ottawa Valley Stepdancing is unique to this area. It's a blend of Irish and Scottish dancing, with a Canadian style all its own. It evolved in the logging camps, where men of different backgrounds gathered every winter to work. The shoes have taps, but unlike tap shoes, they're loose. The rhythmic sound of these taps pounding the floor is the soundtrack of my childhood.

My next door neighbour and best friend started lessons at the age of five, and practised for thirty minutes every morning, while I sat on the couch watching and waiting to walk to school. As we grew, I often accompanied her to contests, where she soon cleaned up in her divisions. She became very well-known for her grace, beauty, and fleetness of foot.

She is now a mother of five, and operates her own dance studio where she shares her passion and gift with others.

You can see her performing in this video; she's wearing red, and dances with her husband (on drums), and her brothers-and sisters-in-law. I get goosebumps every time I see her dance, remembering that little five-year-old girl who practised so faithfully.

I'm delighted to take my own children to stepdancing lessons now! The echo of the taps off the cinderblock walls of a school's back room brings it all back to me. My children are starting at the beginning, learning to balance, shuffle, brush, flap, and stamp. The littler one hangs onto her brother's arm for support, and can hardly contain herself when the fiddle music starts.

See how her foot isn't even touching the ground?

They learn to really hear the music, clapping along, counting the beats, and listening for the accent signalling that it's time to begin.

Shuffle one, shuffle two, shuffle three, stamp, stamp!

All together, now.

It begins!

Monday Musings

2011-11-14T05:47:00.000-05:00

I'm joining Nadja over at Patch O' Dirt Farm with some Monday Musings. Join in, and make sure to link back to her space!

Right now...everyone is still sleeping. Lunches are made, backpacks are at the ready, clothes are laid out. The kittens are wrestling. It's still quite dark outside, and it looks like it'll be a cool and windy day.
This weekend...we stayed home! Friday night we had our usual pizza and a movie night (we watched "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (modern version) which the kids loved!). Saturday I ran into "town" to do one of those "stock up" shops (everyone needed new toothbrushes, I needed guitar strings for the club I'm running at school, etc). Violet went to a birthday party in the afternoon, and Jude and I visited a neighbour. They have three boys, so Jude was in his glory, playing a Wii for the first time and wrestling to his heart's content! Sunday was one of "those" days...when I attempted many things and didn't manage to accomplish any of them. I should have just hung out with my kids, knitting!

Some plans for the week: the calendar is remarkably blank this week, so it looks like we'll hang out at home, visit the library, and get through our work/school days. Thursday I'll likely have a gathering of women over to knit for the afternoon! Friday is the tenth anniversary of the day my husband and I met, so we'll be figuring out a way to get out for the evening, I hope!

If I find some time for myself, I'd like to watch a few more episodes of the first season of "Glee", make a bit of headway on some Christmas gifts, and perhaps go out for a walk or two!

I am grateful for my husband, for putting up with me when I'm premenstrual, and for my friend Gillian, who claims I'm the best "kvetcher" ever. Her laughter at my irrational bitchiness helped me to let it all go.

Some special prayer intentions for the week: for a friend who is having surgery and setting off on a long road to recovery, and his family.

Something that makes me smile: the long, rambling, on-the-spot songs Violet sings "I wiiiish....I had a Unicooooorn, but I won't give up! I'll keep siiiiinging....I'll siiiiing like the Little Mermaid...." all done in a high-pitched, repetitive tune.

Have a wonderful week!

The Big Show

2011-11-11T12:31:00.000-05:00

Our kitchen is quiet these days.

After months of gathering around the table three or four times a week, hashing out ideas, collaborating on harmonies, adding and taking out elements to get the songs just the way we wanted them, our evenings are quiet now.

The candle was always lit, and there was always wine or tea to help pass the time.

Our kids wandered in and out, showing us their growing awareness of rhythm, singing along with the bits they knew.

It wasn't work. It was wondrous good fun, the sounds of music blending with our children's voices. When bedtime came around, we'd pause for stories and teeth brushing. Then the kids would fall asleep to the muted tones of songs their father wrote.

Then, it was finally time to do the show! Here we are, just before going onstage, with the man himself: Ron Sexsmith!

You can see one of our numbers that night by going here! It was a wonderful opportunity, and a fun experience for all. I think I'll keep my day job, at least for the time being, though.

Possibilities

2011-11-08T21:15:00.000-05:00

I've once again dug out the beautiful celery green yarn (Donegal Tweed by Tahki Yarns) I bought when this girl was a baby. I purchased enough skeins to create the perfect sweater for myself. I wanted to wait till I lost my baby weight. Then I got pregnant again. Then I used a skein here and there to create baby sweaters for friends.

I've a hankering now to make a sweater (even if I haven't lost the so-called baby weight). I think I like this one...we'll see. I have enough yarn left to do it, once Christmas gifts are all tucked away and ready to give.

For now, I'm winding the skeins into "cakes" under the watchful eye of the little girl who will one day become my apprentice. Oh, the possibilities in a skein of yarn, and in the hands of a child.

Bonfire Night

2011-11-06T18:12:00.000-05:00

Remember remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.

I see no reason why gunpowder, treason

Should ever be forgot...

On a clear, cold November night, the time is right to gather friends around a bonfire to herald the shorter days that are upon us, and to remember the story of Guy Fawkes. This English tradition of burning a "Guy" to represent the man who, in 1605, attempted to blow up the British Parliament has taken on contemporary meaning as thousands of protesters involved in the "Occupy Wall Street" movement donned Guy Fawkes masks, perhaps celebrating his rebel's spirit.

Around here, we build a "guy" out of old clothes stuffed with newspaper. I proudly draw his face; somehow, I always manage to capture that expression of both defeat and disdain for his captors that I imagine Guy Fawkes wore when it came time for his exectution, all with a Sharpie marker! The man himself was executed by being hung till almost dead, then drawn and quartered. The English sure know how to deal with dissenters, don't they? That'll teach 'em...

We howl and hoot, and raise a glass to all rebels and dissenters everywhere. Not that we condone blowing things up to get your point across. But you do kind of have to admire Guy Fawkes' spirit, right?

The children are even more delighted than the grownups.

I used my fancy nighttime lens to get these cool shots. No, I didn't. I just did the best I could with my beloved little cheapy. Jude's latest headgear is an old skiddo helmet, a gift from his grandpa.

