The Brown Mama Chronicles

Matthew 7:10

2012-01-18T01:06:00.001-08:00

The boys are trying to participate in the children's bible study at church. Sometimes I wonder how much they are retaining and actually learning from our little study sessions. Question answered today, when Kashton said to me, quite out of the blue, "Mummy, if I ask Daddy for a fish, he won't give me a snake."

So cute, I had to come out of blogging retirement just to record that somewhere.

Introducing Zephan

2011-06-23T23:40:00.000-07:00

Zephan Atlas Brown

June 19th, 2011 @ 8pm

8lbs,1oz and 20.5 inches

Zephan finally made his arrival on Father's Day. He looks like his dad and both of his brothers. We adore him, and surprisingly enough, so do all of his siblings. I was prepared for some resistance or hesitation about having a new baby in the house from Kashton, but Kashton really loves him most of all.

A Mother of Convenience

2011-06-01T22:43:00.000-07:00

I am a mother because it is easy. Truly.

The hardest job on earth, is the easiest it has ever been.

If I lived in any other time, or in any other place, I'm not sure what kind of a mother I would be, because I sure complain now.

I mean we all do right?

About how tired we are, how the kids are driving us crazy, about our bodies, our husbands, our homes. We moan and groan about our disappearing waistlines, sex-lives and brain cells. We laugh and cry with each other, joined in sisterhood over the woeful tales of never-ending laundry, peanut-butter smeared walls and droopy boobs.

Except that I have felt so chastened lately when I think of how easy I really have it.

I remember when I was pregnant with Kashton, and I knew I was going to have babies a year apart, and I wondered how I would survive. I remember talking to my grandmother about her own experience, because she, a typical 1940s Canadian Farm wife, had also had babies a year apart.

Except she also had another toddler already to care for, so would have three under three. And while there are lots of women who even today have found themselves in a similar situation, it's not even remotely similar in reality.

Because my grandma didn't go to the grocery store for bread and milk. Every single meal, and most of its components came from scratch or hours of labour. Milk was well... milked. Bread was baked weekly, along with pies and cookies. Vegetables grown. Fruit canned for jam and preserves. There was no McDonalds drive-thru if she was too tired to cook. No pizza delivery on Friday night.

Food aside, there were no such thing as disposable diapers or wipes, just cloth ones that my grandmother felt lucky enough to be able to put in an actual washing machine, never mind the fact that she had no dryer for three small children and two adults, and that the clothes, wet and laid out all over the house, took days to dry in the winter.

There were no all-night pharmacies for croupy babies. No 24-hour health lines for fever symptoms and worried mothers. No Google. No coffee playhouses filled with baby-wearing mama's in designer clothes sipping $5 lattes. No sympathetic Facebook Friends to lend an ear at 2 am when the baby has been up crying from teething pain. No Gymboree classes or swim lessons. No girls night out or romantic tropical getaways to reconnect with Dear Husband.

What she did have were endless and isolating Canadian prairie winters and hot dry summers in which to be alone most of the day with her children and an endless amount of work.

She barely remembers the infancy of any of her children. The days were a blur. She was bone-tired, never sleeping through the night with young babies, and facing the day's chores, which included tending to farm animals (even while in labour) before the sun had even come up. She also never complained.

She speaks now with regret and a tinge of jealousy at the way mothers these days seem to enjoy their babies. But for all her busyness in their youth, it doesn't seem to have impacted the love her children feel for her in any way. My mom and her two sisters and brother revere their mom, and treasure her very openly. They must have had some innate sense, that this daily grind was truly done on their behalf. That their growing up fed and clothed and warm and clean was a true hallmark of self-sacrifice.

I have realized since, that what my Grandmother endured to raise her children, was not simply generational either. Women all over the world are still rising up to challenges in mothering that I cannot imagine, and will simply, never know.

Women who will never get to choose where or how they give birth. If it is with or without pain management. Women who will never even have control over their own reproduction, if they can have them at all, how many children they have or when they will have them. Women who will never just turn on a tap to bathe their infant, as many times a day as they wish, or to fill a bottle or pot or washing machine. Women who will never have to decide between breast or bottle, vaccinations or not, pre-school or playgroups, organic or jarred, because those choices are not even available to them.

And so, I realize that while I like to equate motherhood with sainthood that I am very far indeed from that pedestal. Of course I absolutely give credence to the real struggles mothers of even our time and clime come head to head with, but if I am honest, I am a mother because it's actually pretty easy. The scales are far more heavily tipped towards reward than they are to effort, and when I shut-up long enough to remember that, I am deeply, deeply grateful.

Home again, home again...

2011-04-28T01:07:00.000-07:00

There were two little boys that were very happy to have their sister home today from "Potatoes".

(AKA Barbados.)

I think the feeling was reciprocal.

Weird little things I want to remember:

2011-04-08T17:59:00.000-07:00

that my boys like chocolate milk....

with a side of spoon.

Thirteen

2011-04-05T09:05:00.000-07:00

Christmas day, 2010.

My little girl is 13 today.

A bonafide teenager. (Even though she has looked and acted the part for much longer.)

I could use this post to tell you how amazing she is, but I think you all know how I feel about that kid.

So instead, I have been thinking about what I wish for Thyra, on this occasion, as she enters young adulthood.

Firstly, as a mom, I understand even if I don't completely love the idea, that these years are years of independence. Of learning to navigate the world on your own. I hope that even as she desires freedom from us, and a chance to spread her wings, that her need of God only deepens. That she continues to understand that she requires His guidance to get safely through all the experiences and challenges the next few years may bring. I hope, as her mother that I will always point her in that direction and support her spiritual growth.

I wish for Thyra a deep abiding confidence in who she is and what she believes to be true. I hope she never wastes her time or energy in trying to win the approval of her peers or boys, but instead knows a true longing to be approved of God. I hope she comes to understand that those who truly love her will love those same qualities in her that God desires.

I hope she never loses the value of hard work. It's easy to give up the interest in working hard when there are friends seeking your attention, and boys to flirt with and all sorts of activities on the social calendar, but I hope she never abandons her work ethic for pure fun. I wish I had kept a little more of that in my teenage years.

That being said, I hope she has lots of amazing experiences in the next few years and enjoys this time of her life as much as possible. The responsibilities of adulthood come upon us too soon, and I truly hope she takes full advantage of this brief, but special time in her life.

I hope she always understands how incredibly special she is to me, and to Gavan, her brothers and to our families. Sometimes, when there are little kids around requiring constant help and attention, it is easy to overlook the capable bigger sister. I hope she always knows that we are here for her always, that her needs are no less important and that she is so special to us. Our family feels incomplete when she is not with us.

I love this daughter of mine, with every fibre of my being, and wish her the absolute best as she turns thirteen.

Wow.

Playing with her little brothers in a lovely April Snowstorm.

Kisses for Tosh

She might be 13, but she still loves to be silly! She bought these mustaches on her recent trip to Victoria.

The "Lanny McDonald" and the "Fu Manchu".

Off the list.

2011-03-29T23:54:00.000-07:00

One of the few goals I want to accomplish is to have both boys fully potty-trained before the baby comes. With Malachi not potty-trained until he was three, I didn't know if this was realistic, but luckily in our home we have a severe case of "Monkey See, Monkey Do" going on, and Kashton has nicely followed along in his brother's footsteps. They do have one little odd difference: Malachi insists on using the regular toilet, and Kashton prefers the potty seat. They have gotten to be experts at setting up the toilet, exactly how they like it, and Kashton has to flush every time, whether he goes or not.

We still have some things to work on, such as night-time training, but for the most part I am pretty pleased. And you can probably tell from these photos, that Kashton is pretty pleased too.

In the dark

2011-03-05T07:23:00.000-08:00

My little son stirred in his sleep tonight. I heard him let out a few little cries, and went in to see if he was waking. He had gone to bed with flushed cheeks... from fever or teeth or perhaps just chapped from winter's harsh wind.

Like so many mothers before me, and so many to come, I laid my hand against his forehead in search of clues to his discomfort. Content with the feel of it, my hand travelled to cheek and then chest, hoping to comfort him back to deep sleep.

Under thin pajamas and the tiny arc of his ribs, I could feel the steady thumping of his heart against my hand. A single organ, working tirelessly, without pause, to fulfill its solitary duty of pumping life through an unimaginable network of veins and arteries, keeping my child alive.

In that instant, the simultaneous terror and miracle of life was before me. With one hand still on my sleeping child, the other sought out the swell of my belly, feeling for the stirrings of another child I have yet to meet. Another child with beating heart - miraculously alive within me and already terrifyingly precious, yet still unknown.

With all I think I know and believe I have learned, with every formative experience of my youth and adulthood, it is truly this gift of Motherhood that has acted as a revelation to me of the true mystery and immensity of life; as though a heavy curtain were peeled back, revealing a night-sky full of glittering stars.

Boys are gross

2010-11-30T12:31:00.000-08:00

Upon smelling something kinda foul:

Me: Who's poopy? Kashton did you poop?
Kashton: I'm not poopy!
Malachi: He's not poopy mom, I just tooted.

and then after a little pause and with a big smile on his face

Malachi: smells like stink!

Pleeeeeeeeeeease let the next one be a girl... and a really dainty girl at that.

Finally

2010-11-27T21:18:00.000-08:00

We have success....

(well most of the time!)

Malachi is doing super well and basically potty-trained last week. It took some Buzz and Woody, Thomas, and Lightening McQueen undies to inspire him, but he is doing really great. We have left the house for hours at time, and he has stayed dry.

We still have some nighttime/naptime issues to sort out, but I'm not really in a hurry. For now, I'm excited because what I really hope this means is that by January I can actually sign him up for an unparented class or two.

We did some crafts today and it was really apparent that there are some things that my 3 yr. old is ready for that my 2 yr. old is absolutely not. (Malachi finger paints, Kashton eats paint. Malachi puts glue on the paper, Kashton puts glue in his hair.)

Winter

2010-11-17T12:56:00.000-08:00

makes me want to do two things:

Bake or Nap.

(and not because I like baking so much, I just like eating the product.)

What it is

2010-11-04T16:05:00.000-07:00

It is

Exhilarating
Terrifying
Exhausting
Worrying
Blissful
and mostly
Nausea-inducing

to be pregnant again.

But like they say, it is what it is.

Tosh is Two

2010-10-04T02:21:00.001-07:00

I’ve kind of sucked at the birthday thing lately, but I managed to pull of a little event with Kashton and some of his best buds for his second birthday.

Some of my friends and their little ones were coming over for a playdate anyway, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone, and had a little backyard fete for my boy.

We had a bouncy castle, balloons, bubbles and ice cream. (Not that you would know it by the photos I took!) That’s all anyone needs for a successful party right?

You’ll notice that almost all of these photos involve a child with food or a juice box, because that was the only time they were standing still long enough to have their photo taken.

The next day was actually Kashton’s birthday, and I have a little tradition where I take photos of the boys first thing in the morning of them waking up on their birthday.

and then once he was up and because it was a beee-utiful fall day, we went and met Daddy for a picnic lunch at Riley park

which was followed by a nap

and then some more fun in the backyard with his favorite playmate

(oh diaper bum, how I will kind of miss you)

which was then completed with his one and only gift (from us that is. We are lazy and neglectful parents, I know).

It was still a hit.

Um, yes that is my baby opening his second birthday gift out of a plastic grocery shopping bag.

I have no shame people.

(That’s what he gets for being the youngest.)

Birthday: over and out.

Cardstock 2010

2010-09-08T12:52:00.001-07:00

Back around Father’s day, I asked my husband what he really wanted for a gift.

A new bike? Some sort of computer accessory? A new obscure board game?

Well, to my surprise, and trepidation, what he asked for was that we all accompany him for one weekend in August, to a gathering of his group, Game Artisans of Canada at one of the member’s acreages, just west of Edmonton.

I moaned and whined and complained for weeks on end, but the weekend finally rolled around, and off we went; him – eagerly, me – reluctantly.

Like most things in life, the weekend went much better than I anticipated.

Our hosts were welcoming and hospitable, opening up their brand new home (of 3 weeks), to a whole bunch of people they basically didn’t know, and a bunch of rowdy, messy kids. (Ok, so maybe the rowdy, messy kids were the ones belonging to me.) One of the game artisans, Rob, generously donated his camper van to us to stay in, and inspite of the 4 degree temperatures, we were very cozy indeed.

The guys (and one gal, the brave Roberta who drove down from Terrace BC, with her 17 year old daughter, Sarah), tested their prototypes all day and night, breaking only for the necessities, like food (fantastic!), and the occasional breath of fresh air.

We women bonded over coffees and juice boxes, attending to the kids and meals. The kids had an incredible time, with lots of space on the acreage to run around, and more new toys than they could have ever imagined to see in one place at one time. Malachi came home totally an expert at shooting guns and wielding swords, complete with sound effects.

Tom, Gavan, Matt, Orin, Dylan (top row) Rob, Mike, Paul

Christine fending off chip invaders

The talented Sarah provided the entertainment on her fiddle!

Christine and Tom

Our hosts, Mike and Pam (Justin, Matthew and Lily)

Sweet Matthew and Lily who generously shared their toys with all and let us invade their space.

