Little House

Toys

2010-04-27T00:24:00.009+01:00

Its a snow plow. See?

I'm a 'stay at home Mum' this year. And before I go any further I need to add a qualifier or two.

1. We very rarely stay at home

2. I COMPLETELY hate that title, but am at a loss to come up with anything better. Its loaded, its misleading, its patronizing, and devalues what actually happens during my day.

So... that said, due to my..um...current status I spend a fair amount of time with toys.
When J was born we were zealously committed to the developmental superiority of non-plastic, non noise making, imagination feeding toys. As you can imagine, 5 years, and an additional boy later we have let things slide a little. We steer clear of violent toys (guns in particular), computer game machines, and still noisy toys (for may sanity as much as theirs) and well, plastic junk. We feel like the boys have LOTS of toys, but in comparison to many we seem to be lacking.

At a recent play date a little boys asked Jamie 'is this all the toys you have?' and went on to wander around looking bored, despite poor J's best efforts to entertain.
This is a new thing for us (well, for me really) - the judgment of other children. It seems to happen on a fairy regular basis in the world of Kindergarten, where I can't go and protect (insert angst here). Why are you wearing that thing that's pink? I have better Lego's than you. I know more about x than you. My bike is faster. I've seen this, done this, have this, and its all better than you.

Its hard, you know? Hard to hear it, hard not to intervene all the time, to jump and protect, hard not to fall into competition, and hard to find the line between our values of less stuff, less consumption, outdoor natural play, and well, giving the kids some funky stuff, and some social capital. Somehow we manage it in a way that feels OK to us, and for the most part OK for the boys. We thrift things, in and out. We do say no. Big gifts are for birthdays and Christmas, and Jamie saves his own money for other things. And sometimes they get a treat.

So.. all of this because here at Shutter Sisters they are asking for pictures of toys. To lighten the day. And I like to play.

So, here are some pics. I'd love to hear what you do about any of the above!

walk with us.

2010-03-23T00:44:00.006Z

I'm SO bad at keeping up with this.

But.. ITS SPRING!!!! Did you hear me there, in Outer Mongolia?

I want to say just this: No snow suits.

NO SNOW SUITS! Did I mention that already? All winter I've wrestled 2 small people unwillingly into half a tone of down filled, fleeced, wool, thinsulated, hermetically sealed cocoons. 3 times a day. The end of all this deserves mentioning at least twice.

( and I know, you people in Canada. There is definitely one more snow storm coming. You've seen snow every month here since you were 7.. Blah Blah. I'm not listening...)

We like to get out and walk all year round. But its so much easier when its warm (er) out. There are birds, little signs of rebirth everywhere we look, and we can pop out for a half hour stroll with very little drama (see above..)

Enjoy coming with us on this one (and tell me about the places you welcome spring) ....

'Fake it 'till you make it' and other perky tales from the goofy world of PPD

2010-02-03T03:32:00.013Z

I am not a young parent. I am not parenting alone. I am not a first time mother. I am educated, mostly middle class, I have a career, a home. I am a positive person. I am in control.

And absolutely none of this matters.

I still experienced Postpartum Depression. The same that is diagnosed in over 10% if all new mothers. The same that in reality effects countless numbers more. Across all boundaries. Regardless of anything.
Its a strange community builder. 'Did you cry (yell, panic, feel hopeless...) uncontrollably today? Wow, me too! and that's a great pair of shoes!'

One of the crazy things about PPD is that, while so many of us experience it, not one of us has an identical story, and through the very nature of the beast we are often completely isolated from each other.

Even as I work on this post I am unsure of telling my story. There is is this undertone, amongst those who haven't experienced depression, that 'happy happy joy joy' all the time will just fix it. But that's, frankly, crap. How else do we know that we are not lost unless someone else tells us they have been here before, with all its unspeakable awfulness, and survived?

For me PPD was a destructive cocktail of chemistry and situation. I can write about this now only because its gone. At the time I wouldn't have had the slightest clue how to explain what I was experiencing. In an odd way it was like swimming in a wild, crowded wave pool. You go under and all you can do is thrash around in the darkness, while you are pounded again and again by waves you don't see coming, people a blur all around you, just surviving from one second to the next, with no idea whats going on, whats happening to you. And then, without warning you surface. And all you can think about is wow. That was scary. I'm so glad its over now. And then another wave comes.

When I felt better I imagined it all gone, and that I didn't need to talk to anyone about it. And I never felt myself slipping aback under, until I came back up again. And so the cycle continued.

The pieces of the 'under' times (and that was the majority for 10 months) that I remember now are not pretty, and they still make me feel raw and vulnerable. Its been hard to forgive myself for all of that. What has helped has been the understanding that PPD, like other forms of depression is an illness. Just as much as cancer, just as much as a broken leg, with symptoms beyond our control. We didn't ask for it, and we don't deserve it. But it will change.

One day I realized that I'd felt better for a week. And then it was 2. And now its a year. Now I can recognize a bad day amongst the better days.

I don't have a secret, no magic cure. What I think, maybe helped get me through is simply 'fake it till you make it'.

I know. Trite doesn't even begin to describe it. But its the best way I can think of to explain even the thinnest thread of a strategy I used to get through all this (and it has a catchy rhyme, so that's worth something, right?) I wish I had the sense, understanding, and support to just get the drugs and/or the therapy. But I didn't. 20/20 hindsight.
Despite the constant blur I knew, of course, that all was not well. And I was afraid that it was somehow damaging my son (did I mention the paranoia??), so I pretended. I made myself pick him up. I made myself sing to him, I made myself speak love to him, and I made myself take photos of us together, placing myself firmly in his life. Even though I felt hollow.

Don't get me wrong here - I am a strong advocate of telling everyone who will listen how you are really feeling, and I regret the mask I wore with my friends and family. But my children (I also had a 3 year old) didn't need to know any more than they could already sense. I believe this 'practice' mothering helped me grow into actually doing it for real.

I celebrate motherhood with passion, but I also know how it deepened my depression to think that everyone else was floating in a haze of mothering wonder, while I was feeling not a bit of it.

