Stitch Rabbit

Patterns and Color and Taking Breaks

 

I'm trying to get out more, be more social. It's hard for me, when I've got so much going on at home and in the studio that I'm happy and excited about, but I am also recognizing in myself how isolated I can become - even when it's for something I love to do.

 

 

When you have these tiny kids and you are choosing to be at home with them, you are also making this choice that your daily life contains a very tiny group of human beings in comparison to the rest of the world. I remember days when I felt like the only mother alive with two kids and a dirty kitchen and a pile of clothes I never got to wear anymore because the stay-at-home uniform was jeans, gumboots and an apron.

 

 

For me, knitting and sewing came as a need for sanity, a need to be doing something other than hanging diapers on a line and cleaning up sparkle glue. I started to get creative with the small pieces of time I could get to myself and it gave me a huge sense of satisfaction, that I was contributing in some way that felt artistic... it was like I was contributing to myself. 

 

 

And now with kids bigger and busier and more independent.. I find more time to do the things I love, the anticipation of thinking about how I want to do something, or how this might look cool motivates me to get downstairs and work on these things...

 

 

 

And I get lost in it in such a fantastic way. Quilting and dyeing and knitting gives me this stuff to think about, to use my brain and work things out and discover - and LEARN, constantly. Getting busy with materials has saved me from boredom and given me a lot to think about.

 

 

 I'm on this edge of seeing another side to things, finding patterns and colors in different ways and different places than I'd expected to. And that's exciting. But like everything, like someone who works too much or overloads themselves with classes and homework or simply doesn't ever come up for air, I too have to remember to balance my act. Get out. Like out of the backyard and into conversations with people. See my friends and go to shows and do different things. I'm proud of the work that I do, but I need to remind myself to put down the work sometimes, it will be there when I get back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Busy Hands.

 

 

Using plant dyes from the garden and the grocery store, with some help with a few mordants, both alum and iron, I've been playing alchemist this week to a variety of cottons and linens, as well as wool. Using a wonderful book called "Eco Color" by India Flint as a guide, as well as key tips and pointers from experienced friends, I've come up with some awesome shades that I'm very pleased with. I started cutting for a quilt this morning.

 

Sick Days and Suggestions on How To Milk It.

 

I spent the other day sick in bed.

Well.. bedridden might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I had a bit of a cold, and one sleeve left to knit on Frankie's sweater... and it was raining. Well.. it was drizzling.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. You will never look like a lazy whimp with a tiny cold lying in bed weakly calling out for tea if you are knitting. If you are knitting whilst lying in bed with a cold you look like a champ. Like you can't get a good guy down, even when he's down. Like someone who won't let illness and disease stop you from warming the bodies of your children, stitch by aching cold-and-flu-season stitch. Try to let out a little sigh every know and again - remember, even though you're lying on your death bed - your sheer determination to clothe the wee ones will bring admiration and more tea and possibly some toast to your bedside. For added effect crumpled tissues arranged on each side of your body and around your knitting will really drive it home. Not that you are sick and ought to be in bed... but that EVEN THOUGH you are sick - bedridden (!!) - you are still an unbelievably amazing Mom to sit up in that bed and knit the entire day.

 

Testing... Testing...

Oh my Gosh... hello. It's been a long, long time since I've banged out some words on this keyboard, and I'm telling you.... I certainly have had a lot to say. I'm picking up from last June... when my daughter finished Kindergarden and I cried in the hall like a baby, and a lot more has happened since then. To tell you the truth, it feels like that was years ago.

So, without really meaning to, I took the summer off from Stitch Rabbit. I came to the keyboard more than a few times... intent on letting you know how I was, what I was up to... but when it came down to it, I just didn't know what to say. I kind of lost my words. Part of me had way too much to try and tell you and part of me was.. well, sick of hearing my own voice. I don't know how many bloggers are out there reading this... but I'm sure you've had those moments in your blogging life where you've really questioned your content.. and being that your content is primarily yourself, your mind, your soul... you really end up questioning yourself. That's a hard thing to look at somethimes.

One very small but very profound deterrent, and also somewhat of an epiphany began with the unfortunate incident of me spilling a glass of red wine across this very keyboard. The spill affected almost nothing except for one thing. I ended up losing my question mark. I essentially ended up losing the ability to ask a question. Deep right (question mark)

But it came at a very opportune time because... I've had a lot of questions that I've had to answer these last few months, about myself, about my values, my boundaries, my goals. And I really needed to take that inventory on the inside, rather than bang it out here, for all to read. I think it's important that we all take private inventory of where we are... and how to meet ourselves wherever that place is. Sometimes you just have to stop talking and listen to what your heart is trying to say.

