Mindfully Moody

Pure Awesome

2010-08-06T08:33:00.000-07:00

Kaya got this umbrella from her Lola. She absolutely adores it. This, I think, is evident.

Despite side-swiping Brennyn in the head with it and nearly poking my eyes out, I adore it also. It is just about as photogenic as my girl! Just about.

Tempt Me

2010-08-06T00:27:00.000-07:00

Ice Cream Screams.
Gleamy...

Dreamy...

YES!

Thought I'd try something different. This is for Six Word Fridays care of Making Things Up. Today's theme? Temptation.

Keepin' It Real

2010-08-04T23:56:00.000-07:00

In case you were wondering, our holiday was not all ice cream and cannon balls.

In the past couple of months, I have made a conscious effort to focus my attention and energy on positive outlooks. Which is fantastic until my day goes to hell and I have surrounded myself with books, blogs, and movies that are all happy and gregarious, leaving me feeling like the only one in the entire world who thinks that right now, in this moment, life sucks ass.

But we all have sucky moments don't we. It feels a disservice not to share the darker sides too.

Sucky, pissy, aggravating, tantruming misery happens even on wonderful holidays. Trust me.

Trust Kaya. Who spent a good portion of the holiday trying to figure out how to properly use the term 'frustrating'.

"Are you frustrating mom?"

"Of course not." Said with indignation.

"But don't go asking your father if I am..."

No, I didn't really say that. She meant frustrated but I was eating frozen yogurt at the time so no, I was not frustrated either. Another time she tells me she's frustrated. Though she's just waking up from a two-hour snooze and I have no idea what she could possibly be frustrated about. She asked her daddy too and probably several other family members over the course of the vacation leaving them wonder, I am sure, just how often her parents are pulling out their hair screaming "I'm so freaking frustrated!" If asked, I would have told them. Like only once a week or so...

But holidays are special. In the week we were away, there were:

whiny car rides

restless sleeps

heat stroke

family quirks (I'm being polite)

long un-airconditioned car rides at the hottest time of the year

cramped quarters

Bal relegated to Kaya's bed everywhere we went since she wouldn't sleep otherwise

me being kneed, head butted, rolled on, pushed off and all around beaten down sleeping with Kaya every night

a virus that hit all of us (some more than once) that landed us for good portions of the day on the toilet.

Fun right?

Totally. Keepin' it real for those of you having a sucky ass day.

You are not alone.

A Few of My Faves

2010-08-03T22:49:00.001-07:00

I've already posted a few of the best moments from our trip. Here are a few more.

Sitting in a coffee shop, drinking delectable Americano's and reading the second book of the trilogy Girl With a Dragon Tattoo with no kids to watch out for. And nobody in town that I know. The result, no interruptions and book #2 finished!

Giggles. Girly giggles in the car, on the blow-up bed bouncing (and sending Brennyn flying!), in the hammock, at the park, visiting family... Giggles are good.

Mr Nobody. He came out of nowhere. Kind of an invisible friend? But acknowledged as not there. Mr Nobody. Of course.

Mom and Pat never having eaten a Smore (WHAT?!!) to eating like 6 in one fell swoop (if you call the weekend a swoop)

Showing Kaya this picture of her Daddy:

His mom, apparently, wanted a girl.

Watching the girls dance with their cousins to Usher. When I asked what song we were just listening to, I am told "Oh my gosh... OMG..." And while I am being given this information, I do not realize I am getting the information, I am just thinking that he is saying 'Oh my gosh' while he tries to remember the information and I am finding it odd that I have never heard him use this expression before. Eventually I clue in that OMG is the information only I think it is the artist, not the song name. I. Am. So. F'n. Old.

Forgiving me that, just picture a bee-boppin up and down Brenny and a spinny, twirly Kaya dancing to Usher. With lots and lots of giggles.

A sign for Lac Le Hache that boasts, 'Longest town in the Cariboo'. I guess they needed something to boast? Not the longest town in Canada or even in BC, but in the Cariboo. Where there are like 5 towns total...

A sign read as 'Hot Ice. Dog Cream.' It is 35 degrees, we are in the car and we have no a/c so I'm all "Dude, who would want hot ice?" but then it occurs to me it really says Hot Dog. Ice Cream. and I'm all "Dude, I'm glad I don't have to ask what Dog Cream is."

Escaping the hot tent:

Escaping the hot hot:

Treasure Hunters

2010-08-02T23:58:00.000-07:00

Kaya and I have been collecting treasures all summer. Oh sure, to you it may look like a dirty ol' boring black rock, but to us it looks like a heart. Or it was discovered at a special tree. Or it is lonely. Kaya hates for anything to be lonely.

We gather them up and deposit them in her Dora summer lunch box for safe keeping. Since we don't generally have the box with us, assorted treasures are scattered throughout our home, found in pockets, strollers, purses and if Brenny has her say, in mouths. Common sense says these treasure are in fact, garbage, dirt, clutter. Thank you Oscar Wilde for realizing,

Anybody can have common sense,

provided that they have no imagination.

Inside are:

Varying pinecones from different trees. Accompanying stories of drama and hijinks on how animals and storms flail them to the ground included.

Driftwood that is a steering wheel. Wait, it's a bird. Oh, haha mommy, birdies don't need steering wheels to fly!

Driftwood that looks like a seals skin (or a highheel or a mitten depending on when you ask Kaya)

Kindling from Kaya's first teepee building to make a campfire

Assorted rocks- soft, smooth, speckled, black, white, orange, pink, purple, heart-shaped, perfectly round, from the lake, from the playground. "Why is that rock pink do you think Kaya?" "I don't know mommy. Nature has lots of colours." Like, duh.

flowers

pictures of flowers since flowers die. So many lessons to learn...

[caption id="attachment_2379" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Wild Asters"][/caption]

wispy things??

lucky penny

lucky dime

Mommy contributes a Bud Lite Lime Green Pull Tab which Kaya wants no part of but too bad.

and this from an independent coffee shop in Quesnel:

English- Avoid pouring on crotch area.

French- Ne pourez pas dans l'area de Oolala.

German- Nein droppen ze haut kaffe oont ze knakkers.

Humour is just as appreciated as imagination in this case.

We have caught flys, an inch worm, bugs and spiders and inspected them very closely in our magnifying jar. Then we set them free after the appropriate amount of inquisition and squeals on our part.

We have witnessed cousins doing the Freak-Out-Dance upon seeing a wasp. We have learned that dragon flies eat mosquitoes. Oh, and we learned all about mosquitos too. The hard way.

[caption id="attachment_2366" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Kaya and Gammy with our treasure bag getting heavier and heavier on our nature walk"][/caption]

We have stared up at the sky with the bubbly clouds of the Interior, and pointed out all the creatures in the sky; turtles, crabs, birds, bunnies, airplanes, a train, a man doing jumping jacks, and a girl dancing with a boat on her head. Our imaginations soaring as high as those clouds.

As summer demands, we have become Explorers.

Dreamers and Discoverers.

Imaginators. (Don't tell me that is not a word.)

So you see, imagination needs moodling~ long, inefficient happy idling, dawdling and puttering.

~Brenda Ueland

Moon and Stars

2010-08-01T23:43:00.000-07:00

For a time, Kaya was obsessed with Giants. One day she said to me, "Mommy, I love you as big as a Giant." A lot of love then. This progressed to me telling her I love her as much as the Giant reaching waaaay up into the sky and waving in all of the stars. She loved this so followed it up with a "I love you as big as a Giant touching all the stars and the Moon! That's a lot of love!" Eventually this becomes our daily exchange.

"I love you as many stars fill the sky, and to the moon and beyond."

Then she finishes it off with "That's a lot of love!"

Unfortunately, being three and a sleeper, she had never actually seen a sky full of stars. It is her sole goal and desire to see stars while out camping. Her wish is granted.

The first night she managed to see the almost-full-moon before crashing in exhaustion. So on night two she is determined to stay up. She is treated to a delectable full moon, rising over the aspens surrounding our campsite. Then that first star. The glorious first star that inspires a song,

Star light, star bright

The first star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have this wish I wish tonight.

Upon seeing star number two, that is enough for her. After a day of treasure hunting, swimming, walks, playgrounds and hammocks, she is ready for sleep. Her early departure (okay, 9:30pm is not exactly early) leaves only me disappointed. I want her to see that infinite wonder of a sky full of stars. Just in case she hasn't figured it out, I want her to understand how vast my love really is for her.

Dreams of bears morphing into cows are well under way before that night sky appears however.

At around 11pm, with the campfire almost out, I give one last wistful look into the sky and crawl into the tent. Just as I am snuggling into my sleeping bag, a whimper. Then a full out cry. Though still asleep, Kaya has to pee. So I carry her out of the tent and into my mom's moterhome. Mid pee, she is awake so on our way back to the tent, we have a moment.

I stop and tell her to look up.

I will never forget her eyes in that moment. From sleepy and disoriented to wonder and awe.

The full moon glitters in her now wide open eyes as she cranes her neck staring up and up. Her mouth gapes and she resists any blinks for fear of those twinkles going away. You are not dreaming my love, they will not disappear. Then I whisper,

"I love you as many stars fill the sky and to the moon and beyond."

Though she does not say it, her eyes do. Dancing in the moonlight, they marvel,

'That is a lot of love.'

Bula

2010-08-01T01:04:00.000-07:00

We just got back from a fabulous week away visiting various family and friends. Let me be honest here. Before setting off, this holiday was being thought of more of a 'duty' than a vacation. But turns out the people and places of BC pull off a mean Fiji-style getaway.

Seriously.

At this very moment I am sipping a delightful coffee, writing in my journal, on a deck overlooking a pool, listening to the peaceful calls of the birds all around. Not unlike this moment, 5 years ago:[caption id="attachment_2292" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Fiji poolside"][/caption]

Fiji consisted of a lot of relaxing, romantic time nestled in a hammock.
Romance was out on this trip. But I squeezed in a little relaxing.[caption id="attachment_2307" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Green Lake View from our campsite"][/caption]
Until these two took over (as they are want to do)
Then after a few rolls and twists and lunges over baby sis, Kaya managed to get it all to herself.

Fiji was full of the most stunning green/blue waters.

But Green Lake can hold its own.

Exotic flowers set the mood in Fiji

It is possible too, in Kamloops. Really.
Boats got us around the hundreds of Fijian islands.

Brennyn liked that idea and caught a ride herself.
And what's a holiday without ice cream? No matter where you are.
[caption id="attachment_2313" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Brennyn\'s first ice cream!"][/caption]
Fiji provided a few opportunities for silly fun with kids.

But nothing like this holiday. And nothing like silly kids FUN.

If given the choice, I would head to Fiji again in a heartbeat. But it does not really matter where you are in the world does it? If you want to be miserable, you will be. If you want to go out of 'duty', that is what it will feel like. Fortunately, my two crazy kids snap me out of that nonsense. Because, according to Kaya, camping with Gammy and Gampa at Green Lake "is the best place EVER!" And the thing is, it was.

Later we visit Bal's mom's house. I see dark rooms and trinkets. A lot of trinkets. Gold unicorns, jade horses, trophies from the kids in the 80's and 90's, ballerinas, a Seven Dwarves pen holder, vases, dried flower arrangements, lucky frogs and on and on. But Kaya is infatuated. She sees only beauty. "Lola's house is very pretty and nice Mom. I love Lola's house!" It kind of hits me like a thunderbolt. Who am I to decide what is beautiful? Who am I to judge what makes another person comfortable and happy? So I look at her house with new eyes and I no longer see trinkets. I see the memories, stories and love of a family of six, grown into the grandkids and cousins and partners of today.

After Lola's we drive to Kamloops with its 35+ degree heat and forest fire smoke enveloping the town. We head to our friends house drenched in sweat and grumpy from the long drive. Kaya breaks the misery first when, upon seeing the new toys and swimming pool, she declares "This place is SWEET!" By the end of our visit, she insists that this too, is the best place EVER.

I can not disagree.

Young Baby With A Pipe

2010-07-22T14:58:00.000-07:00

There are so many things wrong with this, it made me laugh. Even today with a migraine from hell and packing to be done.

She does like to copy. But come on, this is taking it a bit far don't ya think? Vincent Van Gogh's 'Old Man With a Pipe'

I shall be offline for the next week. I wish it were holidaying in Fiji but alas, it is just visiting in-laws with no internet.

Aging Gracelessly

2010-07-21T07:47:00.000-07:00

Did you ever have that moment when you are window shopping and you see a reflection of a pregnant woman and you think simultaneously "She's so big! She's so gorgeous!" only to discover that the reflection is you?

A similar, though entirely worse moment happened to me recently.

Brennyn has taken up waving. At everyone. Especially anyone on the TV. It is probably the cutest thing I have ever seen in my whole life. That clumsy open and shut of a chubby hand in front of a crooked smile of pure pride.

Wanting to encourage more, I wave back.

But something is wrong. Flashes of 'old!', 'Oprah', 'flab' and 'Must. Stop. Perpetual. Motion.' flash through my brain before catching on to what is happening.

I have stopped waving, but my under arm has not.

You read that right. I am 34 years old, do relentless reps of 22lbs and 36lbs weights (of the human variety) on a daily basis, and I have arm flab. That will not stop waving.

This has got to be the first sign of old age. Not gray hair nor tales starting with "Back in the day..." Arm flab. Why don't people tell you these things? Why didn't anybody warn me that one day I would give a two-stroke wave goodbye that would turn into a 4-5-6 stroke Bon Voyage? A heads up would have been appreciated elders. Or were you too busy trying to tame your getaway arm to fill me in?

What's next? Armpit bulge and Hunched backs?

Son of a ....

How I Find the Time

2010-07-20T09:49:00.000-07:00

When I show people the girls scrapbooks, I usually get this response:

"Wow, how on earth do you find the time?"

I suppose I could answer back in one of three ways.

I could simply ask "How on earth do you not?"

Not necessarily scrapbooking. But something, anything that provides you with a creative outlet. For me, creativity is life. If I could not express it in some way, I would be a machine, going about my day just for the sake of going about my day. That is not a life I want.

I could be practical. Talk about how Bal does the whole night time routine. Which allows me time to scrapbook (or write, blog, edit photos, even read). Yes, at the expense of the dishes or sweeping but that can just as easily be done in the morning while I prepare breakfast. I think many people do not function this way. The chores must be done first so they are relaxed enough to enjoy their creative endeavour. I operate opposite to that. Creating first, allows me to be relaxed enough to do the chores. Though great for my soul, lousy for the housework granted.

Which leads me to the deeper reason I am able to find the time. It all has to do with perfection (or more aptly, the lack thereof). Creativity is flow, imagination, freedom. Kids know this best. They ignore the lines, do not notice borders (thus the lovely purple markers on my Mexican table top.)

Somewhere along the way, this idea of 'the perfect ...' enters our minds. The perfect house/wedding/job/husband/art/life. Only the thing is, I do not have the perfect anything if you go by the list of expectations either I or society has created. So can I be happy, joyful even, without this perfection? Damn rights I can.

Which is why the borders of my scrapbook are cut crooked, the pictures glued on tilted. Why my blog posts are sometimes scattered. Why some days my photos do not turn out at all. If I spent any more time trying to make things 'perfect', I would no longer be living my life, I would be going through the motions. Wasting valuable time for a goal that is fruitless. Long ago I realized that by letting go of perfection, there is more time and space to create. That creative process is my passion, not the finished product itself.

For me, creativity is flow. If I am writing, my photography is better. If I am taking photos, my day is brighter. If I am scrapbooking, my sanity is saner. When I do not find the time, that is when life is not working for me. That is when I am easily frustrated and annoyed. That is when the world feels like it is against me. But give me a moment to frame a shot or an hour to formulate a blog post, and life feels good. I feel good.

I think we all have this sort of feeling don't we? We all have something we need to do to feel ourselves. Some people play sports, or sing, play musical instruments, run, paint, meditate, build, cook... Oh sure, none of which is as dorky as scrapbooking but you all do what you do for yourselves, don't you?!

At the end of the day, I suppose I should just answer as truthfully as I can. So ask me again,

"How do you find the time?"

I find the time, because I have to.

*To prove my point I suppose, I am posting this post even though I'm not sure any of it makes sense. It is top of my head ramblings that could be the start of something profound or just simply bullshit. I am not sure which yet. If nothing else, it is a great excuse not to do the housework though!*

Crazy Scrapbooking Lady

2010-07-19T06:27:00.001-07:00

Brennyn's one year scrapbook is done. Which means I am done scrapbooking. Which is a little depressing since I have a ton of paper, punchouts and stickers left. Plus I will miss that creative outlet. Oh, I suppose I could keep it up. Do a scrapbook every year of the girls life, then send them off to their college dorm rooms with 18 scrapbooks showcasing every mortifying gorgeous moment that often only a mamma could love. No, first year is it. They are going to be busy enough trying to keep their friends from discovering their mother's blog, they don't need the physical weight of mortifying gorgeous moments too.

So here, all my hard work, ending up digitalized anyways. Partly to share. Partly to save in the abyss of Internet in case of fire, flood or teenage girls seeking revenge.

Fallen Runner

2010-07-18T07:45:00.000-07:00

If you are running and are going to have a spectacular fall that has you contorting your body in a twisted, angular crash on the side in order to save the iPhone (must save the iPhone), at the very least a spectacular bruise could appear as well. To enhance the story. Give me some bragging rights. Not nothing dammit.

Nope, not a mark to bolster the dramatics of my tale. Not a scratch, bruise, bump or lump.

If you look really closely, you'll see a battered ego. And if you take a jaunt around the pond where I fell, I am pretty certain you will still hear the echoing shrill of horror and shame as I fall, the thud of impact, and the rustling leaves of fast feet launching myself up so as to not be busted.

Nobody bares witness that I know of. Except my dog. Who I swear giggles the whole way home.

But just because nobody sees, doesn't mean I am still not humbled. Especially since just as I am starting my limp home, Gorillaz' Feel Good Inc. starts playing. If you don't know it, please click on the link and listen to the first 30 seconds. You will understand my chagrin when you hear that evil laughter. Worse than my mom's evil witch voice.

Why am I subjecting myself to this running nonsense again? Baby weight, health, blah-blah... I can think of much better things a contorted, twisted body could be doing. Jeeeeez...

Not My Best Parenting Day

2010-07-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

Some days I am SuperMom!

Some days I am not.

Yesterday, I was most certainly not. All because I was reading a book. A good one if that makes it any better. I am sort of an obsessive reader. By that, I mean that once I start a book, I read, read, read until I am done. This usually means I finish a book in a day or two. Three, tops. I read the later, ginormous, Harry Potter books in two days and remember being flabbergasted that my sister would pace herself, on purpose, so that she had the whole summer to read the book. She savours it. I consume it. We are very different people.

So yesterday I was reading The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. I have tried several times to read this book since people have raved about it. I could not get into this book. But people kept talking about it. And now the movie is out on DVD. So for a week, I have plowed through what I could and then finally, BAM, I was curious about what was ahead. I actually wanted to keep reading. This thought came to me on exactly page 100. 100 pages to get into a book is far too many pages people. Especially when you have young kids. But I did it. And the next 550 pages kicked ass. Which, though a good thing, led to some awful parenting:

Top 5 Ways to Ignore Your Children While You Immerse Yourself in a Fantasy World

1. Immerse your children in their own fantasy world. By this I mean TV, not books. Because you'll have to read them books. Cartoon channels play a lot of cartoons. Which means you can read a lot of chapters!

2. Start them on a novelty craft that will keep them entertained for hours. Okay, like 20 minutes. Tops. Fifteen of which involves you helping them. Damn this tip sucks.

In my case, I grabbed the huge cardboard box from the new dresser we bought, cut a hole in the top and encouraged Kaya to make a boat. She was all excited until she realized she would be undertaking this task alone which meant some pouting. Then protesting. Then sitting on my lap (and book) demanding we do something fun.

Together we make a boat. And to tell you the truth, it was more fun then my book. Smartie-pants kids...

3. Make an extra special and here's the secret, abnormally large, lunch with a treat. This should keep them at the table for a good 30 minutes. Think pancakes, strawberries (and/or apples- they take longer to eat), fruit snacks, lollipops and juice box. Three of which Kaya has never been allowed to have on just an average day.

4. Put them around a water/sand table outside. This is actually quite effective. As long as you ignore your baby ingesting copious amounts of sand, the possibility of sunstroke and soaked clothing.

5. Ask (or beg- potato/potahto) whatever God-like entity you believe in for a Miracle. Something along the lines of "Please oh please Buddha Belly Bank," (What? It's the closest thing to a God-like entity in this household) "let there be naps today!" If you have more than one child, tap your head, rub your belly, hop on one foot and ask for an extra special Miracle- "Please oh please let them both nap today, at the same time!" I know, I know, this may seem a greedy wish. Selfish. Preposterous even. But miracles do happen. I saw it happen once. So what if baby Tylenol was involved?

It is ever so helpful if your husband is off at 4pm, whereby you pass off the drooling-bored children and make an ever so innocent suggestion that the pool would be fun. Bonus if it's a gorgeous sunny day, there's cold beer in the fridge and a loungy outdoor chair screaming for a book reading.

Un-bonus if you're child kisses you good night and says "You really love reading Mommy. I don't want to read tomorrow. I want to go to the park."

WTF?

2010-07-15T02:39:00.000-07:00

You may have heard the story of Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani, an Iranian woman, who is to be stoned to death for adultery. Or maybe you haven't. It is getting some press, though not enough.

I can not stop thinking about it.

I can not get the image of a woman, 43 years old and a mother, being bound tightly, buried in sand up to her neck, then just waiting as several men grab huge stones and hurl them at her head.

Until she is dead.

I can not imagine this for cold-blooded killers, never mind for a woman accused solely of adultery. 'Adultery' though her husband had been dead for several years.

What the fuck?

Iranian officials are now backtracking. Saying she was convicted for murder of her husband and adultery. Though her lawyer and anybody else involved will tell you she was never even charged with murder, nevermind convicted.

What the fuck?

Iranian officials are now reviewing the case of stoning. Which is no comfort to her sons since she will most likely just be hanged instead.

What the fuck?

I don't know. This is one of those things where it is happening a world away and I feel helpless as to what I can do to help. I signed a petition and hope you will go there too, learn more, and sign it also. Something has got to be better than nothing.

Better yet, write a letter of appeal. I will be doing so today.

French philosopher and writer Bernard-Henri Levy writes a fantastic article asking us to do just that. His is the best article I have read and at the end gives ways to help:

Your appeal should be addressed to Ayatollah Sayed Ali Khamenei, supreme leader of the Islamic Republic of Iran, whose e-mail address has been made public by Amnesty International: info_leader@leader.ir. Or you may send a letter through the supreme leader's website.

These officials must be inundated with communications.

Our Very Special Fairy Princess Picnic

2010-07-12T13:47:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a mommy who would never in a million year have imagined she would host a Fairy Princess Picnic. For this mommy was a tom-boy. She didn't know how to do pink. Purple a little, maybe. Fortunately, this mommy had a girl who loves pink. And especially purple. And who also happens to really know how to have a good time. So they worked together to create a most magical day...

Kaya and I have not had a lot of one-on-one time since Brennyn was born. It's usually family time, the girls doing their thing, or if Bal and I split them up, I of course, have had to stay with baby. My baby isn't so baby anymore if you hadn't noticed. And my boobs have retired their milk dispensing duties. Which means that I am free.

Along with that, the attention has really been on Brennyn of late. Partly because it was her birthday but also because she is developing quite the comical personality and demands attention, while her sister shy's away from it. So once the one year birthday party festivities are through, I start planning something for just Kaya and I.

At first I consider surprising her with the princess picnic, but quickly realize that if I do that, she would be too overwhelmed and uncomfortable. Which would lead to the inevitable 'No's!' and protests of the last post. Even though she would be in love and awe, she would not be able to process it in enough time to enjoy it. So last week I ask her if she would like to do a 'very special fairy princess picnic' with mommy and her. True to form, her first response is 'No.' (Why, oh why... Arg)

After giving her time to process it, I ask her again and she gets giddy. "Brennyn will come too?" I tell her no, this is a very special day just for her and mommy together. This, somewhat to my surprise, makes her even giddier. She so needs this.

The next day she asks me about the picnic as soon as she wakes up and I know she is elated. We start counting down the sleeps which is complicated only by her including nap time sleeps in the mix. Fortunately, we have hot summer days at the lake and a big birthday party to pass the days.

Then Sunday morning arrives. Kaya is up at 6am, crawls into bed, and though she won't say it's picnic day, she is looking longingly at me, just willing me to announce it. So I do. "Hooray Kaya! It is 'Very Special Fairy Princess Picnic Day!!' We both giggle and though she doesn't comment on it, I'm pretty certain Kaya realizes what a very special day indeed this is, for me to be giggling before any coffee has been ingested. She knows me well.

I had planned to leave around 10:30-11am. We are out the door at 9:30am. There is no holding the girl back. It is Christmas time excitement!

Picnic basket is full. Bag o' delights is ready. Kaya picks out her princess dress and helps me pick out my fairy one. Excuse the wrinkles but princesses do not iron and besides, there are tea parties to attend to... In a hurry!

While I load the car, Bal and Kaya go to our florist/neighbor/friend Jill's to pick up the 'Fairy Princess' Bouquet I ordered. Kaya's eyes, chestnut-brown and wide, grow bigger than her usual big. For these flowers, our very special flowers, are pink and purple and perfectly princessy!