So to the moral of my story. Strength in numbers, baby. Share the hurt. We will help you carry it. And maybe we can make you smile once in a while, until you can do it without pretending. Because it will happen.

This is my guest post over here today. Its a new initiative spearheaded by Meg Fahrenbach. Feel free to stop by and leave a comment.

Daily Dose of Encouragement

2010-01-31T21:56:00.000Z

Just a quick note to say that I've got a shot up over here: Daily Dose of Encouragement which is part of this project, that I'm helping with a little, spearheaded by the wonderful and creative Meg Fahrenbach of Tea & Brie.

Stay tuned for a guest blog post from me on the You are Not Alone site. Yikes!!

Santa..?

2009-12-30T04:37:00.002Z

I'm curious. What are your family practices for the whole Santa /Pere Noel / Father Christmas thing? I don't mean addressing the heart stopping question of the great mans existence (as if there is any question. sheesh.) but rather what percentage of the gift deluge does Santa bring to your house?

This has been a snag of contradiction I've unsuspectingly been caught on for more than one year now. And I never see it coming.

You see, in our house Father Christmas fills stocking for the children. Simple. That's the way it has always been, and I naively thought, was the way it just was. Oh, how innocently I skip toward the waiting jaws of 5 year old social networking.

'Mummy, Santa brings Billy LOADS of really big presents, not just in his stocking! How come he gets more than me??'

Yikes.

So I've asked around and found the following variations, just in J's class, in addition to our practice:

- Santa brings all Christmas gifts, regardless of expenses and sizes
- Parent (s) bring one smallish, meaningful gift, the rest from Santa
- A mix of 'under tree gifts' come from both family and Santa
- Santa fills stockings for adults and children alike
- Santa (or Pere Noel) brings gifts on Christmas eve, or even a day or two before.
- There is no Santa.

So what to do? Fess up about the imaginary nature of you-know-who? Not an option for us.
Change our gift giving practice? I don't think this is on the cards either. We are fairly committed to the idea that the boys know who is choosing and buying bigger / more meaningful gifts for them, and Santa only brings fun little novelty and useful items in their stocking. That said, I am open, as ever to your wisdom...

I mean, all this diversity is inevitable in a world that has at least 16 different names for the big man, and coutless stories from Folklore. And I am generally a big fan of this type of cultural variation, except when greeted by the incessent questioning of a very logical 5 year old.

So - in the spirit of being more prepared next year... what are your practices? What do you tell your children?

Riding the waves

2009-09-13T02:25:00.005+01:00

The blog has been sadly neglected these past few months. In part because I'm simply unsure how to follow the last post. But here we are, and follow I will, with Enzo, Carlos and Isabelle in my heart.

Much, much transition of late. In fact we are now literally a world away.
After months (or was it years, or did it, in fact not end from the last time..?) of boxes, sorting, donating, bubble wrapping, packing taping (never, NEVER skimp here. Go for the good stuff. I promise that the bottoms of you boxes and your breakable kitchen dishes will thank you) we are back in Canada.

There are so many move stories to tell that I don't know where to start, and I've left it too late to re-live, so I'll give you the Coles Notes version and we can all move on..

The Plane Ride: A disaster flick of epic proportions, in two acts.
2 boys under 5. 1 parent. Half our lives in the luggage. 8 hour flight. 5 hour stop over in the middle of the night (I think. What time zone were we in..???). Seats in 3 separate rows assigned by airline.
You get the picture. I am now that person. You know. The one you see in the boarding area and pray to god you are not sitting close to? Yup. That would be me.

My wonderful man, who we had been without for 4 long weeks, searched with all his heart and found us a house. In a moment of loving supportive gratitude I cried when I saw it and asked him if there was any way possible we could still get out of the lease. I know. Not proud.

But we are moved in (a little) and it is growing on me more every day. The neighbourhood is lovely, the parks are fab, the space and light are great, and the kitchen, well, its there, and the fridge is nice. I can let go of my great new kitchen in far away England. For now.

I am feeling an odd mix of coming home, and feeling displaced. I greive the loss of what we have left deeply, but this will be the right place for us. As I write those words I know to be true they belie the queasy, nagging worry that comes to me with any time of uncertainty. I am working hard at keeping it hidden, or at least in it's small place. In the sunshine that has been constant since we came, the glassy depths of the lake, the friendships reconnected, the spinning, sliding, climbing joy of the new park and the hustle and bustle of just life its not so hard. But......

So, we are tired, but smiling. Broken dishes and all.

And Jamie, my Jamie, has started school. But that's another post.

Leave a comment. go on.

2009-04-30T10:23:00.002+01:00

Yesterday out extended family was so full of joy - 3 new babies this year. Today that family is incomplete.

Marti's brother and sister-in-law have lost their child. Baby Enzo Douglas was 13 days old.

This is not my story to tell, and I wont. Can't.

But, when a baby dies the whole world should stand still and grieve. This is my small witness.

I guess we did it wrong...

2009-04-29T14:15:00.001+01:00

2009-04-09T00:52:00.003+01:00

The Easter Fair at pre-school is a riot of energy, colour, polarised emotions; excitement, joy, silliness, frustration, over tiredness.... All focused in one small boy, for 2 1/2 hours. A total whirlwind...

Intensity is the name of the game right now. Emotions swinging from one extreme to another, never still, always at full volume, and me rising to the bait far more than I'd want.

We're all exhausted. The chronic condition of parenthood. Now the holidays begin.

Superman-Jamie-love-mary-poppins-chocolate-factory-Ivan-Settle and his faithful assistant Wonder Boy liberate the potatos.

2009-03-15T00:27:00.007Z

What, your morning doesn't involve daily potato sorting, counting, recounting and scattering around the house, in preparation for the famous Mr Shark's Potato Spot Restaurant...?
Just me then...

For the Accountant....

2009-03-05T19:36:00.008Z

Excitement at 6
2 inches of snow
until 9am
2 pairs of socks needed, so that
8 feet could walk together to pre-school
31 schools in South West Dorset closed
1 college.
hundreds of meetings cancelled, 1 that made my day
6 lorries jack-knifed on the A35
4 hours without power
1 great Granny
2 new jobs applied for
2 red 1 yellow 1 green 1 orange pepper made into fajitas
2 exhausted boys
carried up 21 stairs
1 reading of the annoying car story
4 photo's uploaded to Flickr
2 tired parents, sitting on the couch.