Dylan (a Canadian diplomat stationed in Shanghai) was home for a visit with his family, wife Tomoko, and cute munchkins Kyrie and Juno.

Juno aka Cutie-Pie, was a huge hit with my boys. The first night, her and Malachi got cozy in the double kids camping chairs, and from then on, and even now, we hear about Juno a lot. Mostly from Kashton, who now follows up every goodbye like this, “Goodbye Juno!”

We had a really great time, and I could even be convinced to do it again. But sshhhh, don’t tell my husband, that will be his Father’s Day present next year too!

Back to school sucks.

2010-09-07T16:30:00.001-07:00

I do love autumn.

The brightly colored leaves.

The crisp clean air.

The comfort food like apple crisp and butternut squash soup.

I just don’t love it yet….

not when we haven’t had summer

and when it means Thyra has gone back to school

and the boys and I are back to looking for things to do.

So today, we resurrected an oldie but goodie

and headed to Chapters.

Between the chai lattes (for moi)

and the Thomas train table (for them)

it was a pleasantly satisfactory

September afternoon.

first things first

Down the hills and round the bends

CRASH!

Zonked!

Kickin’ it

2010-08-30T15:39:00.001-07:00

How I know these boys are mine…..

because they have a knack for relaxation, and can put their feet up like the best of ‘em.

One two three

2010-07-12T12:53:00.001-07:00

Three little girls

some with curls

all cousins

with personality to spare.

Who can resist the lure of

coordinated dresses and bare feet

on a summer’s day?

But more importantly,

who can get this little trio

to stand still for just a moment?

It’s so obvious to me

why child photographers cost what they do!

Peekaboo!

baby bums and bodies are so irresistable!

Garden Delights

2010-07-12T11:25:00.001-07:00

I am not a gardener. Not by any stretch of the imagination. We are lucky to get our lawn mowed regularly most of the time. Gavan and I have discovered that when you buy a 40 year old house, you either need to be the very hands-on, DIY type or you need to have the cash to fork over to the professionals. We are and have neither.

And so that leaves us with trying to learn a little about renovations and yard work and trying to live with the results of years of neglect until we can afford to really do something about it.

So in the spirit of doing what we can to improve our home, two years ago I planted some perennials in a little bed that had sat empty in our backyard for the first couple years we lived there. It is a sunny south-facing spot, and so the choices were endless, but I stuck to what I loved, roses and peonies in pale shades of pink and white.

The hardy roses did well from the get-go, and this year, I counted over 40 blooms, with another 30 buds still to come.

The peony however, didn’t fare as well. The year of planting, I thought I had killed it, and by the end of summer there was not a visible trace of it above the soil. However last year, much to my surprise, one single stem shot up, but still no buds.

This year, I was completely overjoyed to see a single peony bud sprout, and it became my daily obsession to check its progress and wait for the moment when it would erupt into, in my opinion, an unparalleled heady ruffled bloom.

I was not disappointed. I only wish the blooms lasted a little longer.

Hate ants in the house, but love them here! Did you know they are necessary for a peony bud to bloom?

My single bloom. Isn’t it soooo pretty? There is nothing like a peony!

Pretty Blush Roses

yardwork

2010-05-28T19:19:00.001-07:00

testing out the trusty trike

treasure hunt

how to run “really fast!!”

helping mom with the heavy labour

Coffee break

watching cars go by

I have never really noticed until I saw these photos that Malachi has my hands and feet… (poor kid!)

Two girls and a camera

2010-05-25T19:31:00.001-07:00

What to do when it’s the long weekend, the boys are sick, and your daughter and niece (who is spending the weekend), are bored out of their minds? Round them up and take them out for an impromptu photo shoot. These two are old pros at the dressing-up-and-snapping some pics routine, although it usually involves a cell phone camera and some interesting outfits and poses.

I’d like to maybe enlarge one of these for Grandma, so pick your favorite!

Old stuff from out of the woodwork

2010-05-21T11:04:00.001-07:00

Daughter

Her apple blossom cheeks,
And eyes like tortoise shell,
The magic way she speaks,
I’m captive in her spell.

My face is rough and worn,
My voice holds little thrill
And very often scorn,
But yet she loves me still.

Her tiny rosebud hands
Stretch out like flowers in spring,
Of me she naught demands,
But joy is what she brings.

Yet little can I render
Except the breath I give;
And though it’s life I give her,
It’s I who’s learnt to live.

I survived A Day Out With Thomas…. now where’s my t-shirt?

2010-05-17T18:52:00.001-07:00

What we did this weekend that had both my boys smiling from ear to ear, and shrieking like tween girls at a Jonas Brothers sighting (ok… maybe it was just Kashton doing the shrieking):

Malachi getting his first glimpse

Kashton was blissfully asleep when we got there and had no idea what he was missing.

Malachi meeting Sir Topham Hatt

As Thomas was making his rounds through the park, the little boys nearby would go running up as fast as they could to get a closer glimpse. This was when Kashton would begin his high-pitched shrieking of “Thomas!! Thomas!!”

On the train with their Certificates

The funniest part of the whole day was watching Kashie wave to all the bystanders the whole train ride…

he kept saying, “Bye Guys!” and waving with all his might

The Number One engine with his number one fans

Ok seriously, could we just get one photo with everyone looking at the camera, eyes OPEN??

Making Tracks

2010-05-12T09:32:00.001-07:00

My boys are quite obsessed with trains these days. Thomas and friends and anything else that choo-choos.
Lucky for them, they have a doting grandmother that loves to indulge their every whims!
Between the matching train jammies, and the train table set, looks like Christmas came early at the Brown’s this year.
Thanks Granny!

Mother’s Day

2010-05-11T09:43:00.000-07:00

I got spoiled with

a clean house

some lovely Gerber daisies

a cute card or two

and this:

A brand new (and perfectly gift-wrapped!) Apple ipad… not even available in Canada yet.

I kinda bugged my husband that he used Mother’s day as an excuse to buy the new toy that HE wanted… and then he reminded me that I bought him some radiant floor heating for his birthday (which happened to be right in the middle of our bathroom reno. )

Touche.

Spring Snowstorms

2010-04-29T12:28:00.001-07:00

Ah Calgary.

I could probably post about the weather every day. And not just me, Calgarians in general. We talk about it, blog about it, obsess about it all the time and love to hate it kinda like an old boyfriend. It becomes an albeit reluctant, hobby if you live here. And, having lived here my whole life, it really should come as no surprise that we are having a blizzard in April. Except for that it is almost May right? Snowstorms in May, regrettably, are no surprise either. Why don't I remember this when I am packing away boots and mittens and ice-scrapers. Perhaps I am an optimist? Whatever I am, I should know better by now. Just because one day we are out riding bikes, watering the lawn, and running barefoot in the backyard, is by no means any indication that today we won’t be bundled up January-styles.

So today, in blowing snow and gale force winds, flooded roads and power outages, I met Leanna and her trio of munchkins at Mcdonalds, for breakfast and free play. We may let the weather get us down, but we are certainly never out, we hardy folk.

Quelle journee!

Trains, planes and... firetrucks?

2010-04-27T22:32:00.000-07:00

Kashton says a couple of things these days that I thought I should write down before I forget:

Anytime he sits down next to someone else he looks up at them with a big smile and says, "besides you". It comes out as all one word, and I have to confess I think it's pretty much the cutest thing ever.

The other thing he says is terrible, and I hope I'm not offending anyone with this story, but it's that kind of horrid story you need to blog about.

Kashton really like trucks these days, especially firetrucks. In fact, he gets really excited when he sees something he likes and yells in his weird little voice at the top of his lungs when he sees the object of his desire.

For awhile it was, "BUUUUUS!"

And now sometimes it is "AIRPAAAANE!"

And along with airplanes, are firetrucks. Unfortunately, with these last ones he doesn't quite get every syllable in, and the "iretru"part of the word doesn't come out quite as clearly as the other letters do. Other letters that form a very bad four-letter word, beginning with F.

ACK!

To make matters worse, I realized too late on Sunday morning that he had his very favorite book of all types of vehicles, including several of those red engines, in church. Did I mention he likes to yell when he sees something he likes? Wow, that was embarrassing.

And of course Malachi has to get in on the act. He loves nothing better than telling his younger brother what to do, so having heard us try to correct Kashton several times with the correct pronounciation, he says to him, "No Kashie, no say (insert bad word here), say "FIIIIRRRETRUCK!".

Nothing makes me prouder than two toddlers with potty-mouth to call my very own.

Turning Twelve

2010-04-06T10:26:00.001-07:00

I want to post these photos in celebration of my daughter. It’s really hard for me however, because if you’ll notice, that Ung Drill frame from Ikea is still hung on the wall, unpainted and empty where it has been for about six months now. I hung it there temporarily to get it out of the way after my two heavy Paris architecture drawings fell off the wall, smashing their frames and taking down with them a couple of china plates. I also hesitate to post these photos, because you can see my two new vintage Paint by Number paintings, that also made there way out of the box onto leftover nails in the wall. I’m not sure where they are going yet, but please be assured, it is not there. Further injuring my pride is the fact that we still have not chosen new chairs for our kitchen table, and are still sitting on ugly plastic folding chairs from Superstore.

But, in putting up these pictures, despite being mortified by the condition of my house I know what I am really trying to do here, is just to concentrate more on the people, and worry less about the stuff. You would have no idea how many times I don’t post a photo, because of the mess in the background, or because I have not gotten around to finessing the decor.

Someone advised me yesterday just to have a happy messy house, and you know what, that’s what I care about. Truly. And in the spirit of blogging honestly and documenting my life, these pictures are going up, shame aside.

And so,

Yesterday, Thyra turned twelve. TWELVE. Do you know what that means?

It means that next year her age will have caught up to her attitude, and she will be a bona-fide teenager. It means that she can get her learner’s license in two years. It means she can legally operate a motor vehicle BY HERSELF in four. It means that in six years, she will have the freedom, and the legal ability to vote, leave home, get married, and do all sorts of things I will be in no way ready for her to do. It means I have been a mom that long, and I’m still not very good at it.

In celebration of the occasion, I surprised Thyra, by planning a little last-minute breakfast party for her. Her friends came over early in the morning, before she was even awake. I woke her up from the spare room in the basement, where she and and cousin Kianna were still sawing logs, under the pretense of being extremely angry with her for not having cleaned her room to my standards. Up she went, to her bedroom, totally bewildered and still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and cobwebs out of her head. When she opened the door to her bedroom, her friends jumped out from the corner and yelled, “Surprise!” Ah, we got her. The poor kid was so overwhelmed she almost teared up, but in a happy way.

A little french toast, bacon, OJ and some whipped cream with berries, and an ice cream cake (Thyra’s favorite), was our menu of choice, and the girls retreated to the basement after stuffing themselves to gossip and giggle.

I didn’t do much in the way of planning for this birthday, as it was truly impromptu. There were no decorations, no planned activities, no treat bags, or hired entertainment. But if you ask Thyra, she’ll say this was the best birthday ever, and that is how I know for sure she is truly growing up.

Happy Birthday to my baby girl.

A long and rambling blog post about nothing and everything.

2010-03-29T12:23:00.001-07:00

My dad, Terrence Mathews, circa 1970, mugging for the camera.

My Father died on December 3rd, 1985, when I was nine years old.

To most, losing a parent in childhood is a certain tragedy, but now almost twenty-five years later, this event has become something far less emotional. It is a fact of my life. I have black hair, Ukrainian roots, like books, have one sibling, and have spent more than two-thirds of my life without the presence of my father.

There are very few occasions now, where I feel obliged to reflect on his absence from my life. To have grown up without him is simply what I know. The anniversary of his death passes pretty quietly, with only the silent observation of the events that took place years before. Usually it involves a quick calculation to figure out how many years it has been since he passed from this life…. there have been too many of them now to keep track of.

Sometimes though, I am startled to feel the unfamiliar fingers of grief grasp hold of me. Sometimes there is a sense of longing that overtakes me when I think that the parent, whose bequest to me is one half of my genetic makeup, is no longer. Usually these pangs coincide with momentous events in my life:

The death of my grand-mother Violet, his mother.

My wedding day.

The birth of my children, and especially that of my first son, Malachi Terence, who was named after his grand-father. (Spelling errors aside.)

At those times, I was surprised to feel his loss so keenly. To wish he too could share in the joy and sorrow of my life. I wondered what he would think of me as an adult. Would he be disappointed? Proud? Would he like my husband? What would he think of my children?

When my dad’s sister, my Auntie June who lives in Barbados, sent me this photo via email the other
day, I regretted so strongly that I don’t know more about my dad.  The memories I have of him, are scant and pretty fuzzy around the edges. Most of my opinions of him are formed and shaped by what I learn of him from others. You would think that my mom would have her own stories to tell, but to be perfectly honest, memory of the past has never been a strength for her, and usually I feel like I remember more of my childhood than she does.