And then we are off...

Originally I had planned on going to Alice Lake but realize it is triathlon day and thus, psychotic. So plan B takes us to Murrin Lake. It is only once we get there that I remember what a popular fishing spot it is. The lake is filled with fathers and sons on what I imagine is their 'Very Special Fishing Expedition'. Kaya and I stroll in with our flowers, pink lemonade and fairy wings to add some girly glam to the lake. Nobody seems bothered by us. One guy, a stinky climber sort, asks if he can join us. I tell him he has to be a princess. He walks away laughing, insisting he has some very serious Princess tendencies. This makes me snort laugh. Which is so the opposite of having Princess-tendencies.

I do not have any pictures of our gorgeous table, set up to perfection. For one, it lasted that way for about a fraction of a second before Kaya was begging to pour 4 cups of pink lemonade (Princess Bun-Bun and Prince Sun-Sun joined us for the picnic!) and spills all over the place (which we only laugh about!) But also because I promised myself to be in the moment with Kaya. Not documenting the moment, but in it. This is a constant struggle for me with my writing and photography. Balancing my passion for both with the importance of being in the moment, relishing in that, and surrendering that the moment may be forgotten but that doesn't matter because all that matters was the moment itself. Not me taking pictures of the moment. Make sense?

Now, having said that, don't get me wrong, I took tons of pictures! But not to start. We were too busy, and giddy, getting everything ready. We lay out our table-cloth, then attach flower and firefly stickers all over it. Then place the flowers centre, set the table, put out the heart-shaped sandwiches, strawberries and watermelon, then pour pink lemonade into cups with straws and umbrellas. This turns out to be Kaya's favourite part. Pink lemonade with umbrellas. It's the simple things.

Not much food is eaten. A few strawberries is all, and A LOT of pink lemonade. And of course the cupcakes. But that's for a little later. First, we must make fairy wishes!

Kaya wishes that this 'Very Special Fairy Princess Picnic' never ends. I second that. I also silently wish that her 3-year-old brain will remember this day forever. And if not remember it specifically, at least remember the feeling, the essence, of joy, of love.

There are many more wishes too. For sunshine and rainbows and trips to the aquarium, among others.

Your wishes are my command my love. Especially since baby brothers and sports cars are not on the wish list!

After wishes are wished, it is time to make fairy dust. Just to help those wishes along. We add rainbow sprinkles, purple sparkles and confetti of moons, leaves and flowers. Sand too and then the best part of all, rocks picked out of the lake-side where fishies kiss them making them ready to grant fairy wishes. We pick pink ones, speckled ones and smooth ones then drop them in our jar and shake. A magical shake in which wishes come true.

It works for us.

We run between the trees, pick out our rocks, run back to the jar, and back between the trees to the lake. Many times. Near the end, I snap some photos and Kaya has a slip and fall. Fortunately, all our magical wishing and fairy dust has made Princess Bandaids appear. Just like that. Magical powers that help ease the pain.

No Fairy Princess Picnic would do without dancing. So we dance. A lot. There are many burly fisherman with smiles of delight.

After this fairy can twirl no more, I snap this series of dance moves. Princess Kaya can boogie!And quite honestly, seeing them again, makes me want to weep with joy. Oh the joy!

Did I mention there was a lot of dancing? Here's some more.All that action now requires cupcakes. With more pink lemonade. And just before I pull out one last surprise, Kaya starts dancing again. Only this time it is the hopping, grabbing, pee dance. She doesn't want to admit it because she fears it will mean the end, so instead of trying to lug everything to the outhouse, I teach her the finer art of the princess squat. Poofy dress up, undies down, legs far apart, squat, and pee over bushes, without any leaves tickling your bum. It's a fine art.

We attempted this once before and it ended in disaster. Pee tinkles all over her feet and clothes, then a full stop as she refuses to pee on herself anymore. But today I am feeling confident what with all the magic floating around. Sure enough, complete success! When a friend asks her later what she did on the picnic, she answers "Drink pink lemonade, dance and pee in the bushes." Love it.

With that accomplished, one final surprise. Goldilicious, a follow-up to Pinkalicious! We read it lake side giggling all the while. Maybe some of our magic and giggles spread out to the fishermen. Though that wouldn't be so magical for the fishies. At any rate, Kaya loves her new book, we read it through twice before devouring another cupcake and starting some crafts. Almost as if by magic (go figure), Kaya's Auntie bought her a present the day before without knowing anything about our upcoming event. It was the Melissa & Doug Magic Wand that you decorate yourself with paint, glitter and stickers. Since I also brought Melissa & Doug princess, fairy and tea party stickers, we open it all up and colour, paint, create, and fabricate some fabulous tales.

Finally, sadly, it is time to pack up and go. But not before a few final shots.

A few final moments.

Three hours go by as if by magic. Mommy and Kaya leave the grand kingdom in style, twirling, laughing, casting fairy spells, and dancing their way out. They, along with the prince, princess, magical tree fairies, fishermen and fishies, all live happily ever after...

*Unless you read the last post. Damn reality.*

*This Tom-Boy Mommy would also like to note that a trip to the same lake for a Very Special Fishing Expedition will also be in the works.*

Happily Ever After... Sort Of

2010-07-11T07:25:00.000-07:00

Kaya and Mommy had a 'Very Special Fairy Princess Picnic' today. My next post will be all about our magical outing. But first a slight rant. An exasperated sigh that I need to get out so that I can get it out of my system and get back to the beauty and wonder that was the real part of our day. The real part being the fantasy part. The real life stuff being the exasperated part. Make sense? No, to me neither.

The thing is, Kaya and I had a perfect 3 hours of magical picnicking. Then as we approach the car, this:

"I did not have fun. I don't like Fairy Princess Picnics. I don't want to do this again."

Which, I have to admit, is like a kick in the gut. Even though I know she is tired. Done. Hungry. Sad about leaving. I know she is 3 and she is upset and has not yet figured out the tools to express how she is feeling. I know this.

Yet it still hurts. It still annoys. It still pisses a mamma off.

I want to respond likewise. "Fine, we won't ever do it again!"

I want to slam the car door on her.

Oh wait... I did do that. Shit.

It's reflex. But I recover. I sit with her in the car and calmly discuss emotions. I discuss lying and saying what you mean. I talk about our special day and give her a kiss and a thank you for sharing such a wonderful day with me.

She wipes the kiss away and pouts "I don't want to do that with you again. It's not fun."

I want to pout too. Then cry. Then scream. And slam all four doors.

Don't worry, I refrain this time. Instead, I take a deep, slow breath. Then I tell her "Kaya, you made mommy very sad. I thought we had a very special day and now I feel sad."

Then I turn around, start the car and drive home in silence. Inside, I am annoyed. Not so much mad as maddened. Why does she revert to negativity? Whether she is tired, hungry, overwhelmed or uncomfortable, her initial response to things is "No! I don't like it." Why? WHHHHYYYY? Insert a frustrated roar here.

I replay in my head what I am going to say to her. I encourage myself to stay calm and form the words I will use. Oh those wise mamma words. Shhhhh, don't tell, but they do NOT always comes so naturally unfortunately. They need practice. Rehearsal.

Five minutes down the road, a couple minutes from home, and I decide to take a look at my pouty pountsers in the rear-view mirror. Any frustration still inside, evaporates. For she is slumped forward, drooling, fast, fast asleep. Oh my love... My gorgeous, fairy princess. My girl.

We arrive home, I unpack the car and Bal takes her upstairs for a nap. She wakes up and he asks if she had a good time. She smiles huge, shows Daddy her Princess band-aid, and answers "YES!" A little while later, she comes out of her room for a pee. She gives me a another one of those gigantic smiles and whispers "I love you Mommy!"

Oh and how I love you. Through exasperation and confusion, always, always love. If you know nothing else of life, always know this.

Morning Run

2010-07-08T02:54:00.000-07:00

I have not run for a month. So why in the hell did I figure now would be a good time to start running again? Now, when it is 30+ degrees until 2am? Could be the extra 5lbs gained since my Grampa's funeral. Mix comfort food with birthday parties with a few too many Caesars this month and I'm lucky it's not 10lbs. So, that's 15lbs more than my pre-children weight. And summer is here. Which means lake time. Which means swimsuit time.

AKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!

It's not the fear of God so much as the fear of cellulite and muffin tops that has me ready to run again.

And get this. Run again- in the morning! Before the children wake up! Because that is the only time it is cool enough to venture out. Plus it's too hot for capri's so skimpy running shorts should only be worn before other humans, the sane ones, arise to begin their day.

Now, please understand that I have not set my alarm in oh, 4 years. So if it must be done, it needs to be done in style. A crazy robot ninja alarm should do the trick.

I wake up laughing. Which is a good start.

Bal wakes up flailing out of bed, groggily ready to defend my honour by grabbing his sac and drooling, then muttering WTF as he grapples his phone and peers through sleepy eyes for ninja robots. You see, I failed to mention I was setting my alarm. This act is so shocking to him, I can see his brain processing my midlife crisis and potential for committing me to the loony bin. Or he just grunts, rolls over and goes back to sleep.

Either way, I bound up out of bed, get changed and head out the door. I call for Riley and she very begrudgingly gets up off her bed and saunters down the stairs towards me. I thought she would be excited. Instead, she looks alarmingly like Bal (though she has no sac) with a glare that speaks to me. "Woman, I have 2 more hours of sleep, 30 minutes of eating the babies droppings, followed by 6 more hours of sleep before being ready to run. You're crazy."

I don't doubt it but I make her come with me anyways. Better for her to startle any breakfast-seeking animals than me, right? Only the damn dog protests the entire run. She stays behind me. So I can be breakfast and she can go home. I look back at one point and she's laid down. I keep running. She does not. I lose her. Then curse her. Then worry that maybe she did become breakfast. Then see her stroll out of the bushes yawning. Then curse her some more.

We continue running. The first 20 minutes are easy. I am pumped up and ready to set my alarm EVERY morning for such a peaceful, cool run. But then the real Kari starts perking up. Her commentary goes something like this:

You need to get home now. This is insanity. You need your sleep. Sleep when your kids sleep psycho. You can not run without any food in you. Or coffee. Especially coffee. That ache in your gut? That is because you haven't pooped woman. Pulled pork and ice cream just trudging along in there. Feels good eh? Go home!

That Kari makes a convincing case.

But so do the look of my thighs in swimwear.

Lose, lose. I guess I have to choose the lesser of two evils. They are pretty equal in their horror but the thought of scaring the bejeezes out of Bal again and that first 20 minutes of blissful running is enough to have me try again tomorrow.

Alarm is set. Thank goodness for Robot Ninjas...

Summer is Here!

2010-07-07T10:05:00.000-07:00

Summer has arrived! Finally and with gusto.

Bring on dimply baby bums, swimming droopy drawers, fruit salads, sand in every possible nook and cranny of house and person, braless, shoeless, camping, campfires, fire bans, late nights, early mornings, sheet sleeps, sunscreen, iced lattes, cold beer, water play and BBQ's.

*I must add pinkalicious Diamond Head sunsets and strawberry/blueberry yogurt popsicles. Kaya concurs.*

Apparently, at our house, bring on also colds, teeth, allergies and shots. But I'm in too good a mood to go there.

Damn folks, it is 30 degrees, BBQ's on, big kid is on her way home from daycare so I am outta here!

Right after this important message championing summer. Brought to you by Brenny Claire-Bear:

[caption id="attachment_2146" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Watermelon, Sand, Teeth and Fun All Wrapped Into One Great Big Cheer for Summer!"][/caption]

Summer Gratitude

2010-07-04T14:00:00.000-07:00

When it is July 4th and summer has not yet made its presence known, it is important to appreciate that which we have. It helps ease the shiver and blahs. I hope. So here, my top 10 things to be grateful for.

10. Girly summer dresses worn, despite the clouds and wind.

9. Watching the girls chase bubbles and marveling at the ones that escape, floating up, up, up and away as far as the eye can see.

8. Lazy mornings of World Cup Soccer, coffee, and crafting in our PJ's.

7. Jack Johnson, my journal, and a beer.

6. Two full bags of gorgeous size 5-6 girls clothes donated to us by a friend. Kaya is especially thankful for the Dora socks which has her anxiously waiting for the laundry to finish. Dresses, sweaters, swimsuits and more but it is one pair of socks that has her giddy!

5. Friends. A cozy couch-bound visit with a friend while our kids entertain each other and we catch up. Movie night swooning over 19-year-olds with fellow 30-something friends. Seeing old friends, making new ones...

4. Party favours- Window Crayola's (a big hit!), Balloons, and Ladybug cakes

3. Brenny's First Steps and Strides. Wobbling, balancing, plunking, steadying, teetering, swaying CUTENESS!

2. Summer plans- birthday parties, Green Lake, family visits, Alice Lake, strawberry picking, Sunshine Coast, Sunshine...

1. Fabulous neighbors who leave this on their front doorstep so anyone can help themselves:

The girls and I took a few. Fantastically generous and appreciated! We will be making a Thank You card tomorrow!

Make that Top 11. Bonus one is a good one. Date night out! Appies, drinks, conversation and a movie. Sweet!

Ah yes, the sun has eluded me so far this summer, but sunny days have not.

Forced Photos

2010-07-04T02:43:00.000-07:00

I could never be a professional photographer. Those big days, the special ones, all result in the worst photos ever. I am much better at the simple moments. Catching my kids unaware. I guess there is too much pressure for me and the kids on the special days. Brennyn's birthday was on the 2nd. After several attempts at a sister photo, this is the best one I managed!
Delicious? Divine? Disgusting? Yah, I'm going with that last one.

I first tried in the morning. Opening presents in bed. I call this 'Cheese-strangular!' Nice.

Then there is the standard opening present shot. Only, who's birthday is this again?

Now outside in their gorgeous little summer dresses. Kaya doesn't speak Gibberish Baby Talk, yet somehow communicated to her 'Defiance'.

Trying to capture those 'free spirit' moments here. Nice feet but who are these people?

So my attempt at a lovely sisterly birthday photo failed miserably. Now this picture was not from her birthday, but it is hilarious. It had the potential to be an absolutely delightful picture. But I am so glad it did not. This is so much better!

No, forced photos don't really work for me. The day after Brennyn's birthday, I get this beauty.Caught unaware watching bubbles go by. Simple moments. No pressure.

Yes, those work for me. And the girls.

Dear Brennyn, (One Year)

2010-07-02T00:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Miss B/Bren-Bren/Brenny,

These names are given to you by daddy, Kaya, and mommy respectively. Though you are also commonly referred to as Menacing Menace, Busy B, and Gorgy Goo-goo Bear. Truly it's a wonder that children learn their name in the first year of life...

First year. How can that even be possible? I'm on to you girl. I am fairly confident that the adorably hilarious nose scrunch is some magical way of making time go faster. For you so want to grow bigger. You want to mingle, interact, and play. Especially with your big sis and all her big friends. Three is the place to be in your mind. But I want my baby for just a little while longer so can you ease up on the nose scrunch time warp? Just a little?

Wait, no, I take that back. The scrunch is too hilarious. Don't stop. It makes me giggle every time.

Sorry darling, being a mom is very complicated; pleading for time to slow down while at the same time adoring every new quirk and development as you learn and grow.

In your one-month letter, I talked about the joy you bring to people when we were out and about. I attributed this mostly to being a newborn. But there is something about you girl. Something that inspires joy. I can take you anywhere and it's like the seas are parting. We walk, and every person who even just glances our way, returns a smile. The genuine kind. It's as though you purposefully take all those surly, grumpy, bored or complacent faces as a challenge and you just dare them not to smile. You win by the way. Every time.

Joyful is one way to describe you. Mischievous would be another. You have a twinkle in your eye, a twitch in that goofy three-toothed smile, a flicker in those nose wrinkles that just screams "I am up to no good but don't worry, it is really, really funny!"

Sometimes it is. Like your affiliation for all things beer. At first we thought you just liked the bottle shape but you attacked my pint at an Olympic lunch with just as much enthusiasm. More. You lunged for gold my little go-getter but alas, would have to settle for silver as I edged you out by mere fractions of a millimeter for gold. The loss didn't dissuade you from further beer pursuits however. With family cheering you on and cans of cold beer lured in front of you, you just about took your first few steps.

Then there are the not-so-funny up to no good moments. Like an entire roll of toilet paper unrolled and stuffed into the toilet, the toilet being used as your very own water table, chewing dirty dish rags, blowing zerberts on the just cleaned sliding door, and stealing the remote control. And please tell me why it is that you can not figure out how to lower yourself off the couch without doing a head dive but you can figure out how to get through the barricade that prevents you from heading down the hall and up the stairs? You pull, shove, lift that tent out, sneak inside, then crawl yourself out of the window on the other side, straight for the stairs. Which would even be okay if you didn't dive head first down those too.

Oh alright, so maybe those too are a little funny. But only till they're not. Only until I have said 'No Brennyn!' for the zillionth time and encouraged 'Gentle!' for the kabillionth time and implored "No eating that!' for the infinite time.

This is what happens when we stay home for an entire day. Rest assured that we do not stay home very often.

You adore being out. Spreading the joy.

I took you to Books for Babies at the library for the first time when you were 10 months old. I honestly do not know why I waited so long. You ADORED it. At first you sat with mommy, gawking at all the other babies, nodding your head to the songs, throwing your hands up in the air going "Wooo!!!" when the guitar came out. Eventually you got brave and crawled away from me towards the centre of the circle. Then, as soon as another baby touched you or mamma talked to you, you'd smile and do a mad-dash straight back to me. Safety, quick cuddles, then gone again, crawling back to the middle. In no time you were cruising the circle. Checking things out. Making the rounds. Always looking back to make sure I was watching you with a smile. I always was.

Otherwise we try to be outdoors. Here you are in your element. Amongst dirt, grass, sand and the ocean you crawl and play and talk and eat (yes eat. Sadly, sand ranks up there as your top 3 favourite 'foods'.) You are not one of those kids whose feet retracts at the first feel of grass or lake water. No, you dive right in. Literally when it comes to the lake or ocean. Crawl, crawl, crawl from grass to sand to water. Then stop, put your face in the water and blow bubbles. Blowing bubbles is hilarious. So is 'Bbbbbbb' lips. Bored in the car seat, you often just start 'Bbbbbbbb', giggle, 'Bbbbbbb', Kaya giggles, combo 'Bbbbbbb', then girly giggles.

The BEST sound in the world.

You had lots of giggles today, your birthday. Forget presents, friends, and new toys, balloons were the big hit. Grunt-grunt-point, and now the start of words, "Boon! Boon!" Adorable first words.

There were lots of giggles at Gampa chasing you around the bouncy castle too. Also at all the kids, at your joy of walking, at new toys, at eating your ladybug cake. Okay maybe not at the cake. You were too busy devouring it, then grunting madly for more!

When I look back on this time, these are the things I will think of. Surrounded by a bubble of joy.

"When you wish someone joy, you wish them peace, love, prosperity, happiness... all the good things." ~Maya Angelou

Continued Joy my love,

Forever and always,

Mommy

[caption id="attachment_2099" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="You are full on walking now. 11 months you started now watch out!"][/caption]

Gwen Stefani's Next Big Hit

2010-06-28T09:36:00.000-07:00

Just when I think I my kids can not get any cooler than they already are, they go and do something that makes my infinite love for them, infinitely more. Which, scientifically speaking, is not entirely possible. But in my world, with my girls, so not a big deal.

Now, I hope you're not waiting for some earth shattering event. No cures for cancer or tests of genius scores.

Just a girly girl who wears a twirly dress to a party then at some point between me kissing her 'good nap' and her falling asleep, she dons her Thomas engineer hat.

Just a girly girl who decides randomly one day to be Spiderman. For the whole day.

Jusy a girly girl who can hold her own at an all boy birthday party-getting tackled in the bouncy castle, playing trucks and enjoying a little hockey-without a moment's discomfort.

Just a girly girl who has a doll named Ally that she re-discovers today.

"Her name is Ally but I like to call her 'Ally-en'."

Like Alien. But she's made it Ally-en. How cool is that?!

Just a girly girl who, while playing princess, prince and dragon, builds a garden next to the castle with a door to the outhouse. Then proceeds to spend 90% of the time pretend playing potty-time. She then demands mommy bring bad dragons and monsters to the outhouse, insists I sound scary, then squeals a classic girly scream, followed up with a not-so-classic 'SPOOF-YAH!' I play along and send the monsters flying away in fear at such a horrific spell. Later I ask her what SPOOF-YAH! means. She reports that it makes the scawy monsters jump into the pee and poop. Alrighty then.

Just a girly girl indeed.

Past and Present is a Present

2010-06-24T03:53:00.000-07:00

One year ago today I signed off on final papers to sell my business. It was also my due date. That day, that week, is a blur in my memory. I remember being very, very pregnant and having to climb a seemingly insurmountable set of stairs (one story only but one very hot story) to get to my lawyers office. I remember all the legalese sounding like Charlie Brown's teacher. I remember being thankful that I did not have to sign papers in between contractions.

I remember anxiety, stress, guilt, anticipation, joy, nerves, sadness, anger and then, gloriously, RELIEF. It was more than just an emotional state. It was physical. That moment when, papers signed, pouting done, I suddenly felt light. Airy. Even with the 40 extra pounds of baby, placenta and too many chocolate chip banana loaves.

I just finished a writing class where I wrote a personal essay about that time, but mostly about moving on.

Oh and have we.

Yesterday, June 23rd, was a big one at our house.

Brennyn was, last year at this time snug in my belly enduring all mommy's crazy emotions but somehow coming out joyful despite all that, this year took her first full walking sequence. She's been doing 2 steps here, 3 steps there for a couple of weeks now but today on our way outside to play, she spotted daddy in his office in the garage. I set her smiley, grunty, pointy self down, and she just bee-lined it straight for daddy. Her way of making up for doing the first 2 steps while he was away in California. After daddy scooped her up, cheered and gave her high-fives, she wouldn't sit down. Crawling was so yesterday mom. She tried all day to walk. Which she did. Along with many, many, many, many plunks on the bum, falls into furniture, slips onto the floor. Of course, every time I attempted to get in on film, she would stop, see the camera, and do her mad-dash crawl to manhandle the electronic device. I may have to set up a spy cam today because that wobble-steady-step-step-wobble-steady-step-step-step-wobble-aaannnddd-PLUNK is just too precious (and short lived!)

And Kaya. Oh my gorgeous, growing Kaya. Last year she would not put her face under water and yesterday she went off the diving board in her swim lesson! The metre high diving board! Ever since her Auntie Kinzy went off of it, she has eyed it up longingly but fearfully. After asking her a few times with adamant NO's, we decided she would do it when 'I am bigger mom, like 5!' She's also going to be able to drink beer when she's 5 apparently so 5 is the be all and end all of being B-I-G!

Bal and I try to make a point of both going to at least her last lesson of each session. She loves when 'the whole family comes watch me!' Having not run in 2.5 weeks, I really wanted to go for a run instead but a mamma's gotta do what a mamma's gotta do. I compromised and while Bal drove over to pick her up from preschool, I ran to the rec centre to meet them. It was only a 10 minute run and I really just wanted to keep on running instead of sitting in a stifling, chloriney pool. But oh how thankful I am to not have missed that moment!

I see that some of the bigger kids in bigger lessons are celebrating their last lesson by going off the diving board. Cool, I barely register. Until I see Kaya's teacher leading them towards the diving board.

"Are they..." I start.

"Noooo, there's no way!" Bal replies but his inflection suggests maybe they really are.

"Oh my god, they are. Is Kaya going to..." I am gobsmacked. She's walking right up to the stairs up. I am getting my iPhone's video camera ready just in case but still doubtful. Bal grabs it and runs over. I grab Brennyn and race over to a prime viewing spot, blocking other parents lined up in chairs, but not giving a damn.

Then she's doing it. My heart is racing. I am nervous for her. I am wondering 'Is she okay-nervous-scared-exhilerated-in over her head?'

But mostly I am proud. So heart-bursting proud I can barely even contain it.

Listen folks, she is not running across, barreling off the board doing a twisty, double, swan divey doohickey-wonder of a dive. She is with her teacher. She is slow. She is lowered into the water with a slight drop to another teacher below. But that is not the point.

She is conquering her fear. She is stepping outside her comfort zone.

She is doing it.

A year ago I suspected selling the business was not only the necessary thing to do, but the right one. Today, looking at my amazing girls, I am so bloody grateful for these moments and I know, without one doubt in my body and soul, that it was more than the right one. It was the only one.

Expectations

2010-06-21T12:53:00.000-07:00

Summer Solstice is the longest day of the year. It calls for BBQ's, beer and most definitely a slip n' slide.

So can you tell me why I am typing this inside, clothed in jeans and long sleeves, looking out at low, dark gray clouds? The temperature is that of April, maybe May. The gloom, that of February.

I am trying to stay positive. We have seen a LOT of rainbows in the last month.

But I have a closet full of cute girly summer dresses just begging for the sun. Without the depressing addition of long sleeves and tights underneath please.

***

When Kaya was 11 months old I set her up outside with paint and paper for her first art. I remember it as a wonderful day. Smiles, giggles and some really beautiful artistry.

So of course I want the same with Brennyn as she is now 11 months old too.

Since it's too chilly outside (yes, that's a shot at you summer), we set up indoors this time. It starts out promising:

But quickly turns into an orange blubbering disaster. Paint in mouth. Mom frantically sweeping mouth. Let's try green then shall we.