This is one of those traditions that I suspect my children will carry with them into their adulthoods. They'll remember the feeling of anticipation as daddy lights the fire, and mommy lights candles all around the front porch to welcome our guests; the excitement as friends arrive, and the wild abandon of being out late on a cold November night, the moon and stars adding their light to that of the bonfire.

There is a certain magic to Bonfire Night that has made it one of our family's favourite traditions.

The Waterhorse Sweater

2011-11-02T15:47:00.000-04:00

It's grey. It's itchy. It'll keep him warm on a windy, rainy day by a loch.

It's the Waterhorse Sweater!

This kid loves tweed caps, and looking like his daddy. So he proudly donned this as soon as it was blocked, and went for a wander on our "moors".

Of course, a six-year-old boy can only pose in thoughtful, Scottish ways for a few shots. Then, it's back to his dance moves.

I'm really pleased with how it turned out. I used the Saddle Shoulder shaping from Elizabeth Zimmerman's "Knitting Without Tears", and let me tell you: if you're afraid of math and design, this genius of a woman can set you on the path. This is my second "original" sweater, and I'm thrilled with the fit. It's made with Briggs and Little "heritage" in Threaded Grey and White. The itch factor is reduced once washed, and I find this wool gets softer and softer as time goes by. I love it for its rustic feel and look, mild sheepy smell, and price! And you can't beat 100% wool for warmth, whether you're in Scotland or Canada.

It's perfect for my explorer-son.

The Blogging Quandary

2011-11-01T11:40:00.000-04:00

Our internet has been uncooperative lately. It should be sorted out soon. I don't have time to check other blogs, as much as I love to read about the lives of others, and I find I'm kind of enjoying the "free" time. Evenings that are usually spent browsing and blogging are spent reading, going to bed early, or cuddling up with my honey for a movie.

It's weird. Even though blogging allows me to focus in on the wonderful bits of life, and provides me with a beautifully organised documentary of my journey as a mother, I feel more present in my life when I'm not blogging.

I remember in the height of blogging madness, I thought blog-thoughts all day long. Each photo was blog-potential, and I berated myself if I forgot my camera when something wonderful happened. And I have most of those moments posted on the blog. But my memories of the actual moments are a bit blurry.

So. Doing leaf rubbings with my kids just for the fun of it, and being present with them (rather than grabbing for the camera and making sure the background isn't too messy) is feeling really, really great.

I feel like I'm striking a balance, finally, by not posting every day, and sometimes not posting at all in a week. I don't really have a great camera (all the really nice shots on here are done with my mom's camera which she generously lends me regularly so I can create a "bank" of blog photos), and my time is limited these days.

Letting myself off a hook that I myself hooked myself on feels really, really good. Saying "Yes!" to my kids instead of "Just a second!" feels really good. Just living each moment, without thinking about how I'll retell it in a post or wondering if I should tidy up before taking a photo feels really good.

So, I'm taking the internet break as a blessing, and will be back here now and then. I do want to show off Jude's Waterhorse Sweater (it's finished!) as soon as I can manage to get the photos loaded up!

Until then, take care.

::this moment::

2011-10-28T08:32:00.000-04:00

An autumn moment, one I want to pause, savour, and remember when the snows cover up the last of the dandelions.

Her Sense of Self

2011-10-26T21:02:00.001-04:00

Because she's my third child, I sometimes need to remind myself to marvel at the new things she can do. Her brother, my first, has a box full of early scribbles and paintings, each one dated and tucked away by his proud mama. By the time the third arrived, I was inundated with artistic renderings, shoved in a basket. I regret to admit that I look at some of those "Humpty Dumpty" drawings (round body, arms and legs stuck out at angles) and wonder...which of my children drew this?

But then, she developed an artistic style all her own. She draws her people upside down.

Always start with the head, as this is where a toddler's consciousness is focussed: the place where information is gathered and processed with eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. . A nose that wrinkles up, and ears that can differentiate between the voices of those that love her.

A mouth that shouts and laughs and sings and murmurs and cries, and eyes that widen in surprise and tear up in an instant of frustration.

Hair, and cheeks (her latest addition to these people drawings), and nice long legs; she is grounded by those sturdy, useful feet.

Some longer hair indicates that this is a self-portrait. Arms are long for hugging, and fingers are many to reflect the many wonderful things her little hands can do now.

She looks with pride on her (upside down) creation, and I get a sense that this kid's sense of self is just as it should be.

The kindergarten teacher in me can't resist drawing attention to how she grips her marker; some children do this "tripod" grasp naturally (thumb and forefinger grasping the pencil, with the pencil leaning against that "web" between, supported by the middle finger), and it is considered the best grip for early printing skills. If your toddler grasps the pencil with the whole fist, "scissors" it between the fore-and middle fingers, or seems to have a "strange" way of gripping the pencil, please begin gently correcting their pencil grasp with lots of positive reinforcement; this will greatly benefit them when they are asked to do more than scribble. Thank you, from your child's future teachers!

Felt Nesting Dolls

2011-10-25T07:41:00.000-04:00

It's that time of year, just before Halloween, when one starts to think about Christmas. At least I do. I imagine most mothers are like me...as the days get shorter, our hands start to itch with wanting to make stuff. Usually, this time of year sees me busily crafting five times five little items to share with other mama friends, to create our beautiful Advent Sticks. This has been a beloved tradition for the past four years.

This year, we collectively decided that we're busy enough with work, housekeeping, the various animals in our care (dogs, cats, chickens, bees, horses, etc.), and our children's extra curriculars (hockey, stepdancing, piano, singing, etc.), and that maybe this year we could...well...ease off a bit.

This led us to decide that we'll each craft five items only, to share with one another at a gathering sometime before Christmas. We'll add in a bottle of wine (or three) to the gathering, and all will be merry!

I had already begun these little felt Russian Nesting Dolls (they don't really nest!), and have decided that these will be my gift to my dear friends in crafting, mothering, and everyday life. Traditionally, these dolls come in all varieties; I've seen nesting angels, and a nesting Farmer in the Dell set.

There's something so sweet and charming about the Peasant Mother style of Matryoshka, though, isn't there? Even the name sounds maternal. Our little circle of mamas is not comprised of blondes in kerchiefs, but the sentiment is the same.