And so I depend on my dad’s remaining siblings, and the friends of his I know, who even now, still talk about him like they just lost him yesterday. I hear about how funny he was. About the goofy tricks he used to play, and how he was always the life of the party. He was completely charming and a friend to all. I know that he was also especially particular about how we presented ourselves to the world. Aside from the color-blindness that often made for some poor clothing choices, he was immaculate in his appearance and expected the same from his wife and children, and had very high standards for our home. With those expectations however, was a deep sense of graciousness and hospitality. Guests were treated like royalty in our home, and we entertained often and well, my mom’s lack of memory being more than made up for by her amazing talent in the kitchen. Above all of these things, no one doubted either the place God had in my dad’s life, or in our home.

With all I have heard about him over the years, I do know there is this tendency we have to esteem someone who we have lost so highly. To place them on a pedestal, to gloss over their short-comings, and ignore the fact that they were human and had faults. Often times, this is how I feel about my dad when I hear others say things about him like, “ He was the best man I ever knew.” “ He was my best friend.”, and so I often temper what I hear about him, with what I know was also real.

He was a little bit of a black sheep. (Or maybe “brown” sheep would be more appropriate in this instance.) He didn’t always conform to the expectations placed upon him, and he sometimes made choices that I’m sure those that knew him, and loved him, would have questioned.   Because I too have felt this way in my life, it is this side of my father that intrigues me the most.

While I love hearing all the memories others have of who my dad was, what I wish more than anything is that I could have known him for myself. To understand the world as he saw it. To hear about the events, circumstances, thoughts and feelings of his life in his own voice. I would love to know what it felt like to be an immigrant in a new country. What it was like for him to stand out amongst his new peers simply because of the shade of his skin. I wish I knew what it was about my mom (aside from the fact that she was a stunning beauty) that drew him to her, especially when in those days inter-racial dating was rare and not particularly well-received. I wish he had left something more tangible for me to hold on to, than memories which fade into obscurity. Occasionally when I come across a note or letter, document bearing even a snippet of his own elegant handwriting, or see a photograph I have never seen before, (like the one above, of him being his trademark goofball self) I feel linked to him across these many years. It helps me to understand who he was, and oddly, who I am also.

Lately I have been researching my family’s history on Ancestry.com. It is absolutely fascinating to me to trace my roots back centuries and centuries to times and places in history I have only heard of. My maternal grandfather’s family has roots in the United States right back into the pilgrim days, and before that I have traced our bloodlines in England all the way back to the 13th Century… in fact right back to the year 1200 A.D.   These people have lived through some of the most formative times in history.   Through the years of the great Kings and Queens. Through countless wars. Through the discovery of a new land, and the pilgrimage to make a new life for themselves.

As I discover where and when my family came from, I wish, as I do with my own father, I could know them too. What was life like for them? Where they poor or rich? Earls or peasants? What was their passage to America like? What did they think about new world? What part did they play in the United States’ dark history of slavery?

Realizing that I have so many questions, most of them unanswerable, has led me to some clarity about the place keeping a blog has in my life. I have kept a journal my entire life, so blogging was a natural transition for me. But I have always struggled with what to say, how much of myself to expose and if I should keep the blogs I have (three!) as separate entities, or merge them into one.   (Changes forth-coming.)

What I have realized in thinking about my dad and all I know and don’t know about him, and the new discoveries I have made about my ancestry, which has actually presented more questions than it has answered, has made me feel like I want to document my life with honesty. I am very aware that there is nothing particularly special about my existence (to exist at all is pretty special in itself, non?). I have not done anything note-worthy, deserving years or centuries of memorial. But knowing that I myself yearn for the connection that comes with the revelation of the everyday thoughts, struggles and joys of those that have come before me, I feel obligated to leave something on record for those that are coming after.

And so, I have discovered, this is why I blog. For my children and theirs. For generations to come. To preserve the history of our family.

My hope is that in being faithful to this endeavor that I will also have done something for myself.

Grand Slams all around!

2010-03-23T17:52:00.000-07:00

I'm glad I stumbled across these photos today. (Fuzzily taken by my iphone.)

I had forgotten to blog about this little outing we had in February with Patty-Jo, and her adorable kids, Cora and Kipp.

Denny's was offering a Free Grand Slam day to anyone who showed up before 2pm, so knowing that Patty-Jo is a girl who loves a deal, I called her up and we met for lunch.

As it was noon, and there was free grub to be had we expected it to be crazy busy, and to have to wait for a table. Much to our surprise, we were shown immediately to large corner booth. The waitress was awesome, efficient and friendly, she knew just what was needed when of the six of us eating, four were under three years old. (Napkins, napkins and more napkins.)

It really doesn't get much better than a free meal with a great friend does it?

We will just ignore the part following our lovely lunch, where Malachi managed to lock the doors to the vehicle, a grand slam of his own...which I discovered after I had strapped Kashton into his carseat, and shut his door. Meaning the baby, screaming at the top of his lungs, was locked inside with the keys, while Malachi and I waited outside, quite helplessly, for Gavan to come and rescue us.

I must shamefully admit that this is the second time Malachi has managed to pull off this little feat. Oh my, is that as embarrassing as I think it is? The first time I swore I'd learned my lesson; do not sit young child on the front passenger seat with the keys where he is in reach of the lock buttons, while you are buckling younger sibling in the back. And even though that time, Kashton, who was bundled up snuggly and completely unaware of his plight, fell sound asleep immediately, and the cavalry soon arrived with the spare set of keys, I was very certain that this would never happen again.

Note to self: never say never when it comes to parenting toddlers.

Because I am a Mother

2010-03-17T22:18:00.000-07:00

I was irritated

when my 12 year woke me up moments before leaving for the bus to tell me that there was nothing for lunch and that she couldn't buy it because she had a field trip. I told her to figure it out and went back to sleep.

I was guilt-ridden

moments later that I had had nothing for my 12 yr. old to take for lunch, and that I had angrily sent her to school with who knows what to eat.

I was embarrassing

to that same 12 yr. old because I quickly threw the boys (still in jammies) in the car, and chased down her bus, flailing madly at the driver to stop and let her off, all while sporting a severe case bedhead and yesterday's yoga pants.

I over-compensated

for my earlier parental neglect, and made up for it by purchasing a deli sandwich (her fave) from Safeway for her lunch and a Vanilla Cream from Starbucks for her love, and driving her the remainder of the way to school.

I was amused

that Malachi was choosing to wave goodbye to Grandma from afar instead of his favored spot by the window and realizing it was because he had, naughtily, been into the sugar bowl and was trying to conceal the evidence.

I was in hysterics

upon trying to dress Malachi, him announcing that we should go swimming instead of to our Wednesday night bible study, and then in trying to figure out what the appropriate clothing was called, came up with "Sponge Bob" instead of "Swim Trunks".

I was smitten

by Kashton giving me tender kisses, both hands on my cheeks.

I was surprised

when tender kisses turned into my whole bottom lip being sucked into his mouth and chewed upon.

I was proud

when my 12 yr. old came home from her Festival Field trip and relayed the news that her Grade 6 band took top honors with their "double superior" mark.

It must have been that sandwich.

Mid-year Recital

2010-03-16T23:55:00.000-07:00

Is there anything that strikes more fear in the hearts of parents and children alike than recitals?

I remember enduring years of practicing, and performance nerves from my own childhood, and now I watch as my daughter goes through the same anxiety-ridden process.

What I have discovered though, is that being a parent doesn't make it any easier. Now I'm still nervous but with absolutely no control. The nerves come from hoping that my child has practiced enough, is confidant and feels good about their performance, and will have the skills to move on if they make a mistake or two. Trying to instill them with the right amount of zealousness and pride, without becoming a crazed lunatic of a mother, and brow-beating them into musical submission. It's all a little much.

And then there is the recital itself.

Which usually means trying to keep my other kids quiet while we are regaled with sonata's and minuets by mini-prodigies. I wish. More like "Twinkle Twinkle" six times over by clumsy and nervous little kids.

And honestly, you know it has to be confessed, the only kid I'm really interested in watching perform is my own. Sorry.

This year though, Thyra's piano teacher got it right. Recital at his parent's home. Not too many kids. One song each, and the best part? A potluck supper following. Now that is music to my ears.

Waiting her turn

What the future looks like.

2010-03-10T13:17:00.000-08:00

These pictures give me heart palpitations. And not in that good, excited and thrilled kind of way.

Malachi got a new hat and insisted on wearing it around the house all day, especially once he figured out he could wear it backwards. When he brought his backpack to me, wanting help getting it on, I snapped a couple pics. It wasn't until I uploaded these photos that I really looked at it, and saw a little foreshadowing of what he'll look like in a couple of years, (September 2012) when he dons the backpack for real and heads off to school for the first time.

That day is coming way too soon.

Gulp.

Muffin-tin Monday

2010-03-09T00:21:00.000-08:00

When Malachi was just learning how to eat solids, I learned a little trick that I used often in order to make new foods seem fun and exciting. I got an ice cube tray and filled each compartment with bits of this and that for him to munch on throughout the day. His very own nibble tray.

I don't know why it didn't occur to me to take this fun way of serving meals on into toddlerhood, but luckily I was reminded lately by a reference to "Muffin-Tin Mondays". I wish I could remember the original blog that which initially prompted me to delve into creative lunches once again, but that blog led me to a bunch of others (like this one) that all take part in this mid-day madness.

Can I just say how excited I was about this? Mostly because I really hate lunchtime. I find it so repetitive, I hate making seperate meals for the kids, and I never seem to have the right ingredients on hand to complete any kind of recipe I may be in the mood for. This is where the muffin-tins come along. Fill 'em up with whatever you have and voila! The kids are suddenly busy filling their faces from their very own Toddler All-You-Can-Eat-Buffet.

Muffin-Tin Monday for today:
freshly sliced strawberries, bananas, grapes
whole-wheat bread cubes
pepperoni slices
steamed broccoli
cheese sauce for dipping

Nothing really exciting about the food, but present it in a muffin-tin with a fork and something to dip into, and my boys quite magically find lunchtime so exciting. I really don't get that creative, but some of the ideas out there in blogland are so appetizing even I'm thinking of foregoing a plate on Mondays from now on.

Ground-shaking

2010-03-07T22:04:00.000-08:00

Our house of worship is just that. Literally. A house. Not just a house, but someone's home. The place they eat and sleep and dream. Every week, we come into their private sanctuary, which they have opened freely to us, and track in snow and mud, dirt and dust. We sit on their furniture. We lay our babies to sleep on their beds, turn their cosy dens into mothers nursing rooms, antique sideboards into change tables and sofas intocoat closets. And most of the time we do this without a moments thought.

This morning though, I couldn't help but wince a little as my darling son tossed his bribery-crackers around with free abandon. (A side note to you mothers: it is worth your time and energy to ensure your church-going infants have a drug-like dependancy on their pacifier if you want to avoid the "shut-up snack" route.) I tried quietly to retrieve those wayward smiling fish crackers from between the sofa cushions, and hoped I could get to the ones scattered over the wool area rug before they became a part of the tapestry.

I realized I was failing miserably however, in my attempt to discreetly tidy up the chaos my children had manufactured (in sixty or so minutes), when once our meeting was over others began to point out the goldfish I had missed. One under the couch, one beside the coffee table, one, unbelievably, across the room.

Feeling embarrassed and like there was no way I was going to completely erase any trace of our being there, I went to the lady of the house, and apologized for any crumbs we were possibly going to leave behind.

And then, she took my hand in hers, looked me directly in the eyes and said something so profoundly wise. Something I want to remember every day as I confront life's little messes.

She said, kindly, "Oh well Sharmi. It's just crackers. Not earthquakes."

Whatever it takes!

2010-03-02T18:20:00.000-08:00

Dear Children,

I'm just wondering if feeding you a big bowl of creamy goodness for dinner will buy me FIVE minutes of silence?

This deal expires the moment Common Sense returns, so act fast.

(Hopefully Sanity won't be far behind.)

with high hopes,
Your Mother in Crazy-ville.

On top of everything else....

2010-02-28T02:34:00.000-08:00

Losing it on your kids because they won't stop bugging you for two minutes so you can finish a blog post about what it means to you to be a Christian, is some pretty gruesome irony.

Let's just say I won't be winning any mothering awards this week. Or Christian ones for that matter either.

Good thing my kids are amazing examples of forgiveness.

(And one of them gives pretty good back rubs!)

Bushel and a Peck

2010-02-24T09:42:00.000-08:00

We love this song! Sung by the adorable Doris Day, I was so excited to find it in one of those singing cards for the boys for Valentine's day. I can't confess to having previously known this song myself, but Gavan learned it growing up and now it has become kind of an anthem at our house. Our kids know the words, (some more than others!), and I wonder if when they grow up they will remember us singing this together.

Good Morning Little Sunshine!

2010-02-22T10:39:00.000-08:00

Me - Not a morning person.

Not that I'm sluggish and grumpy for hours upon awakening. Usually once up I'm happy to greet the day. The problem is that I'm for sure a night owl. I like the wee hours. The ones where no good thing happens. The ones that make getting up before noon feel like some kind of torture.

We all know once the kids arrive, you are forced to become a morning person whether you want to or not. Sleeping-in becomes a distant memory. Waking up because you're rested instead of because your toddler is screaming, "MOOOOOOMMMM!!!" as a summons from his bedroom/prison cell, is like a fantasy from another life.