More paint in mouth. More sweeping of mouth. Screams this time. Anger. Painting Sucks.

She slams the paper a few times. In protest of me denying her such colourful, tasty treats. But it looks like art.

Sort of.

If you ignore the orange claw print as she desperately attempts to get away, in all honesty the two pictures don't look all that different.

Kaya's Art 2007

Brennyn's Protest 2010

But the way I look at them sure does.

One, a beautiful 'first' filled with creativity and joy.

The other, a desperate mom with unrealistic expectations of what this moment would be.

But you know what? At the end of the day, both masterpieces make me smile.

In their own way.

Dad's Day

2010-06-20T12:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Daddy,

Thank you for cuddles and kisses. For bubbly bubble baths, teaching me to ride, reading me books and happily playing prince and princess with me. Thank you for making me dinner and letting me have more rice than veggies. Thank you for tucking me in and letting me visit you while you work. Thank you for laughing a lot. Thank you for telling me I am beautiful and smart and funny. Thank you for airplane rides and upside down giggle-a-thons. Thank you for piggy back rides and letting me ride on your shoulders too. Thank you for silly songs and toe-topping dances. Thank you for the twirls- so many twirls!

I love you Daddy. I love you as many stars fill the sky.

That's a lot of love. Like 23.

Love for always,

Your girl,

Your lil buddy,

Your Kaya

[caption id="attachment_2045" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Skipping Rocks with Dad"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2046" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Play"][/caption]

***

Dear Dada,

Uh (said as a grunt) then a point, up, up, up to Daddy.

Biiiiiigggggg Smiles! And another grunt. A joyful one.

With love and big, open mouthed slobber kisses of delight,

Your Miss B.

[caption id="attachment_2049" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Points to Get Her 'Point' Across"][/caption]

***

In our town, on Father's Day there is a kids bike rice (The Mini Metal) to coincide with the big kids bike rice the day before (The Test of Metal). The kids race is a bit haphazard and chaotic. Slightly over the edge of safe but in a good way. There is speed and cheering and maybe even a cowbell or two. There are an awful lot of smiles. Giggles too. And yes, maybe a few tears. But always a dad to scoop them up and encourage them to get back up again and GO!

It is very much a Father's Day-style bike ride for kids.

A mom's day one would probably end up being a little more civilized. More organized. More order. More boring truth be known. So it is, on Father's Day, mamma's give up a little control and let their kids fly. With daddies jogging beside, keeping the fleet cruising. And laughing. Competing. And, well, racing. That's what we're here for after all.

[caption id="attachment_2031" align="aligncenter" width="362" caption="Family Bike Ride to Watch the Test of Metal Riders Take Off"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2034" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="The Test of Metal Riders"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2035" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Start of 3-4 (to 5) hours of riding. Ugh."][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2036" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Starting Line of the Mini Metal!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2037" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Start of 1 hour of biking (which feels like 3-4-5...) lol!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2038" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="GO KAYA GO!!!!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2040" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Daddy and his Girls"][/caption]

A great day for the greatest dad. Love you!

Murphy's Law of Attraction

2010-06-17T13:16:00.000-07:00

You have no doubt heard of Murphy's Law, where anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. That was my thinking when I started to formulate this post. That those things you most want to avoid, of course, happens.

In my case, I am Murphy, my kids are Law.

Like the other night when I am getting the girls ready for their bath. The water is running and I am stripping Brennyn naked. Standing her beside the bathtub while I then help Kaya out of her clothes, I think "I hope Brennyn doesn't decide to pee right now." Which, of course, prompts her to do exactly that. A facecloth is nearest so I grab it to mob up the piddle. In one turn of the head, I reach for a spray cleaner in the cupboard, swivel back and there is Kaya, urine-soaked facecloth in hand, wiping her face of some toothpaste. With pee. I scream (for some reason squealing makes me move faster), tear the offending pee rag away while she sobs having no clue what just transpired. I do not traumatize her with the details but needless to say, we all get extra scrubbings that night.

Or pretty much every day of my life when I set down my coffee, milk, beer, or HOT tea, waaaay out of reach, yet somehow, in some bloody way, kids come with a liquid magnet and there is always, ALWAYS, a near miss if not a full catastrophic spillage.

Or the days when I do not just want a shower but NEED one, so I get Brennyn down for a nap, then ever so slowly, ever so quietly step into the shower. Then gingerly, oh ever so gently, I close the shower curtain so not a peep is made. Closed. Sigh. Step under water.

Only--CRASH BANG BOOM-- a shampoo bottle, bubble bath and miscellaneous toys have come crashing into the tub. Must have been my sigh. DAMMIT! I hold my breath waiting. Just waiting. Until the tension eases. I am in the clear. Only wait, nope, oh yes, there it is. Screams from the bedroom.

Now, while I would like to believe this is Murphy's Law, just some drunk Irish ludicrous joke, it suddenly happens that all of these unwanted philosophers, inventors and all-around great thinkers are popping into my head.

Yes Buddha, I know:

All that we are is the result of what we have thought.

Oh Carl Jung, so wise:

What you resist persists.

Okay, okay already Mr. Self-Help himself Wayne Dyer, I get it:

I will see it when I believe it.

Oh yes, I see Henry Ford:

Whether you think you can or can't either way you are right.

Oh lordy, even Mr Albert Einstein himself is guiding my way:

Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life's coming attractions.

Oh no! Not you too Dr. Seuss:

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own.
And you know what you know. You are the guy who'll decide where to go.

So it is that my brain has unwittingly begun understanding the Law of Attraction. Not just a book that was on Oprah and enjoyed a lovely 15 minutes of fame, but a philosophy, an energy that has been known through the ages by only the wisest of thinkers. Dude...

So I should clarify that I am only at the stage of understanding intellectually that I need only change my thoughts to create the life that I want. The exact, have-an-entire-20-minute-shower-uninterrupted, life that I want. The actual reality or process by which I make that happen still eludes me. No, I still have not quite grasped how I shift from "I hope you don't pee on the floor" to

a) not even considering that as an option.

b) "I hope you climb your lil tushie right onto that big ol' porcelain god and have yerself a pee" said with no sarcasm or skepticism WHATSOEVER.

or

c) "If you thus pee, that is cool, for I am all zen and buddha-y and wise. Mopping pee off floors and daughters faces does not phase that which is enlightened about natures excrement."

I suppose you can sense my cynicism? Though the cynicism lies solely in the acknowledgment that I can know such a profound realization yet ignore it 95% of the time because, well, because it is easier. Or more aptly, lazier.

What I put my attention towards, I will receive. What I think, is. It is all so profound and deep. I can see that I am making baby steps towards getting it. Living it. But in baby steps. Baby steps bigger than the first supported foot shuffles but smaller than Brennyn's lunge for beer cans.

I have graduated past the drunken Irish folklore of Murphy's Law though. Not quite to philosopher but maybe an Irish poet? Like W.B Yeats who knew,

"Man can embody truth but he cannot know it."

Too bad I'm backwards. I know truth but do not embody it. Still no resolution here. So maybe I have graduated instead to drunken Irish citizen who thinks they are a poet? Yes, that sounds about right.

Irish Drinking Toast
May your glass be ever full,
May the roof over your head be always strong,
And may you be in heaven
Half an hour before the devil knows you're dead.

Like I said, baby steps.

Growth

2010-06-16T09:42:00.000-07:00

When there is a death, you can not help but appreciate all the life, all the growth.

One year ago, Kaya was beyond thrilled to visit Thomas the Tank Engine. Thomas came back to town this year and though I vowed not to pay the exorbitant fee to attend again, Kaya's excitement and Gammy's wallet convince me to go. I'm glad I did because I am struck at just how much has changed in that one year. How much has grown. (Though thankfully, my belly did the reverse.)

2009

2010

Then there is the other one. The other one whose name we didn't even know at this time last year.

From snug inside my lil (okay-ginormous...) belly last year, to cruising along in a flurry of walking. It leaves me in shock and awe (which is what shock and awe should be.)

Oh how things change. Last years sweltering summer weather turned this years variable spring conditions. Last year I could not see my toes, this year it is too cold to expose my toes. Here, a horrible picture of the three of us aboard Thomas.

2010 brings a much better picture and the knowledge that we three are 'The Girls'.

Then there are things that have not changed at all. Lemonade stealer!

2009

2010

And this year, Brenny wants in on the action too.

At the end of both years, I have to capture the 'Sign Shot'. Both years, there is no cooperation!

2009 with tarps, fences and Kaya not looking or smiling.

Then this year Kaya tries to cooperate. Only Brenny has other plans!

[caption id="attachment_1984" align="alignleft" width="199" caption="Setting Up..."][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1985" align="alignright" width="199" caption="Brenny Takes Off"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1986" align="alignleft" width="199" caption="Baby Got Back!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1987" align="alignright" width="199" caption="Seriously, Get Back Here Brenn-Brenn!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1988" align="alignleft" width="199" caption="Got Her!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1989" align="alignright" width="199" caption="But, She's Off Again!"][/caption]

Growth.

And movement.

Moving on.

There are things to do.

Life to live.

Damn, kids are good teachers...

Funeral Taboos

2010-06-16T02:40:00.000-07:00

The ultimate taboo is death itself. Our culture is just not very good at dealing with death. Like poo. We're not very good at dealing with that either. But the thing, just as I taught Kaya the other day, we all poo. She seemed shocked by this, then proceeded to name every single person and animal she knows asking if they poo. She seemed most shocked that her preschool teacher poops. Which makes me think those teachers need more potty breaks.

At any rate, we all poop and we all die. It shouldn't be so awkward. This post has a lot of death talk. And some poo talk. If you find yourself cringing, click away now.

Top 10 Taboo Moments

1. I would like to describe my Grampa's funeral as good. Not fun so much as nice. Yes, maybe for the first time ever, 'nice' applies to a situation. Is that wrong? Maybe it's because he was in the beginning stages of dementia and we all knew he didn't have a lot of 'life' left to live. Maybe it's because he lived a fairly long, good life. Maybe it's because this small community, his community, came out in full force to pay their respects. I heard stories I had never heard before. I heard stories I have heard many, many times before. All of them so my Grampa. Maybe nice funeral is not so taboo after all.

2. Fun funeral would be taboo. In fact, there is a website called funfunerals.org. Their tag line? We Put the FUN in Funerals! The only thing on the website is 'The Revolution is coming soon..." Alrighty then. All I can think of is clowns at a funeral. And that is just scary.

3. My mom's husbandy thing (significant other) making the cremation boxes for the funeral home. He made a special one for my Grampa which is cool. But he wanted to show it off and, well, no thanks. Enough said.

4. The Funeral Director's name is Drake. Which rhymes with wake. And that just screams mortician jokes.

5. Speaking of mortician jokes, Drake came by while some friends and family were hanging out at my mom's after the service. He cracked some joke (a very respectable, cute one though not funny enough for me to remember it) which sparked some not so cute and respectable ones by my family. Something along the lines of drunken Funeral Home Conventions full of stiff competition. Then, on his way out, somebody asked, "Hey Drake, when you moved to town, did you put up an 'Everyone Welcome!' sign?" Groan.

6. This is not taboo so much as funny. Which I guess is taboo. In a small town, everyone comes out to pay respects. They stop by on their way to their weekend activities. Which means they don't 'dress up' for the service. It was somehow really reassuring and well, right, about seeing jogging pants and running shoes all over the place. My favourite was the black sweats with a black tank top and white runners. Classic funeral attire. My Grampa certainly would have felt more comfortable hanging out with them than his dressed up in black family.

7. Before leaving for the service, Kaya looks up at me with big eyes like she wants a cuddle. She is not going to the service but she is sensitive to the fact that something is going on. I scoop her up and she wraps her arms and legs around me then whispers "Mommy, you look just like a princess!" Poor love hasn't seen mommy with her hair done, makeup on, a skirt, pretty shirt and heels like EVER! Oh, and they weren't heels so much as Mary Janes. But Kaya insisted they were heels so let's go with that.

8. Grampa's wallet sitting in the kitchen of my mom's house. Seeing it just sparked one of those moments of realization where you're like "Oh, Grampa forgot his wallet!" and then you bite your tongue because you remember Grampa does not need his wallet anymore. There was $15 inside. We're buying Lotto Max tickets with it for the family. I would say Grampa would like that but I don't think he ever bought lotto tickets. He'd probably think it was a 'damn waste of money!' But what the hell else are we going to do with his $15? Buy beer?

9. Oh yes, there was a lot of beer consumed this past weekend. Of everything we did and everything we said and all the stories that were shared, my Grampa would have liked that the most. Us all hanging out on a gorgeous, hot summer day, kicked back and chilling with family and beer. That's not taboo? Then how about Brennyn bound and determined to drink beer. Mmmmm, beer. Practically her first words. Thanks Uncle Rob!

PS. Rob would say the most taboo beer story should be us drinking Bud Lite Lime. But he bought it for us anyways :)

10. I haven't even touched on poo yet! Well, here you go. Friends and family are sitting around the yard in our lawnchairs drinking our beer and having pleasant chats when I realize I haven't seen Kaya in a while. "Where's Kaya?" I ask anybody. Up strolls a friend of the family, a big, burly bear of a man "Oh, she's #2!" And everyone is there and everyone stops their conversations and I am trying to process if there is another #2 but realize there is not and am all "okay then. Good to know. Thanks for sharing with EVERYONE!" Hilarious.

The thing about funerals is, they are sad and horrible and sometimes there is anger and tragedy, but there is also community, support and family. And lots and lots of love. That is as far from taboo as you can get.

RIP Grampa

2010-06-09T03:08:00.000-07:00

Gramma and Grampa

My Grampa died on Saturday. You never want to get that phone call but when you do, at his age, you expect it to be death from a heart attack or the like. Unfortunately, that was not the case this time. His girlfriend (do they call it girlfriend when they're in their 70's?) was driving, pulled away from the stop sign and did not, apparently, see the semi truck. Mercifully, my Grampa died instantly.

Grampa was a good man who liked simple things. He loved darts and playing solitaire with real cards. He would not know what to do with sushi or say, a herb-crusted salmon accompanied with sherry scented bearnaise and a wine pairing. He was more a meat and potatoes sort of man. With beer. Bud or Kokanee please, none of that fancy craft brew nonsense.

Card I made them for Christmas 1985. I was 10 years old. Hilarious!

He loved his family even if, like most men of his generation, he couldn't always show it. And when he could, when there were children around, he showed it.

With first 2 kids.

With first 2 grandkids (me and my brother)

Grampa was cool. Chill. Laid-back and easy-going. The kind of guy you want to sit back and have a cold beer with.

Or an Ice Cream.

When tragedy like this strikes, it's easy to get all existential and wonder what the hell is the point. Why are we here? Then the kids of the family crawl your way and even though you may not be able to articulate the 'why' you know there is a 'why'. It really is the circle of life.

And if that is all there is, that is enough.

You will very much be missed Grampa. Lots of love your way!

You Don't Know What It's Like

2010-06-02T08:01:00.000-07:00

Some days I look at my girls and I can see the future. Glimpses- fantasies really- of our future mother-daughter relationship. I see in them, parts of myself, that become our common passions to share.

With Kaya it may be us in a café in Italy, hands cradling espresso, as we chat easily about books and photos and writing. Today's "Mommy, does 'cat' start with a 'c' or a 'k'?" will be tomorrow's "Mom, you have to read this book! I need somebody to talk about it with!"

With Brennyn, I imagine she'll have convinced me (not that I would ever need much convincing) to meet her in Cambodia. Today's crinkled nose and mischievous grin of delight at stealing the remote control will be tomorrow's crinkled nose and mischievous grin of delight as she sticks out her thumb to hitchhike our way out of the jungle. I should be angry, or at the very least annoyed, but I am too busy being amused. She just has that way about her.

Other days I look at my girls, see parts of myself in them, and I want to cry. These are the hard parts. The growing pain parts. The life lessons part that I worked so damn hard to work out only to have them resurface in my kids. Making it all the more painful.

With Kaya it is her shyness. That innate reaction to turn inside herself in public situations. She has been this way since day one and I suppose I have been too. Thinking of the insecurities and frustrations that lie ahead for her feels like being punched in the gut full force. It makes me so sad to know how brilliant and funny she is but that others will not realize it. Not at first. It is like being an injured athlete watching their team from the sidelines. Standing back and having to watch is so much harder than just reacting to the adversity hands on. Maybe the lessons I have learned will help me to encourage and support my girl. Or maybe my lessons are still being learned through her. So unfair!

With Brennyn it is her temperament. Oh how I see my impatience in her. Her stubbornness. I remember fighting with my mom just for the sake of fighting. I would battle for hours on an issue that I didn't believe in just so that I could prove my mom wrong. Even knowing she was right. Was that me asserting my independence? Where is that line that guides my girl to independence without letting her have her way and walk all over me?

Parenting is hard. I assumed by the time I had kids, my life lessons would be learned. Now I find out I am only living them again, through my kids. I call bullshit! And they are just 11 months and 3.5years. They can not yet formulate into words, "Mom, you just don't understand!!" (add in a whine or a bellow depending on which kid is stating it), even though I often feel as though they are thinking it. Already.

Only I do get it girls. Not that you will ever believe that. Not until you have your own kids. And I get that you will have your own unique issues to deal with as well. To pass down also. Such is life. Such is family.

Which is why I am going to close my eyes, take a moment, and escape to an Italian café and Cambodian jungle. I'm going to enjoy, just for a moment, the best of me being passed onto you girls. Then ignore all that other stuff. That growth, life learning stuff. I suspect there will be many, many, many years to deal with all that ahead of me.

Oh girls, if you only understood...

Camping

2010-05-29T00:45:00.000-07:00

We have a group of friends who do a yearly May Long Weekend trip to Deception Pass in Washington State. This same group of friends used to go to a forestry site past Pemberton but that was back in the day. Back in the day of packing up a tent, 2 sleeping bags and a cooler full of beer n' smokies. Times have changed.

I know this. I mean we all have kids now. But the full realization of this fact barrels me in the head as it takes me 2 full days of preparation just to be ready to leave Friday morning. Even with the car almost entirely packed the night before, it is a 2 hour process to get out the door. Don't ask me why. I have two kids. Answer enough.

Oh the car. Damned car. Our family has grown but the car has not. The Elantra is full when the family does a daytrip into the city. Packing for 4 days away took an incredible amount of will, determination and cursing. Lots and lots of cursing.

In the end, the dog had to be kenneled (we are still being punished 5 days later) and adult toys are left behind. (And by adult toys, I speak of Bal's hockey stick and our bikes, not toys that would inspire the campfire sex-toy-alphabet game of days past!) Kids toys are packed though I learn that sticks, rocks and trees big enough for a cave inside are much more inspired than plastic airplanes and Little People. Next time the toy bag will get left behind.

The only must haves as far as the kids are concerned:

Bike

Marshmellows

Jiffy Pop

Air Mattress with which to bounce upon

Glo-Sticks! Must, must, must

Staying up late enough to see fire, the moon and the first star by which to wish upon.

The only musts as far as adults are concerned:

Wine

Beer

Everything in the kids list. If kids are happy, you are happy. If you manage that, with plastic wine glass in hand, consider yourself blessed.

Good friends, weather and awesome scenery certainly help the cause.

There was a time we would have stayed up til 4am drinking and gabbing around the fire, slept til noon, then enjoyed a 3pm nap after reading trashy magazines and eating chips for lunch. Almost sounds heavenly until you remember it was also the time we tried not to puke up vodka in the bushes, held your breath as you entered the very primitive outhouses, and felt nauseous most of the time considering all the alcohol and crappy food consumed in a 48 hour span. And don't even get me started on the kidnapping, concussion, and grad party neighbors we encountered...

Yes, times have changed. We're in bed by midnight, up by 7am. Full on up. We eat skewers, salads and veggie dogs. There are chips but also a cooler full of fruit and veggies. We no longer lounge. We chase, play hockey, organize scavenger hunts, build forts and play giant teeter-totter. We do it for the kids but sometimes, most of the time, it is hard to pick out who is happier.

Silly Times

Cuddle Times

Rolling Good Times!

We build Forts.

We ride on Giant Teeter Totters!

We ride bikes and play hockey. Again and again and again... The kids learn to be Canadian in the US with their yells of "GAME ON!" after a car passes.

Toys not necessary. Sticks work. Magic trees do too.

And if you are a baby, having the freedom to explore the earth is all that you need. Grass and flowers,

Rocks and sand. And having a big sister by your side, makes it all the sweeter.

Then it is naptime. For about 15 minutes, they giggle and play peek-a-boo and I am certain they will never sleep. I tell Kaya Brennyn needs a nap so if she's not going to sleep, we all need some quiet time. Not 3 minutes later, this is the scene I encounter. It more than makes up for the fact that I am not the one napping!

Pinkity Pink Green

2010-05-18T10:24:00.000-07:00

Yes, I am going there. Pink.

Listen, even with 4 out of 5 of us (dog included) being girls in the house, we have not been inundated with pink. We have a green tutu. A Spiderman costume for dress up. Purple PJ's are our fave. And Blue is Kaya's favourite colour (most days). Lately though, Pink has entered our lives. And you know what? We're loving it!

The pink phase may or may not have coincided with getting the book Pinkalicious. Regardless, we have the book and WE LOVE IT! (I just found out there is a musical! A MUSICAL?! It must come to Vancouver. MUST!)

Lately, it has been hands-down Kaya's favourite, and both Bal and I have read it about 4 billion times each. Seriously. Oddly, I have not even got sick of it. It is just that cute.

Today it rained for the first time in a while so we decided to make it a craft and baking day. First we needed a quick run to the grocery store for organic strawberries and honey, then back home and a surprise for Kaya. We are making Pinkalicious Muffins! I should have had the video camera out for that moment because WOW! Those big brown eyes glimmered. That smile delighted. Her squeal musical.

I am not good in the kitchen. I downright suck. But baking with my girl, well that is heaven.

We are measuring everything out and dumping in the bowl when it occurs to me that we probably need to mix the dry and wet stuff separately. Oops. Ours is a big pile-oh-everything and we do not care! We mix and dip in our fingers and mix some more. The grand finale consists of a dopple of red dye with loads of giggles (in our excitement, we forget the vanilla and lemon zest). But since Pink and Giggles are known remedies to shoddy baking techniques, I am confident our muffins will turn out just perfect. And they do.

I suppose you have spotted the sprinkles? We could NOT have Pinkalicious muffins without sprinkles. That would be just ludicrous. Because sprinkles are FUN and so are we! We have even decided to write our own book. The Sprinkalicious book.

Now, if you have read Pinkalicious (which you should), you know that eventually she needs to eat green. That is Brenny's job today:

And Riley's too. They work in combo.

Speaking of green, I mentioned it was baking and craft day. Thank goodness for this green wonder:

Ah yes, Craft Caravan how I love you. $10 or so a month and a new craft in this green envelope gets sent to your kid. It is not so much the craft itself that is worth the money, but the ingenious ideas and convenience of having everything ready to go. Plus they inspire me with new ideas and activities to do with Kaya. It breaks me out of the routine and makes me think of things in a new way.

Like this months craft was making baby animals. Which prompted me to remember that farms are in birthing season right now and we had not visited Maplewood Farms in far too long. We go and see baby goats, sheep, chicks and ducks. We feed bunnies and marvel at horses. We jump up and down with joy at the donkey because, while Pinkalicious is our favorite book, The Winky Wonky Donkey is our favourite rhyme. On our way out she spots the tricycle-style tractors for rent so I had to promise her we'd bring Daddy back next time and she could ride it. What I didn't tell her was there is a baby donkey to be born soon. Are you kidding me? Mini tractor rides and baby donkey's? We look forward to another visit next month!

So that was yesterday, and today we craft the baby animals. We glue and glue while she talks and talks all about the baby animals we saw yesterday. The horse is first. The sheep second. The cow was to come third but Kaya decides she wants her sheep to have four eyes. And the nose becomes a belly button. She cut up the cows legs into teeny tiny black blobs. She's a visionary.Adorable.

Who says rainy days are 'boring'?

Kaya Tell All

2010-05-16T07:46:00.000-07:00

I have too many random little Kaya ditties floating about. So here, a compilation of my 3.5-year-old:

On Sisters:

Kaya has a pink blankie from when she was born. It is her blankie. That special one that we dare not forget lest she not sleep for an entire vacation. When Brennyn was born I wanted to get her the same type blankie but in a different colour. She got purple. Before long, Kaya decided she too wanted a purple blankie. I told her no. She then asked for a blue one so the Easter Bunny brought her one. She was happy for about one week taking both her blue and pink one to bed with her. Then I noticed she would lay the blue one with Brennyn and sneak the purple one out.

One impatient day, I demand "That's Brennyn's blankie! Stop stealing it!"

She looks at me indignantly "Well, we can buy it from Brennyn and then it will be my blankie!"

This makes me laugh so hard that negotiations ensue and we all agree on a trade. Kaya gets Brennyn's purple blankie. Brennyn gets the blue blankie. There has been peace ever since and on really good days, Kaya will share the oh-so-special purple blankie, which Brennyn could care less about but adores the big sister attention at any rate.

*

"Do you want to go to Hannah's today?" I redundantly ask Kaya.

"Yay!!!!" she squeals jumping up and down.

"Okay, Brennyn is going to have a nap and then we will go okay?"

