Stitch Rabbit

My Daughter And The World.

 

She will be seven next month. On the cusp of some kind of girlhood that is racing through childhood and not yet adolescence. On the brink of bigger things, a sureness of herself is stirring and showing itself in tiny glimpses as she makes her own breakfast and ties her own shoes and chooses her own things and makes up her own mind. She knows more of what she wants. She knows more of the world, she knows more than just the things I have taught her.

 

 My daughter is finding her way. She is careful and thoughtful. She is also daring and unafraid. She switches back and forth from big girl to my little baby as she reads novels in the bathtub with her feet propped up and yet still crawls into my bed to find me in the night. She snuggles a stuffie and paints her toenails. I can hardly pick her up. She can lift me off the ground.

 

 

My daughter is growing, and I guess that means so am I. Learning about her... it is impossible to know everything. Every day I am learning about her, as she discovers more and more about herself. Understanding more complex thoughts and coming to her own conclusions. Disagreeing with opinions. Feeling empathy for others. Thinking first about her planet before she thinks about what she'd like. She is seeing things on a bigger scale, she is part of a community. She is more aware of the people in her life. And she loves them fiercely.

 

My daughter is competitive and trying to understand it. She is learning tools that will guide her in so many ways in her life. She is gaining the confidence she ought to have - that every girl ought to have in a world so intent on exploiting women. I do everything I can to teach her how to be strong and powerful, and then she's got to do it for herself.

 

She is turning seven and I am watching her with eyes wide open, astonished by the wild and the love and the heart that comes beaming out of this child.

 

And then, each night, I tuck her in to bed so she can lose herself in worlds of fantasy and story and tall tales and beautiful endings... and it's the end of the day and she simply doesn't want it to end.

And I am filled with her hunger for life, for learning, for knowing, for caring, for loving...and it inspires me to do the same.

Days with A Boy.

My son and I spend our days together. After the hustle and bustle of getting his big sister off to school, the day is ours. Sometimes it's busy, with lists of things to do, appointments and shopping... all of this with my son on my hip asking questions and protesting loudly when he's had enough.

Other days are spent much more peacefully. It doesn't have to be complicated with Charlie. Throwing driftwood into the water to see how big the splashes are, a coffee date on The Drive, or a walk in the park. I love this special time with him...

He's at that age, so inquisitive, so curious and so astounded by the world. His one word statements are turning into sentences, and our conversations growing longer as I learn more and more of what goes on in his sweet little head. These are the days.

As I'm writing this, he's carefully balancing two "coffees" on a tray, intent on serving me this sweet treat while I'm working. I love this little man.

 

 

 

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.

 

Love Letters.

"to mom and dad , frankie"

 

 

"frake   i luv you bekus we r a famle. luv frankie."

 

 

And then I started bawling. Sheesh.

Beautiful Milestones

My daughter has always been the kind of kid who wasn't about to do something she wasn't ready for. She's a quick learner, a bold beginner, but if it isn't the time, it isn't the time. So life goes on.

So when she nonchalantly asked me to take her training wheels off her bike the other day, I was surprised. When we first got her bike, we tried on numerous occasions to take off the training wheels but she would flat out refuse. "I LIKE my training wheels Mama" she'd say, and just to bring her point home, "I want to have my training wheels on ALWAYS, even when I'm big like you."

Okay... so we left it. Until the other day. So I went rifling through the shop till I found a wrench, and we sat on the grass while I pried the rusty bolts off her back wheels. She grabbed her helmet and we went out into the back alley to give it a try.

I have to stop here and remark at how powerful and willing a child's brain is to learn something new. It amazes me time and again with both of my children how quickly and eagerly they grasp onto a new concept. Childhood is truly the only time you will boldly try anything, not weighing the options, not fearful of defeat; simply passionate about learning and mastering a new skill, putting it in the bank, and coming back for more.

What a beautiful thing, to learn so fiercely and fearlessly.

 

With only a few short stops and some wobbling, I suddenly found myself walking, then running behind my daughter, my fingers barely grasping the back of her seat as she pedaled her little legs... and then I let go. She was practically screaming with pride and excitement as she pedaled down the pavement "I'm doing it! I'm doing it Mommy!" I ran after her, laughing and crying like an idiot, echoing her words "You're doing it! You're doing it!" Instantly, it was a moment engraved forever on my heart.

