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!

Whilst wandering in the woods, I had the impression that I was being watched by the benevolent beasties that hide quietly there, disguising themselves as inanimate foresty things:

fierce-faced dragon;

the judgmental patriarch;

gentle giant, all scales and watchful eyes;

the elusive leaf-dwelling hippo;

and equally rare bark-faced turtle.

Finally, a bird of ornithological mystery.

Get outside and get fanciful!

Black and White Wednesday: Autumn Without Colour

A morning wander in the woods inspired a look at the textures and shapes of autumn, rather than the usual eye-candy of orange, red, yellow, burgundy, and brown. We saw

layers of lichen, like petticoats;

leggy cascades of cedar;

dried leaves, entwined like lovers about to be parted;

puzzle-piece negative space;

and this happy trio of mushroom blossoms!

Be sure to stop by Natural Suburbia for more Black and White Wonders!

Guest Post: In Memory of Marjorie

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

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


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

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

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

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

Marjorie Graham's Cinnamon Buns

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

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

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

3. Add beaten egg and salt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The finished product!

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

We Are Experiencing

We are experiencing technical difficulties here at the Homestead; namely, there is something wrong with my privacy settings, something to do with "cookies", that won't allow me to post photos.
So, until my tech support (my brother-in-law!) saves the day, this space will be quiet.

Please standby...

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.

For the Love of Violet

If the (invented, admittedly, by me) word lanaphilia means "the love of wool", then I need to invent a new word. Synthetophobia  is the abhorrence of acrylic, and all yarns not derived from animal or plant fibre. I HATE acrylic. I know, it's a strong word, and I do not use it carelessly here. Sure, acrylic is cheap. It washes and dries without care, lasts for a million years without wearing, feels really soft, and is unappealing to moths.

These acrylo-virtues do not override several facts: the colours suck. It pills when you wash it. It makes you sweat, without really keeping you warm (unlike wool, that wonder fibre, which keeps you warm even when wet). And perhaps worst of all: it SQUEAKS when you knit with it. I LOATHE the squeak of acrylic as it grunts gracelessly across my needles.

I learned to knit with acrylic, way back in its glory days: the mid-eighties. Back in those days, before the internet, before fancy local yarn stores, before Knit Picks, Wool Time, Yarn Forward, before even Walmart*, my mom would take me "downtown" (which is being generous: my hometown has a population of 1100), to "Daphne's"...our version of a local yarn/fabric/general craft supply store. I remember going there with my mom before I even started school. They'd sit me up in this half-tube that ran along the side of the cutting table; this was a place to lay the bolt of cloth. I marvelled to see it again when I was an adult; that my ass could fit in that little space is a wonder to me now. But I digress.

Daphne sold acrylic yarn. All of my first projects were made with some version of Patons yarn. I still have the first fair isle sweater I knit (when I was 12!); the yoke pattern was of little boys and girls (resembling paper dolls) holding hands, with green fir trees for colour. It's a nice gender-neutral grey. My kids could wear it! I'm still proud of the accomplishment, proud of the determined little girl I was, learning to knit and purl, increase and decrease, do ribbing and even real raglan sleeves. But it's acrylic.

 When I was introduced to wool, my world changed. You could say I am a yarn snob, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. The way I see it, if it's worth making, it's worth the best wool you can afford.

Enter Violet. The child who thinks a bug is biting her every time she feels an itch. If I put a pea under her mattress (or 20 mattresses), she'd feel it. You know the kind...sock seams, shirt tags, and bunchy elastic waists drive her crazy. After several flat refusals to where anything woolish, I made her a sweet cardigan out of Cotton Fleece, a lovely, very soft cotton-merino blend. Here she is, modelling the cardigan, after I'd wrestled her into it:

She loves it! You just can't tell because she's screaming so loudly.

This is the last time she wore it. Next I tried to knit her a vest, the Cobblestone-Inspired "Pebble". I casually suggested she tried it on (lest I scare her off with my intense desire for her to wear SOMETHING knitted); nope, no can do, mommy.

Everytime she sees me knitting, she asks what I'm making. She always follows my reply with "For meeeee?" So I've finally surrendered to what this girl needs.

She needs a mama-made sweater. In acrylic. I'm 4 inches into the back (colours chosen by her), and hating every minute of it. I hate the colour. I hate the yarn (which, incidentally, cost me $9...for the whole sweater). The pattern is cute. And I hope she'll love it so much that I'll have to peel it off her at night, coax her to pass it on to Margot when she outgrows it, and promise to save it for her babies. Even if it isn't wool. And even if my descendents think I was just some tacky acrylic-knitting granny, with no sense of the value of natural materials.

Because if she doesn't, she's not getting another damned knitted thing from me, ever.