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.

Summer Rhythm

Small children thrive on structure. I've known babes who sleep anywhere and anytime. I occasionally veered from our sleep routines, but felt it was important for my babes (AND for me) to be well-rested, at home and in their own beds.

Not that I avoid spontaneity...I love an impromtu road trip or visit. I was thrilled to find that Margot (who has been the least flexible of my children) was happy to sleep in a Pack and Play while visiting my sister last weekend! My children love to be surprised, and are flexible when our day involves events that are out of their routine...they also love sleepovers at Nanny and Papa's house, or at their Aunts' homes.

But here I am, facing summer; my husband is gone for 10 hours a day, and so far I am without wheels (he has my van, as his car finally gave up the ghost and we're still looking for a replacement). I knew that a visual schedule would be as useful to me as to my children.

I'd created these little cards on a program called "Boardmaker", and use them every day in my classroom. There are children who fly by the seat of their pants all day, and others who want to know: what are we doing next? After a few weeks of directing them to the class schedule, they begin using it independently to ease their transitions from one activity to the next, or to figure out if it's lunch time or snack time.

This 'schedule' is not written in stone, of course. But it's cool to see Violet consulting it and saying, "Time to get dressed!" or "Can we paint now?" Snacks and meals are dictated more by hunger than the time on the clock, and outside play is spontaneous...the more the better!

My children seem calmer somehow, with a visual reminder of what was already our daily rhythm. A visual schedule also allows your child to talk about their day when your spouse returns from work. Sequencing events is an early reading strategy; the more you get your child talking about events in order (how to make a sandwich, the main events in a familiar story, or the rhythm of their day) the better. Model the use of "first, next, then, last" as often as possible.

Without a vehicle, I find I need to plan a little more, particularly when it comes to meals...no more running out to the grocery store for a forgotten ingredient. The beauty and order of this little meal plan astounds disorganised me, and has added such an element of CALM to my day...I've completely eliminated my daily, "What the HELL am I making for dinner tonight??" rant. It's even allowed me to make some food the night before which has made for a happier, more engaged mama. I imagine this will also really help with our tighter summer budget, and will be a habit I carry into the school year.

Jude, at age 6, has a more developed concept of time. Still, he has been asking me EVERY DAY, "Do I have school tomorrow?" I finally found these pages from a desk calendar to show him July and August. I reiterated (for the 100th time) that school is done, that summer is two whole months of soccer, swimming lessons, visiting, and play! I've filled in important events that are written on my kitchen calendar (if they are pertinent to him)...like seeing "The Lion King" on July 16th! I fill it out by the week so as not to overwhelm him, and will "x" out the days as they pass. You could also add symbols to keep track of the weather (a sun, a cloud, a raindrop, a lightning bolt!), and graph them at the end of the month.

These little reminders of the hours and days passing, and the rhythm of our summer, help me to live in each moment, and to plan ahead to the days and weeks to come.

So Long, Farewell...

"I don't have time to (enter activity of choice)".

Exercise. Cook healthy meals. Play with my kids. Paint my bedroom. Put in a garden.

What? When did this happen? I LOVE these activities. Or at least, I used to, before blogging and commenting on the blogs of others gobbled up some of the most precious commodity in every mother's life: my time.

I need to centre in on my real life for awhile. I came to this conclusion last August when I wrote this post. I was inspired by the brave decision of my friends at Twig and Toadstool to step away from a space they'd nurtured and loved when it became clear that their real lives were suffering. Remember "Childhood Magic" and how shocked we all were when she closed her wonderful blog? I wonder how she's enjoying her life and time these days...I imagine she LOVES it. Nicole at Frontier Dreams wrote about this very busy-ness today. I have also been deeply touched by this heartbreakingly honest post over at Apples With Honey.

I feel myself floating away from the mother I want to be. I want to be engaged. I want to be in the moment. I want to breathe through those moments (and there are many) of impatience and anger. I want to sit and have a tea party with my daughters for hours if they so wish it, without glancing away in distraction. I want to build Lego robots with my son.

I love that feeling of flipping the page of a calendar and seeing that the coming month is mostly blank. You can choose to fill up every square, or make a solemn promise to carefully consider your yeses for the month.

After a month of birthday craziness, I flipped the calendar to June.

Case conference. Stag and Doe. Stag party. Shopping for weddings. Wedding rehearsals. Friend's wedding. Brother's wedding. Birthdays. Class trip. Kindergarten graduation. Grade 8 Graduation. Report cards due. School Fun Night. Assemblies. Gigs. Doctor appointment. Anniversaries. Data due.

Oh. My. Goodness.

How can we possibly have writing on 26 of the 30 days in what is already a busy month in the home of two educators?

So. I'm taking the phone of the hook, so to speak.
If you're a new visitor to this space, please read through the archives, or check out some popular posts (by clicking on the buttons at the right). If you're an old friend, you can email me by going to my profile page. I also highly recommend those wonderful women over on "Kindred Spirits" roll.

July is looking good. Two music gigs. One bellydancing gig. Kittens due. A birthday and an anniversary.

Bring on July.