And that was it. She had mastered a milestone in only a few short moments. Suddenly she could be faster then me, freer then me, and I had taught her to do that. To let the wind take her hair. All it took was to trust in her that she would do it when she was ready. And then she would fly like a bird.

Only a few days later and she's brilliant. Scraped knees and all.

I've Been Gone.

Saturday never felt so good. As you may have noticed (or not, it's cool) I have been remarkably absent from this space, a long with most other parts of my life. A lot has been going on. I've tried on a few occasions to write about all that has been happening, but I ended up sitting in front of the computer, with no will or reason to type anything out. I think, which doesn't happen often for me, I needed some time to process before I opened my mouth.

This summer was a strange one for me. I couldn't get into it. I would like to think the lack of good weather in the beginning is what threw me off my game, but blaming the weather is a West Coast cop-out, and I'm not gonna do it. I just couldn't get into it. I had a great time with my kids, but I spent a lot of my summer longing for it to change. The routine, the daily life, the way my children and I both together and apart, interacted with the world. I was getting really, really bored.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago, when I packed up the kids and went walking down the Drive (Commercial Drive) that I realized I had, unless driving to a specific summer-fun location, spent the majority of my summer in a very small few block radius from my house. What is up with that? Why wasn't I out? With the people? And the kids? And the dogs? And the world?

Okay, this is getting long already, try and hear me out:

Like many mothers, I've spent the last number of years with my kids, at home, doing the homemaker thing. And parts of me loved it. It's what got me sewing and knitting and gardening and all those things. I wouldn't give those things back ever. I found that I could grow some roots, and like it. In my past lives staying in one place, with the same peeps, and committing to...well, committing to anything - it wasn't my style. So I've changed a lot since my babies have been born. Like most Moms I guess.

And then you get to this place, when your kids get a bit older, and you realize that they just don't need you in the same ways, and there becomes this spot, this empty spot where your life was filled with the busyness of babies and you realize that now there is room and you can grow too. Grow up, move forward, get different, find more. It's this beautiful mutual independence that has blossomed and you love your kids the same as you always have, and now they're giving you this gift, this chance to get back to yourself. Or get into your new self.

This happened very quickly for me, this epiphany, this sudden hunger for more. It could be writing classes, working outside the home, working for me, working on me. Whether it was coinciding with the fact that Frankie was starting school this year I don't know. But I started searching for what was out there for me. Suddenly I found myself with this job, working at a midwifery clinic while my husband stayed at home with the kids. We did this entire role reversal and it happened overnight. Suddenly I was getting up and getting dressed and getting dropped off to be on my own, to do something that had absolutely nothing to do with my family. I became this working woman overnight. I was coming home to cooked meals and laundry on the line and a day that I have to catch up on, hear my kids stories and talk late into the night with my husband about how life was working here, here without me.

*Before I go any further, I should tell you my new job is a temp position, and only for a few weeks while Gabe is on a holiday - which is exactly the kind of non-commitment I like. It's like experimental working.*

*Also, before I go any further, I will be posting later about my daughter's very first week at school and all the emotions that have come with that. It is such a milestone, for her AND us, that it really deserves it's own post.*

I miss my kids like crazy when I'm at work. But at the same time, I feel like it's feeding me. Something new, it's like a quick sharp breathe in and my brain turns on and I'm paying attention again. I love my home life, I love and am proud of everything I do in it. I'm excited to come back to it with this new energy.

Phew, so there's part one.

I needed the shake up. It's like early morning. The sun is warm on my face, and the day is brand new. I'm still here, I'm just waking up again.

xo stitch

From My Side of The Lense

The thing about being the one taking the photos in the family is that there aren't a lot of you. Personally, I'm pretty okay with that because it takes a minute to get me on my good side. I don't always come out looking so cute.

But here are a few shots of what I would call "behind the scenes". It's not just those two cute kids out in the world - I'm there too! (Good luck trying to get Gabe AND Me in a photo with them.)

I really treasure these photos because they can be few and far between. It makes me stop and realize,

"Oh yeah, I am experiencing that life too. Not just mothering it."

It gives me a peek into what it looks like to be the mother to those babies of mine.