The serene face, the healthy figure, the roses in the cheeks: these are mamas that have found their wisdom and peace in their roles.

They embrace the busyness of their lives, and know when to take a moment to rest.

They also have great fashion sense, and looked so sweet near this red bowl of eggs that I couldn't resist adding it as a prop to this photo shoot!

The pattern came from Better Homes and Garden's Holiday Crafts magazine, which I buy every year at the grocery store. It's well worth the cost; this year's edition contains many lovely felt projects, with wonderful patterns. I have a few others on the go and will share as I complete them.

Monday Musings

2011-10-24T08:20:00.000-04:00

I'm joining Nadja over at Patch 'O' Dirt Farm with some Monday Musings. Join in, and make sure to link back to her space!

Right now...oatmeal cooking, coffee on, kittens tumbling around, husband in the bathtub, me summoning the energy to rouse my three little ones to start the day.

This weekend...we revelled in a night IN. We watched "Hanna"...it was action-packed, and lots of fun! Saturday we visited with a friend who lives down the road, and took a long meander through her fields and woods to a pond where the kids got muddy and threw stuff into the water. My husband and I had a date...we went to Ottawa to a beautiful Italian restaurant to celebrate the 80th birthday of a dear friend. Wine, bread, pasta, cream sauce, spumoni, Dean Martin singing "That's Amore"...it couldn't have been better! We so rarely eat out, so it was a real treat. Sunday I did groceries, had two new babysitters visit to get acquainted with the kids, and visited with women friends in the afternoon/evening. Our lives are blessed with busyness!

Some plans for the week: chiropractic appointment, hair appointment, chilling out with my girls, preparing for our gig next weekend!

If I find some time for myself, I'd like to...I don't even know! Knit! I'm on the last rounds of the collar of Jude's Waterhorse (hope to share it on Wednesday's Yarn Along!), and want to start making Christmas gifts.

I am grateful for the community of courageous, beautiful women that surrounds me, and for my chiropractor.
Some special prayer intentions for the week: for those in chronic pain (last week's hip pain reminds me to be mindful of my body, and grateful for when it's feeling well!), and those facing cancer treatments.

Something that makes me smile: Knock-knock jokes that make no sense. Kittens climbing into rubber boots. Outrageous talk between women by candlelight. Singing "The Oldest Swinger in Town" to my 80 year old friend.

Have a wonderful week!

::this moment::

2011-10-21T07:58:00.000-04:00

One photo, no words...one moment I'd like to pause and savour, and cherish in years to come.

Visit Amanda's blog to view more moments, or to share a link to yours!

Have a lovely weekend!

This Beautiful, Beautiful Child

2011-10-20T16:00:00.000-04:00

Think of your son. Think of the surprise and delight when you first saw his little face, when you dubbed him, "A BOY!", and the dreams you had for him before he was even an hour old. I imagined my little boy growing tall like his father, awkward in his early teens, having smelly feet and a messy room, and becoming a man I'd be proud of. Think of Robert Munsch's book "I'll Love You Forever". That's kind of what I pictured when I learned that my firstborn child was a boy.

Now imagine your grief if your beloved son was judged as "wrong" by his peers, the very people whose opinions matter most to him. He is judged because he chooses figure skating over hockey in a hockey-obsessed culture. He is tormented on the bus, and is eventually held down so that his peers can shove batteries down his throat. Imagine the terror he experiences, and his confusion that people could be so mean, when all he wants is to be loved and accepted. It doesn't seem like much to ask.

Your son tells you he thinks he is gay. You tell him that you love him, and that you want him to be healthy and happy.You know that this world seems more and more "okay" with homosexuality, that he will be able to get married someday to a person he loves, and that he will enjoy the same rights as all Canadians.

But then your son is fifteen, and he is depressed. He is different, and his peers see it, and they torture him with words and actions. Your talented, sweet son, the one you took care of when he was a baby and through all the years of childhood and early adolescence, becomes sad and withdrawn. He gives up figure skating, even though he was ranked amongst the top ten for his age group in Ontario, and you know he loved it.

And then one day, you learn that he is gone.

Your son has taken his own life. The son that you taught to give to his community, that smiled in photographs, that delighted you with his personality and red hair, couldn't take the pain of not being accepted any longer.

James Hubley was an Ottawa teen who killed himself this past weekend after unimaginable torment at the hands of other kids. What I will never forget is the sound of his father's voice on the radio as he talked about his son, telling his story, and the helplessness and bewilderment he expressed that his darling, "this beautiful, beautiful child" was taken from him.

No matter what your religious beliefs are, please take a moment to whisper a prayer for the family and friends of this beautiful child whose death came too soon.

A Body's Wisdom

2011-10-19T20:04:00.000-04:00

I often boast that I never get sick. I think my proximity to little kids who slobber on their containers before asking me to open them, who often have boogers/saliva on their hands when they touch mine, and who cough with abandon have made my immune system stronger than many. When a stomach flu goes through the house, I never get it. I tend to the patients, change pyjamas, and only feel nauseous when there's cold barf on my leg or foot.

Some women fantasize about a tropical vacation. Not me. I dream of getting sick...nothing too serious, but enough to demand that I spend a few days in bed while someone else tends to my children. My only stipulations are that I can knit/write/read until I feel better.

At the same time, I don't like being dependent on others. While I'm perfectly happy to take care of my family, I'm uncomfortable with being a burden on my husband, and insist that I'm FINE when really, I'm not (e.g. when menstrual cramps get the better of me).

I have a hectic life. From the minute I wake up between 5:30 and 6:00 a.m., I'm a go. I consider it a triumph if I make it to 8:30 without raising my voice, because those are the hours I spend getting everyone fed, dressed, and organised to make it out the door. Three sets of clothes, three heads combed, three pairs of shoes/mitts. Work, pick up Margot, drive home, make dinner, do homework, have baths, read stories, settle kids into bed. Make lunches, do laundry, make a list for tomorrow's tasks...fall into bed, and have it begin again tomorrow.

I'm Everymother, at least every mother that has to work outside the home.

Sometimes, though, my body digs its heels in, after months of whispering at me to slow down. My body begins to shout. I had some slight pain in my left hip flexor a few days ago; this is an ailment I've experienced off and on since going through pregnancy three times in four years. It is inconvenient, causing me to trip up the stairs because I haven't lifted my foot high enough. But I generally push my way through it, because I have to.