"Or..." she implores "we can leave Brennyn here?"

On Jokes:

"Look Mom! It's a Unicorn!"

"Or is it a pony?" I ask confused since it is a My Little Pony.

"Hmmm," she ponders "Well it's got a corn..."

"Hahahahahaha, IT'S NOT A CORN! IT'S A HORN!!! I'm funny!"

*

Kaya is eating dinosaur cookies.

"What is this mom?"

"Stegosaurus."

"Stegosaurus?" she chomps its head off.

"Now what is it?"

Trying my hand at preschool humour, "Well now he must be Tailosaurus!"

"Tailosaurus?"

Then her mischievous grin appears. She chomps down on the tail, chews, then:

"Now he's Notailosaurus!!"

Giggle, giggle, hardy, har, har!

On Getting Too Big For Her Own Good:

One morning a week, me and the girls have a lazy, loungy one. Gauging the moods of all of us, sometimes cartoons get turned on for the girls ("I'm so happy to watch toons..." said with puppy dog eyes) , sometimes Ellen gets turned on for me. The other morning I turned it to Busytown Mystery and Kaya starts pouting. "I don't want to watch this one. Can you turn on Ellen please?" I hadn't even realized she knew who Ellen was. I happily start changing it to Ellen when Kaya encourages, making sure I change it to the right place, "Not Oprah Mom. Ellen. Ellen is like funny and she likes to dance!" Didn't know she knew Oprah either...

On Singing:

I am folding laundry in the hall. Brennyn is napping and Kaya is flitting about her room being a fairy or princess or maybe even Spiderman. Then I hear some rhythm. "And then it goes back. And then it goes back..." What is she saying I wonder. It sounds so familiar! I stop and listen more.

"When I get older, I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom, just like a Waving Flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back"

She's singing K'naan? Seriously? I totally thought I had a few more years before singing the latest hits behind closed doors. Could be worse I suppose. Could be 'Your Love is my Drug' by Ke$ha.

On Story Telling:

Kaya climbs into bed with me. I am reading a book so she grabs a book at the bedside table and decides she wants to read to me. The book chosen? Herman Hesse's Siddhartha. You know, some light reading!

She opens up the page, demands I close my book, and begins:

This is a story about happy ghosts. Not mad ones. I like happy ones.

The happy ghost sees his friends. He is happy.

With crinkled nose and spooky voice, she continues flipping pages and carries on,

Then the ghost is scaaawy- booooo- and his friends run away.

Then the ghost is happy. Because he is smiling.

Then he is scaaaaaaawwwwyyyyy! He is scawy because he is a ghost but he is sad because he wants to be happy.

The ghost gets a gold medal. And sometimes jumps over Crocodile Lake.

Pause. Pause. Pause. Nothing else seems to be happening.

"Great story! Time for a bath now."

"No! I am not done!"

Flip, flip, flip...

The happy ghost finds his friends and they are all happy and having a party.

They have a camping party.

They look at the stars.

They do not sleep beside Crocodile Lake.

THE END!

The book is slammed shut and happily ever after, we splish splash in the tub.

Ruffle

2010-05-14T02:43:00.000-07:00

Not being a girlie girl by any means, it is odd that I am in somewhat of a ruffle obsession right now. Ruffle wallets, purse, hats, hair accessories, clothing, and my favourite, the RuffleButts!

[gallery orderby="rand"]

Poor Kaya is feeling left out. With lip protruding and whine aggravating, she quivers "I WANNA BE A RUFFLE BUTT TOO."

It would seem the Spiderman stage is phasing out (says me with high-pitched whine and lip protruding...)

Mamma Gets a Bad Rap

2010-05-13T06:59:00.000-07:00

I have a hairdresser. This is a miracle of sorts considering my severe salonophobia. I make it in to the hair salon hopefully once every three months but four and five are not uncommon. This time it has been five. I didn't even think she would know who I was considering my tri-yearly visit and shoddy tipping skills (What do you tip your stylist?) But she has just started her own shop and I'm a huge supporter of anybody with the balls and stamina to run their own business so I book myself an appointment, assuming she would not even know who I was. Only she does. She knows my name and that I have two girls and that I had a business and sold it. She knows me. This shocks me for some reason. Like shit, now I have to explain, and justify, my mop.

I take out the elastic. Ugh.

"Woa, you've got some serious mamma hair going on here!"

Blunt. Honest. Funny. Yah, I like her. Which is why she's the only stylist I have ever made a repeat appointment with.

I do indeed have mamma hair. Which is totally unfair to mamma's I realize. Like mom jeans. Unfair to say yet no need for further explanation either.

I can not even justify this. Yes, I am a mom but I have time. I can find an hour a month for myself. I can find an hour a week to watch The Hills and the After Show for crying out loud so an hour a month or two (see, already I'm pushing back the date!) is doable.

I'm sure there is something deep and underlying here in which I deep down feel like I'm not good enough. Or pretty enough. Or whatever. Until Oprah calls though, I'm not going to go there.

I am going to opt for another tactic instead. One called the calendar of shame whereby I mark this post's link on the calendar two months hence giving myself a swift kick in the arse to book an appointment NOW. Not 1,2,3 months more.

So listen here Kari of the not to distant future, do you feel better with thick, greasy, hair pulled back in a ponytail so often you suffer from too-much-hair-headaches:

To be fair, this is me with mastitis trying to put on a happy face for the girls though I felt like I was suffering malaria in the arctic...

Cutest baby in the world! But bad hair....

Or would you feel better like this:

360 view

Well then, get your ass to your hair stylist girl!

Well then?

GO!

GIT...

PRONTO!

NOW WOMAN! (Said in scary mamma-means-business tone so don't mess with her! Errr... me...)

No, do not wait until that 'special' occasion (shopping at Ikea is not an outing girl...) Yes, you do have enough money. Yes, you are in the lake lots so what does it matter but you also come out. And hair dries. Fast.

STOP NEGOTIATING!

Oh my god, I am so calling Laura and telling on you/me. GAWD...

Follow-Up to Last Post

2010-05-12T06:32:00.000-07:00

While feeding Brennyn her lunch today, I had an overwhelming desire for my Grandma to be alive. She always loved a good conversation about the weather and what we were eating. I so wanted to tell her Brenny was chowing down on tofu while I fed her a quinoa, avocado mush. I can imagine the deafening silence as she processed what the hell I was talking about. Though in reality I guess she would have ignored me and asked then about the weather, in my imaginings she would retort,

"Is that Korean for pigs ass and cabbage?"

Funny how you miss somebody so much in those very simple, everyday life experiences.

Lunch is Served

2010-05-11T07:06:00.000-07:00

When it comes to feeding my children, we provide fairly healthy foods. It's all relative though isn't it? Compared to the folks in Jamie Oliver's A Food Revolution, we are psycho health nuts. But I would say there are loads of families way healthier than us. We eat lots of organic food though price still plays a factor in picking organic or not. We try to eat more local options though if there's a sale on the other stuff, I'll get the other stuff. I stay away from microwavable dishes, preservatives and sugar laden food as much as possible. Kaya has never had a pop, though she has recently acquired a taste for daddy's iced tea. We never have candy in the house but we will have chips. I won't buy kids yogurts or apple sauces or fruit snacks unless they are of the all natural variety and sadly, those are hard to come by. But then, occasionally, I will cook up a box of KD for lunch. Toxic, neon orange crud mixed with noodles. Yum. *sigh*

I have a standing once a month date with Kaya for pancakes at McDonald's play area (though I may scratch that now that we're headed to summer and don't need to hide from the rain.) We probably eat fast food twice a month other than that. And one pizza night. Is this the norm? I'm not sure.

But then I think back when I was a kid. Organic and whole grain were not even registered as a thought. Avocado's considered exotic. Quinoa, hummas, eggplant, kale, couscous and edamame an entirely foreign language. All of this stuff now, are commonly added to my shopping list. Gladly added I should add. Not like brussel sprouts at Thanksgiving dinner.

I have a moment of anxiety today as I pour that fluorescent orange mystery powder into the noodles (not even the whole wheat ones). "Bad Mom!" a part of me screams. But then I stir up the the quinoa on the other stove burner and realize that I am doing okay. My girls are healthy and thriving. An occasional pot of KD or ramen noodles is not lethal. So I stir it all up, serve Kaya her KD with organic apple slices then mix Brennyn's quinoa with non-organic bananas and yogurt*. Happy compromise, full girls and a mom who doesn't feel so bad after all.

*Quinoa Banana Mash recipe care of the absolutely fabulous Weelicious.com! Love them~ especially for their Banana Bites and Red Hummus and daily lunch ideas.

A Mamma's Day Recap

2010-05-10T06:30:00.000-07:00

Not really in the mood to write but also do not want to forget what a special Mother's day I had. My first as a mom to two. So here instead, my Mother's Day Top 10 in 2010

Accomplished goal to run entire Sun Run (no pitstops or walk breaks), even up the steep hill to Burrard bridge which was much steeper in my head than was the reality. Finished in 1 hour 4 minutes which was cool since I was predicting more like 1 hour 10 minutes. It's hard to judge my pace time since my calculations are all from trail runs. Road runs-- much faster.

My fellow runners making me weep. Moms running with their kids (or in absence of kids, balloons and flowers from the kids) Kids roadside with big I LOVE YOU MOM! signs. Dads with young kids waiting and cheering for mom at the finish line (including and best of all- Mine!) The dude all wrapped up like a mummy with a sign saying 'Happy Mummy's Day!' Oh, but then there was my favorite couple. Crossing Burrard, I pass them and the guy is yelling "I don't want to be fighting with you! I really DO NOT WANT TO BE RUNNING THE FUCKING SUN RUN! What the hell are we even doing here? THIS IS STUPID!!!"

Presents from my girls. Who doesn't love presents! Especially ones that I bought myself.

Handmade cards by my artist!Love that she ran out of room so looped it around then went to the top for 'day'. Priceless.I ask why he's sleeping and she gets all indignant "Because he's tired" Like, duh. Of course. She also tells me I run by him and over a puddle.

A stunning canvas art piece made at preschool.

Lunch in the city, on a patio, under blue skies which my Dad paid for... Could it get better?

Why yes it could. Step-mom ordered a Caesar which I hadn't had in, oh, years, so ordered one too and it was the BEST DRINK EVER!

Two gorgeous girls, both fast asleep on the whole car ride home. Yes!

Late afternoon nap. No interruptions.

Lou and his fellow Canucks winning and dominating game 5! 2 more wins boys. 2 more wins...

Mothering

2010-05-08T23:22:00.000-07:00

It is frustrating to me that there are no words that adequately describes motherhood. Not an idiom or simile or run on sentence that could ever encompass the enormity of being 'Mom'.

You can never know until you know.

Which is obnoxious as hell to hear if you are one of those not in the know. You imagine, "Well maybe I don't know, but I have an idea..."

But you don't. Not a clue. Sorry.

I used to be one of those woman who thought they knew. Thought I could predict what kind of mother I would be. Thought I knew what a mother's love was.

In one of those horribly clichéd college gatherings where we wax philosophical, I once surmised that since I was such a strong person, if one of my future children died tragically, I would be able to handle it. I would be okay.

Arrogant.

Foolish.

Clueless.

I would so not be okay.

That statement has haunted me since the day I met you Kaya. As though I have jinxed myself. Every time the memory pops into my head, I feel compelled to knock on wood or spit or do something, anything, that will make whatever Supreme Being is out there forget that I ever proclaimed such a thing.

Because from the moment I saw your pasty, bloody, squished face (that happened to be the most stunning thing I had ever seen), I finally knew. I got it. A strong person I may be, but what I could never have imagined, what is indescribable, is the ferocity with which a mother loves.

I have loved as a child, a sibling, a lover and a friend but a mother's love is unique. It is total. All encompassing. It is immersed in every pore, synapse, and thought. This does not mean that all that I am is mom. Only that I live with a mom filter where skills of empathy, protection and yes, sometimes panic now guide my actions. Mamma love, it is interconnected with all else. It is the vine that wraps around every tree, stump, and branch of the rainforest, forming a reciprocal flow of give and take. Take away one vine, and the other lives can not flourish.

I live more authentically because I am mom. I am a better mom because I am more of me. Symbiosis.

And since it is Mother's Day, I will leave it at that. For it is not always that poetic and beautiful. Sometimes a vine wraps around and smothers. Sometimes parasites loom. Sometimes there are battles. Oh are there battles... Today though, being a mom is perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Happy Mother's Day to Me and to all the Mom's in our Life!

My Nana with Kaya 2006

Lola with Brennyn 2009

Gammy and Brennyn 2009

Gramma and Kaya 2008

Three Generations

First Moments

Kissy Moments

Mommy Moments!

Cheap as a Tailored Slut

2010-05-07T07:33:00.000-07:00

Oh my god, how I love that title even though it makes no sense and really has nothing to do with my post! I was in Le Chateau browsing hair accessories the other day and a woman comes charging out of the change room "Don't you have anything with a lower v-neck? And sleeveless? I'm going for tailored but slutty too..." Everybody in the whole damn store stopped. Then the sales women, not missing a beat retorts "Of course we have tailored slut options. Come here..." I just about died laughing.

But no, that has nothing to do with my post. My post has to do with this sport I chose to partake in, running, for its cheapness. Grab my runners and head out the door my ass...

Since I started running, I have acquired:

iTunes songs of the upbeat variety. Because as much as I love Amos Lee and Dan Mangan, it's hard to run while morose and forlorn.

Running bra X2 (Could be X 3 more)

2 shirts, 2 tank-tops and a skort

$45 late entry fee to the Sun Run

The doozy of all doozies- an iPhone. Okay, so the phone was purchased for multiple reasons, but once I saw a friend using RunKeeper, I HAD TO HAVE THE PHONE NOW. Not once we've saved money. Not once the income tax return comes back. NOW!

That reminds me, RunKeeper Pro app. Because the Free one wasn't good enough. (Well it was, but I wanted the training program too)

Waterbottle holder which I have not got yet but it is waiting for me to open on Mother's Day. Shhhh, don't tell anyone! Oh, and yes, it looks somewhat like a fanny pack. Which is so, so wrong but so, so practical and needed too. Practicality always wins in my world. Just look in my underwear drawer.

That is all. For now. Because still on my list is:

More tunes.

New trail runners. Mine stink.

Running socks. Because who doesn't want to spend $12 one ONE pair of socks to lessen blisters and impact and stink.

Canadian Running Magazine subscription

More races (hopefully!)

Cheap as a Tailored Slut suddenly makes complete slut. Go figure.

Little Muddy, Lotta Sluggy

2010-05-01T08:25:00.000-07:00

So far, my favorite app by far for my iPhone is RunKeeper. Running is cool by itself. All that health and fitness and destruction of knee caps. But the RunKeeper allows me to map, track and time myself. Which allows for intense competitive spirit. With myself. And that is for the best since it allows only for me to be annoyed/bitter/pissy at me. But then the other me wins so my ego is placated. Me always wins. Yay me!

Some people like having other people to motivate you. That works on RunKeeper too. I am browsing through my recommended StreetTeam members in case I ever tire of patting myself on the back (after a smuck upside the head by loser me) and I am struck by their graphs. Smooth, rolly well-paced runs. Most people, it would seem, are road runners then. My graph looks like Bill Clinton taking a polygraph with Monica under the table. Erratic would be being polite.

RunKeeper would be wise to add a Trail Running category. Living on the westcoast, my runs are through the trails where I have, in the past few weeks alone, encountered fallen logs, a beaver, MUD, puddles, bear poop, dog ambush, and out-of-control mountain bikers. Today was all about playing an intense game of Slug Dodge- the point to avoid, not place, a direct hit. I lose.

But that's okay for it inspires me to create a song or kids book or phone app or something. The Slug Groove. It's the next big thing. Or at the very least, passes a good 7 minutes of run time in what feels like 30 seconds. Sweet!

In no time, I make it back home. If I beat my last time, I stare lovingly at my stats and blog about it (here I am now blogging about it- Hell yes!) and if I do not, I browse my apps, open Angry Birds or Taptap Ninja and vent. Well, for the 32 odd seconds it takes Kaya to realize I'm playing games and insists upon playing that 'Rainbow Dora One!'

So me doesn't always win after all.

Give Her a Great Big Kiss

2010-04-30T09:20:00.000-07:00

Days that Kaya is in daycare, usually means 'work' days for me; cleaning, laundry, shopping. Accomplishing these tasks is just easier with one child. Unless that child is having a bad day. Or, as it turns out, having a really, really good one.

It didn't take much for Brennyn to convince me to abandon any and all chores yesterday. One smile really. And a giggle to seal the deal. Then it was all about being fully, completely immersed in each delicious moment with her.

It was not a day of momentous occasions. No first steps or words or video sure to wow YouTube. It was a day of moments. Glorious, squishy, juicy moments.

Walking with just one finger grasp and eyes imploring "You got me Mom?" You bet I do girl, you bet I do.

Then pride at using the walker all by her self. (Mommy too is proud. So proud and excited I couldn't keep the camera still for a non-blurry shot!)

Later we roll in a pile of clean towels and Brennyn initiates a game of peekaboo by crawling into the bathroom, closing the door on me, then ever so slowly, creating anticipation, opens it with a squeal and a giggle then hands clapping. She loves to cheer.

Like later in the day as I watch her daddy yell "Woohoo!!" and raises his hands in the air. There is no hockey game on, nothing else to cheer so far as I can tell. Until I see Brennyn's eyes watching, calculating, then yelling 'Aaahhhh!' as her lil hands follow his and wave in the air. Obviously the whole family cheering for the Canucks has inspired her cheerleader skills.

Brenny has a way of letting you know she is being let out of the action. She doesn't get mad. She does not try to divert attention. She just looks. Piercingly stares with eyes that just talk to you. Eye language that has the unreal ability to translate seamlessly. You know what she wants, she knows you know, and you are left with no choice but to teach her. This girl can hold her own. Yes, nine months wise my girl.

Part of it is her social nature. She wants to be immersed in the action. Which also makes her a remarkable sharer. On this day of moments, I am struck looking back on it, how often she wanted to share, to build relationships. Her food is offered to my mouth. Her toys become my toys. One block for her, one block for me- she insists. Now if only she could use the power of her eye language to translate to her sister the meaning of 'sharing'!

Along with lots of mushy rice crackers, I also have the pleasure of ingesting bountiful amounts of Brenny baby kisses. There is nothing in the world better than a baby kiss. All that gummy, slippery, sloppy, open-mouthed slobber of love. Then even though your first instinct is to wipe that drool away, you see the pride in your baby's eyes knowing she did something really grown up and adorable and all you can do is go in for another. And another. And another. Moment to moment to moment.

Thank you for a really special day Brenny Claire Bear.

Positivity

2010-04-27T14:46:00.000-07:00

After re-reading my last post, I wanted to slap myself upside the head because seriously, I have a good freakin life. Then my mom commented and she pretty much did slap me upside the head. Mom's are good like that.

So yes, just like that, a little attitude shift, and life is beyond amazing. Take today. Rainy, non sleeping teething baby, antsy toddler and no groceries. Yesterday this would have made for another 'blah' day. But today, grocery shopping was a fun, giggly adventure. Today, we cozy up in the kitchen mixing, chopping, baking and recreating Jessica Seinfeld's 'Chocolate Chip Cookies with Chick Peas' recipe. Kaya does not like chocolate, so I substitute it (grudgingly) with cranberries and almonds. The results are scrumpdiddlyicious and we eat them warm, before lunch. We're just wild like that.

Lunch, nap, then one on one time with Brennyn. Until she is bored with me and crawls to her sisters door, plunks her bum there and grunts until I open the door. She darts for the bed, pulls herself up and peeks over the footboard grunting some more. Kaya stirs, lights go on and the fun begins. These times, with rejuvanated kids and afternoon light pouring in the window, are our time. Fun time. Bonding time. Silly time. The Best Time.

Have I mentioned that I just got an iPhone? Somewhere in my playing I came across this collage maker. I love playing with new photo programs!

Anyways, we play. And play, and play and play. Dollhouse, car garage, building blocks, music players, dancing, dolls and a stuffy audience cheering on our puppet theatre. We eye-spy. We hide-n-seek. In no time it looks like this and even worse around the corner:

(Taken with said iPhone!)

Before we know it, Bal is off work and I am off for a run. Even in the rain. The pouring rain. Because I realized my doldrums hit when I took a week off of running. I needed to get out for some exercise, even if brief. Off I go and no side stitch occurs. I think I was too busy jumping mud and puddles to let my head orchestrate an ailment. Near the end I come to a full and complete stop. There, in the stream beside me is a beaver! Swimming to its dam. Once Riley peeks around my legs the beaver halls ass (and tail) to its home so its a quick look, but a look nonetheless.

The final hoorah comes at the very end of my run. The rain has slowed and a burst of sun vaults out of the thick clouds. I hope for a rainbow since Kaya has yet to see one since learning that rain and sun make rainbows. She's constantly pointing these two forces of nature out. We are, after all, living on the west coast in the spring. Lately, she has even hinted that our rainbow education was an out right lie.

The last time she saw one was the gas station. She yells from the backseat "RAINBOW!" and I quickly formulate a way to explain 'pretty gas fume colours' as opposed to 'rainbow' but she is right. Past the gas station, towards the estuary, a double rainbow. That's the day her dad and I attempt an explanation of rainbows and we have not seen one since. So here the rain. Here the sun. Here my positive outlook on life and wishing for a rainbow that I can show my girl.

With rain downpouring once again, I make a final burst to my front door. Have I mentioned I have an iPhone? Because with it, my run is not complete until I go upstairs to the computer and check out my tracked GPS run. As I sit checking out my run's distance, pace and elevation, a glimmer of colour out the window catches my eye.

"KAYA, COME HERE! COME HERE! QUICK! KAYA!!!"

She runs up the stairs, launches herself into my frantic arms and giggles as I point out the window.

"RAINBOW!!" she squeals.

Life is bloody fantastic.

Shlumpadinka Chic

2010-04-26T14:34:00.000-07:00

I've had a downer few days. No one thing I can call out as the reason. A multi-faceted 'blah' then. Weather, PMS, the Pill, a week off of running, mammahood routine feeling very, well, routine...

All of it making me feel frumpy and bored. Or maybe boring. Something's got to change. Annoyingly, deep down I know the only change required is my attitude. One of those you know you know but you don't really want to know. You know?

Besides, moping can't really continue when you've got:

Rainbow Brenny Bright peering into your eyes.

My sister visiting me and the girls!

Kaya drawing yet another person but this time yelling "Look Mom! I'm leaping!" which besides being adorable, is a fairly accurate portrayal!

After I accost that picture as a keeper before she scratches big black blotches all over it (as she's prone to do), she draws another one. This time Mommy (whom she labels) and Kaya dancing along with 'Dancing With the Stars' Because we love to twirl. And no, those are not my boobies (as I was hoping!) They are flowers or a fly flying in my belly depending on when you ask her.

Not satisfied yet, she pics up another piece of paper and draws herself a birthday party. Complete with leaping, tricks, step stools, flowers, all the kids wearing shoes and a dragon.

My kid rocks my world.

When my kids are not delighting me, the prospect of Pajama Jeans are. Pajamas that look like Jeans. Win, win people! Unless it's like beer and chocolate cake. Then it's just wrong. But, as a dear friend posted on my facebook, is it so wrong it is right?

I am leaning to yes and if anyone is brave/stupid enough to buy a pair (or you are a new mom nursing at god forsaken hours fighting to stay awake by watching TV which only plays infomercials that SUCK YOU IN to a crazy shopping vortex where everything looks brilliant and invaluable and you do not even know that you purchased something nevermind purchased Jean PJ's until they arrive in the mail) please message me. Because I have got to know. Brilliant? Bust? Booty Shakable? Plumber Buttable?

Anyways, on to other things that make me happy. Like the new backsplash and paint in my kitchen. Loving it. Good work Bal!

Still having not quite shaken the doldrums, I take a 'me' day on Sunday and go to the city for some shopping- alone. I do not like shopping but I like having no children nagging/fussing/hungry/disturbing-the-peace and I really like browsing for hours at books. I like buying myself a wallet and bag. I like getting the chance to kick back and people watch (not be the watched people.) It is a wonderful day, a needed day, a rejuvenating one. I feel like that is all that I needed. Until I get home and see that our friends, who own a fabulous flower business, have brought by yellow tulips. Everywhere I glance, there is cheer. They are perfect. Bright and joyful and perfect.

Bon Voyage blahs!

Golden Ears Trail Run

2010-04-19T09:11:00.000-07:00

When picking a running partner, it is advisable to always pick someone who is slower than you. This not only boosts the ego, but also means they probably will not catch on to your sly 'Oh, my shoelace came undone!' ploy to have a break. And if they do catch on, they will pretend they do not. Since I have yet to meet anyone slower than me, this is all conjecture of course. Or bullshit. Same, same.

If, like me, you have to pick a running partner who is faster than you, ensure that they do not mind being called 'Bastard!' with salivia-filled, wheezing vehemence. This is non-negotiable. If they prefer not to be called violent names, dump em. Or let them run as they are. But please make your point known. Kicking mud at them works fine.

