March Break Inspiration

I am a mother of three. I am a teacher of 19 kindergarten children. Today was the last day of school before March Break begins. My husband will be working through the break, so I'll have 10 hours a day with my children.

Many of you out there homeschool. I think that's marvellous and have my fantasies of being home with my kids every day. Then Violet tries to gouge Margot's eyes out, or attempts to strangle her brother, and I know that spending some time apart is as much about survival as it is about financial necessity.

I want March Break to be fun for my children, enjoyable for me, and cheap. You probably want all of these things, too. So, join me next week, where I will be sharing lots of ideas of how to entertain your 2-6 year-olds.

If you want to prepare for the week, you might want to pick up some supplies: acrylic craft paints and brushes, salt and flour, large pieces of paper, glitter, yarn, and perhaps some large butcher paper. Gather up your children's favourite books and music, and some blankets and pillows.

Prepare to get messy, and to fill your house with lopsided little handmades! See you on Monday!

Spring Whispers

I've been busily creating these sweet little eggs from this Rhythm of the Home (be sure to check out the designer's blog), in preparation for a birthday celebration in April, as well as a seasonal exchange with friends. They're quick to make, and so darn delightful, especially when stored in a carton. They make me smile.

(The good old webcam comes through for me again, with some help from Picnik!)

The Beginning of the Season

Today is Ash Wednesday. It is the beginning of the Lenten Season in the Christian tradition, and many of us will begin preparing ourselves for the mystery of Easter.

I feel that my own young children and the children that I teach are not yet ready to understand Easter in terms of the crucifixion of Jesus; it's just too much for them to comprehend (especially since a few months ago, we were celebrating His birth). They don't understand WHY anyone would want to kill a loving teacher who was spreading healing and kindness.

For now, the focus is on the concepts of rebirth and new life, which are universal themes, especially in Spring!

Both at home and in my classroom, we will create a Lenten Garden; visit this link for a great tutorial (because I haven't created ours yet, AND I don't have a camera!) Ann Druitt in "All Year Round" offers a lovely description of this garden. It will appear lifeless (moss, bare twig-trees, etc.), until Easter arrives, at which point I will adorn them with small potted crocuses and other living things.

Another great symbol for children is the story of a caterpillar. In order to become what it is truly meant to be, a caterpillar must give up its "life" in becoming a chrysalis, only to burst into new life as a beautiful, ethereal butterfly. You could also plant a seed (which again, appears lifeless, and must give up its existence as a seed in order to bloom into a flower).
In sharp contrast to the deprivation one feels when going on a "diet", I enjoy the quiet contemplation of this season, and the sense that by "giving up" something I enjoy (in my case, coffee AND sugar) for the forty days leading up to Easter, I am tilling the soil of my spirit, creating a nourishing space where beauty can thrive.

A Day for Women

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, as always, count your many blessings.

Snow Day

Mother Nature decided that I was not to attend Seedy Sunday today. The snow is so deep that a third of the farm gates are sunk in the white stuff. The van is stuck. The lane way has not been plowed.

When I look out the door on a day like this and ignore the hydro lines and road signs, I can imagine how this place might have looked 100 years ago, blanketed in a quiet cover of clean, beautiful snow. I think about how life just went on for our foremothers; they stoked up the fire, tended to the animals, and nestled in for another day of preparing meals and mending.

So, I am choosing to see this snow day as a gift.

I have extra time to create some order in this house, and prepare food for the upcoming busier-than-usual week. I can spend some quiet time with my girls (Jude's off down the lane way to be picked up for a birthday party). I can maybe snuggle on the couch for a moment with my man.

Maybe we'll go on a deep-snow adventure, or create something pretty. I am so thankful for this day of grace.

Seeds, Serendipity, and Spring Cleaning

Today we're preparing the house for Spring. No, we're not putting out pretty nests and coloured eggs (yet)! The basement has held a winter's worth of wood, and the bits of bark and kindling must be swept up before the inevitable Spring inundation. I'm exaggerating...it's more of a trickle, but enough that we have to use a sump pump to keep the freezer, furnace, washer and dryer well out of the water's reach. The cobwebs also need clearing, the shelves some organising, and the little corners of scariness tidying.

The basement is one of those unpleasant places to clean, especially if you live in an old farmhouse. The floors are rough, the walls are damp; constant vigilance is required to prevent mildew, mold, and mushrooms (I'm not joking). I've read that if the house were a person, the basement would represent our subconsious mind. No wonder they're so often damp, dark, and creepy! Ha! I'm looking forward to creating order in this neglected space. I visit it often each day, to fill the furnace with wood and the washer with laundry. I'm picturing a cold storage room full of bins of potatoes, carrots, squash, garlic, beets, and so on, and tidy shelves of jewel-coloured jars of preserves and sauces. I'm also hopefully planning to try fermenting with the help of a new friend...more on that later.

We're also getting ready to start our seeds. In years past, a dear friend and gardening mentor started all our seeds and shared the gardening work. Since we've moved here, we've had a spring baby that required medical attention, and a garden started from greenhouse (purchased) seedlings. This year I'm starting my own! We've moved a shelf into our kitchen where the south facing windows are, and are taking a look at what we hope will be a cold-storage room in the basement.