=108
divided by 3 people that love him,
= 36

The number of years Marti celebrates tomorrow.

Happy Birthday my love.

2009-02-11T21:06:00.001Z

Came across this video today. Really like the filming.... happy making..

'You're it.' or 'PRIZES, PRIZES, PRIZES!!!!'

2009-02-09T19:34:00.009Z

I have been 'tagged'.

Not since that sinking feeling in primary school when some boy comes and whacks you on the back and you realise you are going to spend the next 15 minutes of your lunch break halfheartedly , self consciously running around after a bunch of, frankly much faster kids has this happened to me.

I should note that this is a vastly more pleasurable experience. My cousin Shawna was interviewed via her blog a while ago, and has passed on some questions to me.

As I have noting else to do (nothing remotely like marking a vast pile of student papers, for instance) I thought I'd indulge the ego and give it a go.

1. What sparked your interest in photography?

For those of you that haven't hopped on over to Monday yet I'm trying to sharpen my skills at something I have loved doing for a while now. I'm not where I want to be yet and am frustrated by the huge limitations of my little camera, but I like where I'm going.

I've been a snap shot girl for years, and have always loved photography as an art form, but never saw any scope for me through the lens of cheep 35m film camera's I had as a teenager. I've always felt creative but there is a huge disconnect for me between the idea and the execution.
A slightly better camera and the instant-gratification-feeding introduction of digital changed my outlook. At first just lots more photo's, and from that a more selective eye. I mean, still a lot of photos, most of which only see the inside of a virtual recycle bin, but enough that I like to keep the passion fulled.
Photography is fluid, and I can experiment until I get what I want, and cyclically, as with all process I'm almost at the point that I would like to work with film again.

I'm at this weird, cusp-y place right now between wanting to take things further, invest in a better camera, learn how to really use it, exhibit maybe, take some classes..... and not wanting it to all become a chore, and just too complicated. Know what I mean?

All that to say that this was probably the first picture I took that someone else was so complimentary about that I thought 'hey.... maybe there's something to this....'

I'm doing a cool project at the moment called 'A Year of Mornings'. Its just that. A photo every morning for 365 days. It seemed like a good way to be more intentional, and to document this year of transition, and there is a group of others doing the same thing to help with the motivation... The set so far is here. The rest of my (small) Flikr set is here.

2. How did you choose your boys' names?

This is actually fairly embarrassing. There is a cheesy series of novels about Highland Scots (and also time travel) that sucked both Marti and I in at a time when cheese was just what we both needed. The male lead was Jamie. The name stuck long after the books were finished. Its really James, so he has the option of either as he grows up, but its always Jamie right now.

Noah presented a much bigger challenge. Have you ever had a sudden moment when you realise that you have absolutely nothing in common with your spouse? Second child. Boy. No common ground to be had. My sister suggested the name and I instantly knew it was the one. M took some convincing but we got there in the end. I mean, Frederick??? god.

Both boys have second names for authors we admire, and that mean something in our lives. They are, respectively, Ivan and Thomas. Unfortunately I can't actually tell you who they're for right now, as I'm embroiled in a Face Book fueled challenge with a friend in Canada where she is trying to guess.
Go on. Give it a try.
There may even be a real-life prize in it for the first person to get it right in the comments section here.
If no one is close I'll give hints next week :)

3. What is your favourite childhood memory?

I'm having a hard time with this one. I think I'm going to have to be annoyingly general.
I spent family holidays in France as a child with my parents and 2 younger sisters, and that has very fond associations for me. Sunny, warm, cafes, board games, swimming. Even the car journeys were fun. We used to sing along to 50 Children's Favourites, Joseph, and (gulp) 'Elaine Page Sings Andrew Lloyd Webber!!'

I'll think more on this one and get back to you...

4. What is your favourite memory from this past week?

Much easier. We just got back from a fairly uncharacteristic holiday, where we went to a woodlandy, outdoorsy holiday park and spent 4 days basically in the (amazing) pool.
The boys were like fish. Noah is naturally more fearless than his older brother, and he was just a ecstatic bundle of slippery water-baby flesh all week. Suddenly, however, out of over a year of trepidation, and clinging, shaking fear, Jamie 'got' swimming. There were float vests involved, but nonetheless he was on his own in deep water, dunking his head, laughing, jumping, sliding, and just swimming.

5. If you could change one thing in your past, what would it be and why?

I try hard not to have regrets. I can't make this sounds anything but trite, but I really see all things as learning's that shape the direction of the paths I choose. That said I would really like the big, white wedding dress I couldn't afford, and was idealistically opposed to when I got married.... ;) I might have taken more interesting GCSE's too.... Oh and the green leg warmers in the 80's (although I stand by the stripy tights and Docs...)
I'm fairly self conscious and over analytical and can easily fall into the little, day to day 'could have done more/better/other..' I'm trying hard not to do this...

That was fun, and I need to share the joy. Volunteers to be tagged next?? Speak up, or I'll start choosing people....

Don't forget the prize y'all..

Love your mummy-tummy

2009-01-23T22:54:00.003Z

I imagine this speaks to 85% of the Mum's I know. Certainly be me.

Enjoy this wonderful bit of film making from my friend Louise, in New Zealand.

Love Your Belleh!!

New Year top 10..

2008-12-31T21:15:00.006Z

Its list time again people...

The 'end of 2008 top 10 list' is here. This isn't a top 10 of the whole year, but rather of things I like, well, now. See how good I'm getting about living in the moment?? ;)

That said, I can't bring myself to post something as 'fluffy' as this is about to be right now without bearing some small witness to those who are loosing children, partners, parents, lives and hope in Palestine. That's all. To put just a small piece of me aside for that this new year.

Here's the rest...

1. Central Heating. Forced Air or radiator. Not fussy. We have neither, and I've been cold for a week. whine, whine, whine.