But as much as I miss lazy mornings, with only coffee and the paper as breakfast companions, there is something so sweet that I wake up to every day instead.... the sounds of my children greeting the day.

Malachi has faithfully greeted us with "Mornin'!" for months. And even though now that he has moved onto a very formal, "Good Morning!", his little brother has also taken up the cause. As soon as Kashton's eyes are open, he too now says "Mornin'" in his chirpiest little voice. The sound of my children greeting me, and the guaranteed few moments of snuggles that follow, well, it makes the breaking of the day something to look forward to.

Tub time

2010-02-18T11:13:00.000-08:00

We live in a pretty small space. Small as in there is one bathroom on the main floor where all five of us brush our teeth, shower, wash hands and all that other good stuff that happens in a bathroom. It's a pretty important room in our house, even if it is the smallest.

Unfortunately our bathroom was in dire need of a reno.

Fortunately we have a good friend who makes renovations of all kinds his day job.

Unfortunately that meant we were relegated to using the craptastic bathroom in the basement that consists of the basics: sink, toilet, shower. We really missed our bathtub.

Fortunately we have a double sink in the kitchen.

(Bathroom photos here)

Behind the times

2010-02-11T23:02:00.000-08:00

You know what is sad and wonderful about having little ones around? It's how fast they change.

I just posted all the little things I want to remember about my boys at this moment, and it seems like they moved on from the moment I hit publish.

Malachi has begun to use pronouns in the space of a day or two. ("I'm freezing cold" or "I'm stuck")
Kashton is adding words at a crazy pace and has gone from "mmm-ma to Gamma" in the same time.

I can hardly catch my breath. It's dizzying, exhausting and yet so miraculous all at once.

These little creatures learn and grow, so much, so fast, with seemingly little input from us. Their brains are so busy that I can almost hear them whirring away over the sounds of their giggles.

I think of all I have to teach them. Everything I want to instill now while they are soaking up the sights and sounds and ways of the world, and wonder how many opportunities I have let slip by.

These early years are so precious and so important for everything that is to come, for their untarnished, full-of-potential futures. I guess with the joy of watching them morph and blossom before my eyes, I am feeling the huge responsibility I have of making sure these little lives I have been entrusted with are adequately prepared.

Because as Malachi likes to say in imitation of Lightening McQueen, "I am Speed" and I know it's true. He really is.

And they are growing up before my very eyes and I hope I can keep up.

For the record: Kashton

2010-02-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

16 months old
has a major aversion to coming down the stairs but can finally do it (if he has to)
is a pretty tiny kid
is on the higher side of average in speech for his age I think (more than Malachi, less than Thyra?) Off the top of my head I can think of:
up
down
mama/mom
dada/dad
nigh nigh
TAY TOO (which is the cutest baby language version EVER of "Thank You")
pup-pups
hi
bye
nana
apple
shoes
all done
teeth
tickle tickle
no
moo
meow
book-ah
Bolt-ah (for Disney character)
more (but usually in sign language)
soft
cup
car
co-dee-dee (for coffee. kinda weird.)
Mmm-ma (grandma)
Pa (grandpa)
pone (phone)
pun (fun/funny)
ee-voo (love you)
cook-cook (cookie)
cracker
uhoh
ball
mik (milk)
ahm-in (arm in, when getting dressed)
round and round (from wheels on the bus)
and his new favorite (and ours): Dump it Out.

does a cute piggy face
can point to head/hair/eyes/nose/teeth/mouth etc.
can work the iphone better than my mom could
is still nursing
is way more of a goofball than I expected he would be
absolutely hates anything on his feet like socks or sleepers (kinda like his mom)
gives great kisses upon request
is totally obsessed with putting non-food items in his mouth, like paper/fireplace soot etc. (Pica? Low iron?)
is a total cling-on mama's boy
but makes up for it by being extremely cuddly
exhibits some classic "youngest child" behaviours. Oops.
has never gotten into bottles or soothers
has 10 teeth, including 2 upper molars and is presently in the process of teething the bottom ones and his lower eye-teeth.
has a pretty sophisticated dance shimmy and will get his groove on to just about anything... including just saying something rhythmically
goes "crazy" on command (which involves a lot of shaking his head back and forth really fast)
what does Lightning McQueen say? "Ka-dow".
instead of "yes" nods his head once and makes a growly little "ohwah"
gets extremely excited by Yo Gabba Gabba's Party in my Tummy and will ask for "gabba gabba".

For the record

2010-01-29T00:36:00.001-08:00

I've been compiling in my mind all the little funny and sweet things that my little kids are up to these days, and hoping I don't forget before I get a chance to write them down.   So please pardon the inelegance of the next few posts, but these are just some things I want to record before I forget forever.

Malachi:
is becoming obsessed with his clothes. He would wear his Adidas soccer uniform 24/7, but barring that wants whatever shirt has a "number two", a robot or pockets. He can get quite adamant and refuse to lift his arms to wear something that doesn't quite meet his standard. I never guessed for one second that I would have a kid with clothing issues because Thyra never cared for one second. When my mom brought him a new outfit from Las Vegas in November, we were coaxing him to try it on and he kept telling us, "No Fits!" He says this all the time now about everything.
He has gone from calling himself "Mal-Kai" to "Ma-LA-chi". He still refers to himself in the 3rd person though and will even hilariously correct himself mid-sentence when he realized he hasn't quite pronounced his name correctly. I do though think it's sad to hear him replace his babyish version of some words for more grown-up sounding ones.
He likes to call everyone else by their names and checks in frequently with me throughout the day to make sure I haven't forgotten them either. "Daddy name Gavan. Mommy name Sharmi" (and now he'll even say Sharm-illa). "Baby name Kashie-moo." Sigh. That's what we get for always using nicknames I guess. Now we're working on middle and last names.
He says "I love you" all the time. Spontaneously. Sometimes its "I love you too", in response to my own declaration of love. He asks for "nuggles and mooches" quite frequently. It makes me want to cry every time I hear it.
He knows all his numbers to 10, a bunch of shapes, his alphabet, the name of every extended family member and can work my iphone better than most adults. Malachi however, does NOT sing. Not a note. He will repeat the words to a million different songs, but he speaks them instead.   One of his favorite is "I wanna hippopotamus for Christmas," and sometimes I can hear him stumbling over the words as he plays, but all tunelessly. I have to confess I just want to hear him sing so badly, and I know it’s probably silly but it kind of worries me that he doesn't yet.
He is totally smitten with the characters from Cars, particularly Lightening McQueen and Chick Hicks and talks about them all the time. "Ka-CHOW".   If he's not talking about Cars, he's talking about Thomas and James. It's official... he's a little boy.
Malachi really likes telling me about what body part hurts. "Eye hurts, tummy hurts, knee hurts," etc. etc. He also will request that I "kiss ALLLLL bedder". He's also obsessed with certain boy parts. I'll let you put two and two and two together, but lets just say that mommy finds herself explaining that we don't kiss everything better.
We are also learning about Sharing. The boys have figured out already that the most fun toy in the house is the one that their brother has right now. Malachi however, it must be said, has quite a tender little heart, and even after mommy breaks it by explaining that he has had his turn with his favorite race-car long enough and that it time to share with Kashie, I often catch him the next day handing over the same toy to Kashton very sweetly before he has even played with it himself. "Here Kashie-moo, Ma-LA-chi share." He does have his normal toddler moments where he thinks that "share" is code for "give it to Malachi."
His phone conversations (real or pretend) are quite adorable and he has the back-and-forth pattern of conversation down. "Hi! How you? Good!"   What is less adorable is when he picks up on things that I don't find particularly precious coming out of the mouth of my two year old. Like "holy crap."   Two year olds make good mirrors for adults apparently.

Christmas 2009

2010-01-12T10:41:00.001-08:00

Lots of family, turkey, goodies, presents, and laughs. Can’t wait to do it all over again next year!

These are a few of my favorite things.

2010-01-06T09:40:00.001-08:00

It’s a little late for the post perhaps, but this is how I roll peeps.... behind the times, inappropriate and irrelevant.
Someday, it is my deepest wish to only gift things that I have handmade. Because I am terribly untalented, and not especially crafty, for now I settle for buying handmade, when I can.
Aside from the Snuggies, that we purchased for family this year (yes, that’s right, the blanket with sleeves, of late night television fame), I decided to try my hand at concocting some of my favorite treats for friends and family this year.

These are my cousin Cari’s amazing chocolate dipped apricots that I have been making myself for a few years now. They are dried apricots, with an almond pit, dipped in dark chocolate. I love them because between the fruit and nut and little bit of chocolate, you feel like you are eating something semi-healthy and yet satisfying your sweet tooth at the same time. Next year, I plan to dip them in melted Toblerone. YUM.

I make Peppermint bark of some kind every year, but this recipe, borrowed from one of my favorite food blogs, Orangette, really took it to the next level. Dark chocolate ganache sandwiched between layers of Callebaut white chocolate, and crushed peppermints. So good. Hers looks much prettier than mine, but this was my first time around, and I don’t think too many people cared about how it looked, once they got it in their mouth. The second attempt made for much prettier, even layers, and I will definitely make this again next year.

As part of a little package to go with the Snuggies, I had purchased some tins of gourmet hot chocolate and really wanted to try my hand at making home-made marshmallows, recipes for which I had been seen floating around the internet. I was expecting major failure….. I didn’t have a candy thermometer, and I improvised quite a bit with the recipe, having only Rogers’ Syrup instead of Corn, and not even having quite enough. Imagine my surprise when… Success!! I will be making these again for sure!

TwentyTen

2010-01-05T14:18:00.000-08:00

Please forgive this tardy Happy New Year!!!
I am still digesting the happenings and goings-on of the holidays. I am still contemplating this shiny fresh new-year, and what it might bring. I have still not uploaded the photos of the last two weeks off of the camera. I am not quite ready to admit that the festivities are over for another year, and it is time to return to our regular programming.
Maybe tomorrow…..

Dancing Queen

2009-12-21T00:20:00.000-08:00

Ok, so technically it is Monday, but I have so much to do over the next few days, (unless I give in to my urge to abandon it all and take the kids to Fairmont for a short vacation while Gavan works). With one of our major events of the season over, I still have some things to do in preparation of the big event. (Which really means finding my stretchiest waistband in anticipation of Christmas dinner at my mom's... mmmmm.)

Anyway, because I am so busy and won't any time for the internet (right?!), I just wanted to leave you with this video of one of my favorite little people.

Ava is my cousin's daughter. Almost 4 years old. Full of spunk and energy. A regular spitfire, original, sharp as a tack, hilarious, and a chip off the old block.

She is the 3rd one in from the right in this video. I'm sure you won't miss her. Enjoy!

Ava's Christmas Concert.

Cans for Comments post #5 - iphone fun.

2009-12-18T20:09:00.000-08:00

screenshot courtesy of Duck Duck Moose.

I love my iphone.

Last year, my husband got one and decided I needed one too.

I tried to tell him I didn't care about fanzy gizmo's and what not. Just give me a phone that works, with some simple text messaging functions and I was good to go.

He tried to tell me that I really wanted this phone. Maybe even needed it.

I gave in and got one.

And of course, it didn't take long before I realized that it was the best thing ever.

I can check the weather, make blogposts, update facebook, take photos and video of my kids. I can read the bible study, listen to audio books, catch a documentary and check out a new recipe. I can play tetris in the bathtub, check my email in the car and the list goes on and on.

I have to say though, it took me awhile to figure out that not only was this little piece of technology so useful for entertaining, educating me, but that it was pretty useful for keeping my little munchkins busy too!

There are a ton of toddler apps out there, but I just discovered three of my very fave by Duck Duck Moose.

Kashton's mood changes almost instantly with the first few bars of "Wheels on the Bus", so I was delighted to find an adorable interactive app, that features the whole song. The best part about it (or worse part perhaps, depending on who's listening), is that you can record your own voice singing! I even have Kashton and Malachi doing a little back up, "the wipers on the bus go....." "swish swish swish!".

Awesome fun, and a great way to survive long car rides, dinners out and grocery store lineups.

Cans for Comments post #4 - Charity shoot

2009-12-17T08:52:00.001-08:00

My lovely friend Melinda, generously offered her time and talents and home to host a bunch of us ladies for a charity shoot last month. In exchange for a donation of an unwrapped toy for Toy Mountain, or of a donation to the Alberta Children’s Hospital, we all got a mini-session with her and a portrait of our child.

I’m feeling a little guilty because I’m pretty sure I got the better end of that deal, dontcha think?
Malachi was being a monkey and was refusing to smile or look at the camera, so I was surprised and very pleased with the way these photos turned out. That’s because Melinda is a pro at shooting small children, being the mom of one herself.

You too can have adorable photos like this, visit www.melindagombert.com.

Just reminding you....only 2 more days to make your comments count! For every comment left on any post until tomorrow, I will make a canned food donation to the Calgary Interfaith food bank!! A rough count has me at 18 cans so far!

Cans for Comments Post #3 - A Toy Story

2009-12-17T00:06:00.000-08:00

Um, does anyone know what is going on here?

I have a little secret.