Fortunately, my running partner this past weekend also happens to be my little brother. Which means nasty name calling has been engrained in our relationship since Kindergarten taught me all about 'Cooties'. Having already called him a bastard in a recent post, he knew what he was getting into. Dare I say, he even welcomed it? After all, the cynical son-of-a-bitch did just get back midnight the night before, from a 10-day vacation on a Caribbean island filled with friendly, gregarious, laid back folk. He was ready for some attitude. And I was ready to curse him and his tanned, pansy-ass self. See? Win, win!

Seriously though, it did work well. He was jet-lagged and happy to go for a 'saunter' while he chattered about his trip. I was happy to have him have so much to talk about so all I had to do was :

"Oh yeah..." *gasp*

"Mmm Hmm" *gasp*

"Cool" *gasp*

and when it got really hilly a garbled "Uh huh" which he thought was me responding to his tale but was, in actual fact, me having a full-blown asthma attack.

Then suddenly, without my even keeling over, we were finished. We did the Golden Ears trail, part of the 5 Peaks Trail Running Series. Not during race day but for me to see if I could hold my own if I ever got brave enough to join race day. Looking at previous years results, it looks as though I could. I thought maybe back of the middle of the women but maybe more realistically, front of the back. Still, there would be people cursing and kicking mud at me!

Maybe motivation enough for me to sign up for a real race day yet...

Just Dandy... Lion

2010-04-14T15:06:00.000-07:00

Since the first time my girl gifted me a rock, she has graced me with countless presents. That first, amazing, rock has a place of honour in her scrapbook but most of the other surprises are slyly dropped, hidden or recycled. Not because I don't appreciate the sentiment but because I don't want to appear on reality TV as The Mommy Hoarder.

Today she delivers a dandelion.

Which is a weed.

Though you could never convince her of this. And I am not really convinced either.

Not when the presentation is so damn good:

***

It is 1999. I have arrived back home, jet-lagged and unsure, after a year teaching English in Korea. Landing, luggage, hello's are a blur. Driving through the city, though necessary, does not occur in my memory.

Blink.

Like that I am in the Fraser Valley. Out of the city. It has been a long, long time since I have been outside a city.

Blink. Through tears.

The beauty surrounding me is unbearable. I do not want to blink. I just want to stare in wonder, then wonder. Wonder how I could have stayed away so long. Wonder why the hell I am back at all.

Blink. Through tears. Through snorting laughter.

"What's so funny?" asks Bal eyeing up this girl he once knew who now seems slightly insane.

"Overcome by the beauty- snort -and gorgeous scenery- snort-then realized,"

Giggle, giggle, snort, laugh...

"it's just fields of DANDELIONS!"

"Huh?"

Then, in all seriousness "Wow, dandelions are gorgeous."

Blink. Through tears.

"Are you okay?"

I thought not at the time. But looking back I can see that I was seeing things through my traveller eyes. Which at its heart is a child's eyes. Pure and simple. Without labels or preconceived notions. I saw a field bursting with joy, thousands of suns just waiting to be plucked.

Dominant Genes

2010-04-09T07:14:00.000-07:00

Bal walked in the room holding Brennyn the other day and for the very first time in 3.5 years of having children, I saw some of myself in one of my kids.

If I had not seen them come out of my body, I may have had to demand DNA testing. Physically, they are both entirely their dad. Sometimes people try to appease me and insist they see some of me in them. Which is ludicrous. Ludicrous that they do and ludicrous that they think this is troubling to me that they do not. 99% of the time, it does not even occur to me that they do not look like me.

Until I'm mistaken for the nanny. Or when some busybody asks me "Where are they from?" and I have to rack my brain for a polite way to say "My vagina."

Now that Kaya is gabbing away and her personality is blossoming, this is when I see more of me come out. Certain phrases I say or even the way I grunt. Sometimes it is a mannerism, other times a certain door-slamming-attitude tips me off.

But never, NEVER before, have I seen my features in their features. Until Bal walks in holding Brennyn. Please understand, this is Bal and our baby:

There is no me in her. Only wait, there it is. I see it!

Mind you, it is not a stunningly beautiful face that greets me. No, she comes in nose crinkled, brow furrowed and eyes penetrating me. Then, a quick roll of the eyes. I know this look. I've seen it looking back at me while trying to deal with an outbreak of acne or bad hair day. I imagine Bal has seen it many, many, many more times than that. It is a look of exasperation. An I-Can-Not-Believe-You glare of indignation.

I burst out laughing, point at her and screech "I see me! That's my face!"

As I start to absorb the implications of this, my face furrows, my nose crinkles and my eyes roll, all the while crying, "Nooooo..."

Dominant genes I may not have, but dominant attitude, well yah, I've got a surplus of that. Enough, apparently, to pass down to my kids.

Be Careful What You Wish For...

2010-04-08T13:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Teeth,

Well bully for you for coming out. Cheers and feels and gorgeous baby toothy grins. Yaddy, yaddy, hip, hip, hooray...

Listen, I know a deal was made. But she's a baby man! A baby who will one day be a woman and have a better understanding of pain threshold. Real pain threshold. Not teeth growth pain that is entirely natural and everyone endures. But real pain.

BITTEN NIPPLE PAIN!

So come on central incisors, you've had your fun. You've had a bite or two. A bet's a bet after all. But it is time to cut me some slack.

It is time to stop the chomp.

Imploringly,

Brennyn's Mom's Nipples

A Dental Plea

2010-04-06T07:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Teeth,

COME OUT ALREADY DAMN YOU! It is not nice to tease. Nor taunt. Nor torture.

So for the love of sleep and smiley, happy babies, please come forth. Now!

I am begging you,

Brennyn's sleep deprived mom

*

Deer Tooth,

Dude, come out already. I am f&*$ing tired.

Brennyn's father

*

Dear teeb,

I look bunny. No, not like a bunny. Punny. As in silly. Please come out. I wanna look like my sister. Please!

Like, yesterday.

Wib Lub,

Brenny the Toobless Bunny (this time I mean Bunny)

PS. I promise to bite somebing really good if you come out! Like doggies. Or sisters. Oh, oh, I know, nipples! Yes, I will happily bite a nipple! Or two... Yup, debinitely two!

Please...

Side Stitch

2010-04-05T23:26:00.000-07:00

I've been running for a month now. Running but not a runner. Especially since half of my 'runs' are of me keeled over with cramps. I guess it's more commonly known in the runners circle as a 'side stitch' but that makes me think of a sidekick. Which makes me imagine Ed McMahon in Richard Simmons-inspired exercise gear running up the path ahead of me boasting "Heeeereeee's Kari!" If running is for the psychotic, it should really come easier for me. Sigh.

I have tried eating better, drinking more water, and timing my eating and drinking better. Failing all that, I try alcoholic laced coffee before heading out. Sadly, that too fails.

I google it which is always dangerous since any ailment researched by google most commonly results in death. Fortunately, my prognosis is better than that. Slightly. It's all very scientific and technical. Something to do with jiggling livers and diaphragms and stretching ligaments and for one horrific moment, stretching ligaments triggers 'pregnant' in my brain. Almost as bad as death then...

But no, it's just that I run funny. Something absurd like my right foot hits ground on my exhale while most people's left foot hits. Of course it does. So I head out on my run trying to put my left down on the exhale. This confuses my brain (granted, this is not difficult) and I end up looking like Kramer entering a door that hits Elaine who is dancing. It is not pretty.

So I give up on that solution and try the lift my right arm in the air while pushing into my rib cage with my left arm. This, however, is a little too Heil Hitler-ish and I do not want to be confused as a Nazi, nor a mistress of Jesse James. The only solution left? Stop running until it passes. Which gives me a good 10 minutes snooze on a bench and the return of the cramp about thirty seconds into starting again.

I don't know. I suppose I could try the deep breathing option. Though I have not yet figured out how to meditate with children climbing all over me. And if they are miraculously absent, how to not fall asleep instead. Meditative breathing to aid in both my running and grumpiness? I do always enjoy a good 2 for 1 promo so yes, I'll give it a go. As long as my deep inhale can be used to scold, nag and/or bellow once in a while too.

Dear Kaya and Brennyn, (3.5 years/9 months)

2010-04-03T08:13:00.000-07:00

To my Lovely-Lou and Cutes MaGoots,

This is my first letter to the both of you. I combine it since it's neither of your real birthday. Still, it has been a momentous few months so I thought I had better write you a few words.

We have had the Olympics here, and while you won't remember having been there, my hope is that you carry with you the spirit, energy, joy and passion that the Olympics brought to town. The Olympic committee often talks about the legacy of the Olympic Games. This is your legacy girls. Especially since two kick-ass women gold medal winners live right here. Damn, they could end up being your teachers. That is some legacy! Though I would greatly appreciate it if you give me a few years, like twenty, before following Ashleigh McIvor or Maelle Ricker down the ski/snowboard cross runs.

Regardless if you are racing down a mountain or writing a book of poetry, the real legacy is to follow your passions. Do what you love, love what you do. Easy right? Hah, talk to me in a few years...

In honour of the games, here are my winning Olympic moments from the both of you.

Kaya:

Bronze- Your awe and adoration, not for the thousands of people in the street or performers or impressive displays of athleticism, but for more simple things like the bus ride over the Lions Gate Bridge, traffic lights blinking 'walk', and escalators & elevators. So easy to please!

Silver- Mascot love! High-fiving Quatchi, hugs for Miga, cheering for them skate at Robson Square and losing your helium balloon only to be satisfied that you sent it up high in the sky for Sumi to catch and play with. Not to mention all the play and cuddles with the mini versions and book at home.

GOLD- Singing Oh Canada! Over and over and over again. And over and over and over...

Brennyn:

Bronze- Feeding you mid event. Whether at luge, superG or gold medal hockey watching in Whistler, we had to stop and feed you in the middle of snow, cold and exciting action. This often ends up in banana mush up your nose, in your ear, on your purple snowsuit. With mouth WIDE open, you lunge at, turn towards, maneuver to spoon dangling just out of your reach as mom or dad are distracted by a whizzing luge, speedy skiier or GOAL!!!!

Silver- Partying with the rest of us in Whistler as we watch men's hockey go for gold. Daddy tried to turn you around in the carrier so you would sleep (like your snoozy sister) but you would have none of it. You wanted to turn back around and cheer with the rest of us!

GOLD- Cow bell. Cow bell. And more Cow bell!

Besides the Olympics, the last few months have also brought incredible feats of learning. Kaya you are spelling. Already! Your first word? Mom! Written in my journal without me even knowing it. I spot it the next day and can not even believe it. Amazing. Since then you have spelled more words, like ham (I think you were attempting Hannah but you stopped at 'a' then started to spell mom which resulted in 'ham'. Hilarious!), dad (which came out as bab), Kaya and Hannah. You have not yet written but can spell stop, go, Brennyn and Riley. Seriously amazing. You so love to learn. Some of our best moments consist of me writing in my journal and you colouring or painting beside me. Actually, as I type this, the title at the top reads Dear Kaya and Brennyn. You immediately spot the 'Kaya' and are very intrigued that I should be writing about you. If you only knew how much! I suppose you will. Poor love...

Brennyn, you have learned to crawl! Which has opened up a whole new world of things to explore. Blinds, Riley's water dish, bathroom step stools and door stoppers being the most exciting. Of course.

The springy door stopper has been the best find. Especially since Kaya had never seen it in action either. The two of you sit there flicking it and giggling forever. It is impossible to be grumpy amongst girly giggles. Did you know that?

Oh how I adore watching the two of you together. Sisters.

"A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves - a special kind of double." ~Toni Morrison

I love this quote. Especially since I see so much of that truth already. Sometimes the two of you look at each other, Kaya so nurturing, Brennyn so adoring, and I so see that. Hopefully you two do too though I suspect for a few years, this quote may be more apt:

"Siblings are the people we practice on, the people who teach us about fairness and cooperation and kindness and caring - quite often the hard way." ~Pamela Dugdale

The hard way being baby body slams, grabbing toys away, tantrums at toys being snatched away, toy battle royals, attention competitions, hair pulling, pushing over, walking over, and/or crawling over. Oh and this is so just the beginning.

For the most part though, the both of you project such a sense of wanting to PLAY with each other. Brennyn's eyes of delight whenever your big sis enters a room. You follow, watch, copy and grab for her. You want her toys, her bed, her food. You want to dance, booty shake and play. Oh to really play!

And Kaya, looking at your lil' sis with an almost motherly love in one moment, then a 'oh-hurry-up-and-grow-already-you-boring-lump-o-baby the next! You need somebody to play dollhouse with. Not to mention spin, dance, booty shake, giggle, play hide n' seek and sandbox with. Though now that Brennyn is crawling and grabbing for all your stuff, lump-o-baby is not looking quite so bad!

No matter, you both adore each other. Some days you will abhor each other. It's all good. Because you are sisters and at the end of the day, you will always, ALWAYS, love each other.

Just about as much as I love the two of you. So to send off, I send my love to you the way you send your love to me at this your 3.5 years and ninth month.

Kaya, with kisses and cuddles and an exuberant 'I love you EVERY day!'

Brennyn, with a determined, giggly crawl at the sight of you, then a comforting pat upon the shoulder. You can not talk yet, but that pat speaks to me. It says "I am safe. I am happy. I am loved and I love you back."

Oh how I love you two back.

For eternity,

Mommy

Not A Runner... Yet

2010-04-02T04:45:00.000-07:00

Besides my wardrobe, there are other hints (or blatant knocks upside the head) that make it obvious that I am not yet a real runner. Here, the top 3:

1. I head out today in the cool, rainy, windy misery in what I would consider more hiking shoes than running ones. I am thinking of all the mud on the trails when I grab them. Now, after said run, all I can think is SHIN SPLINTS SUCK ASS.

2. I went and bought (yes, more money spent) a more runner friendly water bottle. Plastic with sports cap style rather than my trendy Sigg one that was awkward to hold, cold on the hand and required a full stop before drinking if I didn't want water all over my face. But plastic (recycled and biodegradable or not) retains horrible smells. I have washed, rinsed, washed, rinsed and repeat several times before my first run.

Still, I pound back my water full of Palmolive dish soap, gag and spit, Palmolive gulp, gag and spit, rinse and repeat. I think my face looks something like it does upon exiting an outhouse though I can' t be sure since I was the only runner (aka crazy person) out today to see me. At any rate, I pass the time running by daydreaming about all the toxic ingredients I must be ingesting.

Palmolive Kills Crazy Person! read the headlines.

Only to decide that it probably isn't as toxic as that Reece Peanut Butter Cup Bar I had last night. Oddly, this makes me feel better.

*Note to self- Never again read ingredient or calorie count while ingesting delicious bad-for-you-crap. Live in denial. It's more delicious that way.*

3. My run today was 3 minutes run/ 1 minute walk, 9 times. I am running along the dike on my third run portion when I decide I can turn back, take that one extra trail on the way home, and that would get me back home. Only I get to the extra trail portion and I'm only on the sixth run portion, not eighth. If this is not making any sense, know this: Math is not my forté.

Don't you just love the word forté? Can you ever use forté in the positive. As in 'Running is my forté!' Unless you want to sound like a pretentious wanker, I am thinking not. I digress. On purpose. Because the fact that I thought half of 9 was 3 is pathetic. While this has absolutely nothing to do with how I am not yet a real runner, I still blame running. I think each pound of the foot sends my brain southward. Like into my shins or something since all my brain wants my fingers to type right now is SHIN SPLINTS SUCK ASS!

Luck O' the Irish

2010-04-02T01:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm a couple of weeks late in talking St. Paddy's Day. However, I just picked up Kaya's art from daycare and one piece made me laugh out loud. For she really captured the essence of this Irish holiday.

What makes it so hilarious to me is, Kaya's people usually look more like this:

Not the big goofy grin with red ears and arms ready to embrace any one who will go near.

I didn't know she could draw drunk Irish fellas...

When I google drunk Irish fella, I come across this:

Split Screen Action

Yes, impressive work Kaya. You totally captured the luck o' the Irish. Next year should I expect to see your mastery of Beer Goggles?

Awkward

2010-03-31T04:34:00.000-07:00

The spelling of awkward is awkward don't ya think?

***

Possibly there is nothing more awkward than that of a toddler pulling up their undies and pants after going pee. Twisted, wedgied, folded over, clumsiness!

***

I was at the pool the other day. After using the family change rooms, I head next door to the handicap-accessible toilet/shower room to go pee. It is empty so I go in and am about to close the door behind me when I jump back with a start.

Legs!

My eyes involuntarily follow the legs, not wanting to see anything naked but curious too how a person hid in that tiny space behind the door. Only there wasn't a someone in there. Just legs. Prosthetic legs. It takes my mind a while to catch up to what I am seeing and when it finally does, I try to act all cool. Like I run into a pair of legs going solo every day. Almost as shocking as Kaya encountering Giant Torso-Less Legs a few months back.

I look around guiltily. Nobody (or no body) around. The legs are being stored here. I guess the lockers are too small to hold legs? You'd think locker builders would have taken that into consideration. Jeesh. Still, I can't pee with somebody's legs watching. Or hangin or whatever. So I head to the stalls and make a point of checking under the doors before barging in.

***

This morning I was leaving Kaya's preschool with Brennyn. A dad coming in went out of his way to hold the door for me. He was positioned awkwardly while I slid out thanking him. Which is when his hand grazed my ass. Shit. Brennyn recovers the situation by farting so I dramatically blurt "Excuse You!" Only once I am in the car does it occur to me that the dad maybe wouldn't have heard her fart and thought I was excusing him. Ah Shit.

***

I am running in the trails with Riley (our dog) when she runs up ahead to an older couple strolling and sticks her nose right up the mans butt. "RILEY, COME HERE!" I yell which is usually enough to get her sauntering back to me. But today she ignores me and sticks her head up the guys bum again. "RILEY! NO! COME HERE NOW!" She looks at me like she'll consider it AFTER SHE GETS THAT TREAT IN THE BUM. And in her nose goes again. Desperate, I turn back from where I came and haul ass because nothing irritates Riley more than me running away from her. Fortunately, the tactic works and Riley races towards me. I keep going, not wanting to face the man. Too awkward for me to apologize sure. But awkward too for him and his dirty bum...

***

Lesson Learned

2010-03-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

What kids don't know is, us parents, we're learning and evolving right along side them. We make mistakes, don't have the answers, and learn something new everyday too.

I had a big lesson a few weeks ago. It keeps popping into my head and I figure by acknowledging it here, I can accept that I have learned from it and move on.

We were walking downtown Vancouver during the Olympics. Exhilaration and energy filled the air. Kaya pointed in wonder at all things new: zip lines, buses, inukshuks, bald guys, traffic lights, and so on. We were waiting for the walk signal when she points at something else. "Look at that!" said in confusion and curiosity. Glancing towards her gaze, I see a homeless man nestled in the corner of a 7-11 with a cardboards sign and upside down hat. My heart clenches, my mind races, and the walk sign appears. "Oh ya, look at that." I hurry while pulling her to cross the street.

To be honest, at the time, we are carried forward to more Olympic excitement and I forget about the exchange. I forget that I acknowledge that person in that situation as I would have a puppy dog or a fire blower. I forget that my daughter, 3 years old or not, was looking to me for guidance and I modeled ignorance. I forget about all that. For a time.

It is only later, when things are quiet at home, that I have a chance to reflect on the day and that moment floods back to me. I recall the look on Kaya's face, the concern, the confusion. I recall my blatant denial of the whole situation while I rush her to cross the street in time. With time to process the situation, I am still not sure what was the right course of action. She is 3 years old and a very sensitive 3-year-old at that. I don't really want her to know about the world's hardships yet but she shouldn't grow up in a protective bubble either. What is an appropriate talk about the homeless to a preschooler. I still can not come up with an answer. What I do know is that I should have acknowledged her curiosity. I should have smiled at the man, gave him some money or at the very least wished him a good day. I should have modeled for my daughter empathy and compassion. Not avoidance or my jaded belief that the money would go towards drugs and alcohol.

The beautiful thing about kids is, they are not jaded. They have no preconceived notion of a situation and want only to help. Maybe my money would go to booze. Or maybe, just maybe, it would go towards food or socks or bus fare. This man is a son and probably a husband, father, sibling and friend too. This is where my daughter can be my teacher. (How many times are my daughters my teacher? Amazing. If they only knew!) Strip away all the labels and stereotypes and there is just a guy. A guy who needs a hand. That is what I should have taught. That is what I will teach from now on. Empathy and compassion can never hurt.

In true serendipitous form, I am browsing through books at a bookstore a few days later and come across a book called The World Needs Your Kid. The first page I flip to, I read:

One icy winter day, 5-year-old Hannah was driving down a back lane with her mom when she noticed a shivering man, eating out of a garbage can. "What is that man doing?" she screamed. Her mom struggled to explain in simple but honest language that some people are poor, hungry, down on their luck. "Until that moment, Hannah believed everyone had what she had," her mom recalls. "A home, a bed, love and care." Hannah says she'll forever remember the sight of that homeless man. "I actually think I felt my heart crack."

The look on Kaya's face, I now realize, told me her heart was cracking. Then it hits me. Protecting my daughter from reality hurts not only her, but the world around. Because kids are the best of us and the best of us can help. She can help. I buy the book immediately. There are no coincidences.

If You Spend Your Whole Life Waiting for the Sunshine, You'll Never Enjoy the Storm

2010-03-28T08:20:00.000-07:00

What an entirely lovely morning.

It starts at 6am with me nursing Brennyn. Too early but she's just so squishy and delicious that early is okay. Soon after, we hear Kaya start to sing Oh Canada. As soon as that voice is heard, there is no getting Brenny back to sleep. So we just lay there smiling, listening to our anthem on loop. Finally Brenny can take it no longer and starts calling out for Kaya. She babbles and moans until Kaya hears, leaps out of bed and out the door. "I have to pee!" she yells and runs to the potty first which disgusts Brennyn to no end. Finally, Kaya barrels into bed and Brenny laughs, bounces and flaps her arms with joy. Sister love is the best kind of love.

Later, I have some coffee and computer time. As my tears flow (see previous post), Bal is putting Brennyn for her morning nap and trying to avoid playing dollhouse with Kaya (I don't blame him! She's so bossy playing dollhouse...) Needing a second cup of coffee, I peek into Kaya's room. Her and daddy are building, destroying and rebuilding again. Their favourite game. I smile. Then I peek into Brennyn's room. This is dangerous being the light sleeper that she is, but I feel the need to see her. Sadness and the reminder to not take life for granted does that I guess. So I peek in expecting the peaceful slumber of a napping infant. She sleeps sure, but it is far from peaceful. With her butt in the air, head crammed into the end of the bed, face sort of crumpled and crooked looking entirely uncomfortable and strained, she looks more like a college student passed out in the wrong bed at the end of a long night of tequila shots. Somehow this is perfect.

Then it is time for a run. Run 3 minutes, walk 1 minute, 10X today. That is 30 minutes of running time. A big step. I feel ready. Most people would tell you it was a miserable day today. Overcast, cool, menacing, dark clouds threatening the lighter skies above. For me it was perfect. Melancholy. Quiet. The path is empty of any other people, but full of life all the same. Birds chirping in chorus, squirrels calling out for my dog (they taunt her for fun, they really do. Cracks me up!), dewy leaves dropping drops, and the thud, thud (more like squish, squish on the sodden path) of my runners hitting ground. There is nothing else right then. Just those sounds amidst the smells of a wet spring and my beating heart. Oh okay, and maybe a gasp for breath now and then.

Thud-thud-chirp-chirp-squeak-squeak-breath-breath-beat-beat. This is life in the moment.

I hit my favourite path to run. It is a rolling, undulating trail with a slight downhill of rhythmic corners. I love it. I feel like a runner on it. A real runner.

Or I would if it weren't for my bouncing butt. The moment is lost for just a moment as I fantasize about inventing a butt bra for runners. I would make millions and become famous and give interviews only to have no one listen until I got up to leave and then the flash of bulbs aimed at my ass would result in far too many paparazzi butt shots and I retire. Phew, is it just me or all runner's imaginations INSANE?

So this is all going on in my brain until I flash back to the moment. The moment when I realize that I am, in this moment, RUNNING MY PANTS OFF! Seriously. They are half way down my ass. Regardless that once again, I am baring my butt without want to (see here and here and apparently I am my own doppelganger here...), my pants that fit just fine a few weeks ago, are now too big. I am shrinking!

After a successful run, I get home and the girls decide to bike to the park. Truly, there is nothing like kids, bikes, and playgrounds to remember what is really important in life. It's these little things. These moments. Each moment. Perfect.

Eva

2010-03-28T02:12:00.000-07:00

Wow. So I am sitting here grieving for a woman that I have never met. I know her only through her blog and even then, only for about a month or two. I do not remember how I came to her blog. One of those link to link to link times then BAM, I have to stop and watch, then read. The first blog posting I saw was a video of her saying goodbye. She was dying. I was shocked by it but also drawn in. She had so much LIFE to her. Which sounds bizarre. So I then read more. And more. And more. This girl is poetic. Gorgeous. Wise. A fighter. But most of all, most importantly, a lover. Of life. Of people. Of love.

"You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment." ~Henry David Thoreau

She sure did that. What an inspiration for the rest of us.

Get to know her, her cause and her legacy on her blog at 65 Red Roses. Sometimes it will be hard to read, it is, afterall, of her dying. But mostly you will see her Life. Her energy and compassion, humour and silliness, joy and LOVE. So much love.

Rest in peace Eva.

*PS. I believe the Passionate Eye on CBC is playing the documentary about her also called 65 Red Roses on Friday. I'll be watching.