(*haha...I had to take a deep breath before I hit "publish post"...but as with any great leap, I know the fear will soon be replaced with relief that I just did it...there). Phew.

The Best Laid Plans of a Working Mother

If you read this post you'll recall the efforts I go to to ensure that we all get out the door in one piece on Monday mornings. Last night when we went to bed, lunches were made, clothes were laid out, and three pairs of rubber boots were lined up and ready for the little feet that would fill them in the morning.

Winter decided to have a last hurrah and the snow blowing outside this morning encouraged me to put my kids in their snowboots instead. We got out the laneway 45 minutes later than usual, after a harrowing search for Violet's snowboots. After a thirty minute drive, I pulled into town with ten minutes to spare. Margot complained that her tummy hurt. I said in a singsong voice, "We'll be there soon!"

Not soon enough, apparently. As I turned into the parking lot, Margot barfed. And then again. Jude stretched out of his seat to see (because what's more exciting than looking at barf, really?), I roared at him to sit down, and then my mind did that mother thing, where it fast-forwards through the issue at hand to all the reverberations, and simultaneously finds solutions with lightning speed and clarity.

I dropped Violet off, raced to school, got Jude into the classroom, made notes for the supply teacher, then realised that Robin wouldn't have space to bring both Jude and Violet home (as he drives three neighbour children to school every day). I picked up Violet, then arranged for a friend to pick Jude up after school. I've washed the barfy clothes, coat, and blankie, and fed them lunch.

Now Violet is complaining of a sore tummy.

Bowl at the ready, movie on, child wrapped in cosiest afghan on the couch, I am ready for Round 2.

Bring it on.

Three

Every Sunday evening, in preparation for the next morning, I lay out three sets of clothing.

I set three bowls and three spoons on the table, ready for the morning's oatmeal.

I dig through the storage baskets for three pairs of mittens, three hats, and three scarves, and lay them out with three snowsuits.

In the morning, I'll hear one little voice singing, "Happy burday!", "Baa baa baa" (to the tune of Baa Baa Blacksheep), and "Jude! Juuuude!" Soon, two other little voices will join, creating a trio of music that brings me to full consciousness. Their door opens, and I listen to their sweet interactions; Violet encourages Margot to take her hand as they set off in search of mommy, Jude telling them to wait while he goes pee.

It was a bit of a surprise when we found out about this bonus third child. Three tips the balance; you're officially outnumbered. As a friend of mine (and mother of five) said when I told her we were unexpectedly expecting again, "In parenting math, three is twice as many as two". Wise words, indeed, from one who knows.

I'm busy. These mornings of getting three kids in snowsuits out the door are sometimes harrowing, but increasingly rhythmic and peaceful. Two are dropped off at the daycare, one comes with me to school. For a few days a week, they are 2+1. But two plus one always equals three, and to me, three is a blessed number.

On this late winter afternoon, I am:

.:getting out my seed catalogues and planning this summer's garden

.:finishing up a knitted bit of this and that

.:reading some amazing new books with the kids

.:kindling love and passion in my relationship

.:feeling grateful for my intuition

and

.:taking a wee break from this space.

Other projects and people need my energy and attention right now.

See you when I see you!

Get Your Tea; I'm On a Rant.

Last night we had a lovely evening with friends down the road. This was our first visit, and we looked forward to it because they have a son about Jude's age (I was already thinking, "sleepovers, bike rides to each other's houses, camp outs" and so on). When you live rurally, you think about things like finding friends that live nearby so your child won't always need a drive into town!

Safe in a leafy embrace.

Things did not get off to a good start. Jude found a little handheld gamey thing (no, I have no idea what it's called) while the other little boy was still outside. When he came in, he was very upset that Jude was using his game without his permission. Jude looked confused (because he did get permission from the boy's mother) and close to tears (because he didn't get why the boy was so mad). There's a reason my son is so enraptured with handheld devices. We don't have any in the house, not even a cell phone (please note that my kids are not completely sheltered; they do play parent-supervised educational games on the internet!) Things escalated to the point where I quietly suggested that the game be put away and another more interactive game (by this I mean kids playing with kids) be played.

Zucchini love.

I remember children at our wedding six years ago, finding themselves in this great outdoor celebration surrounded by cousins and other kids, choosing to sit on the front step of the cabin playing handhelds. Or at a family reunion a couple of years ago, saying jokingly to my cousin's son, "Why don't you put that thing away and come hang out with all your cousins?" He snapped at me (again, without looking at me), "I've been away all week and haven't played with it at all!" After grandma died and my cousins arrived, many of the kids were so engaged with their games that they didn't even talk to each other. I had been telling Jude that he'd meet some boys his age and they could play together, and was dismayed to realise that he'd be left out because he didn't have a DS. Do I think it's neat that while playing guitar and singing around the campfire, someone can find the lyrics to a song we're struggling with? Kind of. But I also kind of miss the days of humming and laughing at people's attempts to remember the words.

I'm on a rant. Bear with me...*takes deep breath*...