I kind of dread any occasion in which my kids are the recipient of someone else's kind-heartedness. Kind-heartedness that often comes in a very tangible form... usually primary colored and bearing the words "Little Tikes", "Fisher Price", "Tonka" or some such other purveyor of similar plastic noisy ilk.

Now this is not to say that we don't appreciate these gifts. And our kids do most certainly. We believe in toys whole-heartedly. They are the stuff of childhood. Kids need them to grow and develop. Kids need something to do so that they don't hang off their parents pantlegs every second of the day. Kids need something to fight over, swallow, and smash over their sibling's head. I get it and I am grateful... really.

The problem is, we have a pretty small house. By small I mean a 1080 sq. ft bungalow in which 5 people reside as well as two mangy mutts. The boys already share a bedroom, Thyra sleeps in a room smaller than the size of some walk in closets I have seen recently, and we all share one tiny main floor bathroom.

We are lucky that our basement is fully developed, but apparently the late 70's were a little light on space- planning, and heavy instead on decorative treatments such as full wood paneling and brown and orange carpeting.

What we have then, is one big rec room that is a graveyard for electronic equipment, houses Gavan's "work" area, includes our treadmill (aka parking pad for toy trucks), as well as our unbelievably ginormous sectional, (I succumbed to the pressure and let my husband pick the "basement" couch in a moment of weakness) in addition to the fireplace from which our infants like to eat soot, bookshelves and a makeshift play area. By play area, I mean everywhere there is a spare square foot of carpeting.

Our set-up drives me insane. I am already known as the toy-nazi in our house. If one comes in, then one must go out. I try to keep the amount of toys we have limited to one large bucket. Unfortunately babies come with bouncy seats and jumperoos, walkers and sing-stages. Little boys come with toys like ride-on dump trucks, fire trucks, garbage trucks, tractors and so on. And the balls... BALLS! Baseballs, soccerballs, beachballs, golf balls. All of this stuff of every shape and size that will not possibly fit in a bin or box of any sort. Then there are all the blocks and puzzles and books. Did I mention the stuffed animals? I had honestly hoped that by subscribing to centuries-old sexism that we would have far less fluffy things with two boys. I was wrong. I swear those things are procreating in the dark and that fuzzy bunnies are multiplying like... well, you know what.

In my mother-of-one life, I had visions of a colorful spacious playroom filled with wooden hand-crafted toys. A playroom with a DOOR, behind which was tidy bins of thoughtful, award winning playthings. Toys that were powered by imagination instead of 18 AA batteries. Toys that inspired music and art, creativity and learning instead of blaring baby soft-rock versions of Twinkle Twinkle over and over unmercifully. I had dreams of shelves of games and books all lined up in a row. Old classics, new favorites all with perfect crisp pages and shiny spines and not a game or puzzle piece missing.

Instead what we have is Duplo blocks under every possible surface. Every book sports a bite mark by our little goat in resident. And it is not only the cousins and Aunts and Uncles and Grandparents that are to blame for this state we are in. We too have fallen prey to the bright lights of Toys R' Us and upon returning home and shaking the sparkle of the latest and greatest from our eyes, wondered what exactly we have just brought into our home, and why.

Going forward, what I hope by some divine intervention, (or not-so-subtle hinting) is that my children's benefactors, us parents included, nix the toys, for a little while at least and invest instead in toy storage as a change, RESP's, family vacations to Disneyland, poverty in Africa or whatever else can be possibly come up with.... batteries not required.

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So....toys? Love'em or hate 'em? Do you have a playroom for your kids? Have you come up with an amazing organizational plan, or are you like me and have they run amok all over your home?

Looking forward to your comments on day 3 of my Cans for Comments drive for the Calgary Interfaith Food bank. A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment on a post thus far.

Cans for Comments Post #2 - The battle begins….

2009-12-15T22:53:00.001-08:00

….and round 1 goes to mom!

I had so many other post ideas swirling around in my brain tonight. There was the cute photos of the boys licking beaters from the cookies we made this morning. There were the pangs of desire for a sweet teeny-tiny newborn as I checked out the first photos of my new niece, Hayley Walton. There was the evening trip to Costco which required some sort of professional license in cart-manoeuvring amidst busy shoppers all jostling and elbowing to get in on all the pre-Christmas bounty.

But, all of these posts will have to wait for another day.

Why? (I know you’re dying for the answer!)

Well, because my baby, the 14 month old, still-nursing, still-co-sleeping terror, is asleep in his own crib. Yes, right now as I type! With no help (well, not much) from me.

I am pretty granola when it comes to parenting. This surprised even me when I stepped into the role of “Mom” for the first time. I can be pretty old-school about a lot of things. But somehow, my instinct was totally geared towards attachment parenting long before I even knew there was a label for it.

I fully believed in “breast is best”, and as I was willing and able, I have treasured this relationship with all 3 of my children. When Thyra was a baby, I was a single mom, so the decision to bring my baby into bed with me seemed easy and natural.    I remember, when bringing her in for regular immunization appointments, the public health nurses being completely flabbergasted that I was still breast-feeding her at over a year. Perhaps because I was young, and not married this was a little out of the norm.   I am confidant that our co-sleeping arrangement fostered the nursing and vice-versa.

When I became pregnant with Malachi, I told Gavan that I hoped he didn’t mind having the baby in our bed because that was fully how I planned to parent again. Luckily my husband didn’t mind that I was being a bit of a know-it-all, considering the prior-knowledge I had of life with a newborn, that he had yet to experience, and he sweetly deferred to my wishes.

I think he was shocked to discover, that not only did it not bother him to have the baby in our bed, in fact he quite loved it. It was such a blessing to me, because co-sleeping has always allowed me the best quality of sleep in those exhausting first weeks. To have the baby by my side has meant that neither they nor I have have to fully wake up for those middle of the night feeds, and I have always survived that newborn period surprisingly ok.

This is however, not meant to be a post extolling the virtues of co-sleeping, which in my mind are many and which one day I will write. It is in fact to tell you that even for a crunchy mom like myself, there comes a point where enough is enough. I have had a baby in my bed for over two years now, between Malachi and his brother.   And while Malachi, due largely to the fact that he went from breast to bottle at 8 months old because I was growing him a sibling, transitioned nicely (for the most part), from our bed, to crib, to a bed of his own, Kashton, as always, is another story.

Kashton has never had a bottle. He doesn’t really like milk, not even from a sippy or glass. He almost never goes to sleep without me nursing him, and even beyond that, wants to nurse lying down before he’ll drift off. Occasionally he will fall asleep if his sister or grandma rock him, but he seems to really give his dad a hard time.

This is not very practical, especially because I am now working two evenings a week, and full Saturdays. That is two bedtimes and one nap of crying and frustration. And by that I mean it is Gavan doing the crying.

Feeling more than just a little guilty that Gavan’s poor success with getting Kashton to sleep is largely my doing, I polled the moms I know, did a little internet investigation and decided upon a plan of action.   I knew it was time. The co-sleeping and all-night-boobie-buffet have remained for my own convenience desire for sleep and out of sheer laziness. They are no longer primarily for the benefit of my child, let alone of the rest of my family.

And while I have admitted something (or maybe someone) needed to give, I do know, however that I am not the CIO sort of mom. Especially not with young babies. But as my son is truly in the toddler stage of life, I realized that perhaps some tears would be necessary at bedtime if he was going to learn to sleep on his own. Of course most of those tears are my own, but never mind that…. I needed a sleep technique that would do the job, without traumatizing me or my baby.   And I found it.

Tonight, I approached bedtime, armed with all the knowledge a quick glossing-over of the Sleepeasy Solution techniques. This involved the usual bedtime routine, a last feed and then a loving goodnight to my little monster before placing him in his ~~prison cell~~ crib… awake.

He wailed. He cried. He tried out the full range of his vocal cords (impressive!). He sobbed and gasped.

But he did not die.

As the book suggested, I went in after five long and agonizing minutes, stood out of touching distance, and trying not to cave at the sight of him standing in his crib with his arms outstretched for me, repeated that it was time for bed, that I loved him and left the room again.

More gnashing of teeth and hysterics.

The next time I checked on him was 10 minutes later.   This time he was actually sitting in his crib, crying. An improvement? I thought so.   I repeated the process as before, and left the room quickly before my resolve crumpled at the sight of his pathetic little plea.

I set the timer for another 5 minutes, as the book suggested, set about making myself some tea aka distraction in cup, and all of a sudden, nothing. Nada. Not a single sound. I said to Gavan, “do you hear that?”.

“Hear what”, he asked totally puzzled.

“Exactly!”, I exclaimed triumphantly. “Our child is asleep. By himself. In his crib.”

The book had warned that the first night could take up to an hour or even longer of the crying/checking process, and I had steeled myself for that. It had also however, mentioned that more often than not, those little monkeys could surprise you with their ability to learn quickly, and it seems like that was the winning scenario for us tonight.

We do still have to get through the rest of the evening, and so this battle is not close to over… in fact it is just beginning. I do not expect that every bedtime or naptime here on out will be quite so easy, but for now, I am just pleased to proclaim that for this round,

You can put it in the win column!

And now I want to hear from you! What have been your bedtime challenges or successes? Do you have good sleepers? Horrid ones?

Thanks to everyone who commented on yesterday’s post! So far I am at 9 donations for the Cans for Comments food drive.

Cans for Comments Post #1 - Pumpkin Scones ala Starbucks

2009-12-14T09:01:00.001-08:00

I have been making these so often the last couple of months, that I think I know the recipe by heart. Trust me, they are every bit as good as the real deal, and are best eaten with a mug of something hot and a good book in-hand.

For the Scones
2 cups all-purpose flour
7 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp ground ginger
(I have used Pumpkin pie spice in lieu of the above, and it tastes just fine!)
6 tbsp cold butter
1/2 cup canned pumpkin
3 tbsp half-and-half
1 large egg
Powdered Sugar Glaze
1 cup plus 1 tbsp powdered sugar
2 tbsp skim milk
Spiced Glaze
1 cup plus 3 tbsp powdered sugar
2 tbsp skim milk
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1/8 tsp ground nutmeg
1 pinch ground ginger
1 pinch ground cloves
Prepare the Scones:
Preheat the oven to 425F, and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices in a large bowl. Use a fork to cut the butter into the dry ingredients until mixture is crumbly and no chunks of butter are obvious. Set aside.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the pumpkin, half and half, and egg. Fold wet ingredients into dry ingredients, and form the dough into a ball.
Pat out dough onto a lightly floured surface and form it into a 1-inch thick rectangle about 3 times as long as wide. Use a large knife or a pizza cutter to slice the dough twice through the width, making three equal portions. Cut each of the portions in an X pattern (four pieces) so you end up with 12 triangular slices of dough. Place on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 14–16 minutes. Scones should begin to turn light brown. Place on wire rack to cool.

Make the powdered sugar glaze:
Mix the powdered sugar and 2 tbsp milk together until smooth. When scones are cool, use a brush to spread plain glaze over the top of each scone.
Make the spiced icing:
While the powdered sugar glaze is firming, combine all of the ingredients for the spiced icing. Drizzle over each scone and allow the icing to dry before serving (about an hour). Attempt not to devour all the scones at once.

I got this recipe from one of the amazing photos I was drooling over on Foodgawker one day. (Foodgawker is like porn for foodies and I highly recommend a visit if you are feeling uninspired in the kitchen.) The recipe came courtesy of weheartfood, and although their versions look a lot prettier than mine, let me tell you the ones I made still disappeared very quickly.
And I just remembered that I have some left over pumpkin in the fridge (it keeps quite nicely if you don't use up a whole can), and I think some fresh-out-of-the-oven scones are just what this absolutely freezing cold Monday is calling for.

ps - Don't forget today is the first day of my CANS FOR COMMENTS drive! Don't be shy... I want to know what you really think of Pumpkin Scones and anything else on your mind.

Cans for comments.

2009-12-11T15:49:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to give anyone who reads my blog a heads up that next week I will be participating in the Cans for Comments drive.

What this means is that for every single comment left on any post on this blog from December 14-18th inclusive I will donate 1 non-perishable food item to the Calgary Interfaith Food bank.

What this also means is that you can do your part by leaving a comment on posts, old and new. For all of you regular commenters, I'll appreciate your faithful comments more than ever next week. For any of you lurkers, those of you who read and never comment, (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!) I will be looking forward to you coming out of the woodwork, all for a good cause.

I feel very fortunate that I have never had to rely on the food bank to feed my family. I can't imagine a worse feeling than to wonder how you are going to feed your kids. This is not to say that I have never struggled in my life time. I was a single mom remember, for years and years. I however, have been blessed with amazing family support. Of course many other families are not so lucky. What peace of mind it must give struggling parents to know their kids won't go hungry today because of charitable programs like this. But let's not forget that these programs only work if the rest of us chip in and make sure that their shelves are stocked and that they actually have something to give out.

So next week, I'm asking you to find your voice and help me with my little effort.

Looking forward to all you have to say!!!

Love,

thebROWNmama

Heartstrings

2009-12-10T00:23:00.000-08:00

I could hardly get through the trailer without crying and laughing.... I can't imagine what a sitting through a full length feature on the miraculous form

that is the beginning of human life will do to me.

Mountain high, Valley low

2009-12-09T00:28:00.001-08:00

My little guys are sick.