Huff & Puff

2010-03-25T23:53:00.000-07:00

Kaya has recently learned the 3 Little Pigs story at daycare. So together we tell it:

"Little pig, little pig, let me in!"

"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!"

"Then I'll HUFF, and I'll PUFF, and I'll blow your house down!"

Only I huff and puff too aggressively. "No mommy, it's a happy wolf!" Because Kaya does not like mad or sad. Monsters, giants and aliens are all insisted to be happy. Not scary. Ever. I try to talk to her about the wolf's feelings but she shuts me down. "I like happy wolfs." I do not. I think happy wolves are lame. So I compromise.

"Or how about the wolf is tired!" Kaya looks at me unsure.

"Yes, the wolf just went for a run. Mommy huffs and puffs while running. The pigs have nothing to worry about see? Wolf is too tired to blow down a house!"

"Like mommy is too tired to play with me?"

Oh crap, compromise did not go exactly as planned.

***

Speaking of huffing and puffing, I'd like, for a moment, to take some time to tell you about my bastard brother. I call him to ask if he'd like to do a 9km trail run with me as it's near his house.

"Yah sure. I just started running again. It's been ages. Went out this morning."

"Oh cool. I'm headed out now. Today is run 3 minutes, walk 2 minutes 10 times."

"Oh yah, I can't do that. I have this Nike gidget gadget blah-blah that records my time and distance. I set it for a 10km run. When it tells you 2km, 3km, etc it's a bit discouraging as it feels long---"

"Hold up. You ran 10km this morning?"

"Yah."

"Just like that? 10km? You ran the whole thing?"

"Yah."

Which is when I should have hung up on him. But I'm too good of a sister for that. Besides, when we do run it, he'll be able to cross the finish line, drive to the store, come back, chill some beer and hand me a glass in a frosted mug by the time I finish. I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll swig that beer down. That works too.

Future Bootcamp Enforcer

2010-03-25T03:16:00.000-07:00

Running is hard. Made harder by loose laces, inadequate sports bra, and strollers with screaming baby inside. Now I don't want to give you the wrong idea. Brennyn is a happy baby but she likes what she likes and she does NOT like sitting still. The only time she stopped crying on my 20 minute jaunt this morning was the two times I went down a fairly steep hill. Future daredevil I predict.

The thing about Miss Screamadilly is, she does not like to be bored. And please do not even think of patronizing her with baby toys. Kaya's toys are okay. Mom's keys, remote, phone, keyboard, books, pens, journal, camera, now those are items worth further inspection. So the thing is, she's easy to please. Just not while strapped in a seat. Duly noted Brenny. Mommy will run on her own (screams of joy erupt from both mamma and baby!)

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Road Trip

2010-03-24T14:23:00.000-07:00

Road trip sounds so pleasant. Trip, vacation, fun! Not so my road trip. No think of ours more like the 'trip' which has you tripping face first into a puddle that is hiding a ginormous rock that you bang your head on and come up with a soaking wet head with a giant goose egg that is neon purple and there is a huge audience clapping at the hilarity whereby you bow to try to cover the fact that this was not on purpose only to trip again, this time falling on your ass and breaking your tail bone.

Yup, that more aptly describes my road trip.

Harsh, yes. So I should say that the time we were actually in destination visiting my mom was wonderful. The brutality was getting to and from said destination with the Whiner and the Screamer. Oh, there I go again, HARSH.

Okay fine, the Cool and the Curious. The Sleeper and the Busy-Bee. The Hilarious and the Hilariouser.

You get my point. Packing the car, I stockpile one full bag o' fun for Kaya and one full bag o' joy for Brennyn to be put in the passenger seat for easy access for me to distribute as needed. I did not once touch Kaya's bag. She didn't want to read or create magnet stories or play with her Haba castle set. She was happy to sing or daydream or watch Cars on the dvd.

She was also happy to whine. Here is the stage we all hear about "Are we there now? Now? Are we at Gammy's house? Is that Gammy's house? (while pointing oh-so hopefully at a mini-golf castle)" Then, with still 4 hours to go, "How many til we get there?" She is trying desperately to understand time but is struggling with it. I take this trapped time together for a teachable moment (cuz I'm a good mom like that) and explain "Like a million minutes!" When asked again later, I tell her a blink of an eye. Maybe I even explain the reality at some point but it's all getting very complicated explaining minutes, hours, seconds and what it all means so I throw in some Lost lingo which may totally be useful in some sort of time-space flashing sideways rift so I go with that too...

Eventually she just lets out a big dramatic sigh and requests I drive like Lightning McQueen while wondering if Gammy even lives in Canada.

Then we have Brennyn. The non-sleeper, active child who is inquisitive about EVERYTHING. Hard to explore the world strapped backwards into a too tight car seat Mom. So she lets me know she is not happy about the matter. You know how the radio cuts in when a nearby cellphone goes off while driving? I am fairly certain she causes radio frequencies to jumble in all vehicles within a 10km radius for all the screaming she is doing. That bag I brought for Brennyn? Used in it's entirety. One by one. Arm reaches in, arm reaches back, mamma pleads- please like this toy, please!!! Usually each toy is enough to distract her for about 2 minutes. A few even last 10-15 minutes. A package of Mum-mums lasts about 20 minutes.

But my saving grace? The one thing that keeps me sane and Brennyn occupied? The cowbell. Thank you cowbell! At first she just eats it. It must be toxic because she LOVES to eat it. But eventually she remembers how much fun it is to extend both of her arms and shake those wrists back and forth, back and forth, shaking that cowbell for all it is worth. Did you watch the Olympics? Do you know how loud cowbells are? As I peer in my rearview mirror, there is my baby smiling and shaking and there is my preschooler beside her fast, fast asleep.

By hour 6 in the car I have had it. I am done. There is still another hour to go.

We are in farm country and Kaya is loving pointing out the brown cows and black cows and white sheep and Holy Smoly Guacamole- a horse! And another horse! And another. Until they are no longer exciting. Which is about when she asks "Mommy, where are the kangaroos?"

To tell you the truth, I am unable to ascertain weather this is indeed hilarious or not. Because at that time, in that place, after 6 hours of trying to distract/feed/occupy/small talk/drive safe/please my girls, it is the funniest thing I have heard in my life. Where are the kangaroos? I explain where they live (countries, another abstract concept she's trying to grasp.) and she asks if we can go there one day. I tell her of course all the while thinking 'sure, when you're 25 and your father and I are sitting in 1st class on a round the world trip while you and your sis fly coach to meet us and oh sure, we'll spring for a hotel room for you. What? Why is your hotel across the street? Oh, um, yah, our hotel was booked solid. See you at dinner!'

Forced to Run

2010-03-18T10:30:00.000-07:00

I may have stated before that I decided to start running. Which makes me sound so motivated, so inspired. Truth is, running was a last resort. Still wearing the occasional maternity wear, it became obvious that I had to start losing some weight. After considering a local Crossfit gym (another mom recommended it but it occurs to me that she may be insane) and the exercise classes I was going to before Christmas, the reality is that I am broke and could really use that extra money for lattes and Timbits, errr I mean wheat grass and artichokes...

With fitness classes out, I consider ramping up my Wii Active workouts. But try that in a tiny living room with two kids, a dog and a hubby cheering "Yah, shake that booty!"

So I head outside and, inspired by beer chugging athletes, decide skeleton is my thing. Only to be informed that the playground slide is not, in fact, a sliding track. Not for grown-ups at any rate.

No, I do not exactly choose running. It's my default.

Regardless, I am ready to give it a go. I fetch my deprived running shoes out of the depths of the hall closet then raid my own closet for workout clothes. The only pants I can find are maternity ones that I have to roll over a few times to fit the waist but fit just fine in the rear and thighs. My first goal? To literally run my pants off.

I find a sports bra too and while it is not maternity, I must have bought it in the first month of Kaya's life because it is big. Really big. Think Matt Roloff wearing Shaq's shoes. Not a lot of support there. And trust me folks, little people need support too. Especially if they nursed two kids.

Lastly, I pull on a workout top. Here I have the opposite problem. It must have covered all required body parts at some point in my life. But not today. Today it reaches my post-baby muffin top and stops. Like it's scared to go any further or something. Rolls and stretch marks may be disheartening, but not scary. Come on shirt, S-T-R-E-T-C-H.

On my way out the door I grab Bal's stop watch and a down vest as it looks chilly out there. Passing a car window, I catch a glimpse of myself, the runner, and a sole thought occurs to me. 'To be a runner do I have to look like a runner?' Because mostly I look like Kate Gosselin in the first year of her 'plus eight'. If I'm going to look like Kate, could it not be Kate Dancing With the Stars*?

Now, not 30 seconds into my first run, I consider giving up on this running craziness. Maybe I could try curling. Yes, don't they like pay you to curl?

'Learn to Curl! Free Beer Coupons Provided!'

Yes, curling I can do. Until I remember all those Olympic curlers. All those hot, fit Olympic curlers. Ah well, I hate sweeping anyways.

Running it is. There, I made it the first minute. Run one minute, walk two minutes 12 times. I can do this! Especially after I go shopping for gear! And there goes the free...

*Now that I have seen Kate on DWTS, I take that back. I take that waaaay back!

With Glowing Hearts or Scowling Faces?

2010-03-14T03:43:00.000-07:00

"Man is what he believes." -Anton Chekhov

So why does the Canadian government want us all to believe that we are a society of criminals and convicts amongst a drug induced haze? How could we not believe such a thing when we have to look at ourselves on our drivers license and passports staring straight ahead all grim and growly. God forbid the hint of a smile appears. But a furrowed brow? Not an issue. Welcomed even.

Is this because this is how we would look upon being accosted by the police or customs official? Swifter identification affirmation by the authorities?

It's a national psychological crisis. We are infusing this belief that we are, at our core, ugly and mean. It's hard to do our daily affirmations a la Stuart Smalley from SNL when we have to see ourselves looking like convicts every time we board a plane or pay for beer.

I say, no more mugshots. Bring on us shiny, happy people. Let our kids have hope. Let them know they are this:

Not this:

Get Over It Phlegm Barbie!

2010-03-09T06:32:00.000-08:00

From International Women's day yesterday, to Barbie day today. Why oh why?

Apparently the first Barbie was sold on March 9, 1959. Barbie is getting up there. Back pain should be leading to breast reduction surgery any day. Some innovative surgeon should take the extra and put it on her thighs. Make her look more like a real women...

Whatever. It's also Get Over it Day apparently so maybe I'll just do that. Get over it.

Where do these days come from?

I have a day. I hereby proclaim it Snot Sucker and Saline Solution Day!

Yes, that works. My day feels much more purposeful now.

Sigh. I have to go now. Back to the glamour that is my life of booger bubbles.

Women Lady Female Girl Power

2010-03-08T06:26:00.000-08:00

It is International Women's Day today and to my daughters I wish you the greatest of women role models.

I wish that you learn from your mother both from my gifts and my faults.

I wish that you are guided by your 3 amazing grandmothers, all of whom unique and with treasures to teach.

I wish you at least one inspiring teacher who sees your gifts, acknowledges them, and lets them flourish under her watch.

I wish you lifelong girlfriends who will never judge and always listen, no matter what obstacles and mistakes come into your lives.

I wish you a life of seeing women first hand as presidents and business owners and mothers and athletes.

I wish that you will learn and respect the journey women have gone through down the ages so that you are able to appreciate your opportunities.

I wish that you will be what you will see-the amazing sister, friend, mother, grandparent, guide and role model too.

Passion With a Side of Crazy

2010-03-07T13:38:00.000-08:00

I'm having a hard time letting go of the Olympics. I can not stop fathoming the level of commitment, drive and passion it takes to, for example, careen yourself down a frozen track on a sled, head first, at speeds of 140+ km/h with no steering or brakes in order to beat the other crazy, errrr, passionate athlete by mere fractions of a second.

It gets me thinking about my own passions. On a good day, I would tell you about my passion for my kids, for writing, for travel.

Today is not a good day.

My three-year old is whiny and slammed a door in my face while my baby is on poopy diaper #4. Forgive me for not feeling the passion.

If I do not write, I do not feel sane. Writer's block (aka- too much good TV on) has invaded so forgive me for not being sane.

Travelling has been a passion for years though currently I am attempting to marry single backpacking me with 5 star resort Tour Guide me with Mamma me. Annoyingly, this equation totals Super 8 motel with two double beds, hubby and I each with a child getting a fraction of allotted bed space resulting in a fraction of required sleep. Not feeling the love here either.

So today, the only passion I feel passionate about is for peanut butter. Yes, peanut butter. Not the All Natural stuff either. The creamy goodness laced with saturated fat that I spread lovingly on my toast every single morning. Now that is commitment. Sometimes too for lunch, or a Thai peanut curry at dinner. And definitely with chocolate. Which I then pair with wine. Hey, I'm no sommelier but I'm telling you, PB and wine, pure decadence!

My passion does not bring me gold medals or lofty rewards (unless you count my hips), but it does bring me joy and hey, that is all any real passion should do.

My ponderings about the Olympics and the passion and dedication required coincided with Mabel's Labels contest about what you would want to tell the blogosphere about your own passions before the internet was to be wiped out forever. This is my resulting post.

March Madness

2010-03-04T04:32:00.000-08:00

Okay, after 3 weeks of beer and fast food in front of the TV watching, ironically, incredible feats of athleticism, it is seriously time to move. Today was my second day of running. Perhaps I should clarify. Today was my second day of mostly walking with a little bit of running thrown in which is better than just running because then it would just be like 2 solid minutes of running, followed up with 2 minutes keeled over with cramps in my stomach, shins and what I think is my groin. (Side note- Is that area below your hip bone and the very start of your leg the groin? Forgive me for asking. I googled it and stupidly went to Google images where I was blasted with body parts and groin 'injuries' that haunt me so I clicked away and can not go back. I just can't.)

Anyways, yes, I have started a running program. Run 1 minute, walk 2 minutes, 12 times then working your way up to more running. Start getting ready for the Sun Run. And in my manic state of 'starting new!' I have also decided to throw in a couple Trail Runs this summer while I'm at it. So it feels like Jan 1st with all my 'resolutions' and plans to live better. I have a list too. Want to see?

Crunches

Plank

Wii Active

Drink 3 bottles of water a day (Not Coffee Kari, Not Coffee...)

Blog daily

Gratitude journal daily

Look at vision board daily

Healthy meals

What do you think? This will last all of 3 days? Better 3 days than no days I say!

Oh, and just in case you were worried about me what with all this health craze kookiness, what does not appear on the list as in my world it is a given:

Chocolate daily

Wine or beer daily

Coffee more than 1X daily

Couch time for Lost, Amazing Race, toons with Kaya, Grey's Anatomy, Mercy and so on and so forth...

My Big Girl Seems Bigger

2010-03-01T07:17:00.000-08:00

"Mommy, can my best friend come over to my house, and I can show her this special thing I ever heard, in the whole wide world?"

Whereby I know the present I got her was a hit.

***

In the backseat of the car:

"Brenny is smiling at me because she thinks I am the best sister EVER!"

Pause...

"Or," said with quiet contemplation,

"She wants this cozy Canucks blankie I have on my legs..."

***

"Hmmmm...." she looks up at me with her sly, i'm-about-to-be-very-funny look

"Hmmm... Download speed!"

"What?" I ask.

"Download speed!" she giggles.

"Who taught you that?" I ask assuming it was her tech-support daddy.

"The lady on the commercial! Hmmm... Download Speed!"

She repeats this over and over, giggling all the while.

I can only presume this is an Olympic sponsor since that is the only tv we've watched for the last 3 weeks. Since the Olympics are over, we may never see the commercial again. But they can be rest assured that their work there was done. Who knew their target market was so young?!

***

Kaya wrote her first real word on her own this past month. 'Mom' So proud! So not interested in you negative nellies telling me it's actually 'wow'.

Her second word makes me just about as proud.

'Ham' Cuz you can never go wrong with ham.

***

We are playing doctor. I fix her then it's her turn to be doctor.

"Does your ear hurt?" doctor asks

"No, my belly does. What should I do to feel better doctor?"

"Umm... I will go get something." Leaves and runs back.

"Here is a toothbrush and some toothpaste and you must brush your teeth so there are no more snakes!"

"And that will help my belly?"

"Yes!"

Alrighty then.

"And here is Baby Wow Wow. You have to cuddle her too!"

***

"My whole family is going to play this game but in 5 days and then Brennyn can play because she'll be big like me and then she can play the whole game to and then my whole family in the whole wide world can play that game and then she will go downstairs and she will make me some coffee!"

"She's going to make you coffee?" I laugh.

Smirk. "In a long time mommy when I am a mommy and then I can have coffee because it is too hot for me now and it smells like funny."

Need More Cow Bell...

2010-03-01T06:57:00.000-08:00

Obviously my February NaBloPoMo was not a success. I missed one day and that was it. Priorities... If I wasn't at an Olympic event, celebration or ceremony, I was lounged on the couch, with beer, watching them. There was no time to write. Or do housework. Time to get caught up on both today. Without the beer.

We finished off the Olympic celebrations yesterday with a trip to Whistler to watch the hockey game live on the big screen in village square. We really hummed and hawed about going. Two kids and 3 hours of hockey, potentially in rain, is not the best combo ever. Thankfully we went because it was AMAZING! Both Kaya and Brennyn were troopers. True to their personalities, Kaya lounged in the stroller and eventually napped through the third period, overtime, and the anthem. How do kids do that? It was LOUD. Like really, really LOUD. Screams and cheers and cow bells non-stop. Of course, she is used to her daddy, the loudest cheerer and incessant cow bell-ringer directly in all our ears guy we ever did know. So yah, she snoozed.

Brennyn started to fuss so we thought we'd turn her face in in the Baby Bjorn, throw a blanket over her and wiggle her to sleep too. That was not at all what she wanted though. No, this girl likes to party. She is her father's daughter for certain. So she turned back around in the Bjorn, facing outwards and kicked and giggled and waved her little Canada flag (okay, chewed it but that too is patriotic!) through the entire game.

Man, that hockey game was intense. Stressful. Exciting. THE MOST IMPORTANT GAME OF OUR LIVES! We should be swigging beer and staring intently at the screen. Instead I am running to the grocery in the 2nd intermission to get more baby food. Brennyn plowed through the two containers I brought. Then through the beginning of the third, I'm holding her while Bal is feeding her. Amongst hundreds of others, piled in the square, nary an elbow to move an inch here or there. Poor love, about 50% of that banana-apple mush went straight up her nose, maybe even in her ear. Bal kept peering up at the screen and she'd have her mouth wide (WIDE) open while trying to maneuver her way to the spoon he was haphazardly holding around her face. It was all good though. She was fed and ready to party some more. And party more she would with that bloody 25-seconds-left goal by the US sending the game into OT. Can you say Collective-Canadian-Heart Attack? I've never heard such insane frenzy turn simultaneous gasp turn deafening quiet so swiftly before.

But then Crosby scores and all is right in the universe again. I scream so much I sound like I used to after a night of smoke-filled bars and copious amounts of booze. After belting out the anthem with millions of others, Blue Rodeo comes on stage in Whistler. I love Blue Rodeo. So Canadian. So appropriate. Belt out a few of their tunes and then things start turning raucous. Pot is everywhere, champagne bottles are being sprayed, people beginning moshing. It's time to get the kids out of dodge.

On route to a pub for a celebratory beer with friends, we pass Bobs and Lolo singing kids songs. We stop of course and I can't help but laugh at the change in our life over the past 4 years. Still, we could have chosen to stay home to watch the game as it would have been much, much, MUCH easier for the girls. Easier for us to deal with the girls. But we chose to go. And what an experience it was. They won't remember it but they will always know how they participated in the Vancouver 2010 Olympics. They will always know they were there. They were in it. They were a part of it. And that life experience is invaluable.

Now it is over. The TV is OFF. The cow bell being put away. Cold turkey Olympic detox. Probably for the best anyways. Another beautiful montage of triumph and patriotism could only end in what I like to call 'the ugly cry' and I am tired of crying. And tired of explaining to Kaya the difference between sad tears and happy ones. For that was an all too common scene in our house.

Pick a montage, any montage.

Me: weepy tears

Kaya in her worried tone: "Are you happy mom?"

"Yes Kaya. Weep, weep, sob, sob. These are just so, blubber, blubber, beautiful..."

Whereby she looks at me like I am completely insane because 'like duh mommy, tears are when you are sad and smiles are when you are happy'

Whereby I can not explain through all the blubbering so I put on my fake smile and spin her around til my tears are dry and I am about to vomit and then she has a whole new face to decipher and decide, very early on if you ask me, that I will most likely end up in a loony bin.

Anyways, goodbye Olympics. Goodbye cow bell. It was an amazing ride.

Ring Watch

2010-02-14T15:12:00.000-08:00

Sorry- can. not. blog.

Must. watch. more. Olympics.

Gold. gold. GOLD!!!!!!!!!!

I don't have so much of Beer Goggles as I do Olympic Ring Goggles. Damn, that would have been a good thing to invent and sell at the games. The 5 rings with gold medal reflections...

Actually, I am seeing things in 5 right now. I can not even fathom what I'm going to feel like come Day 17. Phew...

Took the girls to Vancouver today for the festivities. We saw mascots and concerts and lots and lots of performances throughout the streets. The highlight for Kaya though? Bus ride over the Lions Gate bridge and going up and down escalators. So easy to please at this age!

Energy in the city amazing. Never seen anything like it in this town.

Bal and I look forward to going back later this week without children so that we may actually be able to enter a pavilion and take some photos and have some drinks. Mmmmm, beer...

Opening Ceremonies

2010-02-13T03:40:00.000-08:00

Oh Canada!

Opening Ceremonies done and it was just so Canadian. So incredibly Canadian. Intimate, stunning, subdued if you consider punk-rock fiddling tap dancers subdued. Love it! The lightning, and whales and impressive tree grove filled with dancers. KD Lang's smoky, gorgeous Hallelujah and a slam poet (a slam poet!) describing our essence, our canadiana.

Then Wayne Gretzky taking the flame to the torch outside in the back of a pickup truck? Come on, could anything be more Canadian?!

Okay, so I went to the dress rehearsal and watched the real thing on TV at home. Here's my take.

Obviously, live is better. It's just more immense, impressive as any live event is. Inside BC place it snows on us. It totally looks and feels like real snow. A cool breeze blows. The atmosphere is charged. Then the four First Nations groups come out and they drum on the largest drum that reverberates through the 60,000 seats that make up BC place. At the rehearsal, the audience did not get the drum kits or lights that the real audience got to participate throughout the ceremony. I can only imagine how that sounded, how that felt, the drumming, the rhythmic pounding absorbed through the toes and pulsating as fast as everybody's adrenaline hearts. Awesome.

So yes, live is better. 60,000 people got to experience that. But for the estimated 3 billion television viewers, it was still amazing. It told our story, it showcased our beauty, both inside and out. That is all we could hope to do.

Go Canada Go!

B.Y.O.S

2010-02-12T02:52:00.000-08:00

It is February. I am in downtown Vancouver. And I am naked.

Not bare naked though it feels that way. No bags, snacks, sippy cups, stroller, change of kids clothes, baby bjorn or baby adorn me. No plotting potty breaks, minimizing tantrum potential or predicting snack time.

It is just me. Alone. For the first time in FOREVER.

I am me in my twenties. Gallivanting about the world, just me and one backpack. Wandering the streets observing, for hours. For fun.

Now here I am today. Me in my thirties, with a mortgage and a husband, a dog and kids. But today it is just me. Naked.

I wander aimlessly, joyfully. No plans besides watching the dress rehearsal for the Olympic Ceremony. Today it does not matter how I get there, or when.

I stop at an independent café for an Americano. Hadn't planned on getting one but their cheeky sign board drew me in.

Welcome to Vancouver

Bring Your Own Snow!

Then, quality coffee in hand, I saunter. I pass bums with dreadlocks and dogs and recall the beggar who lived in my downtown Vancouver building years ago who would panhandle by day and come home every night with a case of beer. I pass lovers, complainers, disabled, racers, cheerers, workers, and lots and lots of volunteers. One volunteer wields power with his megaphone yelling directions to the oncoming masses. Only he has his left and right wrong.

There are many, many people getting on and off transit. People who have never actually stopped at a bus stop, never climbed steps to a skytrain. On my bus trip over, a woman stands before me. Her extensive diamond accessories attempt to blind me though I still glimpse her perfectly manicured nails and designer jeans. Her perfume screams RICH and her attitude too. She dramatically fans herself commenting that all this standing and sweating will at least drop her 5lbs (off her already too slight frame). I bet myself, knowing I will never know for certain but certain in my bet, that she will be catching a cab ride home.

I people watch the day away. It really does take all kinds to make the world go round. Whether I agree, disagree, love, hate, laugh at or laugh with. That is what makes life so fun. People. Naked. Raw. Real.

Opening Ceremonies Secrets Unrevealed

2010-02-11T04:18:00.000-08:00

I attended the Vancouver 2010 Olympics Ceremony dress rehearsal last night. I am sworn to secrecy but here is what I can tell you:

-Despite local news reports this morning, the Canadian anthem was stunning. Tears by some. Chills by others. Arm hairs standing on end by other others. Me, my needing-to-nurse-my-baby-boobs' nipples went erect. If that's not good, I don't know what is.

