Ten Years: Part Two

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.

In His Arms

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?

i do

August 21, 2004

Seven years later...

Sometimes love blooms in the springtime, then like leaves in the summer it will grow,
Then fade away in the winter when the cold winds begin to blow.
But when it's evergreen, evergreen, it will last through the summer and winter, too,
When love is evergreen, evergreen like my love for you.



The Great Pretender

*Dear Readers,
I wrote the following post a few months ago, then chickened out when it came time to post. Re-reading it now, I smile at that...because don't we all pretend, even just a little bit, in our blogs? That we're always crafty, that our houses are pretty, that our child never wear a second-hand shirt with a (gasp!) Nike symbol on it. That we never give our kids McDonald's fries when out shopping because we didn't have the time/energy to pack a healthy snack. That our kids don't watch too many movies on days when we just want a break. Why do we do it? What are we afraid of? Read on, dear readers...this mama is months down the road from when this post was written, and although I haven't arrived yet, I'm working on it...

Women are so good at pretending.

We pretend to love playing "I Spy" in the van when actually, we'd like our kids to give us 5 minutes of peace. We pretend that we're in the mood at 11 o'clock at night, even if all we can think about is sleep, because we don't want our husbands to feel rejected. When we know company is coming we frantically clean our houses and pretend that it always looks this nice. We smile when we're sad, resist shouting when we're full of rage, and pretend that every moment of raising these demanding little souls we call our children is delightful.

I had one of those days. After spending 40 minutes gathering up library books, getting the kids dressed/combed, packing the diaper bag, and buckling all three of them into the van in the pouring rain, I couldn't find the keys. Moments like this make me feel like the top of my head might explode, like Old Faithful...a geyser of frustration and "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD" disbelief spewing up to heaven. After tearing the downstairs apart, dumping my purse three times, and scouring under the seats of the van, I conceded defeat and brought three very disappointed children back into the house.

Jude was a real pain in the neck today. After being sent to his room several times, he announced that he was going to punch me in the face if I kept "talking to him like that". My eyes almost bulged out of my head but I managed to act calm. Then I overheard him telling Violet, "If mommy tells you to do something, just punch her in the face".

If your alarm bells are going off, please note: Jude has never witnessed anyone punch anyone in the face...punching mommy in the face is not a regular practice at the Knitty Gritty Homestead.

So, while I was upset by his words, I took a few deep breaths, and thought about what the mama I'd like to be would do. I tried to be objective, and prepared myself for calm intervention. When he came near me again, I reached out to him to draw him into a hug to discuss what he was feeling today that made him so angry. He mistook my hands on his arms for me restraining him and took a swing, just barely connecting with my chin...

(Yes, dear reader, at this point feel free to be appalled, and gasp in horror)...

Usually, this would make me fly into a rage. I'd yell and send him to his room. I know this is ineffective, but I'm kind of out of tricks these days. I don't know what else to do, and feel guilty and ineffectual pretty much every day.

Instead, I started to cry. And then to bawl. It alarmed my child right out of his nasty mood, and then he started to cry, too. I told him to go into the other room, and I let it out...all the pretending.

Pretending to be calm.
Pretending to be super mom.
Pretending to know what I'm doing.

It felt good to let it out. Heck, it felt GREAT. But, I had to pull it together again when the girls started asking for stories. Deep breath, a talk with Jude (where he cried and cried with regret at upsetting me so)...

After this difficult morning, I cleaned my entire downstairs, collected and washed the eggs, sorted the laundry, cleaned the bathroom, styled my hair, and put on makeup in preparation for a visit from my in-laws, with their friends visiting from England.

Once again, I pretended: that my house is clean, that I effortlessly look nice, that my children are always happy and sweet, that our life is rurally idyllic and peaceful.

Because the reality of it is that my son always misses the toilet, and the pee runs down the sides and pools at the bottom where it dries into little crusty yellow circles. My kitchen table is used more often for crafts than for meal time, and my front doormat usually has blobs of straw mixed with chicken poop on it. My hair is usually in a ponytail, and I spent the morning yelling at my kids and crying in my kitchen.

But when everyone arrived, I looked lovely, my house was clean, my kids looked adorable and were on their best behaviour. I poured the wine, served homemade coconut milk ice cream, and listened attentively to the conversations around me.

Why do we pretend?