Kashton first, and now that he’s on the mend, his brother has taken up the cause. Nothing worse than sick kids right? But while I hate to see my children unwell, (and I do tend to worry), I was remembering today, amidst all of the “sick” laundry, that I am so lucky my kids are pretty healthy. In fact, I’m pretty lucky in a lot of ways and lately there has been a whole lot of joy and sorrow intermingled to remind me of just that.

I know three babies who are all in the ACH tonight. I am thankful mine are home tucked in bed and will probably be just fine in another day or two.

We all know about the little Autistic boy who was lost and then found and then lost again forever. What a crazy emotional ride it must be for those that love him. I am thankful that we have not faced the many challenges autism brings, and the devastating consequences that can subsequently arise.

I know a brand new baby, born just hours ago, who will spend the first few days of his life in an incubator instead of his mother’s arms because he came weeks too early. I am thankful for the awesome miracle of birth, and that my own pregnancies and deliveries were for the most part, healthy and normal and that my children entered this world the same way.

I know children who are bearing the brunt of their parents’ ill choices. I am thankful that my family is intact and that my children know the blessing of their parents’ daily commitment to uphold vows made.

Lately it seems like there has been so much going on around me…. good and bad. Joyful and sad. Celebrations and grieving. All little breezes of emotion that have formed this whirlwind called life. It’s easy for me to get overwhelmed sometimes by all that is going on, and wonder when there will be a break to catch my breath and tie my laces. But I have this strange feeling it doesn’t work like that…

Tom Cochrane famously sings about life being a highway. All the events occurring around me at warp speed have reminded me that it’s time to buckle up and appreciate the view.

(Love and prayers to all of those in the valley part of the road.)

Isn't she lovely.

2009-12-08T09:48:00.000-08:00

When I worked full time, I did it badly and thought, "I'm not cut out for this 9-5 stuff. I need to be home baking cookies, kissing scraped knees and elbows, scrubbing bathrooms, fluffing pillows, arranging flowers, hanging laundry out to dry, reading stories, finger-painting, having dinner ready for my husband, helping with homework, puttering in the garden and all other hallmarks of domestic aptitude. "

I felt confidant that home was where I could truly shine where I had failed to in my work life. That perhaps the role of a homemaker was something I would excel at and leave me fulfilled and blissfully content. I pictured a warm, lovely inviting sanctuary, full of good food and good friends, that our handsome, tidy children would reflect on lovingly once they were grown, and longingly contemplate their magical childhood through a glow of happy memory.

All because of their amazing mother.

While I suppose its possible that I must have my shinier moments, I have come to the sinking realization that as badly as I sucked in corporate life, I'm not actually very good at this domestic doyenne thing either.

I look around and see clutter everywhere, picture frames that have hung on the wall empty for months, peeling baseboards, crumpled laundry. You're hard pressed to find a working marker in our house let alone finger paints. There is no comforting aroma of anything baking, nor do I have any idea what my kids will eat for lunch let alone have a plan for supper. Every room in our house is incomplete, with pictures yet to be hung, curtains to be sewn, walls to be painted. The kids are grubby, the carpet needs to be replaced again and the thought of entertaining company in this state is embarrassing and overwhelming.

It used to be I blamed this house for my lack of inspired home-keeping. It's too small, we don't have a dining area big enough for company, it's old, it needs work, there's no storage space, the closets aren't big enough, it's dark and on and on I would justify the gross inaction of my days to myself and often my husband. And then added to the list of excuses was the, "I have two small children close in age" sort, and the "we can't afford it" sort and the "I'm not feeling good" sort.

But again, there has been this gentle dawning in my mind as I observe the life and homes of others' similar to mine and see that their husbands are often busier and less helpful than mine, their children just as young, their financial situations not markedly different and yet somehow their beds are made, the picture frames filled, dinner ready, classes attended, and all home-fires stoked.

And by this observation, I have come to see, that as much as I still believe that home is my calling (and perhaps duty even), I'm not as good as this as I'd hoped I'd be. I'm generally lazy (apologies to Robin who hates that label), uninspired and selfish.

This week I read a friend's blog post about the kind of day that back when I was working, I would have imagined would be the norm if only I too could stay home. Whilst the post itself did make me aware of the lack of effort I have put forth in making the dreams of my imagination a reality, it was a comment on that post that, while intended as a compliment for the blogger, as I read it felt myself being gently reproved.

It said that lovely days (and thus lovely homes, and lovely children, and lovely memories), are a result of lovely people.

And so I know what I need to do. Perhaps I will never live up to the Martha Stewart standard I had hoped I would effortlessly attain, but maybe, with an attitude adjustment, and more effort towards the loveliness of my spirit, I can become even a glimmer of the mom and wife I always thought I'd be.

Look who finally showed up!

2009-12-07T18:09:00.001-08:00

I know you’ve all seen photos much worse than this, and that everyone is probably tired of hearing about the snow, but for posterity’s sake, this is what the first huge snowstorm of the 09/10 winter looked like when we woke up this past Saturday morning. (Sorry for the grainy photos… they are courtesy of our trusty iphones.)

I tried twice to get to work, the first time resulting in a colossal FAIL, the second time I was suprisingly, and a little disappointingly successful. Gavan shoveled for hours, over and over along with everyone else on the block. How did you all fare?

Me thinks the snow is here to stay.

Dinner with Grandpa

2009-11-24T11:58:00.000-08:00

We celebrated Grandpa Bruce’s 60th birthday, albeit a little overdue, with a lovely dinner out at a neighbourhood Italian restaurant on Sunday night. Gavan and I had never had the chance to eat at the Green Olive since they opened about a year ago, but we really enjoyed our first opportunity. We had the place to ourselves, the food was great, and very reasonably priced, and the best part of all is that our kids actually sat through the entire meal without too much commotion.

For awhile, eating out was pretty much a gong-show for us, but the last couple of times haven’t gone too badly, and so I wonder, have we turned a corner? Are our children starting to morph into normal, enjoyable, respectable human beings that will allow their parents to dine out without any embarrassing fits of crying, spilled juice or dirty-glances from patron’s and staff alike? I have a strange feeling, this moderately decent behaviour is in large part thanks to our trusted iPhones with their many entertaining apps, and the remaining part in all probability, fluke. My guess is that we’ve got a ways to go before restaurant dining avec les enfants, is truly enjoyable, but for now even tolerable seems like a vast improvement.

Happy 60th Birthday Grandpa B!

Thanks for letting us in on the party.

On the move!

2009-11-23T00:40:00.000-08:00

Kashton has been standing, dancing, squatting and playing all on his own two feet for some time now. What he wasn’t doing was taking very many steps. That all changed this weekend! He went from a two-or-three stepper to a too-many-to-count WALKER!

He was pretty pleased with himself, and these photos, while terribly blurry, show him giddily crossing the ocean of floor between myself and Thyra, over and over, honing his new skill.

It’s hard to believe Thyra was walking a full 4 months earlier than either of my boys, both of them stepping out on their own at 13.5 months compared to her 9.5. And while I was quite happy not to be chasing them around too quickly, it was still so nice to see them off and going when they finally did muster up the guts to toddle off on their own.

Thursday, Friday, Dadder-day!

2009-11-22T00:17:00.000-08:00

On Saturdays I go to work. I leave the house before anyone is awake, leaving the three men in my life to fend for themselves. It’s kind of a fun bonding day for my husband and his boys, and even Thyra gets in on the action here and there.

My mom often worked Saturdays while I was growing up, and one of the more vivid memories I have of my dad were hanging out with him and my brother while she worked. We did chores around the house, (with Tina Turner or UB40 cranked up to get us moving), took the car to get washed, went to watch planes come in, rode bikes, cooked Indian food and between all those normal, typical, Saturday activities, made the day into a special time just our own.

I don’t know how long I’ll be a working mom on the weekend, but should this be the status quo for awhile this is what I hope Saturdays become for our kids and their dad. Days spent making memories, which even when not terribly exciting or adventurous, have their own special charm.

One of Gavan’s favorite ways to occupy the little guys is to take them over to the indoor play centre we occasionally frequent, Coffee and S’cream. It’s one of Malachi’s most favorite places, and a perfect place for the young’uns to let off some steam while their grown-up du jour gets a coffee and a chance to relax. A place where a dad can maybe read a paper, surf the internet, or even play a board game without wondering what his kids are destroying now. A place where everyone leaves satisfied, smiling and hopefully a wee bit tuckered.

Thankfully Gavan remembered the camera on their last outing, so that this mom wasn’t totally missing out on the action.

Pink and Juicy

2009-11-18T10:03:00.001-08:00

My kids are already pretty good at getting their groove on, but they really kick it up a notch to these guys. If you haven't seen the indie duo of Jack Conte and Nataly Dawn known as Pomplamoose before, I

highly recommend spending 5 minutes checking them out. Love their original song-writing but

particularly worthy of a listen (or rather "watch" I guess) are their covers of Michael Jackson's Beat It, and Mr. Sandman by the Chordettes. There is so much I could say about these uber talented musicians, but what I really want to say is,

Isn't Nataly Dawn the cutest thing you've ever seen?

P.S. Pay close attention to the lyrics at 1:59....

Lunchtime from start to finish.

2009-11-06T09:59:00.001-08:00

ALL DONE!

Halloween 2009

2009-11-04T13:29:00.001-08:00

The last day of October was kind of a bust around these parts. I had good intentions of purchasing a pumpkin or two for some carving fun, but never quite got around to it and now that I’m working full days on Saturdays even my usual last-minute frenzy that follows much procrastination didn’t quite materialize.

Aside from the big FAIL in the decor department, I wasn’t really sure what to do about costumes this year. Malachi’s monkey costume still fit him from the year before, but I had originally planned on passing it down to Kashton and buying him something new. Well good thing I never got around to that either, because he basically refused to have anything to do with a costume this year.

Thyra had wanted to go as a clown and I had purchased her an adult and child size wig, not being sure which one would fit her, (the adult of course), I figured maybe one of the boys could us e the leftover wig.

And that’s pretty much exactly what happened. After a late start to trick-or-treating (aided in part by the fact that the daylight savings time change now occurs AFTER Halloween instead of before, and unlike some of the neighbourhood kids, I insist on waiting until it it dark before unleashing trick-or-treaters into the night) the boys and their big sister managed to get up and down the street to all of our neighbours and still managed a pretty decent haul.

The odds are.

2009-11-02T10:06:00.000-08:00

Seriously I'm a basket-case. There is this new friend in my life called Anxiety. I lived most of my life being aware of her but never having actually made her acquaintance. Now that I know her up close and personal, I can tell you this: she is largely overrated with an immense deficiency in the personality department.

Our more recent get-together was a prolonged lunch where H1N1 was the topic du-jour, and with high hopes of evading her manipulative clutches for a short while, I decided to brave the line-ups and vaccinate my kids and myself. (I'm high-risk btw, being asthmatic.) All this after much debate, research and back-and-forth-hand-wringing changes of mind.

Well vaccinations be darned, Ms. Anxiety has successfully chased away any chance of my former BFF, the shy Miss. Peace-of-mind swinging by for even a coffee, and has inserted herself uninvited into my life yet again.

Since having my vaccine I have been having all sorts of tingling and weirdness. Gasp. It must be the dreaded Guillain-Barre Syndrome right? GBS is an extremely rare (as in one in a million) but possible reaction to vaccinations. I should have bought a lottery ticket instead.

But oh wait... tingling and numbness, even in your face, can also be symptoms of anxiety.

So either I have beat incredible odds and have some rare, incurable, potentially fatal condition... OR... I'm actually teetering on the crazy side of panic and need some deep breathing and psychiatric intervention stat.

Dichotomy

2009-10-23T13:52:00.001-07:00

Today being a mom is hard because:

I’m tired. The floor is always dirty, even a millisecond after I just finish cleaning it. I cannot keep my children out of the fireplace where they like to shovel ashes and soot in to their mouths as fast as possible, and then leave black handprints on every surface. Naps were not even close to long enough. I should really get my dishwasher fixed. I have to work at my PAID job later. Tooth number 7 and 8 are starting to surface in Kashton’s mouth. He screams like a banshee when I leave the room. He refuses to eat anything unless it is sweet or a carbohydrate. I’m worried about H1N1 but still don’t want to vaccinate. I don’t know what to make for supper but should probably leave something here for my husband to eat and feed our children.

Today being a mom is easy because:

The boys weren’t up until 9 this morning. Kashie says “hi hi hi” anytime anyone comes in the room, dogs included. Even though my bath was interrupted by a waking baby, we finished it together. I dread the ordeal putting my boys to sleep can be, but it usually turns into my favorite part of the day. I love how Malachi just backs into my lap with a Little Critter book and orders, “read CRITT-ERRR story”. We had pancakes for breakfast which is a meal I am guaranteed not to have to fight to get everyone to eat.

A totally normal day of highs and lows, bitter and sweet, exhaustion and exhilaration.

Malachi so far.

2009-10-16T07:23:00.001-07:00

I'm trying to post photos of Kashton's birthday, but realized I haven't posted photos of Malachi's birthday, so (sigh), the attempt at keeping things even-steven between the siblings is meaning everything is actually really fair, because I'm not posting anything about anyone!