2. This recipe for Dinner Beans. I am a big fan of any food you can eat with/in a tortilla, and these beans, with rice and/or home baked tortilla chips is unapologeticly simple. Which I also like in food.
2. b. Smoked Paprika. Introduced through the beans recipe. Smells like woodsmoke, and adds an exquisitely subtle depth and bite to food. All food in fact, at the moment.

3. Junk shop plates. I can see how this would sound a little, well, dubious at first, but revamping our dinnerware collection with funky, eclectic junk shop finds has been much fun, and makes the eating of the above even more enjoyable.
I mean, whats not to love?? Vintage style, reusing and recycling and 25p a piece. (See how I turned the potential for 'old, dirty and cheep' into something creative and bohemian sounding...?)

4. My new brown hair. This has been a big move for me away from trying to reclaim the real blond of my (ahem) younger days. I'm mildly annoyed with the whole process of dying, and redying, and roots showing and all, but the outcome is worth it. Its been a simply way for me to feel a little more, well, put together as things like haircuts and new clothes have gone by the wayside as we try and save money (or maybe just pay the bills...)

5. Noah's jumping. Totally hilarious and so, so sweet. Knees bent "da" (the word for most things, but with a particular inflection) huge grin, followed by a sort of abandoned, wiggling, falling motion. The sheer proportions of his body far to unbalanced to actually get off the ground in any way. I could really just eat that kid up.

6. My blog route. There are lots of great web sites that I rely on for a variety information. God, my 'favourites' list is several miles long. But its the blogs that are the bread and butter. Regular
Several evenings each week I can be found taking a little tour of some of the talented and wonderful people who keep me thinking and inspired:
people putting themselves out there.

My friend Martyn. Suitably cynical and astute commentary on current media foci. Funny, quirky and informative
'We're-all-in-this-together' type parenting but so much more blogs, Blankie Chronicles,GiggiGoofer, Mo Mommy, Catherine Newman, Lil' bit Squishy. These women keep me going.
Emily X. Blog of Planned Parenthood workers in the US. Real reminders of why I am pro-choice, and why the US policy of Abstinence Only sex ed is ludicrous and obtuse.
Inspiration in spades via Shutter Sisters. Funky, talented and unpretentious women photographers.
Rebecca Walker at 'On Art and Politics' offers a feminist, left wing take on American Politics that I more often than not appreciate.

7. Jamie's wonderful Pre-School, in fact all providers of great early years care and education. Hugely under paid, under recognised, highly skilled and dedicated. Research repeatedly tells us that high quality early years care has significant benefits for all young children, particularly those at risk or from conditions of poverty and under education. I'll spare you the rest of my well rehearsed rant about how the devaluation of those who care for our youngest it is one of societies greatest failings. But really.

8. Vintage mirrors. I have 5 in my house. I have no love affair with mirrors generally , but these have real art deco, 1930's style, simplicity, purity mixed with such a sense of permanence and class. mmmm.

9. The Tincleton Christmas Tree Farm. We slogged through the mud, navigated the chickens ('duck!') and cut our own this year. I can't believe we haven't done this before. Sustainable farming practice, no carbon evils with shipping from overseas ( I realise that this will sound, well as insane as it is to people in Canada), no inflated prices, and such a fun family experience. As I waxed lyrical about how we should always do this when we are in Canada Marti added 'or we could just stop and cut one from the side of the highway'. Always the romantic.

4.1.09 Post Script: I've been sitting on this post for a week now, and I'm still stuck on 9. I'm gonna go ahead and put it up anyway.

What would your number one things right now be? Inspire me...

2008-12-29T20:39:00.002Z

Writers Block

2008-12-27T22:27:00.005Z

Opportunities to post have been a little thin on the ground lately. Often times its the lack of just that; time, but also a wanting for content inspiration that isn't completely 'did you see what my sweety kid did today..??'

Actually that's not it at all.

Its not a lack of content, but a total landslide of things to write about that I buried under immovable loads of indecision. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you that I'm the worst person ever to be out to dinner with due to my total lack of ability to choose a meal from a menu. This is that times a gazillion.

The blocks in this case come in three forms.

One: The 'the-issue-I-really-really-want-to-write-about-feels-so-big-that-I-need-to-be-in-just-the-right-space-to-even-contemplate-beginning' block.
This is a tricky one. Its akin, in a way, to starting a family. The perpetual 'I will wait until....' problem of the never quite perfect time. When I started this blog it was, in part to give me a forum to write about my experience with post pardum depression. Haven't done that yet. Hum...
I'd better wait until I'm.......

Two: The 'ok-if-I-don't-write-about-that-then-at-least-I-should-write-about-something-meaningful-not-just-the-ho-hum' block. See here..
I also often need a 'prop' to get me inspired to write here. A quote, an experience, a story. I guess life has been moving along in a busy but oddly normal way. Go figure.

And finally, (drum roll...) number three: The 'Occasionally-I-remember-that-talking-constantly-about-my-children-isn't-always-totally-fascinating-to-the-rest-of-the-world' block.
We all know it. We love our children, and these little people are truly amazing. Not only that but they totally consume most of our waking life (and believe me, the waking is more consuming in itself than I'd want...:)
Whilst writing about parenting is likely to remain the backbone of what I do here, as it is to remain the foremost influence in my life, I sometime need to remind myself that I have a wider identity, and I'm occasionally conscious that other people probably don't find my children and antics as a parent fascinating all the time. Most, yes....

Along the same vein as wanting to check a little of the incessantly writing about my own children, is writing about the angst that comes with parenting.

Writing about parenting my boys, in this defuse community of bloggers, addresses the fundamental truth that putting these parts of ourselves out there in their raw, messy, honest form is a step toward breaking the silence that sometimes exists amongst women when it comes to our imperfection as parents, and its such a comfort to get the comments of solidarity in those moments that feel like you must be the very first one to experience these challenges.

That said it is also so true for me that angst perpetuates angst.

Fellow blogger Erin introduced me to this word: omphaloskepsis. A little of this is absolutely has its place, but at some point we need to switch on the lights, finish the beer, turn off the Tori Amos and move on.

So here it is for today... Number 3, upheld in part. See? No angst.. :)

My children are so, so yummy I simply want to eat them up.

