On Christmas Eve

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.

Lessons Within Lessons

We all know that our children will have to learn things that challenge them, frustrate them, and make them want to just give up. It helps if there's some kind of tangible incentive. Like, say...you won't be able to wear your cool new shoes to school IF you can't tie them yourself...so let's try again, shall we?

It took some tears, and some gently-recounted anecdotes about how long it took me to learn to knit, and how long it took daddy to learn to play the guitar. We talked about the fun he'll have next year when he can ride his bike to the beach from our campsite, IF he practises on his two-wheeler.

So, he tried again.

making the little loop,

dropping it, then starting all over again,

finally "getting" the part (after much repetition) where you push the little loop through that hole,

to FINALLY pronounce, "I did it!! All by myself!"

Velcro shoes would have been easier. But tying shoelaces, like reading time on analog clocks, washing dishes by hand, and waiting for a pot to boil teaches your child more than just to tie shoes. He will learn patience, perseverance, and the satisfaction of saying those wonderful words, after trying and mastering something challenging:

I did it! All by myself!

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.

Unconditional

Remember when you were pregnant with your first child, and you made all those sweet promises to your unborn baby...about how you'd always share the wonders of the world with them? You couldn't imagine being impatient with them, raising your voice at them, being impatient or frustrated with them. We all think we're going to be better than "those mothers"...

The trouble with parenting is that you have no idea what you're getting into, until you're irrevocably INTO it. When you made those promises, you didn't imagine holding a screaming baby for hours, or dealing with a toddler who bites, or trying to get three kids out the door on time on a winter morning. You'd turn to books, but when your kids are small, it's hard to find the time to read anything, let alone some dry how-to-raise-amazing-kids-with-this-magical-three-step-process type of book.

Because here's the rub: There is no magic trick. Children don't come with instruction manuals, and the advice we get from our own parents, TVs latest guru, or well-meaning strangers doesn't often help, because your children are unique: they're YOURS.

The expectant mama...blissfully unaware.

But giving them lots of love is a good start. Setting reasonable boundaries, listening to them, tuning in to their needs, and giving them many opportunities to learn and explore safely take you further down the road to your goal of raising healthy human beings.

We can be so hard on ourselves. I reflect a lot, and wake up often in the middle of the night replaying a scene from the previous day, wondering what I could have done differently or better, worrying that I've irrevocably damaged my child's sense of trust or self-esteem (because I yelled at them in a moment of impatience, or said "No" too many times). I know that every parent loses their cool. But it seems the worst of ironies that we so often reprimand our children for impulsive behaviour, losing control, or being impatient when we are such good role models of these behaviours!

Innocent beauty and ultimate trust rolled into one sweet being.

About a year ago, I started reading Alfie Kohn's "Unconditional Parenting". Every once in awhile, you come across a book that just resonates with your soul, finds communion with your intuition, and reassures you that what you felt in your heart was just right. I don't recommend reading loads of parenting how-to books, as they can make it hard to figure out what YOUR stance is. You may sense what you feel is best, but it cab be challenging to articulate. People think you're wishy-washy, or airy-fairy, or artsy-fartsy. Yes, I've been called all of the above.

Patience and good role-modelling starts early.

I often found myself giving in to things my own parents said or did ("If you don't stop that right now, I'm turning this van around and we're NOT going to Aunt Lana's house!!") I cringe internally when I hear myself saying things like this: coercion, bribes, empty threats, "because I said so!" kind of statements. They just unsettle me, but in the heat of those moments where you're surrounded by screaming kids, or you're late for work, or overtired, sometimes you feel like you have no other option.

Learning to be human in this world.

Forget that these techniques actually don't do a whole lot. Ditto for timeouts. When my older children went through the hitting/biting stage, I'd give them a timeout. They'd do it again within an hour, and I'd give them another timeout. The next day I'd give them more. So...duh. Obviously the timeout doesn't work. Growing out of a stage does. By the time we had our third child, we started recognising developmental patterns and have eased up on the "discipline". Gentle reminders, distraction, and removing a toddler from a situation (without isolating them) seem to be more effective in the long run.

I finished reading "Unconditional Parenting" this morning, covering the part I'd been waiting for: alternatives to traditional parenting. Kohn doesn't offer a band-aid solution. He does, however, offer a beautiful list that will be posted on my refrigerator. This sang to my mother's soul:

1.  Be reflective.
2.  Reconsider your requests.
3.  Keep your eye on the long-term goals.
4.  Put the relationship first.
5.  Change how you see, not just how you act.
6.  R-E-S-P-E-C-T
7.  Be authentic.
8.  Talk less, ask more.
9.  Keep their ages in mind.
10. Attribute to children the best possible motive consistent with the facts.
11. Don't stick your no's in unnecessarily.
12. Don't be rigid.
13. Don't be in a hurry.