Yesterday I stripped wallpaper, scrubbed the floor and walls, and took down coathooks in one corner of my kitchen. I sorted and tidied. I was on my feet all day, ignoring the voice of my body, that was getting louder and louder with each step.

Then, after tossing and turning and trying to find some comfortable position, my body roared and woke me up at 2 a.m. I was in tears with pain. I got my husband up to get some painkillers and ice for me. I had a hot bath at 3 a.m. I finally passed out, then was up at 6:30 to start the day again.

I've been staggering around like Igor all day, dragging the offending leg behind me. I am unable to lift my knee without nauseating pain. I barely made it through a half-day at school, then had a visit with the chiropractor who informed me that my pelvis is all messed up, my legs different lengths, my left side compensating for weakness on the right side.

So.

I got my wish. I have to rest and stay in bed. I'm in considerable pain, however, which makes the idea of blissful napping and lounging a bit of a joke.

I don't like to slow down. I don't like to be taken care of. I don't like to be dependent.

But, this evening, I passed the evening routine of bath/stories/bed to my husband, then asked him to put some socks on my feet because the ice pack on my ass was chilling what should have been the warm nest of my bed.

It was humbling. But my body is forcing me to slow down, to stop and rest. I'm compelled to say "Yes" to this demand.

GratiTuesday: This Kid

2011-10-18T08:47:00.000-04:00

I'm grateful for this little guy that I get to call my son

(When I took this photo, he told me he'd make his "nice smile". This is it).

With his freckles, his incredible sense of style (today he went to school in a coonskin cap), his endless creativity, messy inventions, profound question (what's out there PAST space? who made the earth? what did the first owl look like?), and his courageous little heart, he brings light to my days.

I wish I could always keep him like this, innocent and sweet, blissfully unaware of the troubles of the world. I wish I believed that kids will embrace his quirkiness instead of making him feel like it's wrong to be different.

I know his unique spirit will thrive in this world of sameness, and I embrace all the things that mean he's a square peg sometimes.

He's perfect to me, in all his bad-temper, soft-hugs, jokes-that-don't-make-sense-but-crack-him-up-anyway, potion-making, creative ways.

I'm so grateful that he's mine, at least for this small part of his life.

Monday Musings

2011-10-17T10:25:00.000-04:00

I'm joining Nadja over at Patch 'O' Dirt Farm with some Monday Musings. Join in, and make sure to link back to her space!

Right now...I'm gearing up for the busiest morning of my week: getting the three kids out the door (Margot to daycare, the older two to school) with lunches, weather-appropriate footwear, brushed teeth, and combed hair! Coffee is on, lunches are made, cats and chickens are fed and watered. Some people consider Wednesday "Hump Day" (an expression which always makes me giggle), but for me, it's Monday. It's all smooth sailing from here.

This weekend...Friday night, I saw a great live music show in a nearby village. Joey Wright, Jenny Whiteley, Dan Whiteley, and Luke Mercier are some of Canada's premier roots/bluegrass musicians. I love small town music shows. I volunteered to work at the door, and hugged everyone that walked through it (great minds think alike), and even received a jar of fresh honey (processed that day) from my friend Maureen when she came in. The kids danced till the last song, old fellas in cowboy boots stomped around with pretty young ladies in their arms, and a great time was had by all. Saturday was spent sorting/purging the attic, which has become a depository for crafts, knitting, and sewing supplies. I have THREE flat-bed knitting machines. I haven't used any of them. People just give me stuff because I'm crafty, and like a musician who can't say no to an instrument, no matter how damaged, I just say YES! Now I'm saying NO and sending boxes and boxes of fabric out. The toy purging continues in anticipation of our even-more-simplified-than-usual Christmas. Sunday we just kind of lazed around...recuperating from Jude's first sleepover (that ended at one in the morning, when we called his friend's dad to pick him up). My husband is enjoying reminding me that it was my idea...

Some plans for the week: more work in the attic, and preparing our bedroom to paint (FINALLY) after two years of putting it off. My mother will take the girls for a sleepover Thursday-Friday, so I can get the painting done. I can't even fathom having two days in a row ALONE in my house. Oh, the things I hope to accomplish! And of course, I work two days this week, too.

If I find some time for myself, I'd just like to see where each day takes me. I want to play with my kids, go for a walk each day, and remember to be gentle with myself.

I am grateful for our plentiful supply of dry wood, and our woodstove. The plentiful vegetables in our fridge, the bounty from our last CSA basket of the season, is also a blessing. I'm grateful for the trust my children have in me.

Some special prayer intentions for the week: I have prayers to say this week, but they're private ones I'll say in my heart.

Something that makes me smile: when the windshield wipers keep time with the music. Kittens learning to purr. My husband making my coffee JUST RIGHT and bringing it up to our room so I could lie in bed and read on Saturday morning. An old man in a western shirt with one shirttail hanging out, to match the one pantleg that's tucked into his cowboy boots.

Have a wonderful Monday!

This Moment

2011-10-14T08:21:00.000-04:00

One moment, one photo: no words, just a moment I want to pause, savour, and reflect upon in years to come. Stop by Amanda's blog to view other moments, or to share one of your own!

Have a wonderful weekend!

Knitting Circle

2011-10-12T08:09:00.000-04:00

I come crashing into the house as always, with kids clamouring for Nanny, my arms overloaded with bags, baskets, keys, and little shoes discarded during the twenty minute drive.

My mother welcomes us, as always, with a smile and warm hugs. Through my whole life, this is something I have always been able to count on: my mother's warm welcome. She always greets us with joy, and bustles to put the kettle on.

I make my way into the sunroom, where my mom's friend and my aunts are already sitting, head to head, talking gussets, lace patterns, and wrap-and-turns. Sounds like words you might hear at a convention for burlesque dancers, but we're here to knit socks.

We're all in various stages of sock-knitting. My Aunt Karen wants to learn to knit toe-up socks, and I'm here to finally finish what were supposed to be my 37th Birthday Socks. I got stuck on the heel, and after doing them twice, I'm seeking Marg's help. Marg is a bit of an expert when it comes to socks. She knits them constantly, and donates them, gives them out like candy, like something that didn't take hours of time and expertise to create.

Right now she's working on tiny ones to donate to a Grandmothers to Grandmothers fundraiser (Stephen Lewis' brainchild, to benefit the women in Africa who are raising their grandchildren, orphaned by HIV/AIDS).