Our Christmas was filled with family, love, great toys, turkey, crackers, cold walks on the beach and very excited (and often over tired) children. Fun was had by all.
Now we are looking toward a new year of great adventure.

Love to all.

A whole lota nothin'

2008-11-07T23:09:00.003Z

A warning before you get involved in the reading process here. This, despite all indications to the contrary, isn't actually a post....

I have just given this blog address to a friend (hello Wendy) and now feel obliged to make some sort of effort to.. well... write something. And, frankly, tonight effort is what it is. I've had two (count em' two) glasses of wine, its 11.15pm.. and, well that's enough these days. To compound this I've now read this back and feel completely old and pathetic. god.

So here it is (n't):

I'm trying out a photo blog. The idea is to post one picture a week that I like. To inject some intentionality and discipline into the process of building my skills, refining my style.

With that in mind the Blog is called 'Monday', for obvious reasons.

What I see now is that the flaw in this process is that I'm actually only meant to post on Monday. Thus there's not much up yet.

There is a first post, which was in fact made on a Tuesday, followed by three more posts (on Thursday and Friday respectively). See? Discipline.

Crafty?

2008-10-18T21:02:00.008+01:00

The evenings are drawing in, the weather getting colder and the fall type craft activities increasing (which isn't actually a stretch)

Jamie is not by nature a child who would choose sitting and creating art over almost anything else, and for the most part the run on the beach wins out with all of us. However, this evening when I suggested we do some art with stickers he was uncharacteristically keen.

Results below.... kinesthetic, hands on learner meets maternal crafting impulse...

Learning styles, kinesthetic and otherwise are on my mind at the moment. (Bet you didn't see that segway coming from like, a million miles away, did ya..?)(did you also notice that I look, like, 12 in the photo. yeesh.)

School registration deadlines are fast approaching here, and talk amongst my pre-school parent friends is all catchment areas and class ratios.

I have been almost smug in my detachment from these conversations as we plan our big move back to Canada the summer before Jamie would be due to start school here.

I'm a sea of conflicting emotions about the move generally, but I had put the school issue in the boat of 'good reasons to move' and happily shoved off. In Canada Jamie will have another full year of half day, play based learning in Kindergarten. He will (we hope) attend an alternative school that mixes grades, and focuses strongly on community. All was good.

As will be clear to everyone who has ever read this blog before I have an almost pathological need to poke the sleeping dog, until it barks all night keeping me awake. And then bites my finger. I mentioned the smugness before to give you a little hint that there was maybe some burgeoning moment of over analytical parenting coming.

The crux of the issue is this; Jamie is an unusual learner.

Even as I write this there is a little catch of sadness. Its maybe the letting go of the deep hope for our beloveds to have a childhood with no problems, no hardship, just love and sunshine from everyone. The forming understanding that there may struggle, judgement and misunderstanding in a part of their lives that consumes 3/4 of their time, and anxiety on anxiety, where you are not is one of the most scary thoughts of parenting

J is a very bright boy, but lots of his ability is hidden behind a kid that just loves nothing more than to be.. well, a kid. He's physical, doesn't like to sit still to demonstrate his ability, and will jump through hoops when, and if, he deems it important.
He frequently immerses himself in intricate imaginative play, and forgets that others aren't in his head too. He is verbal, and logical and finds fun in wordplay and contradictions, and if you don't really listen carefully to what he's actually saying sometimes comes across as a little too cheeky, but is genuinely surprised that others interpret him this way. He's sweet and sensitive, but also non-conformist and sometimes a little.. well.. impulsive.

I don't know if this makes sense to anyone other than me - as is often the case when describing our own children, but I can see the potential for Jamie to be just another 'could do better' - board with school.

I'm not as neurotic about this as it may seem (really...yet...). He's doing just fine going at his own pace, which of course at 4 is just how it should be, and his wonderful pre-school is good for him.
Its just that there are little things, foreshadowing, potential for things to be less well in the future I think.

So I'm left with lingering questions that I'd welcome your wisdom on.

Do we just find a good school in our neighbourhood, stay involved and encourage Jamie to build the skills that allow him to fit in, but maybe be educated in an inevitably cookie cutter way...?

Private school - smaller classes, more tailored approach, ethically and financially sticky for us, but, well, it is our child's education..?

What about home schooling...?

Maybe we should stay here and have him go to school with his dear friends?
Its here that seeds of doubt about the move are sown. I'm in the middle of revisiting research on children and friendship to embed in the psychology courses I teach, and I am reminded of how vital they are. I know the findings, but again the lines between work and parenting blur. Its suddenly closer to home.

Is Jamie's uniqueness just one drop in a ocean of unique children, and I should stop over analysing and just let it unfold as it does for every other family... (its Ok, you can say it... I know ;)

Or is this serious and I should go to greater lengths to address our choice it intentionally and careful....

Yikes. holy minefield batman.

And can I just remind you of this......

in case you think I take myself and my neurosis too seriously .:)

But really, How was school for you? What would you have had your parents do differently? What do you do for your own children...?

Talk to me Goose.

Little Things

2008-10-07T20:48:00.004+01:00

I've posted a new blog-let... '100 Little Things'

Its the blog-land equivalent of a speed date. According to bloggers more experienced than I its what you do to introduce yourself.

There's no denying that its a little, well a lot egocentric, but as in all things of that nature it was quite fun to put together. Except that I only made it to 51 Little Things....Oh well.

Enjoy, and its really, really nice to meet you.

Nagging niggles

2008-10-01T07:18:00.004+01:00

I just got my first negative blog comment. gulp.

Not here, but relating to a comment I made on another blog I love. I'm almost in tears. How totally sad am I? :)
Words are such a responsibility. I always struggle a little in trying to walk the line between being responsible for how I phrase my thoughts so that they have the meaning I intend, and not being able to control the interpretations of others.
Its amazing how easy it is to put yourself out there in blog-land, until your realise that actual people read what you write, and in the not-knowing of the actual you its easy to misinterpret your words. Its the fixer and maybe the control-freak in me that hates not being able to actually speak to the commenters and explain ad nauseum what I meant..

Really working on letting it go.