So... a few months of pretty deep, heavy introspective consideration... a summer of questions, a summer of NOT always finding the right answers.. has led me to a place of acceptance. And it's also led me back here. Because, as I asked myself, what is my point here, what am I trying to get across... I think I have come to discover the answer is authenticity. No matter where I am in my life, I can only and I want to always be me. And if that means a few months of silence, so be it. If that means not picking up a pair of sticks till September 1st, so what (question mark) If that means resting my fingers on the keyboard and not typing a thing till I'm sure I'm ready.. well, I guess that's why I'm here tonight. Because the answer to most everything I've been asking myself... is to be authentic, sure and true.

So, it is with deep gratitude that I thank you for reading, for checking in, and for staying close.. I truly appreciate the ears and the eyes out there that have read this blog and watched this perfectly imperfect human being fly and fall and make her way through this oh-so complicated and beautiful life. I am so very happy to be back.

 

 

The Last Day.

My daughter is a very emotional being.

She's a hopeless romantic, she feels with her heart more than most I think. She's always had a really hard time with goodbyes. No matter how we prepared her for the end of a play date or the end of an evening or the end of a movie, the end would come as it surely does and she would look at me, her eyes filling with tears and a wail escaping from the depths of her body into the air all around her. I've come to love her for it.

Today is the very last day of kindergarten. It snuck up on us all, like all good years they come and go and we as parents are left standing in the dust of yesterday wondering how it can all go by so fast. The end of a long, hard school year for us.

I never wanted Frankie to go to Kindergarten. I had big homeschooling dreams and a chip on my shoulder about the archaic school system. Frankie had other dreams. It came down to the deal that we would let her try it out... but it had to work for the entire family and our wacky schedule and our belief systems. She was lucky enough to get a spot in a Montessori Elementary School in our city, one that is drawn by lottery. She was lucky again when her very best friend won another coveted spot in her class. And so we began school.

I had a very hard time with it. Mostly because she was gone all day long and I missed her terribly. Missed the days we'd spend exploring the forest and finding treasures by the ocean. It seemed school ate up most of her time and she was so tired by the end of each day she seemed to have nothing left.

I fought the battles of homeschooling versus traditional schooling mostly in my head, though I know a defiant piece of me came out in colors sometimes. I didn't agree with everything. I was unsure about her teacher. I watched her try on a few personalities that were certainly not going to cut it around the house.

Somewhere in between the winter and the spring I started to see something change. The flow of the week got easier, she adapted to the hours spent at school and we took time off when I felt our family needed it. I watched my daughter make friends and connections with other children - and other adults. I made connections. Found friends. We got into the swing of after school time together, later dinners and weekends away. It isn't how I'd ideally like to do things, but when your children want something - love something, you make changes and you learn to roll with it. You might even learn to love it too.

By the end of the year I found myself loving her school more than not. I felt myself get swept up by the spirit of sports day, the feeling of family at the assemblies and the kinship between students. I adored her classmates. I saw the teachers for who they were and what they believed in and I was blown away by how much they cared. I was humbled.

I didn't realize how much Frankie's school and kindergarten class mattered to me until I walked her into class today for the very last time this year. Seeing the children surrounding their teacher in a sea of loose teeth and ponytails and homemade cards, I was taken aback by how much I cared about them. I kissed my daughter for the day and stood in the door watching the class for one last time. I felt a lump in my throat and hot tears on my cheeks before I could even try and stop them.

I guess you could say this is the last day of Kindergarten for both of us. Just like my daughter, I am learning a lot this year. How to share, how to make friends and how to be kind and compassionate. I am accepting and understanding just what the school system, or at least this school has to offer. I've become somewhat emotional and romantic about the idyllic childhood milestones of school.

And so it seems today... just like my daughter - I have a hard time with goodbyes.

Taking Care.

I've been quiet. I've been really quiet. And truthfully... I've barely made a thing. It's been digging at me, and I have a guilty conscious when there is nothing in the works. There's this pressure that if I'm not creating something I'm doing nothing. And it sucks. I have to get over that. It's got to be okay to take a break.

I believe that I truly express myself the easiest in words and pictures. I sew and I knit, and I make pretty things... but it doesn't define me - and it certainly isn't what is grabbing my attention right now.

Maybe it's the season, maybe its a change in me...