With the tea, the old photos come out and my aunts reminisce as my sister and I listen, then laugh uproariously at the way these older sisters tease and shock each other. The talk turns to old boyfriends, and marriage, and those who are now gone.

My own children wander in and out for hugs, and act shyly around these women who look and sound so much like their beloved Nanny. Time folds in on itself, and I remember feeling the same way about my Nanny and her sisters.

The talk turns back to knitting. The unsatisfactory heel: too short. Marg diagnoses the problem: these socks need gussets!

She guides me down the path to sock-greatness.

Life's best moments are these: spending time with people you love, who have known you since you were a child, doing something you love together. With them, I am ageless; their hugs are the same as they were when I was little, their scent and voices extensions of the generations of women who have gone before them.

They say that the best way to ensure that your children are musically inclined is to surround them with people who play music.

I expect that this is the same theory for knitting; my children will never remember a time when they weren't surrounded by women knitting, laughing, drinking tea, and remembering.

GratiTuesday: My Nose

2011-10-11T07:41:00.000-04:00

My nose is small and has freckles. It has a tiny diamond stud on the right side. It smells things. For this I am grateful.

I spent a day paying attention to the things my nose could smell.

I am grateful for the smells of

::my husband's skin + the clean laundry smell of his t-shirt in the early morning::
::my childen, when I first kiss them in the morning::
:: toast and coffee in my mom's kitchen
::spices of pumpkin pie when I made them in the morning
::turkey dressing: sage, bread, pepper, melted butter
::chainsaw exhaust
::dry leaves, fresh-cut grass, earth in the fall
:: shampoo in the shower + the familiar mildly chlorinated scent of "town" water
::my Body Shoppe carrot facial moisturizer
::the smell of family and friends as I hugged them on Thanksgiving day
:: many food smells: turkey cooking, bacon frying
:: the musty, incensey smell of the choir loft at church
::the smell of old music books
::the cologne on an old, old friend as he hugged me after Mass
::fresh manure: horse, pig, cow
::tea, pie pastry, sour cream, salsa, pear cider
::the sheepy smell of 100% wool, as I enter the final rounds of Jude's Waterhorse Sweater
::my mom's distinctive, personal, and familiar scent as she hugged me goodbye

Smells! Food, familiar places, loved people. I've heard interviews and read accounts of people who have lost their sense of smell; it is an unexpectedly devastating loss. My son has a keen sense of smell; I put lipbalm on in the van the other day, and within seconds, he asked (from the far back), "Why do I smell oranges?" He's always first to notice and identify a smell. A possible future as a sommelier or a chef? Perhaps.

When we got home last night from Thanksgiving at my parents' house, we were greeted by the powerful smell of cat litter. After cleaning the box, I rubbed lavender oil on my hands to pat on our pillows. We drifted off into flower-scented sleep.

An ode to my nose! I am grateful for it.

Monday Musings

2011-10-10T03:39:00.000-04:00

I'm joining Nadja over at Patch 'O' Dirt Farm with some Monday Musings. Join in, and make sure to link back to her space!

Right now...I hate to say it, but it's 3:30 a.m. I can't sleep. I have a window of very light sleep between two and four in the morning, and if I'm awakened, that's it. I'm up. The house is quiet, aside from the hum of the refrigerator and the purr of the kittens as their mother climbs into their basket. I've taken some Valerian tincture and am hoping that fatigue settles in soon. Monday is a holiday, so I know that I can catch up on sleep during the day if needed.

This weekend we celebrated Thanksgiving. My brother, his wife, her sister, and her niece landed in from Toronto, and we all spent the weekend at my mom's house. We played music, played cards, played with the kids, did yard work to put mom's garden to bed for the winter, and managed a wee bit of knitting! We also cooked and ate. A lot. A family tradition is to go around the table, each person speaking of what they are grateful for. We are always moved and amused by these sharings, and had many toasts to the blessings in our lives.

Some plans for the week: Phew. On Tuesday, I'm singing at the local day program for adults with special needs, and taking Violet for a haircut. On Thursday, I'm taking Camino to the vet for shots, etc., then visiting with a friend. Long range plans are due at work, and I'll teach Wednesday and Friday. More de-cluttering here at home on my days off, as always!

If I find some time for myself, I'd like to sit quietly and regroup. I started a cleanse two weeks ago, and was very strict about it for a week. I felt really great: energetic, not bloated, clear-minded. With Thanksgiving, I've veered from that path, and am being hard on myself about the self-sabotage I always seem to engage in. So, I'll be pulling a U-Turn, and getting back on track, remembering to take care of myself. I also hope to finish Jude's Waterhorse Sweater!

I am grateful for: this beautiful season, the amazing weather we had over Thanksgiving weekend, the proximity of all my children's grandparents, the fact that I didn't have to host Thanksgiving dinner this year! I'm grateful for the memories I have of my grandmother last year at this time (she was admitted to hospital in early November), and for the updates we are getting from my dad, who is trekking in Nepal at the moment!

Some special prayer intentions for the week: for my sister Julie, that she gets some much-needed rest (read about her journey at http://www.whatiwouldtellyou.com/ ...visit the weblog page to leave a comment). For my sister Lana as she accompanies her friend on the journey through chemotherapy. For those in ill health.

Something that makes me smile: our kittens. Really! They're hilarious and so full of character. Watching my children interact with them (wrapping them up like babies, giggling at how their tails quiver as they try to walk on the slippery floor) makes me smile.

Have a wonderful Monday!

This Moment: Chicken Wrangler

2011-10-07T07:39:00.000-04:00

Inspired by Amanda Blake Soule: one photo of one moment from the past week, a moment to savour and remember in the days to come.

Have a wonderful weekend, and Happy Thanksgiving to all you Canadians out there!

An Ordered Home: The Beginning

2011-10-05T19:42:00.000-04:00

Sometimes things just get kind of out of hand.

We have this shelf in our kitchen. It's so handy! All of the kids' arts/crafts materials are there on the shelves, within reach of the kitchen table. So is the computer, printer, and speakers. And the random detritus that floats around a house where children roam...socks, pieces of fabric, old artwork, toys, sunglasses...you get the picture.

This is the cupboard. Yuck, right? But have you ever noticed how your eyes can glaze over parts of your house that are dreadful?