-No real 'surprises' as far as I was concerned in entertainers, but fabulous performances by all.

-The stand-in athletes were hilarious! They were milking (damn, I really needed to breastfeed...) their opportunity to walk with the flag around BC Place for all it was worth. Jumping, cheering, fist pumping, kartwheeling mania was had by all. I can not even fathom how much my ticket is for the real ceremony but I was seated right beside where all the US and Canadian athletes will be seated after walking in.

-Hotdog and one beer was $15. A 500ml bottle of water was $4. Though I believe this is the same whether at the opening ceremonies or a Lion's game.

-Ben Mulroney MC'd the pre-show. Are we Canadians too polite to let the networks know Ben Mulroney is as entertaining as sitting in an empty room painted white while suffering from tinnitus, that incessant buzzing in our ears that won't stop? Enough with the Ben Mulroney already. Bring on George Stroumboulopoulos! Oh damn, he's on that other, non-Olympic sponsored network.

-There was a guy behind me recruiting everyone around to cheer wildly when the country Togo came out. Only Togo never came out. It went straight to Turkey. An American beside him asks "Oh to bad! Are you from Togo?"

"Me? Nope. Montreal."

Everyone laughs.

-A guy is wearing a gold medal around his neck. Somebody comes up and asks where he got it from and in what sport. "Bowling. On my office floor. Today. It's chocolate!" The other guy laughs. He totally thought it was a real medal.

-Getting frisked by volunteers is fun. Really. That's, like, the most action I've got in ages...

-Stephen Harper is really, really, really bad at French. Even me, with my barely there Grade 12 french, could hear how bad it sounded, nevermind the two french guys in front of me who were crying they were laughing mocking so hard. And okay, not so much as crying as they were drunk.

And that's it. That's all I've got for you. The rest is for your viewing pleasure on Friday. Because even though you want to know, you don't want to know that Locke is actually creepy, smoky, black, Locke monster until it's time to know, you know? (Umm, sorry about the Lost reference there. I just want to know with that show! But know when it's time to know... Oh, you know!) Besides, it is a very visual experience and reading about it here would not do it justice at all.

Looking forward to seeing it all come together Friday for a fabulous show and beginning of some awesome sporting events!

Coffee Thoughts

2010-02-10T04:12:00.000-08:00

My 'INSTANT HUMAN- Just Add Coffee' Mug must be broken. I'm feeling more Slothy Alien today. No matter how much coffee I consume.

What is it all those kookie health nuts say? Drink 8 cups of coffee a day? Excellent.

Having owned a coffee shop, microwaving coffee is entirely blasphemous. Having been a mother of two, three and under, I shall be blasphemous most days.

My sister just returned from Costa Rica. It is not the leatherback sea turtles, crazy zip lines or stunning beaches that leave me jealous. No, it is the picture of her sitting in a cafe, hands cradling a most delectable cup of Costa Rica's finest export.

Just another reason why I will never be an athlete in the Olympics: Caffeine is on the International Olympic Committee list of prohibited substances. Athletes who test positive for more than 12 micrograms of caffeine per millimeter of urine may be banned from the Olympic Games. This level may be reached after drinking about 5 cups of coffee. What the hell? How does a downhill skiier or speedskater or crazy ass skeleton dude move so fast without at least 5 cups of coffee? Boggles the mind.

Social Networking meet the Olympics

2010-02-09T07:09:00.000-08:00

I saw a quick news story (aren't they all quick though) the other day about a woman carrying the torch on an electric scooter. Touted as an environmentalist, she once was being dragged off a Clayquot logging road blockade and today is the executive director of PowerUP Canada and a cofounder of ForestEthics both of which work with huge corporations in trying to protect the environment. While you may expect to see her leading a protest against the Olympic games, here she is carrying the torch. News stories being what they are, the clip ended just as my questions were beginning. I google her to get my answers.

Basically, I find out that her name is Tzeporah Berman and she is indeed controversial. Many of her fellow environmentalists label her a traitor, even before holding the torch. I will leave it to you decide if her environmental work is authentic or a sell-out. But what I would like to note here is the diverse articles I was able to pull up to read about her. Everything from the mainstream city newspaper to her personal blog to what Huffington Post writer Andy Miah calls new media activism. I could read differing viewpoints, insights and angles to this woman and her work and I enjoyed the process. I enjoyed deciding for myself what I thought of her.

Along the same time I am reading these articles, I come across that same Huffington Post writer and his article predicting that this new media activism is what is going to be the most controversial about these Olympics. This will be the first Olympic games in the time of social networking sites and blogs. At a time when the IOC seems to have gone overboard in protecting their sponsors and trademarks, anybody can say whatever they want, however they want to anybody who has the wherewithal to find them.

Gone are the days where we are at the mercy of the sponsoring network and media's portrayal of the event. Now we have the independent reports, the bloggers, the environmentalists and social activists to weigh in through social networking sites, cell phones and blogs. Now we will hear the good, flawed, memorable and misrepresented. It's not the truth we will get so much as a more rounded, realistic view of the games. Will the two styles of media battle each other? Contradict one another? Or will it be more complimentary? Time will tell. I for one, look forward to the differing views and coming up with my own opinions and reflections.

The political spectrum of Vancouver is diverse and its people should be, both, permitted to enjoy their Games, as well as draw attention to the perceived social injustices the Games process has highlighted and even augmented.

Let's show the world the real Vancouver-Whistler. Not the pretty, glossy brochure one but the complex, diverse messiness that makes us fascinating. I'm betting that all these new forms of communication will give layer to our city. The more layers, the more to discover. And let me tell you, us westcoasters know a thing or two about layers.

On Bad Days

2010-02-08T00:23:00.000-08:00

The exact same things that have me in awe of my kids one day, drive me absolutely insane the next. Yes, there are countless poetic quotes about how a situation is only positive or negative depending on my own perspective. Choose to see the positive and that is what it will be. Blah, blah. These people do not have two snotty-nosed whiny, temper-tantruming children to deal with obviously.

What yesterday was dogged determination in Brennyn, today is stubborn inflexibility. While yesterday I am endeared by Kaya's sensitive soul, today I am at my wits end at her whining over-sensitivity.

She cried over the Wii Fit's tightrope walking game for God's sake! The Mii cries when starting to get off balance and this, oh yes this, made Kaya cry. Seriously. And forget about sword-fighting with her mommy. When she sent me barreling over the edge of the platform we are 'fighting' on, she vehemently starts shaking her head saying 'No, I don't like this one mommy" with eyes as moist as a rainforests dewy dawn. She won for crying out loud! But alas, that to her, is not fun. Not at all.

Oh well, best quit anyways as Brennyn is pouncing upon the nunchuk. Not even a head plant into the too dirty floor is going to stop her. Nor the fact that she can not yet crawl. She is just going to shimmy, reach, squirm, claw her way to it. And if that doesn't work? Scream. Relentlessly.

About to lose my temper, I stop, breathe, and look at my two girls.

Whereby I immediately see myself in them. So different yet so much of me. In both of them. No wonder they're driving me so crazy. They are mirroring my own issues. With Kaya, I see myself as a girl. Shy, scared to speak up for fear of getting it wrong. With Brennyn, well she knows what she wants when she wants it and when you have two of us as certain about what we want when we want and those wants do not match, well, let's just say we do not need a Wii console to do our fighting.

Do any enlightened people have children? Oprah doesn't. Do any of her enlightened guests? The Secret writer? Eckhart Tolle? Cheryl Richardson? Hmmm, I can't find any info online. I am thinking not. Since having children brings up every issue you've ever dealt with from childhood to now and throws it in your face to deal with. Again. Why didn't that come up in any of the baby books? Shit. I am in big, big trouble come teenage years.

Oh, is that why my mother and I fought so much during those years? Because we are so similar? Oh shit.

Are these revelations what they call enlightenment? Because I was sort of hoping more of a 'I envision the winning lotto numbers and thus KaZam, the winning lotto numbers shall appear!'

No?

Ah shit.

On Good Days

2010-02-07T03:54:00.000-08:00

There are moments when you look at your children and are all damn, you are amazing!

With Brennyn, it is her dogged will to grasp the one thing just out of reach that she knows she can't have. If I have a rattle out for her, she lunges for the dog bone. If a squeaky, crinkly toy is provided, she grasps for the too small Kaya toy. If I provide a larger Kaya toy, she wants the TV remote. If I give her an old broken TV remote, she wants the Wii remote. Then amazingly, against all odds, she finds a way to reach it. No matter how far away it looks to me. Next thing I know she has a firm grip, a mischievous grin, and a wide, slobbery mouth readying for impact.

I can not help but admire her tenacity. She sets lofty goals, achieves them and moves on to the next. This girl is going to do great things in this world.

Kaya too is going to accomplish amazing things. Only in a quieter way I suspect. She's going to be the hero, the helper, the guide. For Kaya is a sensitive soul who's motto is 'Don't Be Sad, Be Glad!' often said to her screaming 'Brenny Claire-Bear'.

She is the one who worries about the kid at the playground crying over a scraped knee. She wants to know the burned building is going to be fixed. In her reflective time before bed, she is the one who brings up fights at daycare or getting in trouble from mommy or the broken toy. She is constantly looking for solutions to these problems. Yes, Kaya has her own lofty goals. That of saving the world. No biggy.

Most days I am in awe of my girls. Most parents are I suppose. Just as most parents also have moments when you look at your children, shake your head and are all, you try my patience child.

Stay tuned tomorrow for that side of the story...

A Different Kind of Lesson

2010-02-06T00:59:00.000-08:00

Hopeful eyes peer up at me.

"Mommy, is this like kids beer?"

Sorry child, you're about as likely getting a drink of that as you are of getting a sip of wine from me or a gulp of beer from daddy. Not happening.

Torch is in Town

2010-02-05T07:34:00.000-08:00

The Olympics are teaching my three-year-old more than just sport. They are teaching her about:

Accomplishment

Sharing

Local History

Pride

Community Spirit

and Fun!

Lessons we could all aspire too.

Vasectomy or Crazy

2010-02-04T05:24:00.000-08:00

I have been feeling a little, no, a lot, psychotic on edge of late. Kaya would be the first to tell you this if she could formulate her words to describe how she feels. One minute I am happy and calm and content. Then suddenly I am over-reacting to absolute nonsense. I get frustrated easy, yell swiftly and move onto laughing within a two-minute commercial break. I did not even realize this was happening until the other day when Kaya spilled some water.

Panicked, she immediately turns her wide brown eyes up at me, eyebrows rainbow arched, and stammers "It's okay mommy."

Yah. Of course it's okay.

Then she runs to the kitchen to get a towel before I have a chance and runs back to clean it.

In this moment I see that she is trying to avoid, at all costs, her mommy's yell.

Oh shit, I have been yelling haven't I. Over trivial nonsense. Suddenly the magnitude of how my bad mood can affect my child so entirely shakes me. And this has not been a couple-hour grumpy mamma. This has been a two month, switch on and off at will, miserable mamma. Two months. Interesting since two months ago I started back on the pill.

Damn you birth control and your wacky hormone changes. Amidst cleaning, caring for, feeding and raising two kids, I knew that I hadn't been myself but I hadn't allowed myself a moment to consider why. Hormonal angst. That's why.

Obviously it is time for Bal to go get his scrotum tampered with. And while this terrifies most of the male species, Bal, well I am pretty sure that he is more scared of the Moody Chick on hormones. Can't say as I blame him.

Blueballs to numbnuts it is then...

Inspired

2010-02-03T07:34:00.000-08:00

Two women in my community have changed my life today and neither of them know it. Both are pre-school teachers and both kick ass.

While I sit around moping about rainy westcoast winters, not being able to lose the last 5lbs, and lack of energy, these women are out there, bettering themselves and inspiring people.

I do not know either of them personally. One is the preschool teacher of a friend of mines two boys. The other is Kaya's preschool teacher.

The first is in a wheelchair after becoming a paraplegic six years ago after an accident. She does not feel sorry for herself. Probably never even crossed her mind to do so. Which is one of those lessons best not taught but seen by example. What a gift to her students. This week has been a big one for her. First she was chosen as the person who will light the cauldron at the Olympic torch ceremony when it comes to town on Thursday, then she was chosen as Citizen of the Year in our town. Not only is she a teacher, a preschool/daycare teacher who, let's face it, make a meager salary, she also volunteers with Big Sisters, plays wheelchair Rugby, volunteers with Rick Hansen Wheels in motion and is participating in the opening ceremonies for the Paralympic games. January/February rain is not slowing this woman down.

Then there is Kaya's teacher. Right this very minute, she is running in Costa Rica, on day 4 of a 6 day expedition race. She ran 62.4 km the other day! 11.5 hours running. And that was just day 2. She is running at least 30km a day for 6 days. Seriously.

Yes, it has crossed my mind that perhaps letting a crazy woman teach my daughter is not wise. But this is good-crazy and everybody should have a little good-crazy in their lives. The amazing communication tool that is Facebook has allowed for constant updates and tracking her progress possible. While I sit at my desk, absorbed in neave.com, she is running through rainforests and crossing rivers and swimming under waterfalls. She is doing it. She has trained hard for 7 months, scrimped and saved to be able to pay to run her ass off for 6 days, and now she is there, she is doing it. Running with professional expedition racers. Our daughter's daycare teacher. Doing it. Awesome.

So yes, these women have changed my life today. No more moping or making excuses about why I can't get outside or find time to write. Time to go for a run (a sensible 30 minute one) then time to submit some articles. I too, am going to do it.

Calvin is Evil

2010-02-02T01:48:00.000-08:00

I got my block super cheap off Craigslist. It's huge. Taking up my entire desk. Kaya and I are going to draw monsters and ghosts all over it. 'Happy Ghosts Mom!' Yours maybe child.

So yes, total writer's block these days. A ton of things to write about, but no words are flowing. I think it's because I'm reading a book about how to get your creative juices flowing and the first sentence in such a book should read "DO NOT READ ME. GO AWAY. JUST WRITE!"

I wonder if I could publish such a book?

You know you have writer's block when:

You organize your bookmarks folder

you link to link to link to link forever and a day even if you are mind-numbingly BORED

you check out tweets (nope, still don't understand...)

you refresh your facebook page every 23 seconds

you have a list of lexulous matches and are equally passionate about each one

you clean doors, frames, knobs, trim, fans

you dust

you read blog after blog of people you do not give a shit about

you have a nap

you make your own cards

you spend evil amounts of time playing on picnik.com

you read every single recap of Lost, then download the free seasons 1-5 recap, then read more recaps of Lost and get really excited by a timeline of Lost

you blog about how pathetically blocked you are

The most shocking thing on that list is that I organized my bookmark folder. I should say partially organized. Because I went through each and every bookmark so I could decide which to delete which was great until I hit some really good ones and couldn't stop reading them. The problem with so many bookmarks is that you never actually remember that you have some really cool stuff to go back and check out.

Here, my top 3 forgotten bookmarks:

3. Scooby Doo Quotes Because seriously, who doesn't love a good Scooby Doo quote? I keep thinking that something is going to happen in my life whereby I can use a Scooby Doo quote but I am just not mysterious enough (nor high enough I think). My favourite has to be Daffane's lightbulb moment: "Wait a minute... Ghosts can't leave fingerprints..." But I also aspire in my life to say this at least once: "I would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids!"

2. La Blogotheque I mean, it is just amazing music. I could, and have, spent hours just browsing through, discovering new artists, memorizing jaw-dropping lyrics. Love it!

1. Neave.com Oh Neave. How I love and hate you all at the same time. You are pointless. Trivial. Mind-numbing. You can waste a day like no other. Remember back in the day, before satellite tv and pvr's? Remember channel surfing? I miss channel surfing. Flick-flick-flick-flick-flick-stop-stay-laugh-flick-flick-action!-commercial-flick-flick. You could be watching tv for 4 hours and not watch one real thing. Oh Neave. How did you know my longing for such nothingness? Seriously, if you've never been, set aside an hour and go to the channel surfing section. You will get absolutely nothing accomplished. And you will love it.
Have I mentioned that I am torturing myself again by partaking in NaBloPoMo for February? With writer's block. Brilliant. I expect a lot of quality time with Neave this month. And Scooby Doo.

Oh Jinkes...

Grammy Observations

2010-02-01T00:47:00.000-08:00

Grammy women rock my world. Come on? Pink? Hello. Amazing. I had to make a bathroom break to vomit just watching her. And she sang throughout? Sang beautifully. Incredible.

Beyonce. Stunning. Powerful. Genuine. Gracious. Not really a fan of her music to be honest but she's an impressive act.

Taylor Swift. Cute and sweet and real and a kick-ass song writer and singer. Talent and true humility. I don't even want to like this girl but I can't help it.

Lady Gaga. I mean come on. She fucking rocks. She's crazy and gorgeous and crazy some more.

These are some strong, powerful women and I am just grateful that I chose this as the first award show I have watched in, oh, at least 5 years.

The only time I did not feel all 'women empowered!' was when Taylor Swift won for best country album and she hugged her mom. Maybe it's just me, but I had a sense that mom was not in a genuine moment of joy for her daughter. I felt more of a 'oh shit, the camera's are on me and my ass right now' moment. I could be totally wrong.

What was up with all the people not wearing 3d glasses to watch the Michael Jackson tribute? Did they think they would look dorky? Loving Beyonce boppin up and down in pure enjoyment with the silly glasses on. I totally predict designer 3d glasses in the upcoming year. Lame.

And why too do the stars, the famous people, not feel inclined to get up and dance or give an ovation? Can they not appreciate other artists even while competing with them? I am not sure about this, but I don't think any of the front row crowd stood up for Lady Gaga and Elton John. Seriously? That was awesome. Show your love stars. Show some love.

That's all from me. But Kaya would like the last word.

"I like that music show. I want to do that. Can we go see that? They are beeeautiful. And I can shake my booty!"

It Takes All Kinds

2010-01-23T01:33:00.000-08:00

There are those people* in the world who, oh say, perform brain surgery on a 12-year-old girl, saving her life, in the morning and then proceed to interview Bill Clinton in the afternoon. Just another day.

And there are those people* in the world who determines the day a success when she manages to wear the same outfit in the afternoon as she did in the morning, without one puke, spittles, poop or food splatter upon it!

Amazing feat of accomplishments the both of you.

*names withheld for fear of flaunting both amazing feats of excellence.

Meet Parrot Kaya

2010-01-22T06:40:00.000-08:00

Whether she is a copycat or comedian, mimicking or impersonating, Kaya often has something come out of her mouth that sounds exactly, EXACTLY, like someone else in the family. Which is sometimes like looking in the mirror, then headbutting yourself. Like when she follows her daddy's lead and blurts "Come on Dumb-dumb!" to her doggie. Most of the time though, it is simply endearing.

Kaya (as mommy) greeting Brennyn:

"Well hello Miss Grabby Hands!"

***

Kaya (as daddy) in her car seat:

"Brennyn is smiling at me!"

"Oh really."

"Yah, she thinks I am the best thing EVER!"

***

Kaya (as Brennyn)

"Ohhh, Ahhh, Eeeeee, Ohhhhh!!!" On and on and on.

"What are you doing Kaya?"

"Telling stories to Brennyn."

"In baby language?"

"Yah. And like birdies sing too."

***

Mid spin, she stops dramatically, and says (as herself, ALL herself)

"I have to go poop." Pause for dramatic effect.

"And then, I WILL DANCE!"

Haiti- Some Thoughts

2010-01-16T05:57:00.000-08:00

We are all watching the news, witnessing the devastation that is occurring in Haiti. We see the horror, the desperation. We can not believe it. We can not fathom it. We donate money. Even if it seems so little. We are outsiders looking in wanting only to help.

***

My eyes close. My townhouse complex has collapsed. My heart rate accelerates as I frantically look for my family. Tears of joy mix with the ones of guilt. Mine have survived. Others, neighbors and friends, have not. We leave, looking for help, only to find our entire town destroyed.

My eyes open. A nightmare.

A nightmare the Haitian people can not wake up from. Their eyes forever imprinting the death, destruction and desperation around them. Haitian tears flowing, a kaleidoscope of grief and relief, horror and humanity (we hope).

***

A few weeks ago, an entire townhouse complex next to the one I live in went up in flames. Fortunately, all people and pets made it out alive. Everything else though, gone. Explaining this to a sensitive three-year old was a challenge. We stressed that the firefighters came and helped and got everybody out and safe. People safe. Firefighters good. A simple message for a difficult situation. She seems okay with my explanation.

A few days later we are walking to preschool on the path between our townhouse complex and the one that burned.

"It's not fixed yet mommy?"

Which is when I realize that perhaps I have shielded her too much. I shake my head. How do I explain the permanency, the tragedy of this without terrifying and scarring her?

***

Three-year olds are walking the streets of Port-au-Prince as I type this, passing by crumbled walls, collapsed buildings, and dead bodies. If they are one of the lucky ones, they are with their mother and father who are trying, desperately trying, to shield them from the horrors that abound. Only the horrors surround through smells of decay and screams, whimpers and cries of desperation. A mother will only be able to protect so much. Meeting immediate needs of food, shelter and water take precedence over shielding their eyes and ears. My heart breaks for those mothers whose hearts are breaking for their children whose hearts are breaking for the sky that has fallen upon them.

How do we fix the sky?

***

Kaya is playing in the McDonalds play area. She is joined by a five-year old girl. They immediately take a liking to one another and run and slide and play together. At one point they disappear in a tunnel, sit together and talk. Which is when I first realize that this girl does not speak English. Amidst the two languages chattering away, there is a third language dominating. That of the giggle.

After striking up a conversation with the girl's family, I learn they are from Germany. We speak in halted, sometimes awkward English while the girls carry on their own fluid, multilingual chatter. Soon they are holding hands. Then sliding down the tunnel together, shooting out the bottom, intermingled, all limbs and giggles and the universal 'Weeee!!'

You may be wondering what this has to do with Haiti.

And I just wonder how it can not. This is humanity as it should be. This is why we must help as much as we can.

Our kids, all kids, are our stars, moons, suns and constellations. We need only be navigated by them to lift back up the Haitian sky.

Everything Grows until it is The End

2010-01-15T06:38:00.000-08:00

This morning I took the girls out for breakfast. Pancakes with apples and a toy (don't judge) for Kaya and sweet-potato mush for Brennyn. I stick with coffee-cream no sugar.

The high-chair appears to be a death trap though I sit Brennyn in it anyways. The table sticky and germ-infested but we sit regardless. Settling in, Kaya comments "This maybe is Raffi Mom" and I do not know if she has asked a question or stating a fact. I have not even noticed music is playing. I stop, fully expecting to hear "Everything grows and grows..." as usually one note is all that is needed for her to spot Raffi. I do not answer her immediately but I see that her brow has crinkled. Like she is not so certain of her magnetic Raffi ears in this moment. Her shoulders go up. A shrug. "Maybe!" she wants to believe.

"Hmmm, or maybe not." I break it to her.

"This is a guy named Jim Morrison from The Doors." I teach her as he hypnotically mumbles in the background,

'This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end...'

She shrugs again then clambers up to the play area ignoring (I hope) the Oedipal ravings. I just laugh and sit in wonder at how the melodic teachings of Raffi and the melancholy rants of Morrison compare so closely in the ears of a three-year old.

MIL

2010-01-14T03:39:00.000-08:00

When my mother comes for a visit, I do not care if she thinks I should cook more or clean better. I grew up with her. I know the shoulds hiding in her closet. Even if I didn't, she has to love me regardless.

But when the mother-in-law arrives, love is not unconditional. I care. I try. I clean. Ugh.

MIL means well. She really does. She arrives and she pretends to be delighted by the lemon feta chicken dish for dinner. Only I am running late from Kaya's swim lessons and Bal has made it instead. Waiting for us, he cooks it too long. The chicken is dry, the broccoli vastly overcooked. This is my fault. Of course.

While gone for one swim lesson, my clean kitchen has become an immaculate one. My convention oven looks as though she tossed the original and bought a brand spanking new one. But no, she just scrubbed. Hard. My toaster is emptied of even one crumb. Apparently just wiping underneath the toaster is not clean enough. The stain on the counter is no longer a stain.

Oh crap, totally busted, she found the dish cloth cupboard. Noooo! You see, I do not fold my dish cloths, I scoop them from the dryer, throw them in a pile at the top of the stairs until I have enough hands to scoop them up on my way downstairs and then I ever so casually, toss them into the cupboard. My secret is out. Today though, my dish cloths are folded to perfection in well thought out piles and perhaps even colour coded. I totally meant to get to those before she came...

There is also a full pot of rice in the rice cooker. Cooked. Before getting that done though, she cleaned it. Also looks brand new. It is well over 20 years old.

Kaya's boots are lined up. Bal's laundry is being done. Shall I go on?

If I weren't so damn worried what she must think of me, I would be screaming Hallelujah! and doing the happy dance. Somebody is cleaning my house? immaculately? And I do not have to pay her? To hell with my inadequacies. I am getting a clean house!

The next day when it is discovered that we do not have one ingredient that would nourish her son and the grandchildren, we go shopping. I lose her and she pays even though she's a widowed pensioner. I feel like I can do no right.

At home she whips up some delectable dishes. All before noon.

For lunch I heat up the chicken leftovers which totally insults her. "Why don't you eat the chow mein? And shrimp? You don't like it?" Accusing.

"No, ummm, I do. I thought it was for dinner."