I'm a kindergarten teacher. At circle time, when we share stories about exciting things that have happened in our lives, I'm as likely to hear "I got a new DS" as "I went fishing with my Grandpa". While assessing one of my Junior Kindergartens on his letter recognition (we've learned 15 so far, reviewing and playing games with them daily) I saw that he didn't know any of his letters. That's okay (*takes another deep breath)...but then he saw capital B and that sparked him to go on a tangent (as they do) about Woo-eegee (Luigi!) and Mawio (Mario!)...this child just turned four. In my quick internet search for information on this topic, I learned that "preschoolers aged two to five play an average of 28 minutes/day. The amount of time spent playing video games is increasing, but not at the expense of television viewing which has remained stable at about 24 hours/week". (see the whole article here).
If a child has a DS at the age of 3 or 4, what the heck do you buy them for their 10th birthday? I imagine by then there'll be some newer "must-have" on his list...

Fresh air and a good book!

I grew up in the 70s and 80s. I remember which friends had microwaves and VCRs (we used to rent a VCR on a rare weekend, and this is why I have certain 80s movies completely memorised: we'd rent two for the weekend and watch them over and over again!). I remember seeing my first CD player in about 1989; it had been purchased in the States, and was likely the first of its kind in the Ottawa Valley.

We just weren't a family that was into gadgets, whether by principle or by budget, I'm not sure. We watched TV, but were more likely to go for walks in the winter forest, Sunday drives with a picnic in the car and a lake-destination in mind, or to just play outside. I never felt deprived or left out. I still think my microwave is pretty darn neat.

Watermelon snack, sun on shoulders.

I'm not afraid of gadgets. I KNOW they're cool. I know there are amazing Apps that are educational and fun. What scares me is how addictive they are. I avoid getting an iPhone because I know I'd be on it all the time. I also worry about what is happening to our brains. I heard of a recent study on CBC radio that stated that our brains are actually changing because of the use of GPS systems. They affect memory and spatial orientation. What? You mean reading maps is GOOD for our spatial sense? Frankly, the idea of our brains evolving in response to gadgets that are younger than me gives me the skeevies.

So the question begs to be asked. If a child learns about social cues, conversation skills, reading body language, and eye contact by interacting with the adults and children around them, what is happening when the children sit around playing on computers and handheld devices all day? There were six children at our gathering last night; two were fighting over a game, one had a DS, and two were watching videos on youtube. That left Margot to climb on laps and make us laugh with her antics. It was quiet; it gave the adults time to sit and chat. But the lack of noise and activity kind of saddened me.

Nanny and Papa's card game finale.

In our family, my nieces don't have games either. So when we all get together, one adult is usually sitting with the kids, colouring or crafting, or the kids are off running wild together, or once they get old enough, they're sitting with the adults and learning to play cards. It takes energy to do this. If we need to get something done, they might watch a movie, but more often than not, they're busy playing.

When I non-judgmentally express my misgivings to other parents, I'm often bemused by their responses. It's as if they agree with me, but are kind of confused about how their kids ended up with a game. They always agree that playing outside or with other kids is better for their child, but feel that their kids are too attached to ever get rid of the thing. Huh? Who's the parent here?

Let's be honest. A handheld game, like the television, is a babysitter. My kids watch a movie each day, for "afternoon quiet time" (which is when I make dinner or do housework). Gadgets can keep kids quiet in the car. It occupies them so parents can do their own thing. God knows I could use a little less whining when we take the kids out for a long drive. But I know that if we get a DVD player in the car, "I Spy", pretending we're in a submarine, singing songs, or looking for farm animals will no longer entertain them. My parents drove across Canada (from Ontario to BC and back) with four kids (aged 6-16) in a CAR in the early 80s. We did scavenger hunts, counted license plates from different provinces and states, had contests to see who could make their Lifesaver last the longest, and weren't bored for a moment. It took energy and effort on my parents' part. And it's one of my best childhood memories. What memories would I have of the Canadian landscape if I'd been staring at a screen the whole way?

The wonder of the human body in movement.

The argument that handheld games improve hand-eye coordination makes me pffft! Playing sports improves hand-eye coordination. Playing an instrument, or learning to knit or draw, or carving with a jackknife improves hand-eye coordination. Don't get me started on "Guitar Hero" or "Rock Band".

It's hard to put my finger on why I find this love of gadgets unsettling. While I worry about the social abilities of children who play with these things, ironically, I worry that my kids will be socially left-out because they don't play with them. I worry that I'm just a paranoid dinosaur, afraid of what I don't understand. But I know that when I go to a live show and see that everyone has what my husband calls "blue face" because they're all watching the show through their cameras/phones, texting to their friends that they're AT a show, or posting videos of the show to youtube, I'm saddened. People are increasingly disengaged from life, experiencing everything through a screen. After I watched my son's first Christmas concert through a screen as I recorded it for posterity (and basically missed the experience of watching it real), I vowed to never film another one. I'd rather be in that moment, seeing it as a whole.

Summer dance!

I worry when I read quotes like this: Electronic games are now an everyday part of childhood and adolescence. The debate has moved from whether children should play video games to how to maximize potential benefits and to identify and minimize potential harms, as if we as parents have no control over them. It's the same feeling I get when I hear about the corporatisation (did I make up a word?) of our food sources, overuse of pesticides, and genetic modification in our food, as if we have no choice but to feed our kids fast food.