But I can feel myself changing in so many ways. And expressing myself differently.

I feel brighter and stronger. I have this insatiable need to be physical. When I used to spend my free time with the sewing machine.. at this point in my life it's usually on my bike or out in the woods.

I'm not worried that I've gone and ditched the crafty life... in fact, there are a lot of ideas brewing in my head... I look forward to the fall and the new knitwear on my mind...

But at this point. This moment right now. I have a new energy I haven't experienced in a long, long time. I want to move. I want to breathe deeply and sweat and feel satisfied that my heart is pounding and my eyes feel clear. I've been thinking a lot lately about aging. About how I want to feel when I'm 40 and 50 and 60 and beyond...and how I can be a healthier person. I can't ignore this - it feels like it's what I'm supposed to be doing. Taking care of myself.

So I suppose I am inspired.. just not inspired in the way I am used to. And that has to be okay. Right now I need to take care of myself in other ways. Maybe I'm busy rebuilding from the inside out. Maybe I'm growing. Maybe I'm just in crafty limbo and working it out on my bike.

I'm just going to let it be, let it build and be me in the moment.

xo stitch

Alone and Alive.

I really had no idea how precious time alone was until I had my kids.

I love my children. I live with them, I wake up with them, I spend almost every entire day and night with them. I don't have a job that I go to, classes that I take, or a lot of things that take me away from home, alone and on my own. My job is here, in these few short years while they are young and at home too. I love it and I hate it sometimes, because the years are precious for all of us. I love it because I get to hang out with them. They're super fun, and we get along (most of the time). We all like the same stuff and it's easy enough for us to spend hours at the beach or in the woods or cuddle inside with books and music.

I hate it sometimes because I feel like I miss out on me.

Listen - I'm no supermom. I need my time alone - have to have it. I have days when I feel like I've lost myself almost entirely, under the laundry and the lists and the mess. Days when I feel like a servant, a waitress, a slave to the kitchen sink. To top it off the Mama guilt would creep in because who could complain when life was so idyllic and sweet? There's got to be some kind of compromise to this gig.

I'm not complaining about it now, not in this moment at least. As I leave the baby years behind me and grow with my children into a seasoned family, I know now just how important it is to have time to myself. To be alone, away from the house, and completely myself. I ride my bike till my legs scream. I see friends I never get to see. I bury my nose in a book in a coffee shop. I go out and dance my heart out and walk home in the wee hours of the morning, sweaty and smiling. There are moments in my life in when I feel completely alive. And I have learned to admit they aren't always moments I share with my children. Sometimes they are my moments alone.

What do you do with your time when you get it to yourself?

 

 

Day One - 30 Dresses In 30 Days.

Of course, I woke up today with a terrible, terrible cold.

Today is the worst day to begin my adventure in bringing back the pretty. Today, I don't feel like wearing a dress. I don't feel like wearing anything other than my blankets and a hot water bottle. Today I would like to call in sick. Today, I would like to call in No. I wonder how much of my cold is a cold and how much of it is my utter lack of motivation to crawl out of bed and pick out a frilly frock. No, it's definitely a cold. It could even be classified as a man-cold. The worst of the worst.

But, promises are promises and so I decided the next best thing to do was to take the dramatics to the next level and dress in the fanciest, poofiest dress I have, put on some red lipstick and lay in bed for the entire day. If I had to be uncomfortable in a dress on a day that I don't want to wear one, I was going to do it my way.

It lasted all of ten minutes before Frankie got hungry and Charlie fell off the couch.

So with a sigh I poured a mug of tea, ran a brush through my hair and picked another, perhaps more suitable dress for a day like today. I bought it a year ago and I've never worn it. It's cute and soft and I may feel like shit on the inside, but I could almost pass for put together on the outside. That's a win to me.

 

Day One. A burgundy dress from Free People that is actually really cozy and has possibly encouraged me to leave the house, even with a terrible cold and the desire to stay under my blankets the whole day.

 

About A Dress.

 

This is me. From the waist down.

Most days you will find me in a pair of jeans with dirt smears down the sides, and boots fit for a farmer. My idea of dressing up is a t-shirt made from something other than t-shirt material. You know exactly what I mean.

I'm not a tomboy, I'm not shy or self conscious of my body at all. I own dresses, I own skirts, I even own some pretty killer heels. I used to dress up all the time, in fact one of my husbands favorite stories is about "the red skirt." It goes like this:

"Remember that red skirt? That red skirt is what got me into this mess."