I look at these pictures and I think it's looking like I'm doing alright. I got this.

 

 

 

Close Up

My house is a disaster. I don't even know how it happens. I'm the type of person that likes order and neatness. Every thing in my house has a place, at least in my head. This sets me up to be a disastrous parent.

It was manageable with one child. When Frankie got to the age where she could move around the house, I would simply follow her path of destruction and clean up behind her. Whatever she pulled out, I put back. Whatever she spilled, I picked up. We had a system.

But now there are two of them. Two against me. I have no hope. One goes one way and the other goes another way and I'm just waiting in the middle with a spray bottle and a broom.

I've let go a lot, a LOT since having kids. Before kids I think when people saw my closets they thought I had mental issues. And the biggest messes around here are toys. Which I don't totally mind, because I like a lot of their toys, and they're pretty and give off that idyllic "children live here and it's cute" look when they lay scattered on the floor in small groups of less than five.

Except for the Lego. Right now I LOATHE the Lego. When I see the two year old pull it out I sigh and steady myself for what will inevitably come in about two minutes. The dump out. And it's always in the best spot, like on the back patio stairs, so that millions of tiny pieces shower through the spaces in between the stairs and directly into our (full of old beer bottles) recycling bins. Why would you want to quietly build a house and give mommy some alone time when you can cause a complete spectacle?!

I'm doing my best to teach my children to pick up after themselves, but I fear I'm going hoarse AND crazy from saying "Pick that up please." And let's face it, two year olds are very good at pretending they don't understand you until you whisper the word "popsicle" from the other side of the house.

If someone - anyone has the answer, the key to maintaining a reasonable level of clean, not so much that I spend every hour of my day playing pickup, but enough to maintain a house that isn't a hazard, I would be very, very grateful.

 

 

We Need A Game Plan

As any Canadian would know, it's Playoff time right now. I say this while rolling my eyes, which makes it hard to type. I am not a hockey fan. We are not a hockey family - or so I thought. It's hard not to pick up on the excitement of the final series when your city is in it to win it. The seas of blue and white jerseys, the flags flying from most cars on the road, the hockey shrines in windows and yards.

So me and the kids tuned in. Hilarious. Frankie had all kinds of questions like "Who are the white guys? Who are the yellow guys?" and "Why are they hitting each other into the walls?" or my personal favorite "They fall down more than I do when I go skating!" She also had some really observant questions like "How come they're starting in the circle instead of at that blue line this time?" and "How come that guy is sitting by himself?" (penalty box) I surprisingly had all the answers, which I give credit to the hours and hours of my childhood spent being dragged to watching my brother play hockey. I was really surprised at how interested Frankie was in it, and not just the fact that the ever-desirable glowing screen was on.

Where is this all going? Okay. It's been pretty crazy around here lately. It's summer, which is the busy season for Gabe, which in turn makes it the busy season for me. He is currently working 70 days in a row. IN A ROW. And that takes some adjusting. It hasn't been easy around here, between the kids and I. They miss their dad, I'm busier than usual with chores and errands, and it's been tense and picking up steam. So, in the spirit of the hockey game, and in Frankie's new-found interest for the Canucks, we went to work on our family yesterday. We made a game plan.

Frankie named us "The Fixers" which I love. We spent some time writing down descriptive words about our team, and what we are.

Then we wrote down ideas of how we can help each other to make the team happy and efficient.

Frankie took it really seriously, and had a lot of great ideas. We decorated with butterfly and heart stickers and pinned it to the wall above our kitchen table.

In the excitement of our new way of thinking, and in how well it was received, I thought of some other ideas and jotted them down myself.

It didn't fly. But it was very therapeutic.

 

Good luck tonight, to the Vancouver Canucks and all the dedicated fans. I hope you get a win, after those two devastating losses. If they would heed my advice, I say they should get together in the dressing room tonight and write out some team goals and ways they can help each other on some colorful poster board, like we did. Hey - it's working for us.

 

 

Exploring The Great Outdoors and A Lesson on the Value of Life

Hiya - been awhile. I'm sure you've missed me posting pictures of my knitting and my sewing, but we've been busy exploring the great wilderness - and experiencing death-defying acts of super danger. I threw together a suitcase of clothes earlier this week and whipped the kids up to Whistler. The hubby's been up there on a photo shoot job, staying in a lavish hotel, and taking snowmobiles up snowy mountains, so I thought we better go up and get some of that fun.