Malachi however is pretty hilarious these days. Like really. If our home is just a digestive gut of the human emotion, he is the comedic fibre keeping us regular. (I'm not really sure that analogy works quite the way I hoped it would.) He's also at that PDC (Pretty-Darn-Cute) stage. I am a HUGE fan of 2 year olds, and now that one of my own little men falls into that category, I have to tell you this parenting thing feels like it could never be any more awesome than it is right now.

Here are some of the things I am so loving about the stage he is in these days:

Every morning I hear him calling from his crib, "MOM....TIIIIYA!" (Tiiiya is for Thyra, his big sister.) And when one of us decides to finally rescue him from his crib he rewards his benefactor with sleepy eyes and smile and a big ol' "MOAH-NIN'".

And if he is in his bed and not his crib he will just get up and come and find us which means crawling into our bed where usually I am trying to nurse his brother back to sleep. The cutest thing about this is that he will snuggle up to his brother's back, wrap a protective arm around his waist and rain kisses down upon his head. Apparently Malachi can't resist those curls either.

His toddler speak is pretty comical these days too. He's at the stage where he is not quite speaking full sentences, but stringing a few words together so that you get the gist of what he wants.

"Moah Milkies Peeeze" (More milk please)

"Kashie eat Paper" (Thank you Malachi. Contrary to most parenting ideas, tattling is encouraged and rewarded in the Brown household.)

"Moo Moo crying" (Usually after he has ripped a toy from his hands or thumped him over the head with a truck or woken him prematurely from a nap.)

He plays little jokes on us, like hiding behind doors and coffee tables while one of us is asking, "Where's Malachi?", genuinely concerned, and then he pops out at us, laughing hysterically. He does anything he knows is guaranteed to make us laugh ad nauseum.

For example, right after his first birthday he started the strangest of moves, where he tilts his head all the way back, points to the ceiling and says in the huskiest voice, a pretty good old-man impression, "Noooo Noooo!". The first to witness it was Thyra and I in a mall food court and we literally split our sides laughing as did the lady at the table next to us. I figured it was a stage and would pass into toddler oblivion, but it has remained to this day, unaltered, and is a favorite he pulls out occasionally with impressive comedic timing. Meaning, he's about to get in trouble.

Speaking of getting in trouble, he has the art of fake smiling down to a science and can drop me a killer face, charming in its insincerity, by simply observing the scowl on my own face.

All of this he comes by totally honestly. With the father and grand-father this kid has, he has no choice but to give in to instinct and his genetic make-up and ham it up... often with a side of applesauce.

Absentee

2009-10-15T19:35:00.000-07:00

Between working and birthday parties and strep throat, who has time for children? (And even moreso, blogs!)

Employee of the week.

2009-10-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

My children are driving me nutso today. They are clingy and whiny and getting a shower in seems like an impossible task when I cannot leave the room for a minute without wailing and gnashing of teeth. The laundry baskets are ripe and overflowing, the floors are sticky, beds un-made and cupboards bare. All of this because I am tired and the left-upper quadrant of my body is chronically in pain.

If this is a little snapshot of life now, what on earth is going to happen next week when I start back at work after two years? I know it's only part-time, but right now I'm wondering if I was insane when I decided working was a great idea.

All of this because I couldn't give up my free staff account and visa and some measly dental benefits. Why am I so attached to a job I basically hate?

I think I have some issues with letting go.

I was a working mom before, but I'm too old for that and not single enough. I know it will be fine and probably even better than fine. Somehow a little organization and a busy schedule often work their magic in getting the rest of my life sorted out... it's kinda counter-intuitive I know, but that's just the way it works.

My children will be fine too... a little surprised perhaps at the sudden disappearance of their weary mother, but fine nonetheless.

And realizing now that the weekend is going to actually mean something now that I'll be working Saturdays, I'm going to sign off and attempt to make the most of the chaos that is my life.

Happy Weekend!!

A love letter to my son.

2009-09-29T22:19:00.000-07:00

To my little Moo, on the occasion of your First Birthday,

I hope you won't hold it against me that the day I found out you were coming to join our family, I sat all day in a dumbfounded stupor...shell-shocked by the complete surprise with which your intended arrival was made known. I hope you won't resent the fact that I was more than a little scared about how another child would fit into our lives. Was there room in our home for another little person? More importantly, was there room in our hearts?

Because here's the thing Moo:

I can't even begin to imagine life without you... not for one second.

It's pretty hectic in our house, between your brother's goofy toddler antics, and your unwavering requests for attention. Attention I'm not always sure you get enough of and definitely not in the lavish way Malachi received it. Attention that is divided, lop-sidedly at best between you and your roommate based on who is creating the costliest damage at that moment.

And chaos and busyness aside, you and I have had our moments. We've had our fair share of fights and disagreements, which somehow I seem to have been on the losing end of way too often.

But what I'm trying to say here my Kashie Kashers, is that you are an absolute ray of sunshine in my day. (Even when you have also been the dark clouds of storm just a moment earlier.)

Your sweet soft head of luscious and often ridiculously coiffed curls is still irresistible to me. The way you lay your head on my shoulder and cuddle in melts my heart every time. You might not be quite the clown your older brother is, but your amazing little laugh is the purest expression of joy I have ever heard. You are not your brother, nor would I want you to be. You have moves all your own and your own brand of charm and um personality quirks. And we could not love everyone of them more if we tried.

While Malachi is always on the move, you are still so snuggly and even though sometimes I wish you had another favorite spot beyond my lap and arms, I know too soon you will be off and running and too busy for snuggling with your mom. I go to sleep every night wondering aka grumbling about why you refuse to sleep in your own bed, but wake up feeling so grateful that for now your Dad and I get to greet the day to the sleepy smiles of a little cherub between us.

And how fast has this year gone? I was warned that having babies so close together would cause the seconds to tick by faster. I was also warned that it wouldn't be that easy.... and it hasn't been. In fact it might have actually been the hardest year of my life. But you are the little joy that makes all of the unfinished chores unimportant and the lack of sleep seem worth it.

I'm so glad sometimes that God removes decisions from us, and has a plan that we couldn't even imagine. You are the happiest conclusion to a surprise beginning. You are an unimaginable gift. The kind we didn't even know we were missing.

Happy First Birthday to you my little sweet ONE year old.

New Arrival

2009-09-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

isn't he lovely?

I'm feeling all gushy and sentimental tonight, so pardon me if this post gets oozy and a little wet around the edges.

Anyone who knows me, knows me and my cousins. Because I have a lot of them. Because we are all close. It's rare and weird, I know, but it was totally normal for me growing up and even now to be constantly surrounded by family from both sides. My cousins and I are all very close in age. We all like each other, and for the most part stay in touch pretty well. Our kids relate to each other like they are first cousins not second.

I'm just lucky I guess.

When I was young, I thought this was just how it was for everyone, but as I matured I began to realize that even my cousins didn't have it as good as I. I saw that even for them there was only one side of their family that they were bonded to in the way that our family was knit together. I started appreciating how fortunate I was to have these built-in friends, and people often ask me if I have any friends, or just cousins... and usually, it's just cousins! But I'm ok with that.

It might seem normal, with all of these extended family members to have a favorite. Over the years, I developed stronger attachments to certain people depending on age or circumstance or who we visited most recently.

I have attended school with my cousins (Rohini and Preya). I have lived with some of them. (Lori, and then Larissa, and then Lori and even Jason for a time.) I have shared common experiences with some (single mothehood) and family traits with others. But really I could not pick a favorite.

No favorite, except that there remains in my heart a special fondness for my cousin Jeremy. Older than I by a couple years, he was the wiser, more worldly cousin that my brother and I so worshipped on summer holidays and family vacations. Jeremy and I would stay up way too late, talking in the dark until the wee hours of the morning even as we were growing up, sometimes very badly, into adulthood.

And then at a time where perhaps we were both a little lost, we formed a club of forlorn stragglers with his Auntie Ruth, (the warm and lovely "Rufus"). I was post-graduation, post-breakup and, in hopes of solving life's mysteries, had just moved out to BC on my own for the first time. Except I wasn't really on my own because so many of my extended family, including Jeremy's, lived on the lower mainland that I had long since adopted as my second home. I spent the first six months of my transition to the Coast couch surfing between Jer's parents home and my grandparents' - a lucky beneficiary of the incredible hospitality our family is renowned for.

Jer was there too, having just returned, broken-hearted, from Hawaii, and rounding out our trio was his Aunt who, having made major changes in her life was also taking up residency at the Wiebe's while getting her feet back on the ground and attending school.

With Jer's sister, Alisa having just gotten married, we left the newlyweds alone to honeymoon, (save some long soaks in their hot-tub under starry skies), and banded together over gourmet coffee and guitars, beaches and long discussions over the nature of God, and our unknown futures. Not having a very large social group as a displaced Albertan, Jer kindly introduced me to his friends, some of whom genuinely became friends of my own, and somehow we survived those dark gloomy days together.

And like all good things must, the kinship born out of loneliness, and familiarity came to an end. I moved back to Calgary and had a baby not long after. Jer took up school and became the husband to sweet Jaana. Aside from weddings, funerals and the occasional in-between visit there wasn't time for long philosophical discussions or perhaps even the desire for them.

Jer and his lovely bride moved out East where Jer was finishing PhD studies in Philosophy at McGill and that is where their first child, the curly-locked Eden Jemimah was born. The first chance I had to meet Eden was at the funeral of my Grandfather in 2007 when I was a rotund pregnant woman swollen with grief and hormones perched precariously atop a large pair of cankles in the heat of the BC summer.... a lovely first impression I'm sure, and I'm sad to say that I have not had a second opportunity to get to know the newest generation of Wiebes since then. Our kids have never met, and Jeremy is the only first cousin of mine that Gavan has yet to get to know.

Next summer the entire family on my mom's side will be having a reunion at Qualicum Beach on Vancouver Island, and I would be lying if I didn't admit that one of the reasons I am most excited about it is to finally introduce Gavan to the last piece of the complex family puzzle that is my life. Another Cousin to keep track of. But one, that like the others, is so dear to me.

And now to sweeten the anticipation of introducing our families to each other, Jeremy and Jaana have just welcomed a brand new baby boy into their little family. Asher Jeremiah was born on September 25th, and we cannot wait to meet him.

Congratulations to the Wiebe family on the safe arrival of baby Asher.

Oops.

2009-09-21T13:05:00.000-07:00

Just so everyone knows, Gavan is not giving anyone the finger in the photo I posted of him below. I didn't even notice it, because I've seen the move a hundred times, but that is him pushing his glasses back up his nose. I do it too, cause I also wear glasses and we're both huge nerds.

Thought I'd better clarify.

While I'm at it, does anyone know how to get my photos to stay aligned? I've tried posting them via livewriter and on blogger itself and they keep going wonky. Guess I might have to resort to good ol' photobucket, which I'm trying to avoid like the plague because it just seems like so much more work.

Any and all tips are appreciated.

Pool Party 2009

2009-09-20T13:20:00.001-07:00

I’m catching up on some posts from the summer that I should have finished a long time ago!

This year’s 2nd annual great girl campout fizzled into a small cousin sleepover, but the girls didn’t mind. The next day we had rented out a local pool and invited a bunch of kids and their families. We had approximately 70 people show up to enjoy the perfect weather, and have a hotdog lunch and a dip in the pool.

It turned out so well and I think the only complaint was that it just wasn’t long enough. We will for sure be repeating this party next year.

These 3 are related thru marriage: Rohini, Debbie and Patty-Jo.

Malachi and Giselle splashing it up in the toddler pool.

Gavan was chef for the day

Party Pooper

2009-09-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

Kashton's 1st birthday is in ten sleeps and I have no idea what I am doing to mark the occasion.

Birthdays are a big deal to me. They are a big deal in my family. I grew up having several birthday parties every year. One for family, one for school friends, one for church friends, and yes I'm totally aware of how ridiculous that is. Except that we don't make a fuss out of the other holidays like Christmas and Easter, so birthdays take the cake in our family.

The problem is that we have a very tiny house. In our tiny house resides many people and animals already. The other problem is that every one we know has eleventy-hundred children. And we're not even LDS! I'm not sure what's up with this whole breeding bandwagon, but clearly it's a great ride because all our friends and relations are on it.

This makes having a party here kinda squishy and not that fun. Especially with me, who spends these types of occasions hyperventilating in the kitchen because I'm stressed out by 50 people in the kitchen at the same time, crying children and barking dogs.

We do have a yard here, but it's not that pretty, and well, we have dogs. Enough said right? This also leads me to the third problem which is I don't know what the weather will be like. Not that the weather is ever really dependable here, but planning an outdoor party at the end of September (despite the amazing August-like temps. we've been having) is really asking for trouble.

So what I'm trying to get to here is that the birthday is approaching and the planning is in full stall.

Anyone have any wonderful suggestions for me? I'm really hoping for a lightening bolt of inspiration before Kashton ends up with the classic non-party that usually befalls the second (or third) child.

Surprise! Look what I can do!