So, I'm not new to this, to dressing up, to being more feminine. I really actually like it. I know exactly how a dress can make a girl feel. Pretty, beautiful, sexy, feminine, fun. A Dress is a special thing to a woman. It can be a very powerful thing. It can change a mood, create a memory. It's romantic. It can make your night. We dance in a dress, we kiss, we might fall in love in a dress. We look at our dresses and remember beautiful moments.

But somewhere a long the way, I just lost the love and lost my confidence and got really, really....really comfortable in a pair of levis and some converse hi tops. I stopped feeling like I could do anything in a dress, like a dress was debilitating. I embraced the jeans. I would slip into my hip skinnies and not brush my hair, believing that I was emulating this look:

 

Which I'm not. At all.

So I got this idea to sort of jump start my sense of style, a kind of firestarter that would perhaps lead me into a wider, prettier and less dirty selection of clothes. I would wear a dress a day, for thirty days. No jeans, no tights, no pants of any kind. Perhaps I might then remember what it was like to wear a dress and feel feminine and want to continue feeling that way after the 30 days were over. Perhaps it would inspire me to get out of the blacks and the greys and look towards other colors on the wheel. Perhaps it would be the only way I would stop wearing the following footwear every single day.

Come on. All three are permanently muddy.

 

So 30 Dresses was born and already I was screwed because I simply don't have thirty dresses. I have three. Well, four maybe that are daytime appropriate and the rest are just a little too short and a little too sparkly for the playground. So I asked my friends to help me out.

Now the best part about asking my friends is this. I have a very widely different group of friends, style-speaking... who all have a very strong sense of (their own) style. And they all have an opinion on just what I ought to be wearing. So as the dresses came in, so did my breath... almost every dress is something I would have never, ever picked for myself. They are all very lovely dresses, some of them vintage, some of them casual, some of them dressy... in fact every dress is amazing. I just wouldn't have worn them. Too colorful, too bouncy, to frilly and frocky. I like a good utilitarian dress and I certainly don't wear red.

So what I asked for is exactly what I need. I have no other choice but to wear these dresses and experience how I'm going to feel in them. Some of them I might like. Some of them I probably won't at all. But the point of it all is to experience something outside of the norm. To try something new, or get back something I've lost. The confidence in a dress.

 Or to at least start wearing the rest of the shoes in my closet.

 

So let's lay it out here.

Each morning I can only choose from the 30 dresses that I have acquired for the next 30 days, in hopes that I will un-stick myself from the farmer girl rut I have put myself in. In hopes that I may see that color is not something to be afraid of. In hopes that I will rid myself once and for all of the fear of anything without two legs and pockets.

 I will blog about my dress of the day. I will take photos. I will let you know exactly how stoked I am to wake up on a rainy May morning to take my daughter to school and to force myself into pretty leggings, petite shoes and a frilly frock. I may later in the day retract any cursing, and replace it with the thoughts I have after morning coffee regarding the dress I thought I'd never like.

At the end of the 30 days I'm going to recap my feelings and fears towards the pretty dresses, and tell you what I've learned from this ridiculous predicament I've put myself into by openly brainstorming ideas with my husband who is, by the way absolutely STOKED on the next 30 days.

Wish me luck!

30 Dresses In 30 Days.

 

Beginning Tuesday, May 1st! A month-long series about prying off the jeans and bringing back the pretty.

Losing Teeth

I totally cried.

As I climbed into the front seat of the van and out of the cool spring morning rain, my daughter exclaimed "Mom! My tooth is loose! It's really wiggly!" I turned the key in the ignition and sighed, wearily exclaiming with not near the same vigor, "Really? Wow, that's great."

See, she's said this before. In fact, she's said it about one million times. Ever since her older friends started dropping teeth she's been longing for the day her mouth would catch up to all the other gaping toothless grins of young adolescents. Yearned for it, wished for it out loud and definitely to herself. I guess before boobs, it's teeth.

As she rounds the corner on the last month before she turns six, I expected that yes, soon enough we would be joining the ranks in doling out toothfairy money under her pillow. And I wonder, what is the going rate? I had better find this out.

But Alas, every time she discovers a potential tooth for the losing, I check it and no... "Honey, I'm sorry. You're just not there yet." It was beginning to become an issue. Apparently some of her friends in school have lost all their teeth. They actually have no teeth at all. "How do they eat?" I ask. "With their tongues." She answers, certainly and even with a hint of envy.

So this morning started like no other, with the hustle and the bustle and the bundling and the rushing and we rounded the corner to her school.