Do you notice that happens in parenting, or is it just me.... (see 'control freak..')? I sometimes feel the overwhelming need to explain away the totally normal behavior of my children. Rushing to attribute the tantrum to unusual tiredness, the lack of sharing to... whatever. Its a strange, and probably totally inaccurate feeling of being judged by other parents. That the behavior of my children might paint me as a bad Mum, or worse them as 'bad' children.
I mean, god. What do we do to ourselves??!

I need to remind my self about the perfection of my kids.

The view from here

2008-09-17T21:07:00.016+01:00

Tomorrow my first born is 4 years old. I was feeling a little baby-birthday nostalgia yesterday evening, and as often happens when I visit other blogs I came across a post that resonated.

As it turns out this is a long winded way of saying I saw an idea that I liked and stole it. I need to step up here and admit that I can't actually remember where I read the original post as it wasn't one of my regular haunts. So not only am I stealing, I'm also not giving any accurate credit. Its basically plagiarism folks.

Nonetheless here it is...

To mark Jamie's transition from 3 to 4 I gave him our digital camera and asked him to take 10 photo's of things that were important and/or interesting to him.

Here are the results. The comments are in his own words.

Jamie's World.

This monument is the pump. There is a smaller and a big one. I took them both together. A wasp stung me by here the other day.

My grabber is useful for grabbing stuff sometimes when I pretend to be a rubbish collector.

This is an ancient tree. That means very old. Its so big and fat.

This is a conker. I found the outside of it in the park and stepped on it with my shoe and there was it!

Half a Tom-0saurus. He's my best friend. He's holding Roki. I had to take a picture because it was important.

Travis. He's my favourite toy in the world ever. Today. I like him.

This monster truck is my favourite car ever as well. But some days I like other things.

This is my cheese string. Its a brush. I strung it myself. I liked it so I took a picture.

Its flowers. They are nice colours. They are outside in the day, in town but they're not there now.

These beautiful necklaces are very pretty. They are outside in Dorchester.

This is a feather, maybe from a Peacock? (giggles). I found it by the hair dresser's wall. Mummy is holding it for me.

This is a dino. A Triceratops. I like the horns and the colour and the big stompy feet. I accidentally got some of the fence in.

Now check this out..

Twitter

2008-09-10T21:50:00.006+01:00

Firstly. I'm really sorry. Not just the type of oops-I-bumped-your-arm-as-I-passed-you sorry, but the way we make Jamie look-the-person-in-the eye-and-say-it-with-feeling-and-then-say-something-you-appreciate-about-the-person sorry. (Sorry is kinda up there with 'thank you' in our house..) I've really slacked off on the blogging. I'll try and do better.

Let me just say, that by way of karmic justice I now have so much to say that I have absolutely no clue where to start.

I have discovered a new term in the language of blogging. Its 'Twitter'. I suppose as in the type of breath-less constant way little birds pass information..?

The official Twitter web host defines it as the following:
"Twitter is a service for friends, family, and co–workers to communicate and stay connected through the exchange of quick, frequent answers to one simple question: What are you doing?"
Author and blogger Rebecca Walker says its about "The fragment. The word" Its being used a lot in connecting like minded communities, and increasingly in the run up to the US Election.

So often in the life of parents ( well, me anyway) brief snapshots is all you get to exchange, and the only way to stay connected. But 'Twitter'? There is no time for small talk, ice breaking. Its fleeting and completely intense.
The tears you spill on the shoulder of another Mum , in the two minutes as you run from pre-school to work, after the sleepless night. The connection, over simultaneous tantrums in the grocery store, that can put it all back into perspective, and save a tiny piece of ebbing sanity.

Oh the luxury of the life where you start a conversation with the lingering 'how are you? Oh fine. You? Not bad. Dreadful weather...' but rather, now, its increasingly calling across the park, the street, the pre-school doorway... 'hey! Noah's walking! Wow, that's so great - but a bit scary hey? We had to take Tom to the E.R, it seemed bad, but he's OK... Oh my gosh..." and the snatched hug and moment of eye contact that says all the rest.

I need to say here, before you worry that I am so rushed, stretched and flustered that I have no time for actual conversation that this is in fact one of the parts of motherhood that I love. It suits me, in lots of ways. I'm fairly intense, as are my children, and often my life. Never have friendships become so deep, so honest, so quickly. Never a few moments so life saving.

So, even with the complete inadequacy of the word Twitter to articulate this, here is mine...

Noah is indeed walking
Jamie turns 4 (!) next week, and we are holding our first birthday party, trying to be true to our values of environmentalism, locality and simplicity, and well, make it all fun...
We've had a family holiday, survived two weeks of constant downpour.
We've had some not ideal weeks of summer as Jamie tests new emotions and boundaries and so do I. We have moved forward. We are happier and I'm truly a better parent than 2 months ago.
I went back to work at the end of August, only two days a week, and so far so good.

and god, so much more...

mud, beach, morning preschool, so much rain, broken down van, new brown hair, financial pinch, passed exams - both mine and Marti's, new friends, first birthday, so sleep deprived, US Politics, new places, baby chest infection, Jamie writes his name......

I'd love to ask your advice and thoughts on so much of it, but I can feel the depth of the hand on my shoulder and eye contact from here.

2008-07-30T00:08:00.002+01:00

Just this......

Jamie just woke up (its almost midnight). Bad right? Nooooooo...

He woke up himself, came to the landing, with a dry bed, all because he needed to pee!

Oh happy day!!

Share my joy, people!

2008-07-09T21:03:00.005+01:00

I had planned to write a seasonal post , full of summer rituals and warmth.

Instead I'm curled up in my warmest PJ's and a sweater (at 9pm...) seriously contemplating turning the fire on.. My hair is almost dry from the walk to pre-school at 1pm and the windows of the house are steamy from the drying rain coats and boots.

July last year saw 88.4 mm of rain in this region - the wettest since 1978, and according to my shoes we are on target to get that in just one day this year. And the 94% humidity has left my hair looking like one enormous 80's back comb without the aid of hairspray (and the acid green leggings..).

What I'm left vaguely wondering is, if humidity is a measure of moisture in the air, how can pissing rain only be 94%??