Playdough alien heads on action figure bodies!

I feel as if I'm a traveler from the past, trying to fit into a future I don't understand. I'm teaching my kids to knit and draw and grow a garden and take care of animals and climb trees. I'm teaching them to swim and write thank you notes and look people in the eye when they speak to them, to give a firm handshake and a strong hug. Am I somehow depriving them of an essential element of modern life? Will they suffer if they can't talk to their friends about the game they just got? Will they not be invited to sleepovers where the activity of choice is sitting around engaged with a DS? I worry. But I know it's a choice I'll have to live with.

Because we do have a choice. It's hard to resist the pull of shiny new things that somehow jar our sensibilities when there's madness all around, and people act like it's normal to answer their cell phone three times during a meal with friends. It's hard to deny our children things that "all the other kids have". As an aside, we don't deny our children access to technology. They get to take pictures with the digital camera. We record music on the computer. I blog and write. We find crafts, song lyrics, games, humour, and inspiration on the internet. We use technology as a means to achieving creative and artistic goals. I know the day will come when a Wii will rock my kids' world on Christmas morning, and when they'll be able to spend money on whatever gadget they want. I can see how an iPad with educational apps will be an exciting addition to our collection of games and activities. But not yet. I still have a choice, and for now, I choose real life over virtual worlds.

Sticky face sees fireworks for the first time.

I'll leave you with this quote: "Video games are natural teachers. Children find them highly motivating: by virtue of their interactive nature, children are actively engaged with them: they provide repeated practice: and they include rewards for skillful play."

I'd like to edit it as follows:

"People are natural teachers. Children find them highly motivating; by virtue of their interactive nature, children are actively engaged with them; they provide repeated practice and they include rewards for skillful play."

Little Quilts

While the Handmade Holidays movement is appealing to me in terms of resisting consumerism, teaching my children the "real" meaning of Christmas, and showing off my crafty self, I'll admit that this year I'm handcrafting my children's gifts because I'm flat broke. There is really nothing left at the end of the month, with mortgage and childcare payments, and part-time pay. Often there's nothing left in the middle of the month, either. Things are about as bad, financially, as they've ever been. It's time to put snow-tires on the van but there's no money for that. Each month we wonder if we can hang on a bit longer (till I go back to full-time work) or if we should think about selling the homestead.

I don't think I would be alone in acknowledging the fact that choosing to live simply is based in large part on our income. It would be much easier to just go out and buy gifts, pyjamas, etc. for my kids for Christmas. And I know that a day might come where the little handmades I offer don't seem like "enough". But my mom mentioned the other day how lucky I am that my kids don't watch TV the way we did when we were kids. They really have no idea what's out there in terms of toys. When I asked them what they'd like Santa to bring, they were kind of stumped. So, anything new-to-them that's wrapped and under the tree will bring as big a thrill as some shinily-packaged, plastic-wrapped, store-bought gift.

I'm trying to kick the Facebook habit that has begun to absorb much of my "spare" time. Last night, instead of sitting there like a crackhead, chatting with friends and looking at other people's photos, I sat at the kitchen table and sewed these two quilt tops. We plan to repaint a small bunkbed, crib, and rocking chair for the girls, and present them with a little doll nursery, complete with colourful little quilts. The nine-patch is one of the easiest of quilt patterns: just cut out five squares of one colour, and four of another, and sew them together to create a checkerboard. Lots of these blocks will use up your scrap stash, and could turn into a quilt of any size you wish!

You can find a tutorial for log-cabin blocks here.

Every year I plan to send Christmas cards. "Plan" is the operative word, here. As a schoolteacher, December is particularly busy for me: with the normal decorating/baking/gift-making/etc. that goes into preparing my home, I also create gifts for my students, plan and rehearse our Christmas concert performance, transform the dramatic play centre into a Toy Shop, and so on. But with my rediscovered, Facebook-free time last night, I stitched this little patch, which I will glue onto cardstock. To keep things within reason, I've decided to send cards only to friends and family I see/talk to regularly, instead of to everyone in my address book. I know the ease with which I get overwhelmed. I love the word "peace"...and dream of really feeling it in my heart this holiday season.

Saying Yes, and More Handmades...

My thoughts have been leaning towards the possibility of an internet-free December. My reasons are many and varied. You know those days where you wish you had just one extra hour in the day? Well, I don't know about you, but I certainly spend at least an hour on the internet each day. By the time the pictures load on my blog, or I check and comment on everyone's facebook status updates, an hour has passed. Or I go on for "just a minute" several times a day. Before I know it, those minutes add up to an hour.

So, what would I do if I was granted an extra hour in my day?
::play with my kids
::nap
::bake cookies
::sew/knit/paint/write/quilt
::write a letter
::do a bit of housework that I never seem to get to
::sort through a still-unpacked-after-our-move-two-years-ago box
::talk to my husband
::lie in bed and read
::and so on and so on

It all became glaringly clear to me today while I was creating these little folk for a craft class we're teaching tomorrow:

Nativity peg-people!