And if a seventy year old Filipina woman can look at me 'Like Duh, are you stupid?', she does it. This food is fresh. It is ready. Eat now.

Since the chicken is dry anyhow, I toss it and dig in to the fresh stuff. Delicious. I wonder what is for dinner.

Only to find out, that is what is for dinner. Only not hot. Not fresh. Duh.

There are other things she does not agree with. Don't have family movie/popcorn night without first cleaning the dishes in the sink. Don't nurse my child still- feed her food, like rice. Rice is good. Don't freeze baby food.

It can all be a bit, well, stressful but at the end of the day, her son is smiling for all the good food, the grandkids get a chance to know and laugh with Lola and I get my clean house. It's all good. What I realize as the days go on is, even though I may be feeling like I can do no right, she is feeling useful and helpful and needed. She has probably not even considered how useless of a homemaker I am. Until she saw the dish cloth cupboard that is. Yah, I'll make sure I'm on that one next time she comes.

Marbles Anyone?

2010-01-08T07:23:00.000-08:00

I need a day off. Impossible since I am breastfeeding. Two 15-minute breaks and a half-hour lunch would work though. I am not sure what is happening. Sleep, in 2, 3, maximum 5-hour increments for six months in a row seems a likely culprit. Though I may also have a mild case of PPXD- Post Psychotic Xmas Disorder.

Whatever the cause, I am done.

In the past four days I have:

forgot Kaya's snowpants for daycare. Not a travesty by any means but they were in my hand. Then gone. Just gone.

forgot Kaya's swimsuit when taking her to SWIMMING lessons.

lost Kaya's toque at some point in swim lessons.

forgot Kaya's lunch for daycare.

forgot to make the turn towards daycare upon returning from retrieving forgotten lunch. Where the hell did I think I was going?

forgot I stuffed Brennyn's booties into her diaper pouch and blamed everyone else for their disappearance before remembering.

lost my phone whereby I look EVERYWHERE for it until realizing I could phone it (brilliant I know) whereby it rings in my purse- the very one I have dug through several times in my search.

gone to the store for zip lock bags, only zip lock bags, then leave the store spending over $100 and NO zip lock bags.

lost Bal's mom in the grocery store (Cut me a break here will you. She's little!)

Lost my purse. At the pool. Damn pool.

LOST MY FREAKING MIND

Purse found. Mind still on the loose. If you see her, do me a favour will you? Reel her in and march her straight to rehab. Or a meditation centre. Or Fiji. Ahhhh, Fiji. Oh hell, you'd better just send her back to me. Immediately.

Before I go so far as losing an appendage. Like a finger. Or a child.

That would be bad.

Reward offered.

Confidentiality not guaranteed as I am a blogger.

I'm Busy...

2010-01-04T06:48:00.000-08:00

This morning I was too busy playing Scrabulous to care what Kaya was giggling on and on about. Oh I know, I should care. But I hadn't had my coffee yet. And I had a Q-U and a Z to play!

But the giggles behind me on our bed, did not stop. So I swiveled around to see this:

Yes, this mother of the year grabbed the camera before grabbing the clip off the nose. And I'd do the same thing again because that photo, well, that there is a classic.

6 Months, New Year

2010-01-02T09:42:00.000-08:00

Dear Brenny McDoodle,

Ah yes, the nickname has stuck. Though Kaya has taken to calling you Brenny Claire-Bear and we all often call you simply, Brenny.

Jan 2nd, 2010. A new year. You are six months old and your first full year lies ahead. Happiest New Year to you my love. It will be a monumental one full of firsts, full of energy, full of love.

These letters to you girls tend to be reflective. A chance for me to share with you your milestones, silliness and wonder. But today, at the start of a new year, it is hard to look back. For this is a time to look forward, to set goals and to follow dreams. This, I imagine, is cool with you as this is all you ever do. Look forward. Strive for more. More activity, abilities and milestones. More. Faster. For you want to be a big kid like your sister. Not content to lay on a play mat or sit in a bouncy chair, you want to move! Move, bounce, stand, fly. Anything but stay still. Your crinkled brow, frantic limbs flailing and panicked whine talk for you- 'BORING' they exclaim.

Ah yes, your whine. Sounds like a humpback whale having an asthma attack actually. Not pretty.

It occurs whenever you are bored and you get bored fast. Only because you are curious and love to learn. You crave new sites and sounds, devouring knowledge like you devour rice cereal. Literally actually. Because all new knowledge is acquired through your mouth. Whether it be toys, socks, toes, noses, books or remote controls. Everything, EVERYTHING, is grabbed and goes directly in your mouth. Like a magnet to metal. Like mud to a pig. Like teenage girls to cute, though not necessarily talented, boy bands.

If there is nothing around to put in your mouth, you fidget. You drum your fingers, scratch your nails, and rub your feet together. Even while nursing, you are not still. Your free arm is in constant motion, strumming along like I am one giant banjo to be played. While Kaya and I had more of a meditative nursing session, ours is more like a jam session. Oh my girl, how I adore rockin out with you everyday.

Ummm, speaking of jam, you have A LOT of toe jam. Sorry, but you do. Like, A LOT. Darned monkey toes...

You also have the most delicious ears that a person can have. Yes, ears. They are soft and bendy and I chow down on them every chance I get. Usually you let me, if only because you sense the joy it brings me. But you would prefer neck smoochies. Those make you giggle. Or just a simple hug. You stretch those arms around me as much as little, pudgy, 6-month-old arms can go and you grasp on tight, strong. Also delicious. Also savoured.

Every day I stand in awe of your inquisitive mind. Seeing your eyes follow me and daddy and especially Kaya ready to vault forth and do too, whatever adventure we are embarking on. Watching your fingers grasp, reach, lunge to something, anything, near and new. As is so often the case, my kids are teaching me about life. And your first lesson to me reminds me of the innate value curiosity brings. 13 years ago I was graduating college when I came upon this Mark Twain quote:

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do.

So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails.

Explore. Dream. Discover.

I wrote it in my journal immediately and in the years since have used, posted and memorized it through my travels, entrepreneurship and motherhood. Just this past Christmas, your first, you, Kaya and Daddy surprised me with a necklace engraved with just that, 'Explore. Dream. Discover' So you see, this is a quality I have always valued. What you have done, and your sister too, is remind me that we can and should explore, dream and discover in the everyday. We do not have to become bogged down in the routine of things because there is always, ALWAYS, something new to be felt, appreciated, noticed. And I have no doubt that if there is something to be noticed, you will see it. Then grab on. Devour its deliciousness. And be ready for the next marvel that lies ahead.

So keep it up Brenny, keep it up. Explore. Dream. Discover.

For always.

Your ever loving Mommy

"Curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first passion and the last." -Samuel Johnson

Opposite of Zen

2009-12-30T09:37:00.000-08:00

Brennyn cries. Kaya whines.

"AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGG! You two are driving me CRAZY!"

Brennyn continues to cry.

Kaya stops, looks at me like I am far beyond crazy, and insists "We are not driving Mommy." Like, duh.

***

So for Christmas from Santa I got the Wii Fit Plus. I am very excited. Even more so since learning it doubles as your very own personal therapist.

This new therapist tells me I am wildly unbalanced. Not in so many words but I can read between the Mii's.

Basically, my centre-of-balance leans way left. Wait is this some political-spy-espionage software? Wow, political fitness therapy. Brilliant. So worth $99.

Anyways, to become better 'balanced', my yoda, errrr, yoga instructor tells me to sit, still and straight, with a candle before me and make sure it does not flicker. This is Balance. So I sit. Legs crossed, mind still. For a moment. A milli-moment. Like a flicker. A blink. A Superman flash.

But then real life intrudes. A piano floor mat blares as the baby rolls upon it. A keyboard plays Jingle Bells with Kaya karaoking along side it. In a feat of impressive dexterity, she has simultaneously started three singing/dancing Christmas animal contraptions also. They sing 'Shout!' Christmas karaoke style. Everything sings and dances and moves at least one note off key. And here I sit, cross-legged and still. Well cross-legged and giggling. Then grabbing a wayward baby. Then singing too. Off key of course.

Yes, I am wildly unbalanced. For now, that is necessary and welcomed. Fun even.

So if you'll excuse me, crazy is calling and I'm off to drive myself there. With the help of a few backseat drivers of course!

Christmas Poop

2009-12-30T06:47:00.000-08:00

Dec 25th:

It is Christmas morning. Besides floor piano's, a ton (said literally) of presents, and stockings over-floweth, Kaya looks up at the skylight to remark "Look everyone, a birdie pooped!"

Sure enough, a big, gooey gob of poop is splattered in the middle of our roof window.

But Gampa quickly remarks "Or it was a reindeer."

And just like that, Magic. Kaya's mouth didn't speak but everything else about her spoke magic. A reindeer on her roof... And it pooped! Could Christmas be any cooler?

Every day since, she remarks on the poop with glee and giggles. Then there is me, the Mama Grinch, just hoping it will rain soon so I don't have to look at it any more (and don't have to clean it myself).

Dec 29th:

Kaya and I are having a cuddle on the couch.

"I had a poop by myself!" said proudly mostly because she then came out of the bathroom with her pants back on instead of left stranded on the floor by the toilet which she know irks me to no end.

"Good for you!" I encourage.

"Just like the reindeer!" and she points up. Dammit, I wonder, will it ever rain...

"Why'd the reindeer poop mommy?"

"Because everybody eats and then everybody poops." I don't know what else to say.

"Oh. Girls and reindeer's poop?" said as if boys are not cool enough to.

"Everybody. Boys and doggies and birdies too." Just to be clear.

"And Santa too!"

"Yes, Santa too. Though not generally on skylights."

***

Dec 26th:

Dear Santa,

I would like to apologize on behalf of my daughter who left you some snacks on Christmas eve. As a mother it is a fine line between teaching independent choice and guiding to a 'better way'. Darned those Rang Doon Rubies, but judgment eluded me on that night and suddenly it became a very good idea to let Kaya choose your snacks. True, spicy chicken wings, banana peppers, ginger cookies, potato chips and partially drank McDonalds apple juice are all good on their own, but perhaps together, as a snack combo, not so much. I hope you weren't starving. And if you were, I hope the next house had a convenient washroom with a silent flush (and perhaps a plunger) at the ready.

Anyways Santa, next year I promise to guide her in a better choice. Wings and beer perhaps? Or are you more a fine wine and cheese sort of chap? Let me know!

Love, Kaya and her Mommy

PS. Kaya did not want to get on your naughty list so told me she did not want me to bring this up, so I guess you can just keep me on the naughty list instead. Could you please schedule a damn potty break for Vixen next year.? Or at least have Rudolph clean up the mess. Much appreciated. XOX

Sugar Cookies and Coal

2009-12-24T01:43:00.000-08:00

I am giddy with Christmas joy right now. Oh sure, that may be the Bailey's talking but whatever. Christmas totally means being loaded before 9am. Doesn't it?

Giddiness means that I have no cohesive thought structure. Bear with me while I record 'must remembers'.

"I didn't know snowman's had bums..." said without a snowman in site which makes me presume she had been pondering this point for quite some time. That, my dear friends, is what they call an 'epiphany'.

***

Brennyn is still all dude. 'Like Dude, I am sooo into these eggnog lattes. Easy on the nutmeg though." I'm pretty sure that is what she said. I was too busy screaching and flailing the keyboard full of spilled eggnog latte around (care of grabby hands) trying to dry it out to notice the exact semantics. Forensic evidence shows gum 'bites' on the desk edge and minimal (though some may say significant) ingestion of spilled drink by 5.5 month old female baby. 24 hours later now and stickiness has ensued. Letters F-R-E-D require Hulk Hogan style strength to type out. Brennyn thinks this is funny. Until I start calling her FRED as a new nickname. Marginally better than her latest name of Gorgy-Goo however.

***

I 'interviewed' Kaya yesterday on video. Stealing one of Dr. Phil's Christmas traditions and interviewing the kids every year. Seems like a great way to humiliate them later in life when they like to torture their mother daily with potty mouths, grouchiness and dating all the 'bad' boys. Anyways, my favourite part this year is when she tells me she would sit on the Grinch's lap.

Santa? Hell no.

Like I said, bad boys...

***

A conversation in the car on the way to Winter Solstice in the city:

Mommy?

Yes Kaya?

I love you!

I love you too sweetie.

Daddy?

Yes Kaya?

You're not a girl.

Um, no.

And just like that, dejection.

***

The river is hungry Daddy.

Oh really? What does the river eat?

Carrots.

***

WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS...

AND A HAPPY NEW EAR!

(Apparently the old one was twisted off by Mr. Claus for being naughty...)

Guest Blogger Bibby

2009-12-19T08:13:00.000-08:00

Well, a guest blogger in the form of 10-12 year-old letters written by my Gramma who is now passed on. I just find her funny. Probably nobody else will but I wanted to record the funny parts in case I ever lost the letters. I typed everything just as she wrote it, spelling errors included. Most were hand-written but she did delve into the computer at some point. Yikes. Anyways, my little inserts are all in red. The rest is her. She would kill me for this...

Oh yah, and these were all written while I was living and teaching English in Korea.

You are going to be lonesome after Vicky leaves. Maybe you will meet someone else- OR- maybe save some money. Recurring theme in all her emails. Always a side note, starred note, bold note- save some money!

***

I joined a fat ladies club. Joined 3 weeks ago and have lost 3pds in 3 weeks. Big Deal! But I am hungry all the time, probably a lot is in my head. But at any given time I could easily eat 1/2 a horse-- fried. I just crave something fried. (LOL- fried horse. Yup, real appetizing Gram!)

And at the end of the letter she again talks weight:

I have been so good this week, with my eating, as I said before I am always hungry. Sylvia says it's all in my head-------------little does she know, it's what's not in my stomach!!!!!!!!!!!

***

Christmas is in 2 days. You know me- PANICSVILLE! Panic then crash at about 2pm Xmas day- that was my Gramma!

***

It is sooooo HOT. I am even wearing shorts! Not in public of course... Of course :)

***

Here my Gramma begins the computer obsession stage of her life! First computer and first attempts at writing a letter. She does not even have internet yet at this point. Oh lord, if only I could save the first emails she sent and don't even get me started on the chats and delving into the land of smiley faces...

Hi! here I am again, great hearing your voice last night, and for once you were not bitchy at me. Probably because you found it quite humourous how stupid I am with the computer. Even went to the liabrary today and got YOUR TEXT HERE the COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO Windows 3.1 but it looks harder than the for Dummies Book. (!)

Every Wed. it is the big deceioson (spelling) of whwere to go??? Oh! Just remember I have spell check on this thing. That's pretty neat too, isn't it?

There was 1 squirrel around and getting into the bird feeders and eating everything in sight and scaing the little birdies away. I was so mad at him. Grampa made a sling shot to try to get him that way, but as soon as he had it made, haven't seen the squirrel and I hope he stays away.

What havae you been doing there? Anything different?? Are you still 'walking the streets'??????? (This must have been some joke we had? I don't remember but got a snort laugh out of me!) On the serious side, have you found any privates and are you making any money and not going in the hole? (First read as 'and not becoming a Ho?')

What in @#$%^&*&^% AM i DOING WONG? (After numerous random spaces and cut off lines)

(In writing- not typing at end of letter) Dammit, I forgot to use the spell check thing. stupid.

(Hilarious.)

***

Went and watched Titanic with Sylvia. It was a great show- but- I couldn't sleep that nite- & when I did- kinda had nightmares. It was so real! I don't go to theatres very often- maybe once in 7 years- & the screen looked so BIG. Country chick huh? Redneck much?

***

PPS. Grampa & I have married 40 years today! Are going to the Hotel for supper. I am having steak with all the trimmings. Funny only because this is HUGE for her. Dinner out. With Grampa. Eating steak. All of it, SHOCKING!

***

Sylvia and I went to another play. It was called "SYLVIA" and Sylvia in the play was a dog. It was really good. Before we went I couldn't imagine a lady playing the part of a dog, but she was good. Did all the things dogs do, she even went into heat.

***

Letter from Mom

PS. Gramma just got her phone bill. She's talking to you for 1/2 hour at a time?!? One call $60. Well at least I know mine won't be that bad as we only talk a little while. ('Bitch, why don't you talk to me that long?!' is her hint.) Try not to let her talk so long. She's always complaining about their 'seniors fixed income' but she spends lavishly on booze, cigarettes and phone calls!! Shit mom, she's Gramma, not Marilyn Monroe... Drives me crazy!! -Love Mom

Letter from Gramma:

Got my phone bill the other day. 3 calls to Korea. One was 29 minutes at $52.57. Total $104.13 but with my discount $62.48. Actually I thought it would cost more!- So was pleasantly surprised! I'm worth it anyways you wild and crazy woman talking for 29 minutes about your garden and the roast you had in the oven and birds... Important, intellectual stuff totally worth $60!

***

Top of every page she adds a little note:

Write Soon Please!!!!!

I am anxiously awaiting your next letter

Miss you!

Love Yaw! Couldn't quite spit out You yet at this point. Love it!

Keep on writing such interesting letters

Have fun! But save SOME money. See...

***

Thought you would get a kick out of this. Bob Smith* started college in Sept and comes home EVERY weekend. Whatta suck!-huh- He will be 22 in Jan. Get a life huh?!

*Name changed to protect the loser huh.

***

I gained 3pds! Frustrating you better believe it! I'm hungry all the time. Drinking LOTS of water and eating right. But gained??? Must be the water. I will give it 2 weeks and then I give up. Not worth all this if I can't lose an ounce (and gain, yes,- must be the water) Gotta go and make supper (& not eat much) Hope to hear from you soon!

***

Letter from my brother:

Have I mentioned that I hate you for getting Gramma into writing letters. She expects, no, DEMANDS letters from me now. She doesn't care that I have no life.

Letter from Gramma:

I had a letter from Craig today and if I didn't know better I would think he was a retard.

(LOVE IT!!!!)

***

Another typed letter. She's practicing. Sigh...

A leter to my granddaughter with some charactternnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnxxxxxxxxxxxxxxnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I'm having fun fooling around. Hope you can understand this. The heck with it------ I will rty and get back to normal now. This computer does all kinds of things and I will probably never know ALL of what is is capable of. %$^*%^&(^&^*&%^$)(***+_(( clipart inserts and pictographs galore...

(All this typed with about 5 different fonts, 3 sizes, random pictures...)

Gramma Elf

2009-12-15T14:44:00.000-08:00

Today is the 4th anniversary of my Gramma's death.

Today Kaya finished her first set of swim lessons and graduated to the next level. Then she made snow angels with her bestest friend. Then she baked with her mommy. Me. Her Mommy. Baked. Then she made a snowman with her daddy.

Today Brennyn ate rice cereal for the first time. When I first tried to feed Kaya, she abruptly spit it all right back out with a look that said "What the hell was that?" Brennyn, on the other hand, promptly swallowed a full spoon with a look that said precisely "What the hell were you waiting for? Feed me more. Now!"

All this amongst Christmas lights, carols, drink and kids. If my Gramma were here she'd be in heaven. Okay, perhaps she is in the Heaven. More likely though, she is one of Santa's little helpers. All sly and silly and giddy with Christmas spirit and joy. Same spirit she always had at this time of year, without having to worry about price tags and wrapping. Yup, Gramma elf is in heaven. Her heaven. Christmas Heaven.

Oh Christmas Tree

2009-12-11T07:12:00.000-08:00

You can tell a lot about a person by looking at their Christmas tree.

The tree itself tells a story. Fake tree, no tree, Charlie Brown one or cultivated bushy pine all give hints of the person buying (or chopping) them.

Then there are the decorations:

Lights- how many, what colour?

Balls- coordinated, glass, bouncy or any?

Decor- matchy, Christmasy, heirlooms, themed, cartoony, silly, funny, stuffy, classy?

And how you place them too tells a tale. Crammed or applied sparingly? Spread evenly or bottom-heavy? Orderly or not? Around the entire tree or concentrated where we can see?

Oh Christmas Trees, as varied as the world's people...

Our tree tells a lot about our family. Both in its execution and in the stories that come with each decoration.

First off our tree has to be real. For the smell and the ritual and the beauty. Our lights our multi-coloured lights because I can't remember ever having a tree that didn't have them and because the colours just scream CHRISTMAS to me. White lights are pretty and classy but that is not us. Pretty crazy maybe but not pretty classy...

Our decorations are as diverse and varied as the places we've traveled. Our first Christmas together, Bal bought me a rotating Parachuting Santa for our mini tree. We didn't know then that this symbolic leap of faith was the start of our leap of faith of a life together forever. Every year since, we have bought a decoration that tells a story of that year. Usually this has meant buying something from around the world that we could claim was a legit Christmas decoration. Like a tartan pin or a Korean tassle, a Peruvian doll or a Cirque du Soleil clown. Three of my favorites are the funky robot toys bought in San Francisco.

Then the kids came. The first, an engraved 'Baby's 1st Christmas' Noah's Ark ornament. Then a giraffe and a penguin. Now she's 3 and making her own ornaments and adding baby toys onto the tree for Brennyn. Now she can help decorate which means 75% of the decorations are placed in one bottom corner of the tree. 65% of those are taken off repeatedly to be played with and moved and used to play 'pretend'. There are no breakables here.

These decorations, these traditions are being passed on every year. The stories and laughs retold over and over. The bird, for my Gramma, who every year insisted those birds out the window are Santa's lil' helpers checking to see if you are naughty or nice. Kaya's penguin obsession of '08. The Storm of the Century in LA for Bal's 30th birthday. These to be told every year, adding more and more, until my girls meet the guys who buy them their first decoration.

When old traditions combine with new. Then I will look at my girls trees, their very own trees, and I will smile, knowing that I am learning just a little bit more about their lives, their souls.

[gallery columns="4" orderby="ID"]

Christmas Rolls and Candycanes

2009-12-04T09:56:00.000-08:00

Mix one part sugar n' sweetness

With one part mistletoes

Add a dash of attitude

Voila! You have scrumptious Christmas rolls...

And in this family, we always serve rolls with candycanes:

DELICIOUS!

Pajama Party

2009-12-04T09:18:00.000-08:00

Miss Kaya has decided not to nap today. She's having a party next door in her room while I clean, nurse, eat, clean...

Finally, after 45 minutes, I concede and go in there to get her.

"Brennyn is here to nap with you!" I joke since Brenny is 5 months old and not quite ready for the big girl bed yet. Yet...

Kaya is delighted. I lay Brennyn down beside her and they both start giggling (yes, even Brenny has a giggle now).

I join in the giggle-fest until Kaya looks at me in all seriousness and says,

"Okay, you can leave now."

Shunned, I start walking out the door.

"And close the door mommy!"

Clutzy Clutzerton

2009-12-01T14:40:00.000-08:00

I was assaulted by a closet door today. Vicious son of a bitch. No, really. It hammered me. Hard.

Like if I were ever to partake in a brawl, I can only dream that I may evoke such force on my arch nemesis.

There is hope, I suppose, seeing as it was my own strength that propelled it. A simple drop of a vest in the closet (on the floor because why would I ever take the time to hang anything) while turning my head to answer Kaya and simultaneously backing out, closing the door at the same time. Not rocket science. Not even a Fisher Price 3+ rocket. Sigh.

Then BAM. Closet door meet bridge of my nose. Like a crash test dummy meets the windshield. Poor crash test dummy. Poor me.

"SON OF A ..." Screamed.

"Why you say sonofa mommy?" Questioned.

"son of a ..." Whispered amongst tears.

Tears are flowing, nose is growing, please no black eye I am hoping.

No black eye. Only red, swollen nose and a doozy of a headache. Oh, and then there's that deflated ego.

Poor shriveled, shrunken ego.

A Podium Finish

2009-11-30T06:38:00.000-08:00

NaBloPoMo Accomplished! Phew...

Gold medal victory! Okay, this last week has been rough...

But maybe bronze? By one hundredth of a second?

Sorry, Olympic frenzy is gearing up in my neck of the woods. Vancouver-Whistler 2010 Olympics are here in 74 days! The Olympics have been a sore point for many people here. In fact, I don't even know if many or any of my friends are going to them. Nobody, it seems, wants to admit their excitement or support of the games. Nobody is talking about them.

I am in support of the games. I am excited to go to some events. I was signed up to volunteer until the reality of having a 7-month old and toddler with no babysitter or daycare hit me and I had to give up on that idea.

I get the hesitation to fully support the games. I get that that money could have been well spent in health care or education or other social programs. But the reality, I think, is that money would not have been 'available' had it not been for the games. Protesters of the games are adamantly against the games but I wonder if their energy (if all of our energy) could be better spent fighting for their cause(s) instead of fighting against the Olympics.

Yes, the Olympics are too tightly branded and marketed into a mass commercialized event. But they also promote community, multiculturalism, teamwork, fairness, ambition, competitive spirit, dreams, and hard work. Sport is such an integral part of living a healthy life. They promote staying active, living and eating healthy, and participation. The Olympics are a global event. It is a chance to experience sport while learning and respecting other countries and cultures. I can think of no better lesson for my kids. To see the balance of respect with competition. Sportsmanship with personal bests. Dreams with dedication and hard work. Life values learned in a global village of unique and distinct cultures sharing a common goal- sport.

That is certainly something I am proud to be a part of and proud to teach my girls. So I will be there! Look for me. I'll be the one cheering loud and proud with my red mittens and cow bell chasing down a racing toddler and flashing a boob now and then to quiet the crying baby. Hope to see you there!