On a brighter note I have just booked our camping for August. We are excited.

'Where are you going?' I hear you cry...

Wales. The wettest part of the United Kingdom. yeah.

Gratitude

2008-06-11T20:07:00.005+01:00

We are trying to find ways of building an intentional practice of gratitude into our lives. It sounds simple no? No. The root of the problem is that I simply don't have answers to some questions that seem fundamental to the question of how we are grateful.

Q1: I want the boys to be grateful for what they have, material, but mostly not, but I don't want them to feel afraid it could all be taken away, or to deny feeling 'unlucky' sometimes - does that make any sense?
Its wanting to avoid the 'you don't know how lucky you are sonny boy' type sentiment... and from that an idea that, as children the non-material (and some material) things they have, for which one would maybe want to be grateful, are actually fine for them to take for granted. Children should have love, a home, good food and friends, and not have to think about it, let alone feel that they need to earn it. These are Rights. Universal, undeniable.

Q2: I don't want to develop and 'us and them, haves and have nots' world view. Gratitude need not to be rooted in 'I'm so grateful that its not me, that I'm not as badly off as them' The things we are grateful for are not based in luck, nor a product of our own merit or innate goodness above other who are struggling.

Q3: My own spirituality dictates that I need something that avoids what Marti calls 'worm theology' i.e we are nothing, we owe it all to god, our lives out of ours, and into gods hands.... If this is your place of faith I respect that. Its just not mine.

Q4: I like building family ritual, but can't stand rote and cheesy sentiment..

See how not easy this is turning out to be? Just pick a bloody grace, say it before meals and spare us this excruciatingly fuzzy diatribe, I hear you beg. Its been a item on my 48/480 list for 6 months now so obviously it requires more of my attention (but not yours - feel free to bow out quietly now :) .

I said in last weeks post that I felt parenting was just a series of near misses. This much I know; I am deeply, profoundly grateful every day, and know that we live as we do by grace alone. Who's I'm not sure, but there it is.

As we bring these sweet children, full of joy and love into the world I struggle to keep at bay the fear, pain and sadness that seems to engulf so much of humanity. In the tiny of moments of silence between pre-school, groceries, questions, swings, train sets, e-mail, tidying up, bathing, feeding and.. well, life with smalls the desire, no, necessity to curl up in a ball around my children is almost insurmountable. That we have been give these lives, and these experiences of parenthood to hold in trust is nothing but grace.

I am grateful, and I want my children to know that the world is bigger, that we are linked to those in pain, that our privilege has had some cost, that people and places work to make our food... but without all the guilt mentioned above. Yeesh.

I read this week:

"I force myself to look at photographs of the grieving parents in China: it's a moral imperative, on the one hand, to bear witness to the pain of others; and it's a fear, on the other, that to turn away is an insult to grace." - Catherine Newman

This is what I believe.

Now how do I say it with my children, or should I at all???

Suggestions welcome.

Along the beach

2008-06-06T22:07:00.007+01:00

One ticked off on the 48/480 list last weekend. A relatively easy one, but something that needed a little extra push to actually get done, and so worth the effort.

That is really the spirit of the list - the making intentional of the seemingly every day - things that tend to get overlooked.

This mini-adventure was walking the length of Studland Beach, part of the Dorset Coast Path that we have been walking in pieces since 2006. Its a beautiful stretch of protected and unspoiled sand and dunes, about 20 miles from where we live. The route took us through the nature reserve to the end of the stretch and back along the beach. The route was about 5 miles long, and Jamie walked for most of it.

We had a beautiful day.. Enjoy the pictures.

Marti and Jamie at the start of the walk

The dunes

Along the beach

Jamie in a hole :)

Noah's first time in the sea

Self portrait

Better than Wednesday

2008-05-31T00:54:00.006+01:00

Today I took the boys to the sculpture quarry to climb rocks, walk some more coast path and see funky public art.

And I didn't lose either of them.

See....?

Not so lost and helpless

2008-05-28T21:43:00.005+01:00

When I phoned Marti to tell him about the moment I'm about to re-live here I asked him not to breath a word to anyone, mainly because it really makes me look like, well, a pretty bad parent.
I've obviously moved on a bit from the initial dramatic reaction because, not 7 hours later I'm re-telling it for all to read. Its one of those times in parenting when you can laugh within moments (well, OK 7 hours) because nothing bad actually did happen, despite all indications to the contrary.

I should preface the story with a word that I kinda set my self up for whats to come because I really, truly trust Jamie (obviously to a sensible, nearly 4 year old level - or maybe not that sensible, you can be the judge..) and always have. He stops reliably at roads, waits for help, and is genuinely careful and aware.

That and the saga of the peeing. It always comes back to the peeing.

This is my confession...

By the time we had arrived at our local big grocery store this afternoon, J was in full whine mode about getting a comic, which for some honest to god valid reasons was just not going to happen. We were only stopping in for broccoli and club soda, so I suggested to Jamie that he might stay in the car with his book. Fine.

It had all the elements of a sensible, responsible mummy plan. I took Noah, left J in seat belt entertained, opened the windows a crack and locked the doors. (remember here this is small town southern England, not inner, or even outer city anywhere.)

I was 10 minutes getting the food, and on my way to pay when I spot a small, blond, stripey shirted boy heading down an isle away from me. I seriously took 5 full seconds for brain to catch up with eyes, and another 5 for me to restrain impulse for measured reaction.

The story that emerged from the hug is simple. Jamie needed to pee, it came too soon and he wanted to tell me. He undid his seat belt, unlocked the car door from the drivers side (take that child locks. ha.) and walked across the parking lot (thank goodness there weren't any actual roads..) and into the store to find me.

Jamie, you walked in the parking lot by you self?????? I was very careful Mummy. I stayed on the side away from the cars.

Yikes.

No one saw, or at least thought it strange enough to stop him (I think I'm glad for this, but that may be only because I saw him so quickly.)

The many possibilities for the unthinkable are not lost on me.

But here's the thing. I am actually a little, teeny bit proud. He thought it all through and took all the precautions he knew how to. So many little things conspired to make the outcome of this story good, but some of them came from my smart, sensible boy, and I'm impressed.