I was enjoying the process of bringing this wee Mary and Joseph to fruition, when Violet came in and sat beside me. There was a time when I regularly crafted with my kids and patiently taught them to do some version of what I was doing. Lately, though, my crafting time is limited and I quickly shuffle them off to less messy endeavours. She watched quietly for a moment, then lovingly picked up Joseph. So I asked her, "Do you want to make one?" Her little face lit up. I let her choose the colours, and helped her sew a heart on to her "guy's" cape. As she worked she kept saying, "You're teaching me how to do this, mommy? You're my teacher?"

I'm so proud of those tiny stitches made by a 3-year-old's hands!

She painted on a face, then decided she wanted the whole head purple...

I thought of that extra hour. I looked upon the pride and joy on that little girl's face, and reflected upon the many opportunities I could have to teach her things a small child might want to know, without hurrying her on to less messy things. I found a well of patience I thought had been lost to me. I am thankful for this moment of grace, and plan to add many of them together to make up an hour a day to nurture my children's spirits.

December will be a quiet month at The Knitty Gritty Homestead, at least in its blog space. I'll post occasionally as inspiration nudges me, but I will choose my moments carefully.

How would YOU spend an extra hour in your day? Where might you find one?

Retreat

I was astonished to see how many people said things like "I wish!", "I could never pull that off", "Lucky you!", and "I just can't get away from my job/husband/kids" when I mentioned I was retreating. I am not lucky, or rich, or selfish. I just decided I needed to do this, for my own well-being. How are women to replenish the well from which we draw the love, patience, faith, energy, endurance, and humor that mothering and marriage require of us, if we don't occasionally step out of it for a rest?

The word "retreat" implies a change in direction, a halt-and-withdraw military tactic. It implies giving up, a changing of our minds in the face of insurmountable conflict or challenge. Its more negative connotation is that it is a shirking of responsibilities or commitments at the last moment. I am reminded of the comment I received on Friday's post, where a reader said she could never do this, "especially leaving a sick child behind"...(for the record: Violet was on Day 3 of a gastro bug when I left and was feeling fine)...

Is it any wonder that mothers are burnt out...worn out, worn thin, barely hanging on by a thread? As Joan Anderson wrote in her book "A Weekend to Change Your Life", it is absolutely PITIFUL that we cannot find twenty-four hours for ourselves, in a year that contains eighty-seven HUNDRED hours!

It is precisely through caring so diligently for my children, my spouse, my home, and my career that I have arrived at a point in my life where it's do or die~ or maybe less dramatically, do or wilt and wither. Through the long postpartum months of caring for Margot, her subsequent surgery and recovery, my determined (then desperate) attempts to breastfeed her, never leaving her side, never taking a break, while also caring for two other young children, I depleted myself.

You don't need money. You don't need to go to a spa. You don't even need to go away for a weekend, although I highly recommend it. Ask around. Find out who has a cottage/cabin that they'd be willing to lend for a day/weekend. Do something in return, for rent: have the chimney cleaned, replenish the firewood, offer to cut their grass...be creative. This is something that will replenish you. Your only tasks should be:

keeping warm

finding water

avoiding technology

feeding yourself simply

and just sitting quietly, uninterrupted, with your thoughts.

I dare you to look at your calendar right now and pick a weekend sometime in the next few months to go away, to rest and restore yourself. I double dare you. 

Stay tuned for a week's worth of retreat-related reflections.

Sunday Dinner

Lately I've been trying to have a traditional-ish Sunday dinner, with a tablecloth, candles, and some version of roasted meat. I like the idea of my kids remembering a once-weekly meal where we actually used table manners. There is no rapping of knuckles in our house, if the fork is not held properly, but I figure it's never too early to civilise your kids, to some extent. I tried to make Yorkshire pudding once, in honour of my husband's English homeland, but quickly decided that they're just stupid (because I didn't succeed in making them).

The IDEA is so far from the reality, however. The house is fragrant with, say, a roasted chicken and potatoes. I've prepared two additional veg dishes, steaming carrots before tossing them with a bit of butter and brown sugar, say, and maybe some bright broccoli. Beeswax candles cast a warm glow over the pretty place settings. I call my charming children to the table. I waltz gracefully to the table with a boat of perfectly smooth gravy...

And before I even sit down, some sort of hell breaks loose. Someone slaps someone, tempers flare, or someone refuses to sit and eat. My husband I start to chew with forced calm, which turns to irritation, which generally ends with someone getting a timeout. Things tend to spiral downwards from here. I'm not looking to train my kids to be perfectly behaved little automatons, saying please and thank you and placing a napkin on their lap. I don't pressure anyone to be flawless. I just want to eat what's on my plate without listening to screaming and fighting.

Lately I've caught myself taking these failures of my plans personally. The litany of every martyred mother's thoughts echoes through my mind: "WHY do I bother? I just thought we could have one NICE meal a week, but I guess I was wrong...Is it too much to ask for HARMONY in my home?" Apparently, yes...yes, it is too much to ask.