Parenting is hard work. No one ever said it would be easy. It is overwhelming, underrated, unpaid, and often thankless.

But important? You betcha. Get thee to a bookstore and  buy this book, then read it. It may confirm what you already know. It may support you in questioning those practices that you find unsettling. It will certainly open your mind, and perhaps give you some backup support when someone questions your approach.

You're wonderful. Your children are wonderful. And your relationship is so worth it.

The Beating of Our Hearts

A circle is formed by the women who until now have been chatting in excited little packs, anticipating the challenges they will face in the next two and a half hours. A lovely young dark-eyed woman, curvy with pregnancy, sits on one side of me; on the other, a blonde with a German accent and high cheekbones rests her strong, dye-stained hands on her drum. Two French-Canadian women converse quietly along one side. A woman in her 60s brushes her bobbed hair back off her cheek. A woman with naturally curly hair, a tie-dyed shirt, and beautifully-sewn moccasins sits across from me. There are others in this circle as well.

Our leader, our teacher, settles into place behind a large djembe, showing us how to align the trail of the goat’s spine that bisects the skin so that our hands hit on either side of it. This symmetry pleases me.

Jean has the sparkling eyes and easy carriage of a woman who has chosen her own paths and followed her own passions, a woman who has settled comfortably into life’s joys and woes with grace and humour and optimism. Her long silver hair floats softly around her face, crowned with a black beret that sits high on the lovely curve of her forehead. Her earrings don’t match: in one ear a moon, in the other, an exotic coin of some sort. This asymmetry pleases me. A trace of unrest shimmers just below the surface, but is harder to see when she begins to drum.

She talks of grandmothers, of the eggs we carry being passed down from our mothers, and their mothers’ mothers. My eyes spill water I didn’t know was there. She talks of how we already know how to drum, because we spent nine months listening to the drumbeat of our mothers’ hearts. I resist the urge to place my hand on the pregnant woman’s belly. I think about my mother and grandmothers, and of the many women that trace a line back from me to the beginning of humanity. I think of African women beating the dusty earth with their feet, and Celtic women leaping to the low tattoo of the bodhran. I see Anishnabe women shawl dancing and Arabic women belly dancing and Hawaiian women hula dancing; I see hips shaking, bodies undulating and shimmying, and feel the irresistible pull of the drum in all cultures.

After a short while, I stop thinking and my hands are drumming, vibrating with the impact, thrilling to the ancient sounds they are drawing from the drum. It is a concert; we are a community, we are playing a game of hide and seek, give and take, whisper and listen…I hear crickets and frogs, grass rustling, hoof beats on soil, claws on bark, wind chimes and wind. I hear the breaths and sighs and moans of the women present, and of those not present.

At first I am self-consciously aware only of the sounds from my drum; then they are blissfully lost, happy and mingling with the many other beats that spread out and fill this room. Each woman that wanders into the room for water or a snack can’t help herself; she bounces and thrusts and raises her arms in praise.

My eyes are closed, my mouth and heart open in a smile, and my hands?

My hands are drumming.

Pilgrim's Progress

I feel like a pilgrim, on a journey towards the unknown but assuredly blessed destination: a pair of handmade socks! Not just any socks, but a pair made just for me, she of the eternally cold feet. When learning a new skill or concentrating very hard, the human face contorts. My husband's mouth moves unconsciously when he drums, lips pulling in, pushing out, popping open and closed with the beats. Michael Jordan used to stick out his tongue when going in for a dunk. My bellydance students laugh at themselves when I gently suggest they practice facial expressions in the mirror, as their fierce frowns of concentration kind of detract from the beauty of the dance.

As I began my socks, trying to remember how to do the magic-loop cast on while calculating in my mind exactly how to do TWO at a time (with no instruction on this last bit), I knew I was making the face. My husband captured it: proof that those two lines between my brows are not from frowning in a bad mood, but from extreme concentration!

Note the wee face peeking over my left shoulder.

The aha! moment of delight..."I did it wrong," (and had to frog it), "but now, By George, I think I've got it!"

Margot shares in my joy. She still says "cheese"!