2009-09-15T23:31:00.000-07:00

Today I discovered that Kashton knows two signs (baby sign language), which is quite remarkable because I really have not spent much time teaching him any. I half heartedly tried showing him "please" and "more" in hopes of lessening the high pitched shrieking he uses as a request for food, but it wasn't going well and I kind of gave up.

We taught Malachi only a couple, which he only uses occasionally now and always with the accompanying word, so it didn't seem possible that Kashton would pick it up from his big brother, but today I was totally surprised to see Kashton signing "more" and "all done" as I spoke the words aloud.

Way to go second son! I guess younger siblings must come with some kind of osmosis feature to ensure that they too learn the things their mothers are too busy to teach them.

A la mode

2009-09-15T16:59:00.000-07:00

Sorry if you come to my blog and don't know where you are. I'm learning photoshop (slowly) and this is the perfect place to practice.

In case the weather hadn't clued you in, (and don't feel bad because the 30 degree weather we're having doesn't really spell F-A-L-L), it's one of my most favorite times of year.

And if I'm swapping flipflops for suede boots and linen skirts for cable knit sweaters, I figured my blog could get with the autumnal program and cozy-up too.

Wee little bird

2009-09-12T22:11:00.000-07:00

I want to tell you about my friend Christy.

Christy is a girl who attended the same high school as I for a couple of years and while we were in the same grade I didn't really know her. And then she did something really cool and went to school on a sailboat for our final year while I stayed behind and her jr. high boyfriend became my high school boyfriend. Which was really the only thing I actually knew about her.

And then after high school while that boy was my boyfriend off and on, he used to talk about her off and on and I could tell that there was a little note of longing in his voice that was definitely not there when he talked about me. This made me feel like I probably did not like Christy very much because I was pretty nuts about that boy and wanted him to be nuts about me. And perhaps more than dislike, I was actually a little intimidated and frightened of her apparent magical hold over my true love.

Well one day I went to a backyard gathering with the boyfriend to a house where Christy lived with a whole bunch of other roommates. And there amongst the large trees and campfire and candlelight I made a surprising discovery.... that Christy was in fact way cooler than the boy and much more worthy of my time and attention.

After a solid night of girl bonding, (which mostly involved boy-bashing), we became bonafide friends and our friendship continued over the years. I discovered that Christy was funny and warm and smart and interesting and nothing to be afraid of. She was also completely uninterested in my boyfriend which really endeared her to me. And when I said goodbye to the boyfriend for good, Christy was there cheering me on, firmly in my corner, a wonderful friend to commiserate with.

Over the years, Christy and I have not seen each other a whole lot. She has been busy with her work and new family as have I, but we still try to keep in touch every few months by phone or email, and get together with our kiddies when we can.

A few weeks ago, I ran into Christy and her family at Ikea and found out they were expecting their third baby sometime at the end of October. With many promises of getting together soon, I couldn't believe it when not very long after I discovered via Facebook (of course), that Christy was in the hospital trying to keep her baby from making an unfashionable early entrance.

I got up to the hospital to see her only once before getting completely sideswiped with a wedding, a funeral and general back to school craziness and then last week I discovered something else.

Christy did indeed have her baby, a 2nd daughter and sister to little Sophie and Ollie, early as feared. Wee little Sadie was born at 29 weeks. She is so tiny her weight is still relayed in grams. Christy and her husband Greg have started a blog to document Sadie's progress as she bulks up at the Foothills NICU, and I wanted to share it all with you.

It is a wonderful reminder for me of the miracle of life and of how often I take for granted the whole process of pregnancy and childbirth.

Tinybird

Congratulations to Greg, Christy, Sophie and Ollie on your precious new family member. Lots of love and prayers from all of us to you as you care for your sweet Sadie and many wishes for health and happiness to her and each of you.

A Good Man

2009-09-11T17:28:00.000-07:00

August brought us a broken washing machine, dishwasher and a car needing a new timing belt, engine and clutch. Whee.

September is astronomically expensive as anyone with school-aged children can attest to. And we only have one in school at the moment, but every hurts a little more than the one before. The older they get, the more they cost it seems. Last year, my chip-off-the-old-block Thyra somehow misplaced the most expensive piece of her uniform, and also somehow lost some pieces to her flute. (How anyone loses 1/2 a flute is beyond me.) Now of course we are replacing those items as well as paying for the regular busing, administration, supply, and band fees. I'm starting to feel the pain my mother went through, as I was terrible for holding onto my belongings, a trait which has slowly improved over the years, although I'm embarrassed to tell you how many times I've lost my wallet this year. (But tell I will: three times, two of which I was fortunate to get it back intact.)

Next on the list is a bathroom renovation that we are in dire need of. I think the word "dire" is warranted when your bathtub tiles are being held in by tape.

All of these little events really add up, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit they've kinda got me down, but the point of this post is to say something nice about my husband.

I can't tell you how much peace of mind and happiness I have that my husband puts in amazingly long hours to pay for all these little misfortunes life brings us. By long hours, I mean that he works a regular job and then comes home and does freelance work for often another five hours... not to mention everything he does on the weekends. He works really hard, and for little reward when it seems like he is just working to replace appliances, vehicles and keep our family clothed and fed.

I have always known that an ambitious man was worth his weight in gold, and I have been wonderfully reminded of this of late. I don't mean the kind of ambition that seeks to be a success in terms of financial status or his career (although he has that kind of ambition in spades). I'm talking about the kind of ambition that will do what it takes to take care of business and who thinks about the future in those terms. I'm so very thankful that somehow I have had the good fortune to have married someone who cares about providing for his family and will do whatever it takes to accomplish that.

So even though I grumble about not being able to indulge in new shoes as often as I would really like, or outfit my kids in the latest and greatest, or furnish my home the way I desire, I know that the really important things, like staying afloat and keeping our kids happy and healthy will hopefully never be an issue with a husband like mine. That's a pretty big deal I'd say.

There's a motto we've adopted in our family this year, which is this:

We do what we have to do, so we can do what we want to do.

(Thanks Denzel!)

My husband remembers this even when it's Saturday and he'd rather hang out with his kids in the sunshine or play games with his buddies. He remembers this when we're forking over his entire last paycheque to the mechanic for car repairs. He remembers this when he's sacrificing time to work on his latest game idea to do extra bill-paying work instead.

I want to remember it too.

Green Years Old.

2009-09-01T16:50:00.000-07:00

Malachi is 2 today!

Wowee, that went fast.

He's so busy learning shapes and numbers and colors and the alphabet that when I ask him how old he is he quickly responds with

"Green. Um two."

He's so cute and lovable and squishable and funny and the kind of toddler that makes my day. I can't imagine that only two years ago we hadn't met him, and now we can't imagine life without him.

Happy Birthday to the sweetest little boy a mom could hope for.

A post, finally.

2009-08-23T23:16:00.000-07:00

I haven't been blogging lately because I have been busy. Busy with weddings and family and camp-outs and parties and back-to-school preparing.

I also haven't been blogging because I've been grumpy, some of which can be blamed on being busy.

With all of the blogging I haven't been doing, I realized that I've been feeling guilty about it, which I further realized is insane. Last year, I posted every post with the honest impression that no one ever read my blog, but this year I know that there are one or two faithful readers and some stragglers or happeners-by. It's amazing how that little snippet of knowledge suddenly transforms a blog post into a whole other animal.

The original purpose I had for keeping a blog was just to keep a record of our lives as my kids grow up, and to have an outlet for all the experiences, challenges and blessings of motherhood. The community it builds has been an unexpected, but welcome surprise, and I appreciate hearing so much from other moms who are with me in the trenches of child-rearing.

I have also become a bit of a blog junkie myself. In fact, my Google blog reader is getting a little out of hand. Blogging is becoming more of a full-time job than a past-time; a full-time job I'm not getting paid to do.

And that is where I realized that I have become a little bit tied to this blog in ways I didn't forsee. Oh, someone's reading? Better write something. But oops, can't say that, that's not very interesting/nice/articulate etc. I have found myself editing my life to make my blog a more appealing read, and that is so far from my original goal of truthfully expressing myself and diarizing the happenings here at our house.

So if I'm away for longer than normal, or I blog in spurts, or the photos are fuzzy and the words kinda flimsy, I hope you won't hold it against me.

One of these kids is not like the others.

2009-08-18T12:09:00.001-07:00

Thyra and Malachi both got their first tooth right at ten months of age. So as Kashton neared that age, I fully expected that the first sign of a little tooth would appear.

Sure enough, it did.

Aha, I thought, just as I suspected. All of my children teeth at the same time in the same way.

Except I have discovered that while the timing is bang on, Kashton has decided to break out of the mold and do his own thing.

While the other two got their milk teeth in a similar order, bottom front, top front, top side, bottom side and so on, Kashton's teeth are showing up in the most peculiar style.

His first tooth was his bottom front right, and I kept looking for it's left-side match to pop-up soon after. And while I was looking, I failed to notice that the teeth he is actually getting were on the top.

His right-side front and side tooth are just breaking through, which means my son has THREE teeth on the right side of his mouth, and not a single one on the left.

I can guarantee you this looks a little off. And once they come in more fully, I will try my best to get a photo of his odd little smile.

Way to be a weirdo kid.

The care and feeding of a brand new Mother.

2009-08-12T08:54:00.000-07:00

The stork has been busy this year. There are so many new babies this year... a bumper crop I'd say! With all of the new wee ones comes some new moms too. And yes, dads as well, but this post is not specifically about them.

I am writing this post because after countless conversations with many new moms, I think there are some fundamental policies that should be strictly adhered to once that little baby has made the transition from snug uterine home to its mother's arms.

They are as follows:

Phone before showing up at the hospital (if hospital policy even permits you to visit at all). The same goes for visiting at home. The new family may want a nesting-in period by themselves, or may want to show off their precious bundle at every opportunity. Find out.

Dads, have something prepared for your wife and baby ahead of time. Pick out something for the baby all on your own and find a little something to show your wife how proud you are of all her hard work to grow and birth YOUR child. Having a baby is a momentous occasion, and a cause to celebrate. Act like it. Buy flowers, balloons, a special keepsake, decorate the house for the big arrival home, let her know you are as excited as she is about this transition into parenthood.

Don't show up empty-handed. Gifts for baby are lovely, gifts for mom - wonderful too, but really what every new mom wants is something far more simple. FOOD. Bring casseroles, stews, lasagnas, muffins, loaves, whatever yummy item you can think up or pick up. Especially if there are other children to feed. Dad will also appreciate this. Feel free to leave them on the doorstep.

When visiting, respect visiting hours and don't out stay your welcome. A quick visit is appreciated in those early days especially. Don't forget to wash your hands before handling the newborn. Don't expect to be fed and catered to. Find out what you can do to help. Dishes need washing? Laundry to be thrown in? A quick sweep or vacuum? Make yourself useful.

Avoid making any other comment about the appearance or behaviour of the new offspring that might not be well-received. New moms are tired, hormonal and viciously proud of the little life they have just produced. They only want to hear about how beautiful their baby is and not how he reminds you of your balding and overweight second cousin.

When the baby cries and you are holding her, give her back. Or ask if mom would like the baby. Some moms may be fine with you trying to comfort their newborn, but most of them just want the baby back to soothe themselves. There is nothing more upsetting and uncomfortable for a new mother than to see her crying baby in the arms of someone else unless she is tired and overwhelmed, in which case help her out by all means... just request permission first.

Compliment her on the baby's name. You don't have to love it or even like it. She does and that is what matters.

Respect that mom may do things differently than you. She may or may not breastfeed. She may or may not co-sleep. Whatever it is, let her figure it out with her partner and child on her own. If she wants advice, she'll ask for it.

Don't assume its easier for you to drop in and see baby. Maybe mom loathes the idea of guests when her floors are unwashed and laundry is piled high. Perhaps she would like the outing. Find out first what is easier for her and then be accommodating.

Just because you have had 8 children does not make you an expert of anyone else's children other than your own. Ok, after 8 children you probably are quite adept at mothering, but really every new mom wants to feel like she is the expert of her own baby. I'm sure there are lots of things you could do better and more efficiently, but unless she is endangering the health and well-being of little Bobby, bite your tongue unless you are complimenting her on what a good job she is doing.

While you're at it, compliment her on how good she looks. Post-partum weightloss is NEVER a suitable topic of conversation unless you are praising her appearance.

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What other tips do you have for the care and feeding of a new mom? Was there anything well-intentioned family or friends did or said that drove you nuts? Or that you really appreciated? I'd like to hear all your stories from the early days of mothering and things that helped or hindered your progress.

I'm just saying

2009-08-10T12:34:00.000-07:00

Back in May, Gavan had an appointment for a little procedure that would (hopefully) solidify our family as a family of 5.

And then the surgeon hurt his hand.

That sure got us thinking. Sign from God? Bad luck?

Well whatever was, the fateful day was pushed up until August 13th (which if you're concerned about such things is thankfully a Thursday, and not the day after).

This Thursday.

Gulp.

I've been having second, third and fourth thoughts about the permanence of this decision since the original surgery date was planned, and now I'm happy and terrified to announce:

It's Been Cancelled.

(By us.) For now.

And on this topic, that's all I'm saying.

Sweet Faces

2009-08-05T20:30:00.001-07:00