I lived in Whistler for a brief period of my young life and have visited a handful of times since, and I have to say, it's not how I remember. Mostly because I don't really remember living in Whistler. I was twenty. Now I'm (almost) thirty and with a coupla kids, I find myself spending less time doing the wild and crazy and more time doing the knitty and sewy, mixed with some gardening. So spending time in Whislter, surrounded by young people who throw themselves off of cliffs of snow or dirt, on boards or bikes was, well - refreshing.

Which brings us to the death-defying part. As a young person I've spent a lot of time on mountains, at high elevations and on chair lifts and gondolas. So I knew I wanted to take the kids up the Whistler Gondola, to give them an idea of the vast mountain range, a peek at the tiny village behind us, and the actual size of the world around us. Show them the freedom that supernatural British Columbia can give you, a look into what life can be if you take it. Poetic right?

But why didn't I stop there?

The ride was great - not too high, not too fast. We saw black bears and mountain bikers, deer and at higher elevations, lots of snow. We got to the top, hung out, saw Daddy and the crew. It should have been enough. We should have just gone down.

But there's this new gondola.... I'm sure many of you have heard of it, it's very impressive. The Peak to Peak Gondola, in Whistler, BC. I'd never been on it, and it was right there...so, we got on. Just me and my two kids. Let me give you an idea of what this gondola is all about. It's written right there in the cabin, for all to enjoy and understand:

Translation: It's really freaking far in between these two mountains, and we're about to take you there, across a giant canyon.

 

Translation: Every 49 seconds some new sucker is going to get on this thing and we're going to take them across a giant canyon, really fast.

 

Translation: This is really f*cking high. I can't believe you brought your kids on this thing.

 

I don't know why, because I knew that the Peak to Peak gondola would do essentially that - take you from peak to peak - but I just didn't comprehend the height. I didn't study the brochure close enough. And truthfully, I'm not much of a heights kind of gal and I don't like airplanes so why I mixed the two together into "Mommy's Zany Wild Ride Across the Canyon" I don't really know. But here we were, in the cabin of a Whistler Peak to Peak Gondola, just the three of us.... and off we go.

 

At first, it was really really great. Stunning actually.

The kids were into it, and I was doing my best to completely ignore what was coming next.

The edge of the cliff.

The forest floor just starts to drop down underneath us and I realize that we are not following anymore - we are travelling across the canyon and we just keep getting higher and higher.

 

There are a lot of things that run through your mind right before you die. I'm not going to tell you what was running through mine, but I will tell you this. All three of us immediately sat back on the bench in the middle of the cabin, the one meant for people like us. This way we couldn't see the valley floor. Only sky. I then slouched down in the seat, grasping onto my children's rain jackets and preceded to happily talk about how the cables were "so big and strong, look there's THREE of them!" and "Gee, aren't we lucky we're travelling in the CLOUDS?" I did absolutely everything in my power not to lose my cool and completely destroy my children's ability to climb anything higher than our porch stairs. The only other thing I was able to do was occasionally hold my camera up in the air and blindly shoot photos of what was assumed to be the only way we would truly experience the Peak to Peak, once we were safely at home and downloading them onto the computer. If we made it.

Pretty, right?

Now we made it across to Blackcomb Mountain from Whistler but guess what? You have to go back!! Ha!

This time though, I manned up, perhaps due to the adrenaline rushing through my blood. I felt that I could do anything - I was laughing in the face of danger. So I boldly got to my feet -  and then immediately dropped down to my knees, and crawled across the cabin floor towards the bench at the front. If there was a camera installed, somebody would've You Tubed that stuff. My children stared at me from the bench in the middle, and I smiled weakly back at them, pretending all the while that it was completely normal for Mommy to be crawling around on the floor, five million feet above the ground, looking like she was going to barf. They got down and crawled to the front as well. White-knuckled, we peered over the padded bench.

The blue machine to the left is a giant crane. It was about this time that I started practicing deep breathing and made my peace with the world. On my knees, I prayed to the mountain gods that my children would live to get off them. I didn't stop praying until we were coming into the bay back on the peak of Whistler Mountain. I didn't get off my knees until I figured somebody would see me.