Thinking about that question a bit deeper leads me to remember that joy and harmony are not created through unreasonable expectations. And let's face it, having any kind of semi-civilised meal with three children under the age of 6 is unreasonable. The most peaceful meals in our house are the ones that I slap on the table, on each child's favourite coloured plate...no tablecloth and no candles. Often, cutlery is optional, or ends up on the floor. Optional, too, is clothing.

Leftover spaghetti washes off skin much easier than out of clothing.

The meal wouldn't be complete without at least one spill, intentional or otherwise.

Violet pouts while Margot tries dipping her plastic cucumber slices in spaghetti,

then cracks up at something her brother did.

The floor, and table, after a meal with my kids.

Consider this lesson learned. When my husband built a fire outside to burn some brush this morning and suggested hotdogs for dinner, I didn't hesitate to say a resounding, "Yes!" I did steam some broccoli to balance out the many-horrible-things-about-hotdogs. Finally, I found what I was seeking: peace and harmony at mealtime...because the kids ate outside by the fire and I ate inside by myself.

Frazzled Moms Unite!

I missed out on the whole "Let's Get Real" phenomenon (unmade-up self portraits by blogging moms, intending to show their real selves). My camera broke right around then, and I never thought about it again.

The other day, though, I caught a glimpse of myself passing this mirror in our hallway. My shirt was dirty, my hair was askew, I had no makeup on, and I realised I needed to take a picture of the most unphotographed person in this house: me.

I haven't quite been feeling "myself" lately. I'm spread too thin, do too much, have too many responsibilities and not enough time. I know you can all sympathize with this feeling, that in spite of my many talents and gifts, I'm somehow not enough: to keep my house clean enough, to keep my kids happy enough, to craft/blog/perform/create enough. This is not the first time I have wondered about the intents of the original Women's Movement, and if our foremothers could have foreseen the fruits of their labours.

Because now, in addition to giving birth, breastfeeding, raising and homeschooling our children, we also work outside the home. We feel badly when we have to leave our kids in another's care to go to work, and feel guilty when we actually enjoy going to work because at least we get some feedback, adult conversation, and MONEY for our time! And then of course, there's always that nagging feeling of...do I REALLY enjoy this childrearing thing? The intent was that women should have the choice to work outside the home, but the reality, the economy has shifted so that most women NEED to work just to pay the bills. And we're supposed to take care of our kids, too.

Oh, I'm in a funk, alright. I was thinking about those pre-women's movement women, the ones who felt completely fulfilled by child-rearing and housekeeping, and were good at it. I know not all women enjoyed it, and many bucked against the expectations of the age. But I like to simplify it, to imagine that woman putting on makeup and a clean apron, setting a beautiful meat-and-veg meal on a tablecloth, having a martini prepared for her hard working hubby, combing her children's hair down, and greeting the man of the house with a smile...

I tried it. On this same frazzled day, I did it: dampened and re-pinned my hair, touched up my face, and practised a smile for when my husband got home.

Yes, it looks pasted on. Because it is. I had a really hard day, a day of screaming, fighting, bickering, arguing, and finally, me putting them out on the porch because I needed a break from it all. Lately, I've been fantasizing about filling my tank with gas, and hitting the road, destination unknown. Of course, in my fantasy, I'm NOT driving a minivan carpeted with cracker pieces and juice boxes, and there is not a carseat to be seen. I'll toot the horn as I drive by your house...or if you want me to pick you up, just hang a white flag of surrender on your mailbox.

Until then, I'm adding two more tasks to my list: seek out happiness and balance, and get more sleep!

This Moment's Ponderings

I have so many pictures of myself like this, with my little brother, in some careless childhood adventure.

Before we settled into our lives as adults...education, careers, bills, marriage, house renos, pregnancy, birth, parenthood, debt, miscommunication, that constant striving towards some future goal. The true gift of childhood is being carefree. You could sit in a cold mud puddle, without even thinking about how you were going to get into the house without dripping mud everywhere. Someone else was taking care of having a warm bubble bath ready when you came in, and dinner would be on the table once you were rubbed dry with a soft, clean towel. Your pyjamas and bed were safe and inviting, and you'd go to sleep without a care, wake up when your body felt rested, and begin another day of exploring the world and all its pleasures.

Lately I've been thinking about those times in my life when I was untethered...when I went where my boots took me, didn't worry about what was in my fridge, explored all the questions and wonderings inside me, and "followed knowledge like a sinking star". Is there a way to find balance in our adult lives, to "drink life to the lees" without completely abandoning the lives we've carefully created? This restless soul is wondering.

Thanks to Alfred, Lord Tennyson, dear deceased poet, for the quotes that have chased me all my life.

Summer Scrapbook

I had a lovely blog post written at 5:30 this morning, the only time I could fit it in. My pictures aren't loading and I'm frustrated about that, as they are the few I could scrounge, since I am still without a camera. It was a reflection on the summer, and a looking forward to the many tasks and joys of Autumn, in honour of today's Equinox. I'll try again tomorrow if the opportunity arises.