I can't answer for you. For me, the reasons are plenty. I pretend so that my kids will think I'm the best mommy ever! I pretend so that I don't hurt my husband's feelings. I pretend so that others won't think I'm too opinionated. Wow. Writing this post did more for me than 10 years in therapy could. I'm off to take some steps towards expressing myself more authentically, while digging a little deeper into this concern about what everyone else thinks (at the cost of my own feelings).

Are you, like me, a Great Pretender? Why do YOU do it? Does it make you happy, in the end?

PS You'll be pleased to know that after the above incident with my son, he has been much gentler in his words and actions; I think my tears shocked him so much! Manipulating your child through false emotions is not kind. However, expressing genuine distress with tears is probably the best thing I've (inadvertently) done in recent months. Things have been much, much easier since then.

I Choose Love

Fear has many disguises. It is a shape-shifter. On any given day, it can appear in my life as

• rage
• disgust
• anxiety
• judgement
• anger
• self-loathing
• negativity
• despair
• grief
• hatred
• defensiveness

The list could go on and on. But these are the guises in which fear most appears in my life. I once read that all human emotions can be divided into two groups: fear, or love.

Think about it. When you have that knot of anxiety (for me, it's in my upper abdomen/solar plexus; in my husband, it's his teeth that hurt when he feels anxious), poke at it a bit. Like your tongue probing the gap left behind by a just-lost tooth, it's a bit morbid to explore pain; it hurts. But it's hard to stop yourself, too.

If you just breathe through it, like breathing through a contraction, you'll see that surface emotion beginning to unfurl, revealing the base of it all.

Fear.

I'm tired of feeling fearful. Fear of the future, fear of not having enough money, fear of being "stuck" here with my children all summer without a vehicle, fear of something bad happening to my loved ones, fear of being clung to and depended on, fear of failing, fear of succeeding, fear of being overweight for the rest of my life, fear of not fulfilling my potential, fear of clutter.

Did I say I'm tired of feeling fearful?

I'm EXHAUSTED. It takes a lot of energy. That fear needs feeding and daily nurturing. It needs negative self-talk. It needs the encouragement I give it when I give in to it.

I read the book I mentioned above (I can't for the life of me remember its title) when I was in the newest stages of love with my husband. We read it together, and marvelled at the simplicity of it:

Choose love.

Choose love.

There have been moments in my life as a wife and mother where I scoffed at the over-simplicity of that concept. Sure, I could choose love when I made enough money to cover our cheap rent, when I had time to exercise and meditate, when the future lay ahead of us like a treasure map. Like the bloom of first love, it faded into the mediocrity of every-day-living.

There's just so much more to fear now, with three little people depending upon me, with my heart walking outside my body in the form of my children.

But I've recently come to realise that all of the things I long for: a peaceful, clutter-free home, harmonious children, a passionate and connected relationship with my husband...are within my reach.

When I get angry at my children, it is easy to blame THEM: they're aggravating, they make too many messes, they are so DEMANDING!

When I am frustrated with my husband, it is easy to blame HIM: he's forgetful, he's self-centred, he doesn't earn enough money, he doesn't take care of his car.

I'm tired of all this blame. I'm remembering something I once knew:

It's not them. It's me.

I'm afraid. Mostly I'm afraid of not having control in my life.

But I've made a decision, because I've remembered in a deep place within my soul what once made perfect sense to me.

I have a choice.

Starting today, I choose love.

I choose love.

A Day for Women

Upon watching season one of Mad Men on DVD, one must pause to wonder: how did women (or anyone BUT white men) survive the early 60s? It would be funny if so much of it wasn't true: the sexism in the workplace, the stilted conversations between husband and wife, the husband chatting with the wife's psychiatrist after her appointment. No wonder the women chain smoked and had mai tais and mint juleps in their hands all day long (even while pregnant)...yikes!

My mother spent her career as a nurse, and she remembers how the (male) doctors were gods; they patted the nurses on the heads (and likely on their asses, too!) It's easy from our modern perspective to think that we would not have stood for such patronising behaviour. But if we'd been raised in a culture where sexism was just a given, we may have thought it was just the way things were.

Imagine most men's shock then, when the women's movement gathered force! They must have thought the world was falling down around them. What? You want MORE than to just hang up my hat and be a sexual plaything? Handing me a drink at the end of the day and putting up with my affairs isn't ENOUGH for you? What goals could YOU possibly have? (I am exaggerating: I know not ALL men treated their wives and secretaries/nurses like servants/playthings)...