*   *   *

Prying my arms from around my two beautiful little babies, I strapped Charlie back into the stroller and held Frankie's hand in mine. I smiled at the liftee attendant as the doors swung open and we stepped out onto the sturdy concrete platform. I don't know how easy it was to tell that my legs were shaking, but I knew I looked a wreck. White in the face and sweating, we strode through the bay and back into the world on land. Sweet, solid land.

 

So Whistler was fun, and the Peak to Peak was.... hands down the most frightening thing I have ever done. I think when you have kids, you begin to understand how fragile and beautiful life really is. You basically turn into a sucker, and what is thrilling to one is Mommy's worst nightmare. Would I do it again?

I think I'm going to sit here and knit on that one a while.

 

 

 

 

 

Contemplating The Young Girl

I've been re-devouring a book I picked up a year or two ago. With my daughter's birthday just a week away, there have been a few requests for her most desired must haves. On this list is a hula hoop, new books "with no pictures, but chapters", and the big one.... a Barbie. Yikes. Didn't see that one coming. I asked her what is was about the Barbie that she liked, and I was met with a list of the obvious. "She has long hair, a pretty dress and I want a doll that is hard, not soft." As in "Mom, your softie dolls you've been making for me from wool and linen are cute and all, but I'm really ready to move on to the next level. A plastic doll, with plastic hair, and boobs." Okay, she's not saying boobs, I'm thinking boobs, internally and fearfully.

So back to the book. It's called "The Lolita Effect: The Media Sexualization of Young Girls and What We Can Do About It."  I know, pretty heavy stuff. But as a mother, as a woman and as the guide to my own daughter in her life, I think this is pretty important stuff. The book goes into great depth about the culture we live in, the way that women are over-sexualized and how it affects our girls. It discusses everything from Britney Spears to Bratz Dolls, sexual violence, the role that boys play and finally, strategies for resistance.

Okay back to my daughter. Because let's face it, when you're reading this book, you're spending half the time peering over the pages at your sweet singing baby and mentally preparing a 15 year game plan for teaching her self confidence, healthy self image and self worth. I didn't feel that this book left me fearful for my daughter, but empowered that I had more information and more tools to face a fast paced world filled with things I already don't know about because I'm (almost) thirty. Like scene queens on MySpace and sexting.

Okay let's go back to the Barbie. Now, I of course, want to give my daughter all that she desires - within reason. And while I know she's been eying those shiny glittery barbies lined up in the aisles of stores, I just can't do it. Do I think that handing my five year old a Barbie on her birthday is going to destroy her body image and turn her into a preteen S.L.U-know-what-I-mean? No I don't. There are a million things that factor in to how a child will grow up, what choices she will make and how she will feel about herself at the end of the day. I know that I'm a big part of that, and that Barbie is not. But the amount of negative media that my daughter is exposed to in a day is alarming. The reality of what women really look like is skewed by the time your baby can see further than your nursing bra. Billboards, public transit advertising, even coloring books and clothing - everything is saturated in portraying beauty and body size as the most important thing - what you strive for in life. Whether you're buying a car, a pair of jeans or a tub of yogurt, it's there and in her face. Does she also need a Barbie?

I can shut off the tv and choose my music carefully, but I can't control everything she sees with her eyes. I can also help her choose her clothing and her toys, and help her understand to the best of my ability what is means to be a girl, to grow into a woman and to be a decent, kind and loving human being - to herself and others. She is growing, and becoming more and more independant from me. I know that it is just around the corner, that her peers become important, that her desire to express herself through fashion and music will come up so fast I won't even know what hit me.

All I can do is prepare her for it.

All I can do is prepare myself.

All I can do is research alternatives to Barbie dolls on the internet and find her the perfect, modestly and accurately proportioned fashion doll I can find. Her name is Hayden, she digs nature and gardening, and she's wearing a plaid shirt, some wool leggings and gumboots. She's still got long hair and sparkly butterfly earrings, but I can live with this. And I know my daughter is going to love her.

 

 

Finally, Finally.

Finally, finally...some time to myself. Gabe made it home early enough from work yesterday to take over completely, the bath and the bedtime. I grabbed a beer and my dog and headed into the sunset in the big park across from our house. I just needed to breath. It's been a pretty intense week. Not the usual seedlings and pies and crafting and knitting.