"Mom, really - it's lose." She insisted.

I sighed again as I jumped out of the van, the coffee yet warming my bones. I opened her door and gave her a long, steady look.

"Let me see." I said and she opened her mouth. As soon as I touched the tooth I knew. And in that very moment I realized that she was growing so big that her body was now rejecting the pieces of her that were considered "baby". Her teeth were falling out. Preparing for the teeth that would get her through the rest of her life. Leaving behind the teeth that tried pureed carrots for the very first time. The teeth that kept us awake all of those nights as they made their way through her gums. The teeth that gnawed on toys and knuckles and to my horror, grocery cart handles.The lump in my throat grew and my eyes grew wet. She saw, she heard me choke out her name, she felt what I felt. Frankie burst into tears, two minutes before the morning bell, and I grabbed her and hugged her and asked her why she was crying.

"I'm crying because I'm so happy Mom."

And so it goes. I kiss my baby girl goodbye and watch her go bouncing into school and I think that even though I am losing her teeth, I am gaining so much along the way.

 

 

 

Three Years.

When I first started blogging I had big dreams. I was new to the world of the blog roll and had recently discovered the subculture of MommyCraftyKnittingSewing blogs. I was inspired.

I set out to be just like some of my new found blogging heroes, who were quite busy quilting and knitting and carrying babies on their hips all the while baking delicious glueten-free vegan cakes and brownies on a daily basis. I figured I was set. I had a kid of my own, and another one coming. My mother knew how to knit, I'm sure I could learn. I owned several quilts. I like cakes and brownies. I got this.

I was fresh in the world of sewing, and even dabbling in some needle felting which I now think is a little too hippy for me. I was making diapers and digging in my garden and happily blogging away, feeling confident that I would soon match my blogging heroes in numbers, banging out hoards of tutorials and how-to's, become the beacon of Crafty Mom Blogs and somehow generate enough revenue from my beautiful blog to clothe and feed my family, all the while making everything from scratch and possibly writing a book on the side. Did I mention we would also move to a farm?

My very first attempts at blogging were not even here, on Stitch Rabbit. I had another blog, one hilariously called "Blessed Nest". Hilarious because in hindsight, I do not believe blessed was an appropriate word. I should've worded it more like:

"HomeWithToddlerAndSmallInfantAndTryingToSurviveButLooksGoodOnInternet"

I think most bloggers would agree, you start off blogging on your very best behaviour. But it's only a matter of time till you really start to show your true colors. When we moved back to Vancouver and I started up Stitch Rabbit, I felt a lot more like myself:

From the Archives: "It Ain't Always Easy"

 Fast-forward a few years. I've got two kids. They're clothed (occasionally) in smocks and pants that I've banged out on my sewing machine late at night. I've made quilts for each of them, and a handful of others that drape casually over the furniture in our house. I've also made mountains of pillows and bags and handy household items, gifts and dolls. You've seen a lot of them here, on my blog.

From the Archives: "Around Here - It Is Winter"

I learned how to knit. From my mom, like I thought I would. It's become a true passion, a love that I cherish deeply. Knitting gives me time to be in my head, while using my hands and sitting down all at the same time. It makes me productive even while resting and blanking out. I've even managed to start selling my knitted goods in my shop, Stitch Rabbit Handmade.

"Stitch Rabbit Handmade"

I never, ever got the whole baking thing down. I bake, and I like it. But not enough to talk about it, and certainly not enough to take pictures of my uneven cakes and uncertain brownies. I'm not a foodie. I need to get over this. I will probably never bake bread from scratch. This is a fantasy that I need to let go of.

*  *  *

When I first started writing this blog I think my mom read it.

Eventually, a few friends started reading. (Thank you Amy, Michelle and Myki...for still holding on strong) Then I started emailing my posts to people, shamelessly promoting myself to family members and friends who may or may not be interested in my growing belly updates or what I thrifted that day. Over time, my readership has grown. As of now I sit at about 200 unique visitors a day, give or take. That might not seem like much when you consider that some of the big name bloggers generate thousands of readers a day... but to me - some 200 people look at my blog, my photos, my words and my life every day. Some of them are my friends and family, many of them are complete strangers. Some of them are from Canada, some of them are from the United States. Some of my readers are from Japan and Germany and India and the UK. Australia and New Zealand and South Africa. Afghanistan. Saudi Arabia. How cool is that? In the span of my blogging existence, I have had people read my blog from almost every country in the entire world. That blows me away. Whether you've been here since the beginning or you occasionally peek in... I want to thank you for reading. This blog has been a vessel for me, a means to the words I can't always get out, a place where I can sort out my feelings, wonder if I sound sort half-crazy and then hit "Publish" anyways.