Today we modern (Western) women can giggle at the bra burning and the slogans decrying marriage and motherhood, and complain about the fact that in some ways the women's movement backfired in that we still do a majority of the housework/childrearing while also, in many cases, being the main breadwinner of the family. We have all the rights of men, and all the same responsibilities and pressures that women have always had.

But today, we can talk about it. We don't have to always pretend that raising our children is the deepest joy of our lives when in reality they're driving us to the liquor cabinet. We don't have to eschew knitting and the "domestic arts" for fear that our "sisters" will deride us for being against "the cause". We can write about the complexities, wonders, and frustrations of our lives with honesty, and hear the support and common experiences of women across the globe.

Today, I thank those brave women who didn't just accept that a woman's ONLY place was in the kitchen or bedroom. I commend their vision and hope, the sacrifices they made to make our modern lives better. I also salute the women of today who are reclaiming the right to stay home and raise their kids, be loving spouses (in equal partnership), to knit and can and sew and create a welcoming home. I salute the women who haven't had children, who work in traditional women's careers and who work in "men's" jobs. All of our experiences have value, no matter what choices we make about how we live our lives.

Today is the 100th International Women's Day, and for most of the women in the world, the women's lib movement is just a distant whisper. Today, let's give thanks to the courageous women who came before us and fought for our freedom, and send a loving prayer to the women who are still fighting, or are too frightened for their (or their children's)safety to fight.

In our busy lives, it's hard to think about what we can do to help women around the world. For today, start small.

Hug your daughters, tell them you love them, and give thanks. Hug your sons, too (because in so many ways, the women's lib movement freed men as well). Call the women that have inspired you and supported you. Send a note to women who have mentored you and encouraged you. Gather with women and make a toast (with mai tais!) to those who marched before you.

And, as always, count your many blessings.

Guest Post: In Memory of Marjorie

Today I welcome my sister, Julie, as a guest blogger!

Since my blog, The Letter Writing Revolution, was not a suitable forum for the post I wanted to write, Stephanie graciously offered The Knitty Gritty Homestead as a space for the following post.


When I first met my husband, I was 12 years old and he was 13. We met in a hockey rink in rural Quebec and it was love at first sight. I recall seeing his mom at the rink and as the story goes, she saw me, too, and told Tim that she thought I was "cute as a button."

Fast forward 12 years..........
I met up with the man who would be my husband once again while home visiting from Whistler, BC. We dated for a few weeks and then I returned to BC. Soon after, I received a call that he was quitting his jobs, selling his belongings and moving to BC as well. We married three years later and celebrated our 11th anniversary this past June. And, as they say, the rest is history.

Very sadly, when I saw my husband's mom at the hockey rink back in 1984 what I didn't know was that she was fighting breast cancer. She passed away a year and two months later in March of 1985 when she was only 39 years old (the age I am now). When my husband and I started dating and were living in BC, we started an annual tradition of participating in the CIBC Run for the Cure.......a run/walk with all proceeds going to breast cancer research. Each year we would do the run and eventually after getting our hands on some of his mother's recipes, we started the annual tradition of making her cinnamon buns from scratch in memory and celebration of her life.

October is breast cancer awareness month and so in memory of my mother-in-law, Marjorie Graham, whom I never had a chance to meet or know, I want to share a step-by-step recipe of making her amazing (and easy!) cinnamon buns. Enjoy!

Marjorie Graham's Cinnamon Buns

You will need:
The Dough:
3 cups of white all-purpose flour (and then another 3cups or so)
2 Tbsp. quick rising yeast (if you buy the three packets that are attached, use all three)
3 cups warm water
8 Tbsp. white sugar
6 Tbsp. Crisco oil (I used light tasting olive oil)
2 eggs
1 tsp. salt
The Topping
1 lb. butter
1 kg. bag brown sugar
1/3 cup cinnamon

Creating the Buns:
1. Put water, sugar and oil in a large bowl.

2. Mix the flour and yeast together in a separate bowl and then add to the oil/water/sugar mixture, combining with a fork or spoon.

3. Add beaten egg and salt.

4. You will need to take your rings off as it's going to get messy!

4. Add at least 3 cups more of flour until you have consistency and dough doesn't stick to your hands.

5. Oil another large bowl and place dough in it. Cover with a tea towel and place in oven. No heat but turn the oven light on for 20 minutes.

6. After 20 minutes, remove from oven and knead the dough. Place back in oven, covered with tea towel, (no heat) for 20-25 minutes. Oven light remains on.

7. When you remove it after the 25 minutes, it should look like this:

8. Prepare a large surface (counter works well) with flour and dump the dough onto the surface. You will now roll out your dough into a rectangle  about 1/4 -1/2 inch thick.