There is something to be said about the music of the park on a warm(er) late afternoon when you're all alone to listen to it all. I threw a ball for my dog, drank my cold beer, looked down and realized I was still wearing my apron. And that cute guy with the lab was coming this way. Motherhood will never escape you. At least the apron was cute.

By the time I got in the sun was going down and so were my kids so I snuggled in and stretched out to read them a lively selection of "Tumble Bumble", "Jack and The Beanstalk" and "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do YOU See?" Like good kids, they were asleep by readings end and I snuck out of the bed and felt better. Sleeping kids, cold beer...and finally - finally, some sewing.

 

 

You Can't Always Get What You Want

Today was one of those days when I couldn't accomplish a thing. I was exhausted when I woke up, and stayed in a half-vegetative state for most of the day. I even napped in the afternoon. Well, more like passed out on the couch covered in laundry while the children played instruments on the floor. And I hate napping. I never nap. I grew up in a "napping is for the weak" kind of family. Why nap when there are thirty other chores or projects to do. (My husband would beg to differ, to him, napping is an art form.)

Days like today, nothing seems to go right. I had a few odds stacked against me for it being really a terrific day anyways.

a) Our 90 pound puppy just came home from the vet with a cone around his head. The cone of shame quickly became the cone of danger as he ungracefully stumbled from room to room banging into walls, knocking things off tables and knocking my kids onto their butts. A lot of my day was spent wrangling the dog and herding the children into rooms away from him. Sigh.

aa) Our 90 pound puppy figured out quite quickly that bangining the edge of the cone into everything in his way and pushing into the said thing (door frame, low table, my knees) was weakening the cone, and then ripping the cone, which then destroyed the cone. The cone is now wrapped in duct tape.

b) My daughter has been getting increasingly worse with her hearing lately. She's not actually going deaf, she just thinks she is, and acts like she is whenever I ask her to do anything. (Put on your shoes, clean up your toys, don't bug your brother, stop throwing the ball for the dog with the cone in the house.)

c) I have been sleeping less and less the last week or so for a variety of reasons, most of them selfish late night sewing sessions combined with early appointments. Why I schedule things for 8:30 AM, I don't know. It is no easy feat getting a family out of the house at anytime AM.

*    *    *

Now, I'm not usually a complainer, or a whiner, though you may be thinking that right now. "What a downer, who blogs about their bad day?" But today, there isn't anything else I can do but softly cry dramatic sorry-for-myself tears into a cup of tea now that my children are in bed. I'd rather do that than face the mountain of dishes I've ignored since yesterday.

The truth is, I'm telling you about my not so fantastic day because, well, some days are like this. Some days I don't brush my hair and we eat toast and jam for lunch and I can't get my shit together. Some days I sort of wish I had a job to go to, maybe something high-powered and I can wear high heels and carry a laptop in one of those cute laptop cases, and take the train, and listen to my I-Pod. It's hard sometimes, to stay at home, and try to roll with everyone else's bad days and make the world a happy and curious place to explore for the two to five year olds, all the while planning the next meal while doing the dishes from the last. Staying at home with your kids is not easy. It can be very, very frustrating. Who would've ever thought I'd go to the grocery store in gumboots and sweatpants. And think I looked kinda cute.

I'm not even going to round this out tonight with all the reasons why I then turn around and think about all the reasons why it's good. I know it's good, and we are so lucky that we are a family that can have a parent stay at home. My kids are lucky, and I am lucky. Of course I'm going to wish I was a high-powered commuting career woman in heels some days. Everybody wishes they could be something different sometimes. Everybody wishes they could wear heels sometimes. But frankly, heels and kids, I haven't found to be very practical.

And rather than post pictures of me cozy in my rocking chair knitting on my lap or my children skipping happily in the sunshine, I thought I would just tell you the truth. I didn't brush my hair today. And we had eggs for breakfast and then eggs again for dinner. And my dog is mad at me. And my cat is mad at my dog. And my house is a disaster. And I may sit down and watch the entire first season of The Dog Whisperer tonight and not even knit.

Yeah, I said it. Not. Even. Knit.