For now I am going to drink my coffee ALONE, and do nothing but that. I won't read, knit, prepare breakfast, wash dishes, iron work clothes, or feed the cats while I do it. Today is my first day with my whole class of Kindergartens! We're learning about the colour red, the number 1, and the letter S. We'll also practise taking off and putting on our shoes, zipping zippers, and sitting cross-legged. They're so little. They're so sweet. It all begins today! I'm preparing myself to be busier than I already am; admittedly, I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around that concept. I've been reflecting on "to-do" lists, and wonder if yours is as long as mine. Sometimes I feel like I'm that waiter in a cartoon, with plates piled to the ceiling, bobbing and dodging this way and that to prevent them from crashing...and along comes the maitre d' with just one more plate. You know how it's all going to end, but still you hold onto a small hope that the waiter can manage...

Hope yours is a beautiful one. I'll post here when I find the time. For now, I'm going to drink coffee.

Giveaway!

Hooray! I've got 100 followers! When I started this blog in April, I thought it would take at least a year to reach 100, but here I am. Thanks to all of you for reading and commenting, encouraging and sharing!

I mentioned awhile back that I had submitted an application to participate in a craft show, and that I'd been accepted. This was thrilling, indeed...that feeling of "They like me! They really LIKE me!" For some reason I thought it was a reasonable expectation to place on myself: sure, I can make 30 felt crowns, 20 knitted hats, and various other items to sell. In November. Forget the fact that I am a kindergarten teacher, chicken farmer, and the mother to 3 kids 5 and under. I so WANTED to do it! For the first time in 6 years, I am not pregnant, breastfeeding, or caring for a tiny baby...my youngest is 18 months old. Isn't it time for me to get going on the things I've wanted to do for so long?

Apparently not. After 2 weeks of stress, frustration, and resentment, I regretfully contacted the organizers and told them it just wasn't possible at this point in my life. When I jokingly mentioned that, if they had a blacklist, I prayed I wasn't on it so that I could apply again someday (like, when my kids are in their twenties), they assured me that they'd look forward to future applications from me. Hooray for mamas supporting mamas! If you're in the Ottawa area, don't miss this show! It's called Handmade Harvest, and takes place in Almonte on November 6.

My point is, by really listening to my inner voice (I think there might be two of them, as there was some serious internal arguing going on for awhile there), I've freed myself up to do knitting for the people I really care about! On my needles at the moment is a mitten for Margot; the challenge is NOT knitting a mitten. It's knitting the PAIR that always trips me up.

Fox-and-Geese-and-Fences Mittens for my husband: started in 2007.

So I'm not offering a pair of mittens, or you may never get them. I'm offering one of these:

A baby fairy!

This one I knit when Margot was having her surgery...the making of her kept my mind and hands busy, and each stitch was a prayer. So she'll be staying with us. Yours isn't on the needles yet, and she'll emerge organically as most of my knitting does...we'll just see what colour she turns out to be, and what her personality is as she unfurls! Perhaps an autumny fairy for your nature table!

To enter to win a one-of-a-kind baby fairy, please leave a comment below. If you're a follower, you can enter once daily until I randomly select the winner on Sunday, September 12th! If I knit away until then, she may just be ready to mail!

Poetic Monday: Weepy

I've been feeling weepy lately. I'm weeping about a friend's loss and children living with illness. I'm weeping about the generational shift that takes place when you're my age. I weep when I hear certain songs, and even wept when I saw the trailer for "The Blind Side"...AFTER I'd seen the movie (I didn't even like it that much). When I feel weepy like this, I know that the best remedy is a BIG CRY. An EPIC CRY. The kind of crying where you know your face looks contorted and red and ugly and you don't give a damn.

I haven't done it yet, but keep telling my husband I need to find a moment and the space to open the dams and let all my heart's feelings flow free.

Here's a poem I love on the topic:

Crying
~Galway Kinnell

Crying only a little bit
is no use. You must cry
until your pillow is soaked!
Then you can get up and laugh.
Then you can jump in the shower
and splash-splash-splash!
Then you can throw open your window
and, "Ha ha! Ha ha!"
And if people say, "Hey,
what's going on up there?"
"Ha ha!" sing back, "Happiness
was hiding in the last tear!
I wept it! Ha ha!"

I've been thinking lately about how uncomfortable it makes us when our children cry. We want to stop them, with comfort, or reprimands, or isolation. Violet in particular cries about everything; when it's tantrummy, ear-splitting, shatter-the-window-panes crying, we have to put her outside on the porch till she's done. This isn't a punishment, but more a move towards preserving the aural health of the other people in the house.

But maybe she knows something I've forgotten. Maybe the next time she starts, I'll let 'er loose, and cry right along with her. I know happiness is hiding in there somewhere!

Holidays, and a Giveaway

Early yesterday morning it occurred to me that it was almost August. I felt a moment of panic, like the time had flown without my awareness, and in some ways that is so. Recently, my children have been responding with "Just a minute" when I ask them to do something.

I know where they've learned this, and when...it has been over the past few months as I have become more and more dedicated to this blog, and to following the many wonderful blogs out there. Every "free" moment (i.e. when the kids are watching a movie or playing on their own, or in bed for the night), I am "connected"; hours can be lost just browsing other people's blogs. I was reflecting on that terminology: how, when I'm off the internet, I'm considered "disconnected". But I've found that since I started actively blogging and following other blogs, I am actually disconnected from my real life.