And then, one day, the veil lifts and you think: how did it GET like this?

It took all day. I purged. I carefully selected "special" drawings and paintings, and put the rest in a box to help with starting fires this winter. I re-organised stuff that had wandered away from its designated place. I tied up cords, discarded empty paint bottles and hardened paintbrushes, and even sorted through that...guck that collects at the bottom of a craft box (pompom fluff, glitter, googly eyes, and bits of wool and fabric).

Ah! Now doesn't that feel better? It took me HOURS to complete, but it was so worth it. See how the afternoon sun lights up that tidy corner? I started in the morning.

Organising this one corner of the house made me feel like I'd actually accomplished something in my day.

What sorting/purging/organising have you been up to in your home?

In His Arms

2011-09-29T06:48:00.001-04:00

After dinner, we push the island aside, put on some music (last night, "Rubber Soul" by the Beatles), put on our dancing feet, and cut a rug.

In this strange photo, Violet's foot looks like it's put on backwards, but really, she's just mid-twirl. Her dress is PERFECT for twirling, is it not?

We dig a too-small party dress out for Margot, and she feels the thrill of being twirled, too.

When I see the girls dancing with my husband, I remember how my dad used to ask all of his daughters to dance at our small town wedding receptions. We'd jive (none of us with the grace of our mother), and waltz and two-step. We felt safe in dad's arms, and beautiful. I remember the feeling as I grew taller and fit into his arms better, and how I always hoped I'd meet a man who could dance.

I did.

Now we mostly dance in our kitchen, and the kids giggle when their dad puts his arms around me for a slow song. It occurred to me that when older people reminisce about these days we're in (seemingly suffering from amnesia because they never mention the whining, fighting, exhaustion, and mess), THIS is what they miss.

These are the moments they're remembering with such fondness.

And lest you think we're forgetting him, I've already told him that if the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, then the way to a woman's heart is through dance. So we teach them to keep the time, to keep their heads up but be careful not to step on each others' feet, and most of all, to keep their partner safe in their arms.

Because isn't that just one of the best feelings in the world?

Just One Room

2011-09-27T06:44:00.000-04:00

I fantasize about creating a serene oasis of romantic potential in our bedroom. For now, unpainted walls, a ceiling patched with drywall, and mismatched curtains adorn this grand central station of laundry sorting. I use the word sorting loosely: it's more a dump-the-laundry-here-because-we-need-the-basket kind of place. We dig through the pile to find what we need, and wade through it to collapse in the bed at night.

Ironically, I HAVE created a serene oasis in my children's room, and guard it lovingly. I make the bed every morning, and tidy up the floor every night. Every day, they play rambunctiously, jumping on the bed, dumping the costume box, scattering wooden train tracks and little dolls around the floor. Still, I persist in tidying it up through the day; I think it gives me a sense of control over what sometimes feels like an avalanche of mess.

One day in July, I managed to capture it before things went downhill.

This is how I picture my whole house looking: thoughtfully-placed, well-loved objects on tidy display,

artwork properly mounted (this was one of my masterpieces from childhood),

artfully draped quilts,

and lovely objets d'arts (or crafts, or old Chinese checker boards) placed just so.

Horizontal surfaces are not dumping grounds for papers and detritus of all sorts, but important display areas.

Books are returned to shelves after they're read, and the titles always face OUT.

Ah, an oasis. I think the other word for an oasis is a mirage. Look, quickly, for it will be gone in a blink of the eye.

A girl can dream, though, can't she?

Monday Musings

2011-09-26T06:33:00.000-04:00

I'm joining Nadja over at Patch 'O' Dirt Farm with some Monday Musings. Join in, and make sure to link back to her space!

Right now...

This weekend I processed a ridiculous amount of Concord grapes. My kitchen looked like a scene from Dexter, my sink is stained blue, and my fingernails are filthy. And the damn jelly didn't set. I didn't have the energy to start all over so I have some freezer bags full of grape juice in the freezer. I'll deal with it later. I may try to re-set my jelly if I find the time/energy/motivation! I've been watching 30 Rock on DVD, while working away at Jude's Waterhorse sweater; I'm on the yoke now, and ready to decrease. I'm just waffling right now: should I do raglan sleeves, or Elizabeth Zimmerman's saddle shoulders? I'm thrilled that he's actually going to get to wear this this fall! Sunday we just hung out; I worked away at sorting more stuff for the great Thanksgiving yard sale, and Robin got some of the wood in. Then we had a practice session in our kitchen, while I simulateously made a roast pork dinner for us all. Guess what we had for dessert? Homemade grape jello...

Some plans for the week: I'm registering for a course (Kindergarten qualifications)...my first since graduating university! I'm excited and a bit daunted. Friday night I'm attending a house concert to hear Gregory Hoskins, and on Saturday night, I'm doing a reading at a poetry night at a local restaurant. So I'll also be trying to arrange babysitting for two nights!

If I find some time for myself, I would like to get more rest, try to exercise, and start making a plan to take better care of myself. I've been feeling weighed down by stress these days and am recognizing the importance of keeping myself well so that I can meet the many demands in all the areas of my life. I'll start with a vision board (more on that later), and will try to make some small changes. I can't say I have a lot of faith in my ability to adjust my lifelong habits, as I've tried and failed so many times. But I'm going to try.

I am grateful for the intense colours of autumn: the clear blue sky, the fading of grasses while leaves brighten; the sound of geese heading south; the growing pile of wood in the woodshed; my husband, who always finds the right thing to say when I'm down; the amazing ability for our human souls to keep trying, even when we're exhausted and discouraged.

Some special prayer intentions for the week: I'm thinking of praying for myself this week. I try to pray in gratitude every single day. This week I'm going to ask for patience with myself, and for gentleness when I want to be my own worst critic. I want to pray for serenity, courage, and wisdom. I've forgotten to say that Serenity Prayer that is so simple, so wise, so effective. So I'll be adding that to my mornings.

Something that makes me smile: Jude coming home from his friend's house with a mustache drawn on; the same friend's mother, who keeps gluten free products on hand so I don't have to send food when Jude goes to play there. My husband dressed in a lion costume, roaring at the kids and making them shriek and run in terror. Bare bums. The Humpty-Dumpty self-portrait of a four-year-old. Robin telling Jude, when he asked what was for lunch: "Chicken farts and googly eyes"...heehee!! Violet watching the Sesame Street DVD (40 Years of Sunny Days), and "doing the err-err Pigeon" with Bert. I have so many opportunities to laugh in a day...a blessing in itself!