Officially, next month I have been blogging for three years. I'm not the "It Girl" of Mommy blogs, I don't generate any money from writing, and I'm certainly not living on a farm making everything from scratch amongst the goats and the chickens. Over the years, I've learned to just be me here... knitting and sewing and yammering on about raising small children and the perils of garden work and taking photos of everything from stacks of fabric to cups in my cupboard. I still have big dreams and a lot more to say.

Thank you for hearing me out.

xo  stitch

 

Her Very First (Doll) Quilt.

She poured through my scrap baskets, searching for the perfect pieces. She pressed, with my help, and marked each piece with a ruler and chalk into a near-perfect square.

She delicately cut each square, trying her very best to stay on the lines.

She sat, with me... and pieced her very first quilt. Deliberating the way it would look, switching blocks until it looked exactly right to her own little eyes. She was beaming.

She pinned each block, muttering "right sides together". This took a really, really long time. I did my best not to let my own hands get in the way.

She sat on my lap, with her hands guiding her fabric while I pressed the pedal beneath us and kept a watchful eye on the needle and the seamstress.

She pressed her very own seams. She's almost done.

Hours had passed and we came up from the studio and into the house and she chatted away with her Dad about her quilt and I listened, smiling. I can't wait to watch her finish her very first quilt.

 

This Morning.

This morning as Frankie was leaving for school, her Dad already outside warming the car, I knelt in front of her and looked her in her eyes and kissed her cheeks. I grabbed her hand and placed a kiss in it and told her to put the kiss in her pocket, and save it. She could pull it out anytime in the day. I love the dreamy smile she gives me when she's trying to figure something out in her head - if a kiss could really stay in a pocket, and would it still be kissable when she pulled it back out.

 

She's growing up, but not too old for pretend. She's getting bigger, but not so big she isn't still a child. She is learning and mastering, and still wondrous, curious. She teeters on the edge of so many milestones, ebbing and flowing between realism and idealism. I follow with great admiration, into her world. I plead with the world to let imagination stay, and evolve and never leave. Let her grow up but not away from the possibilities of anything.

 

This morning I buttoned her coat and kissed her goodbye and watched from the window with my coffee cup. I will do this a million times more in our life.

As she reached the gate to meet her Daddy, I watched her reach deep into the pocket of her coat and pull out my kiss and hold it to her face. It was still there.

 

A New Year - Myself.

By the time you're reading this I will be en route back to Canada. Back to our tiny lot of land and our warm house and all the things inside it that make up who we are. Spending three weeks out of my element and away from all the makeup that makes me up has given me a lot of time to think and to be, simply me. So you can't help but work on some things, without the distraction.

In my thirtieth year, I have learned a lot already. The biggest so far, is that turning thirty was like reaching what I thought was the peak of my mountain, only to look up and realize that there are mountains - so many more mountains - stretched out across the land, with peaks on all of them. And they're mine to climb.

Aging hasn't bothered me much. I'm still young and there are decades ahead of me. I was awkward as a teenager and kind of messy in my twenties... thirty has been my most comfortable decade so far. I feel like I am finally fitting my skin.

There has been a lot of gratitude in my heart lately. I feel really lucky to have the life I do, with the people who are living it with me. My family keeps me grounded, and still let me fly. I've never felt so sure that I could make a jump or change my mind or reinvent a piece of me and they would be right there, wishing me success and happiness. How lucky is that?

I feel a lot calmer these days. Taking my time, not rushing what can't be rushed. Believing that what will be will happen, eventually. In all aspects of my life, I have stopped a lot of the impatience, and in place I've gained the confidence that this life will make it work. Our hearts with find the way.

There is also a new sense of self care that I am very grateful for. Taking care of my body and riding my bike and simply breathing deeper. Praising myself when I am doing well and pushing myself to reach new limits. Riding my bike has become an outlet for me to rid myself of the anxieties and stress and pressure  that I put on myself.

Coming back to Canada in the new year is like coming back to a new outlook on life. In my first post of the year, I asked "What makes me happy? What makes my family work? What makes my heart soar?"  I think I've answered those questions in the last seven days. I am thankful for these reflections, and I feel ready for the new year. The opportunity is here to find all the dreams in my heart, the desire to make them real and have love that can make it work.