The Issue of Sleep

I've said it over and over, shouted it to the roof tops  - I need my crafty time - the evenings are mine all mine. After the kids go to bed I spend the nights wandering in and out of the sewing room, working on projects, taking pictures, sewing or knitting until (sometimes) the wee hours of the morning. My kids have an earlier bedtime compared to most of their friends, it's almost a golden rule around here, so Mama can do her own thing. Like make pants and skirts. For them.

But I've gone and got reeeeal greedy.

It happened slowly, an evolution that, like most parenting evolutions, looked so obvious and predictable in hindsight that I should've seen it coming. A few nights here, a few nights there, the bedtime was a little *tiny* bit earlier than usual, due to Mommy being tired, the bath ending quicker than usual due to soap in the eyes, or - I'll admit it - due to an exciting sewing project waiting impatiently in the wings for the ol' nighty-night. So the kids were going to bed early. What the heck, it was winter. It was so nice. It was so...quiet.

My kids sleep a pretty clockwork twelve hours and we've always been pretty lucky in the sleep department with Charlie, there were never that many sleepless nights with him. (Second time around, I think you just know better than to let your baby get up in the middle of the night) So it's been awhile that the whole family has been rising together at the very reasonable hour of 8:00 am. Unfortunately the luxury of the longer quiet evenings came with the earlier wakey-wakey. The 8:00 am wake up smack on the head or book in the face became the 7:00 am wake up call. And the earlier they got up, the earlier they were going down because they were exhausted. It snowballed on me.

So I have something I have to confess here. For the past few nights, my kids have been in bed - snoozing - at 6:30 pm. Not by my choice. By their own, exhausted little made up minds, because they have been waking up so early. And now, even earlier than humanly thought possible....at (I can barely say it) FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.

I've created two early-rising monsters.

This is all changing tomorrow. I, along with the help of Gabriel, vow to keep our children up way past their bedtime for the next week, no matter how tired they are, no matter how done we are, no matter what quilt/hat/pants/doll/spring dress needs my immediate attention in the studio. We vow to break this vicious cycle and rid our children of the early-morning tyranny that has leaked into their souls. I am hoping that in one week we will be harmonious again in our beds, happily snoring until the sun has fully risen over the east.

We will sleep in again.

 

The one plus side to this family walking around like zombies today? We got us a brand new quilt to snuggle under. 

 

 

On the Eve of Solstice I Wave My White Flag

On the Eve of Solstice holiday making and cheering is in full swing. Gabriel has been busy in the kitchen preparing potluck dishes and Christmas Day meals so the cooking will be minimal later this week. The kids are in bed and I am busy on the couch knitting last minute gift orders of the cowls - my cozy neckwarmers at the Foundation Show have completely sold out! Amazing! It's been a busy week of making and playing here, I've finished off the last of the made gifts and the gift bags, shopped for the others, and even shopped a little for me. (Thanks Baaad Anna's)  Hey, I deserve it. Even though it's essentially for him:

Now that Gabe is finished work until after the holidays I can breathe a sigh of relief. Up until yesterday I was really feeling the pressure of the holidays being all on my shoulders - when he works, he really really works and so any extras like Christmas baking or birthday cakes is usually up to me. Of course, I don't mind - I love the making and sewing and decorating, but it does seem to get to that point every year where I realize that I just won't have the time to make every ornament I've been drooling over on the DIY craft blogs, the baking will go from hoards of cookies to a few select favorites, and once again, I'm not going to have time to construct and sew the men's western shirt I've been attempting to make for "him" year after year after year. Damn, should've started that one in September.

But you have to let go. You have to realize that what you've done is enough, that you've made the holidays special in all the ways you can, that the kids are happy because there's a tree with some things under it and you all have bellies full of food. Nobody's going to notice that you didn't make those adorable little house ornaments this year. They just want you there, happy, stress-free and making the most of these winter memories together. So this is the part where I say - merrily - that I quit. Everything is perfect, just the way it is, no matter what else was left on the list.

Tomorrow is our Solstice. My family will be celebrating the return of the light, carrying our candles and lanterns with other families and friends down our city streets, anticipating another year of greatness, of crops and bounty. Winter still has a way to go, but it will pass before we know it and Spring will have arrived.

 

I better start ordering my seeds.