Have a wonderful Monday!

Opening Act!

2011-09-24T14:12:00.000-04:00

We're opening for RON SEXSMITH!

It's crazy exciting for us.

You don't have to come to hear us.

But you DO have to come to hear Ron Sexsmith.

His voice lifts me up and breaks my heart.

Refer to the poster above for more info.

Mammal Wisdom

2011-09-22T07:00:00.001-04:00

A basket sits in a safe corner of my kitchen, where a mama cat snuggles her three nurslings. She comes out for food, or for a quick wander outside. At night, she catches mice in our kitchen.

Her babies never cry because they're hungry or lonely. She is always there, ready to nurse them before they cry out. She nuzzles them and keeps them clean and warm; they sleep in a cozy heap of safety and security.

Her approach to parenting has made me reflective of my own days as a mother. With my firstborn, I just sat and held him; I'd prepare a snack, make sure my book was within reach, and would sit down to nurse him. He'd doze off peacefully in my arms, and I'd just hold him until he woke up. I'd do bits of housework when I could, but saw it as my job to nurture him.

Along came my second child. I had a non-verbal two-year-old on my hands as well, so she quickly found her thumb, and napped on her own. She often travelled in a sling or carrier, and was physically with me as much as possible, though not as much as her brother was.

My third was a different kettle of fish; you can read about it by clicking the Making Peace picture to the right.
I've been thinking of the 24-hour cure prescribed by my midwife when Margot wasn't gaining weight. For 24 hours, I snuggled in bed, skin-to-skin, with this new human, nuzzling her head, smelling her, kissing her, closely examining her little body. You see, with two other small children in the house, I'd barely had time to get to know my new child. This was a blessing and a revelation to me, to really savour her. She nursed and slept, I read and dozed, and was catered to by my loving family.

It seems to me that this is as it should be! My mother always warned me about getting out of my pyjamas after giving birth. She said that as soon as I started wearing real clothes again, everyone would expect that I was ready to resume all my normal duties: laundry, cooking, cleaning. As long as I stayed in my pjs, I was seen as someone who had just given birth, and encouraged to rest.

It seems a shame to me that women in our culture are back at the gym after five weeks, back to work after six weeks (at least in the US), boasting about how their child sleeps through the night at two months. A baby isn't SUPPOSED to sleep through the night at two months! Waking up to nurse every few hours reduces the chances of SIDS occurring, and allows more of that all-important snuggle and bonding time (whether the baby is breast- or bottle-fed).

It is a shame that new mothers receive swings, saucers, bouncy seats, and Bumbo chairs (all devised to set a baby down), instead of a beautiful sling that would allow her to be hands free AND give her baby what he really needs: her scent, her warmth, her heartbeat.

It seems to me we rush the whole process. It is fleeting and precious, and all we want to do is get out of bed and resume our normal lives.

We have a lifetime to be "normal". If I were to do it all again, I'd take a cue from this mama cat. I'd cuddle and purr, kiss my babies, snuggle in bed and rest all day if I felt like it.

I'd bask in the beauty of being a mammal, and would turn my human brain off for a bit: the brain that says I must get my pre-pregnancy body back, I must have a clean house, I must get dressed, I must train my baby to sleep on her own, I must sleep through the night therefore I must train my baby to sleep through the night.

It seems to me that this mama cat, without ever having read a parenting book, has got it all figured out.

Yarn Along: A Teeny Birthday Surprise!

2011-09-21T05:56:00.000-04:00

I'm joining in with Ginny at Small Things to tell you about what I'm knitting and reading these days. Pop over to her blog to check out her Yarn Along, and links to others!

I finally ordered the book Teeny Tiny Mochi Mochis and once I'd finished giggling (I LOVE the teeny caveman!), I started knitting. And finished pretty quickly. Then I started another one, and ended up with this:

The acorn and cherry tomato are to show you exactly how teeny tiny these are!

Don't you love how the teeny elephant looks like she is trying to blow out a candle? The friend this will go to collects elephants...figurines and such. I'm pretty sure she doesn't have one like this! Heehee! I love saying teeny-tiny-teeny-tiny as much as possible.

I'm reading Elizabeth Hay's Alone in the Classroom. It's a love story/family history/murder-mystery set in rural Saskatchewan, as well as in a fictional Ottawa Valley town (which I'm guessing is Renfrew); I'm enjoying it so far. Hay's "Late Nights on Air" is also worth reading.

I'm back to work, so knitting and reading time is at a premium. Teeny tinies are perfect for right now. It's a miracle I can even read a novel...I should be reading short stories. Or sonnets. Or haikus.

Yes, haikus are teeny tiny, aren't they?

I'm going to rest my teeny tiny head on my teeny tiny pillow now...have a wonderful Wednesday!

A Letter at Christmas, AND a Promotional Discount!

2011-09-20T07:56:00.000-04:00

I've calculated that since giving birth to my first child six and a half years ago, we've celebrated Christmas with kids six times, and acknowledged twelve birthdays. I did the math: that's eighteen opportunities for our loved ones to give gifts to our kids. That's three sets of grandparents, five sets of aunts and uncles, plus the gifts we give.

So the question is: how do you politely request certain kinds of gifts for your children? We have been blessed by many grownups that love our children and don't ever want to seem ungrateful. It's just that after so many years, I have had to discard so many cheap plastic/battery-powered toys, or worse, toys that cost lots of money BECAUSE they were battery-powered. They still break. We're overwhelmed with boxes of stuff our kids don't really play with, or those toys that have so many parts it's impossible to keep them together.
About four or five years ago, Mothering Magazine featured a letter that could be sent to friends and relatives well before the holidays to polite state your intentions for your children. I've always felt a bit unsettled about sending it...like I was being difficult, or a toy snob, or taking the fun out of the mad consumerism of Christmas. But I think this is the year.

After visiting a friend's small and beautiful home, I was inspired to take things in hand. The limitations in space demand that her daughter's toys are well-chosen. A few baskets of Waldorf toys (play silks, wooden tree blocks, felt fruit and vegetables, a little wooden play kitchen, and so on). I breathed of sigh of peace at the sight of these beautiful toys. My children HAVE toys like this. But they're so bound up with all the other "stuff" that they're hard to find.