My husband's grandmother's rolling pin which was probably her mother's rolling pin.

9. Now, her recipe states: "Butter well. Add lots of brown sugar and lots of cinnamon." From ten years of experimenting, my husband and I think we have found the magic balance of these three key ingredients. I use a pound of soft butter (I didn't say these were healthy!!) spread evenly over the dough rectangle. Then, sprinkle with 1 kg of golden brown sugar and I probably used about a 1/3 cup of cinnamon sprinkled over the entire piece of dough. Now, you might need an extra set of hands for this part as you are now going to roll the dough like a jelly roll.

10. Slice your roll into pieces that are about an inch and a half thick and place into greased glass pans. Pie plates work, too.Let rise in oven uncovered and no heat (oven light on, though) for 45 minutes. They should come out looking like this:

11. Remove and preheat oven to 350 degrees. Return to oven for 25-30 minutes. They are best eaten on the day they're baked and it's perfectly fine to add more butter when you eat them. I also recommend a hot pot of tea and friends and family to enjoy them with.

The finished product!

If you have any questions, do not hesitate to post them here and I will happily guide you. These are by far the best cinnamon buns I have ever eaten. Enjoy!

Men at Work

Fall came upon us suddenly, it seems, and once again it's time to bring the wood in. Last year, my husband and a few of his buddies worked at bringing the wood from the barn (with the purchase of our house came 3 years' worth of split wood, which was a blessing when our kids were so small!). I prepared a beautiful harvest meal of squash soup, beer-and-cheddar bread, pickles, and pie.

This year, those friends have small babies to tend to, so my love's busy bringing it in day by day.  We've somehow stumbled into traditional roles when it comes to the work that needs doing around here (which means that, like my pioneering foremothers, I do the gardening, sewing, cooking, shopping, preserving, knitting, chicken tending, housework, appointment-keeping, and teach part-time, and he cuts the grass, takes the garbage to the dump, and brings in the wood, while working full-time). It's never really balanced, is it? I'm working on passing some of "my" jobs on to him, which I find challenging, control-freak that I am. But that's material for another post.

I took this one from the hayloft.

Gorgeous big barn where our wood is stored.

Barefoot in the woodshed...that's my girl!

There's nothing quite like watching your man do "manly work", is there, especially when it speaks of warmth and security for the coming winter?

Welcome Back, to Me!

After a few weeks' holiday, I'm back, with a bit more balance. It's one of life's lessons that I have to keep learning over and over again...never quite enough to say I've achieved it, but I'm getting better at it! Highlights of my time "away":

*adopting two kittens, one lovebug and one wild thing. Doolin allows the kids to manhandle her. Camino is chocolate brown, fuzzy, and took a bit of taming. But she's getting there. We all have fine scratches on hands, arms, and legs to prove our love for these new kitties.

*picking up 17 chicks to raise for this year's meat! When they were new and fluffy, I felt a bit sad about the thought of eating them. However, after 2 weeks, they're ungainly and awkward, and their legs are getting bigger, and now I think: Yum.

*happily preparing my classroom. I'm new to Kindergarten, and have spent about 15 hours cleaning, sorting, organizing, and purging. The space is now bright, clean, cheery, warm, open, and alive with colour and plants. I feel wonderful about welcoming my new little students into such a lovely room!

*discovering, in Flavia DeLuce, a new literary heroine. The book is The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley, and if you haven't read it: do! Flavia is a brilliant, salty, quirky poison-and-chemistry genius and amateur sleuth, and she's only 11! A really great read, and, OH JOY: the first in  a SERIES!

Ooh, this is small and blurry! Pretend you have tears of joy in your eyes and are standing far away.

(photo by AnnaKarolina Conroy)

*celebrating our 6th wedding anniversary by partying in a local barn with friends, performing a few songs together, and spending the night in the most charming cabin...this is where I dressed for our wedding, peeked down at my groom, where we wed in the garden, danced on the lawn to bluegrass music, and spent our wedding night. Lots of reminiscing and planning for the future.

*A second kick-at-the-can summer heat wave, at the very end of August...after some cool weeks it felt like fall was here, but the kids have enjoyed a few more beach days this past week.

So, I'm glad to be back; I missed this space, appreciated all your loving comments, and am grateful to have had a wee break. Watch for a giveaway (to be announced when I get my 100th Follower!), and a peek at the handmades I'm crafting for Christmas!