If you, like my husband, are mind-boggled at the idea of knitting two socks simultaneously, I assure you: it's not magic (although it's pretty darn close!). You can see the toe of the sock taking shape, and the two balls I'm working with. Basically, I knit across the sole of one sock, then switch yarn and knit across the sole of the other. Then I turn it all around, pull the needle through, and knit across the instep of the second sock, and then across the instep of the first. Easy, right?

These lines on my face will be deeper by the time these babies are done. I'm aiming to wear them on my 37th birthday. Hand knit socks bring the same pleasure as wearing fancy lingerie under jeans and a t-shirt. No one can see them, no one knows they're handmade (and no one cares)...but YOU know. It's a decadent pleasure, a bit of luxury on the least luxurious part of our bodies, our feet. They fit delightfully, look gorgeous (when you pull up your pantleg to show them to people who don't really care), and are something practical and just for you.

Find someone to teach you, and get knitting!

Sock Bliss

Having been thoroughly intimidated by the 'knit lists' of other bloggers, where they chronicled the things they knit in the past year (fourteen sweaters? twelve pairs of socks AND seven shawls?), I have set a new goal for myself. I am going to knit ONE pair of socks (for myself) AND a sweater for each of my children this year. If I accomplish these tasks, then I'll maybe knit something for my husband before 2012 rolls around.

For the kids, I'm thinking I'll crank out a few of these Scrap Cardigans (pattern is available for free on Ravelry!)...looks like a fun knit (from the neck down), and a great way to bust my stash of worsted weight yarn!

Today I attended a sock-knitting workshop taught by the knowledgeable, humourous, and infinitely patient Nancy of Log Cabin Yarns. I finally learned the Magic Loop cast-on, and actually completed a child's sock (knit from the toe-up) in about 3 hours!

We were all excited by our success, and the thrill of learning a few new techniques (including various binding-off methods). Is there anything more exciting for a knitter (besides a handful of cash and a yarn sale, that is), than learning something new? Whether it's accomplishing your first purl stitch, casting on by yourself, learning to knit in the round, or trying a cable, there's always something more you can add to your knitting repertoire.

I had to use the flash to demonstrate the lovely shades in this Noro yarn I picked up today. The title of that sheet of paper is "The Dreaded Sock Math" which allows one to calculate the exact measurements to create a sock that fits just so. After preparing food to begin a cleanse tomorrow, making lunches, and laying out school/work clothes this evening, I hope to cast on TWO socks to be knit simultaneously. My husband is suitably impressed by this prospect, although he's having trouble wrapping his mind around exactly how I plan to do it...ah, the mysterious knowledge of knitters!

In your comment, tell me one thing YOU hope to learn or accomplish in this brand new year!

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?

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.

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!

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!

Garden Party

I love spontaneous gatherings! Friends of ours invited us to a Garden Party late in the week, and we were especially delighted to attend, as they live a mere 10 minute drive from us! I spent the morning picking raspberries and making pastry for homemade mini-tarts, boiling up some sugar and mint for Mint Juleps, and baking a HUGE quiche, then we were off.

A hammock under a willow tree, and a puppy for company: what more could a kid want?

...aside from maybe a cob of corn.

Anya, our gracious hostess, has a keen eye for garden juxtapositions.

This contrast of red and green is particularly striking.

Their pond was a draw for all the kids (although I think their frogs must be traumatized...Violet even kissed one full on the...lips? Do frogs HAVE lips?

As per usual, her clothes came off within hours, and she was content to contemplate the wonder of being three by the serene garden waters.

A rare snap of me (I'm usually the one behind the camera), with my girls.

Margot spent the day grazing at the picnic table...love how tiny her face looks here, peering over daddy's shoulder!

At the end of the afternoon, Margot helped to finish off dessert: Eton Mess (a marvellous swirl of berries, whipped cream, and chunks of meringue). She used a wooden spoon to get it into her mouth and was quite pleased with herself (and with all the attention she was getting).

We had a scare when Margot fell into the pond; she is used to wading into shallow shoreline water, and we imagine she just stepped in; we were closeby and saw her hat floating, then realised that that was her floating beside it, face-down and not struggling at all. We didn't even hear a splash, and the many children around the pond didn't notice anything amiss. A quick Daddy-scoop out of the water, a bit of sputtering and crying, and then she was off toddling happily around again. A frightening reminder of how quickly your child can get into trouble, even when you're standing closeby. She enjoyed the pond later in the day, but this time with mama's hand firmly around her tummy (as she was intent on plunging in again)...sigh. I whispered a thanks to the Angel that whispered to us to look over when we did, or this post might have had a very different ending.

*Special thanks to Anya and Jay for the loan of their camera, and to Jenny who emailed me some of the ones she took!