So, upon returning home from her house, I fired off this email:

Relatives and Friends,

I'm just thinking ahead to Christmas (and the many birthdays ahead of us) and the INSANE amount of toys we have in our house. I would like to gratefully acknowledge the wonderful gifts you've given over the years, and respectfully request a certain "kind" of gifts this year. We're working hard at simplifying the "stuff" in our house, and are ditching a lot of toys that have broken over the years, or requires constant battery changing, or was brought into the house from yard sales, thrift shops, etc.

We just have too much; the kids don't even know what to play with anymore, pieces have gone missing, and we're always struggling to keep the toys in order.

Order her at www.babynaturopathics.com

So, as we attempt at achieve a bit more order in our busy house, I'd like to ask you to consider checking out www.babynaturopathics.com or www.naturalpod.com which are both Canadian businesses that support handmade/natural toys. We'd LOVE to build a collection of Holztiger animals (available at the first site)...we love the farm animals, daughter, farmer, and princess/queen/king/etc. kind of figures. Natural pod carries "Baby Bolga baskets" which would be so handy for the kids as they wander on their adventures (eggs, berries, apples, beach treasures!) , as well as beautiful coloured play silks (which are marvellous for dress up and imaginative play).

Visit http://www.naturalpod.com/ to order!

Please, no plastic toys this year, or toys with tons of little parts that will get lost...there's no need to spend tons of money on wooden stuff; a lot of the items I've mentioned are around $10.

Find this beauty of a marble run on etsy!

If you enter the code KnittyGritty11, you'll get a 5% discount, and so will I!

Kirk's wife Erin grew up near my hometown; they're good people. Support real craftspeople!

Jude is really into experiments and building stuff; we hope to get him a wooden marble run on etsy (made by Erin Egan's husband, Kirk); he already has a microscope, but would probably love a magnifying glass, or a small aquarium/terrarium, or anything that allows him to keep things from nature to study! He also loves drawing and music as usual.

Other ideas include: an amaryllis bulb that they can watch bloom in the winter months, gift cards to a bookstore, a bug-viewing kit, art supplies, or camping gear (a flashlight, an enamelware cup and bowl), contributing towards lessons or classes, or just making a date to spend time together!

I hope no one thinks me rude...this is the desperate plea of a desperate mother; I really want to pare down the amount of stuff in our house and have found through experience that the toys my kids keep returning to are the open-ended, natural ones...they feel nicer, last longer, encourage imagination, and don't need batteries or make annoying noises. They are made by hand, with little or no impact on the earth. These are the values we hope to pass on to our children, and hope you can help us!

Thank you for reading through all these mama thoughts of mine, and for respecting our request!

With all that said, please know that our children do not expect gifts; they do not keep track (nor do we!), and always remember the joy of being with loved ones when they talk about Christmases past.

We so appreciate your role in our children's lives, and appreciate the love you show them by choosing gifts thoughtfully.

With gratitude,
Stephanie

When I mentioned in yesterday's blogpost that I'd written this letter, several people commented on my courage. It's less courage (because it's taken me six years!) and more that I really, really want to stop stepping on sharp plastic toys. I want to feel peaceful when I see my children's toys. That, I hope I can achieve with words.

If you're feeling similarly fed up, and possibly courageous, please feel free to copy or adapt my letter! You can replace the Canadian sites with others (I also love Nova Natural Toys in the US!), or tailor it to reflect your child's interests.

It is time to do more than THINK about making change. I'm the person who picks up messes and has to dispose of broken craptastic toys (with the eco-guilt that entails). So I'm taking charge of what comes into my house. I should have done it years ago, but I'm starting now instead!

Monday Musings

2011-09-19T10:39:00.000-04:00

I'm joining Nadja over at Patch O' Dirt Farm with some Monday Musings. Join in, and make sure to link back to her space!

Right now...it is early morning. There's a cardboard box beside me containing our latest critters: three little kittens, born to our Doolin sometime this past weekend. I found them in a window flowerbox, lying in the earth, and felt compelled to offer them a cosy corner in a box. Mama cat is purring as her dappled beauties doze beside her. I'm preparing to rouse my own dozing "kittens" for a busy day of firsts: Violet's first day of school, and Margot's first day of daycare.

This weekend...we spontaneously went camping...well, as spontaneously as you can when you're packing for five people and the weather fluctuates between 0 degrees Celsius and 20 degrees! It was a weekend of geese calling, owls hooting at night, seeing our breath, kids sleeping deeply and warmly while mama froze her heiny off, sausages and coffee in the morning (and the BEST waffles!), mist rising off the water, yellow leaves, collecting acorns, gazing into the flames. It was a weekend for which I am very grateful, the last camping trip before real autumn (and inevitably, winter) begins.

Some plans for the week: finish putting away all camping gear, doing loads and loads of laundry, getting down to real purging. My sister suggested a yard sale on Thanksgiving weekend, and I am newly motivated to clear out a lot of the stuff I've gathered over the years.

If I find some time for myself, I would like to...start thinking about Christmas gifts for our kids. I finally found the courage to send a note out to our relatives requesting that NO plastic/battery-powered toys be given. I listed some ideas of where to buy alternatives, and gently explained that we're simply overwhelmed with STUFF. It was empowering to just get it out there, finally, after years of worrying that I might sound rude. More on this topic in a future post...

I am grateful for...the simple joys of camping with children; Violet's little warm hand in mine, walking to the privy in the dark, as she talks and talks and talks and marvels at the flashlight glow. Margot's amazing heat in our tent, like a little hot-water bottle. The funny "souvenirs" Jude chooses to bring home with him from outdoor adventures. This time: a bottle of swamp dirt. ("Wanna know what it smells like?", he asks..."Swamp dirt!")

Some special prayer intentions for the week: always, always: faith and patience for myself and for my educational assistant, as we introduce our new little charges to classroom rhythms and expectations!

Something that makes me smile: thinking about the looks on my children's faces when I introduced them to the kittens: complete awe and joy, and determination to follow the rule: no touching until their eyes open.

Have a wonderful Monday!

::this moment::

2011-09-15T21:43:00.000-04:00

One moment from the past week that I want to pause, savour, and cherish.

Stop by http://www.soulemama.com/ to share your own moment, and to see the moments of others!