The webcam works in a pinch!

If you happen to be in the Ottawa Valley this weekend, please consider stopping by Fellowes High School in Pembroke where the annual Seedy Sunday event will take place from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Vendors, guest speakers, live music, fresh local food, and a kid zone all conspire to entice winter-weary souls into thinking: Spring! I'll be volunteering at the door, performing some music, and selling a few hand-painted cards at a friend's table.

Hooray for the webcam!

And now for the serendipity, that quirky little force that brings good things into your life just when you need them (and least expect them). Some of you are aware that I've had some camera issues lately. I had resigned myself to reducing my normal amount of blogposts, using my mom's camera, and slowly saving up for one for myself, without any expectation of when I might be able to afford one.

Then I got a message on Facebook from a university friend who now lives in Australia. We haven't seen each other in 15 years or so. We've been in touch sporadically. She told me in her message that she is one of those silent followers of my blog, and loves the glimpse it gives her of a life so different from hers. I had no idea she read my posts, and was touched by her words.

Imagine my delight and gratitude when she told me she had a camera to send me! Turns out her dad loves to buy new technology, and sends her his castoffs. She didn't like the idea of me not being able to take pictures of those little daily moments (like yesterday's mental photo of Violet in a too-big, saggy-bum bathing suit and a Santa hat), so is generously offering me one of her dad's cameras!

To say I am touched and overwhelmed by the way life provides is an understatement. So, a shout out to Nikki, away on the other side of the globe, and to everyone who has offered suggestions and encouragement.

Two

Margot at a few weeks old.

My Sweet Margot Joy,

Today I reflect on the day of your birth, a cold, clear morning two years ago. I started labour at around midnight, and just breathed in the quiet dark, curled up against your dad's back, until I knew it was time to call my support team.

My midwife, Leslie, lived a good hour's drive away, and I remember my profound sense of gratitude at seeing the headlights sweeping across the wall as she drove up the lane way. We'd had it ploughed that day because we knew our time was near.

This was my third labour, so I knew what my habits were: I like to be left alone, with a wet cloth to press over my eyes through each contraction...no distractions, no music, no words of encouragement. I prayed that you would be born by morning, and once Leslie had checked me out, she assured me that I would, indeed, be holding you by sunrise! She just barely caught your sister Violet, so she too knew how things go with me in labour.

By very early morning, my Doula (your aunt!) Julie arrived; the atmosphere was peaceful and calm. This was my first nighttime labour, and I understood why most animals give birth at night. We called your Nanny, and your aunt Lana, to let them know they should head out soon if they wanted to be part of this birth. Aunt Lana took this photo of the homestead as they came up the road in the dawn light:

Wisps of smoke from the chimney, house warmed to welcome a new babe.

Once I got into the bathtub, it didn't take long to reach the "pushy" stage. Violet was awake by now, and watched from the bedroom door, secure in Nanny's arms. Jude was snoozing away, in spite of the noise and activity just below him.

Then, there was you...my beautiful dark-haired girl, so different from your siblings, but decidedly MINE. I asked over and over if everything was okay, and I wonder now about mother's intuition; it would be 7 weeks before we'd realise that your tiny heart was in trouble.

But on that early morning, there was just you, in bed with your mom and dad and sister, and soon your brother; he woke up minutes after your birth. That bed was all that existed for me that morning, full of the man I chose and the children we created together. The tree outside the window stood bare, its empty arms reaching up to the late-winter sky. But were my arms full? You betcha.

Papa arrived to meet his new grandchild, then appointed himself head chef, cooking a big country breakfast for the tired support team. The sun rose, brilliant in a clear sky, and although I'd been left upstairs to rest and nestle in, I was drawn downstairs by the smells of coffee and bacon, and the lively chatter that travelled up the stairs. I settled into the wing back chair beside the wood stove, and basked in that I-just-birthed-a-baby bliss.

Tired daddy.

The weeks that followed are a blur now, of attempting to nurse while small children climbed up for a story, trying to pump to keep my milk supply up, struggling to figure out why you weren't gaining weight, and the realisation that something was, indeed wrong.

I had to record you as a presence in this family; I feared you might not live through your surgery.

Margot at exactly age one.

My Margot. Now you are two. There was a time when I wasn't sure if you'd make it here, and today I feel more than the normal joy and gratitude at milestones reached. I suppose it will always be this way, that whisper of "what if..." that casts a brief shadow over my heart.

You are aptly named, my wee wrestler, early morning song-singer, book-lover, belly-laugher, and wordsmith. You love your knitted blanket, nursery rhymes, listening to CBC in the van, other babies, and your Nanny. Your blue eyes contain so much soul and intelligence, and your curls can melt hearts.

Your love came unexpectedly, and we are so grateful for this surprise of your presence; we accepted you with joy and are thankful every single day that you chose us to parent you.

Happy, happy birthday, my girl.

Love,
Mommy