So, I'm going to ease back a bit, just for the month of August. I have a few music gigs booked (just getting back into performing after years off having/nursing babies), and want to get started on my Christmas gifts. I also have to prepare my classroom for September. Oh, and spending time with my kids, getting this house in order, maybe painting the livingroom, doing some sewing...just a few things on my to-do list!

Even moderation should be taken in moderation, so rather than taking the month off entirely as I'd initially intended, I'm just going to post once or twice a week.

Now, for the giveaway! Awhile ago, Twig and Toadstool offered a "Pay It Forward" Giveaway, where the winner would then post a giveaway on HER blog, and on and on. The winner of the first giveaway was Sheepish, who then offered a sweet felted toadstool purse as a giveaway. And I won that!

Sheepish not only sent the purse to me, but added some other wonderful treats to the care package. Imagine my delight at finding a parcel in my mailbox, containing some lovely handmades PLUS a lovely skein of hand-dyed sock yarn!

So, today I present my own item for the "Pay It Forward Giveaway"! The lucky winner will receive a Mushroom Cottage, handmade by yours truly, plus a few other little items that I will pull together. Please enter your comments below; if you're a Follower, you can post a comment every day until next Thursday, August 5 at midnight, EST. The winner will be chosen randomly and announced on Friday, August 6.

The only stipulation is that if you win, you need to "pay it forward" by offering a giveaway on YOUR blog!

Enjoy the August long weekend, Canadians...and everyone else, enjoy your usual weekend!

The Flip Side

This bag sat here unsorted for at least 3 days.

Let's pretend you just popped in for tea. The pictures in this post are what you'd find here at the Knitty Gritty Homestead. They were taken weeks ago, but things are pretty much the same here today.

When I started this blog, I was intent on making sure it wasn't one of THOSE blogs...you know, pictures of my perfect, imaginative, quirky kids dressed in handmade clothes, my perfect home, the perfect meals I cook, my perfect life. Today at the beach, a dear friend who hasn't really been following my blog told me she'd had a look today. Her response? "I felt like an inadequate mother!"

Another sinkful of nice hot water that will get cold before I get to the dishes.

Wow. I know that feeling well. I've been to blogs where the absolute decorative perfection of the house (white couches? in a house with kids??), or the prolific craftiness of the mama (does this woman ever sleep?), or the amazing meals she creates with apparent ease (while I ask my kids "How 'bout scrambled eggs...again??") is enough to intimidate and dishearten the most accomplished and well-intentioned mothers.

I KNOW that blogs do not represent the whole picture, and I've actually been grateful that in my daily search for a post I am encouraged to pick out the very best moment/recipe/craft of the day or week. It helps me focus on the positive, and I know that other bloggers do the same thing.

Food and craft preparation blend into a picturesque mess

(see how the paint colours reflect my happy bowl? I meant to do that...)

As bloggers, we do tend to put a bit of a shine on our daily lives. And who can blame us if we want to focus on the best parts of our day? We all deal with whining kids who won't eat the food we cook, follow behind us and sabotage our every attempt to tidy up, mess their clothes several times daily to ensure you do not have one day without laundry, overwhelm us with demands for food, drink, and crafting opportunities, and challenge our creativity and patience every minute. Why would anyone want to read about this?

See that pretty violets tea cup? With (wilted) violets in it to match the violets tablecoth?

See how my family has destroyed my pretty display?

Perhaps the isolation and inadequacy a lot of mothers feel would be lessened if we WERE more honest about the nitty-gritty of our days. In addition to the berry-picking, pie-baking, toy-knitting, and tea-drinking that goes on around here, there's also a lot of stress, chaos, tantrums, mess, less-than-perfect parenting, junk food, baggage from childhood, miscommunication, jobs to avoid, and mouse droppings in the drawers.

Note the crying child in the background. I think she slipped on something (I can't imagine what)

and banged her elbow...

So for today, I present to you the flip side of those pictures I take, where I clear a space on the island to place my lovely cake, or examine the backgrounds before I press the shutter to make sure there's no crap lying around on the floor. I feel like coming clean (haha! no pun intended) with what my house really looks like; my efforts to keep it tidy are half-hearted at best, as it seems a futile activity...

Welcome to the Knitty Gritty Homestead! Where I choose knitting and blogging over housework, and the tea is always hot.

*The winning number of my knitted hat giveaway, selected at http://www.random.org/, was 20
which means that Stephanie G. is the winner! Thank you for all your sweet entries...I may have to make this a monthly thing!

By the way, Maureen at Twig and Toadstool started a "Pay It Forward" giveaway awhile back; Karen at Sheepish won that one, then offered a toadstool bag as her "pay it forward" item. And guess who won? ME! Thanks, Maureen (who lives down the road and wins an UNBELIEVABLE amount of giveaways!) for starting it all off, and thanks, Karen, for participating! Now it's my turn! I have a lovely little knitted set to pass on...so watch this space.

Have a great weekend!