Of course he knows none of this, other that I was pleased he was sensible in the way he navigated the parking lot. What he knows is:

A) NEVER unlock the doors or get out of the car alone.

I see that I'm being simplistic here - as I write I can see hundreds of situations where this is in fact bad advice, but, well, I can't go there yet, and he's only 3. Its a fine line that all parents navigate every day between teaching caution and exposing a child to bad hypotheticals in the world that he can't understand.

B) If you are in a store and you can't find your grown-up, find a lady who works there, and say 'My name is Jamie Settle, and I've lost my Mummy'.

We do this drill style all the way home...

'My name is Jamie Ivan Thettle, I'm 3 and a half and I've lotht my Mummy' The details seem important.

This, it turns out is my most lingering fear of the day. What if I hadn't seen him, and he had been left wandering in that big store? what would I have felt if I had found the car empty? Would he have tried to go back to the car alone? Would he have been afraid? What if no one had found him. The other possibility, involving someone 'finding' him is too huge, and I can't give it space in my mind.

Jamie, in the meantime, is nonchalant about the whole thing. As he sees it he did a completely rational, sensible thing. No biggy. I try and instill that it was a bit of a big deal, not safe, and that it can't happen again. I can see the future teenager roll his eyes.

It seems to me that a lot of parenting is, in fact just a series of barely missed, sidestepped disasters. The Children are resilient through these trials, but we're old. I'm surprised we make it past their 5th birthday!

Lets try not to loose each other shall we?

Sure mummy.

Motherhood

2008-05-16T20:21:00.004+01:00

I have just come across the following quote on parenting, mothering to be specific, and had a strange, split personality, somewhat uncharacteristic response to it. I'll let you read it and then try and make some sense of my reactions...

“[Mothers can] put their own lives and interests on hold as a sacrifice to their children. As noble as this seems, [it is] a sort of negligence: withholding who she is - the best part of herself - from our children.” Monte and Karen Swan

Intellectually, the point is well taken and holds some deep wisdom and truth. But here's the bit where intellect and 'gut' response part company.

Does it seem to you others who parent that sometimes there is just no getting it right?? Parenting, for me at least, is pretty full of second guessing and worrying about whether you are getting the part where you lead these tiny people into life even close to right. Its often all I can do to get through the day and keep all of this worry and even guilt from overtaking me. It horrendously immense and frightening and in my darker moments it threatens to consume me completely.

I know this sounds bleak and defeated but in actual fact its not at all.
When I talk to other wonderful mothers I find that below the surface, when we are brave and supported enough to give them voice, these feelings exist in so many of us. These truths of mothering don't stop us from feeling joy, having fun, parenting with depth, wisdom, integrity and calm. But some days not being overwhelmed by the enormity of it all takes all the reserves I have. This is a time that I am moving through. My feelings will shift and change as they have always done. This period of my life that is indeed focused around my children and me in my role as parent, is not putting 'me' on hold, but rather adding a building block, a dimension to my whole self.

And this is my point here. I have not lost my independence, my sense of self, my identity as a woman. It has only been made deeper, more dynamic by this as with every new experience. I am not consumed, I am enriched. I am not 'sacrificed' nor am I 'negligent'.

My intellect chimes in here with the argument that for some women raising children has meant that they stop pursuing goals they hold dear and subjugate themselves to the needs of others. Believe me I am the last person to use my soap box to say that this is the role and calling of motherhood. I would suggest however that its is not about the mothering, but rather about how we integrate children into our society and communities.

So here for me is the bottom line. Is the best counter critique to the problem of potentially loosing ourselves to the worry and strain of raising children to call us 'negligent' for allowing this to happen? I mean, god, what a word to use masquerading as support for mothers! To tell us to let go some of the worry and blame by, well, blaming?

Give us a break. However we do it we are doing our best. Not judgement slipped in under the auspices of tough love, but rather warm tea (or a stiff brandy), a non-judgemental shoulder to cry on and some laughter about this crazy journey that one way or another will make us the women we should be.

Blooming children...

2008-05-05T20:23:00.009+01:00

All the hedgerows and woods around here are full of the heady scent of wild garlic, with bluebells, cowparsley, cherry blossom and campions blooming a riot of purples, creams and pinks.

The fields look like someone clicked the 'fill' icon on a computer draw program in the patchwork of deep greens and bright, bright yellow rape seed.

Today was warm, close and muggy, with a rain so light it felt like someone walking in front of you spritzing you with an enormous spray bottle. There are ducklings, lambs, cygnets, babies and bumble bees and I am filled with the sappy, metaphor-abounding , cliche-ridden joys of spring. Breath it in.

Its not just the out doors that is blossoming. Every so often I am completely caught off guard by the boys, and how quickly they are changing.

I'm already feeling the strange grief at the loss of the tiny baby in Noah, who at 8 months is showing his personality. He is affectionate, giggling, squealing, babbling. I am starting to see more and more intentionality and association in his actions. My personal favourite is the way he cuddles up on my shoulder or nuzzles my face while making completely, melting-ly adorable 'ahhhhh' noises in imitation of us. He point blank refuses to crawl or any variation of the above. Did I mention before how I lied to the health visitor about his developmental accomplishments because I'm completely not worried? Well, still not. Frankly would you try and drag your tiny, uncoordinated body and huge head across the room for a wooden block, with plenty of adoring people to just pass it right to you??

Amongst those adoring people in Noah's life is suddenly Jamie. Our no-drama approach to the 'hurting babies' thing seems to have worked, and he has moved through this testing of emotions time into sudden brotherly affection, protection and even camaraderie. The two of the will engage in communal raspberry blowing or squealing given half the chance, delighting the the reaction of the other, egging each other on. I get a brief glimpse into my future here and realise I'm totally out-numbered!!

Jamie is also learning to sign in ASL, initially inspired by a desire to communicate with this uncle Danny. This learning is completely his initiative and has caused one of the moments this week where I have simply had to stop and stare at him, this tall, smart, thoughtful boy. I want to tell the story of this sequence of moments here but its a little drawn out. Skip to the bottom now if you're short of time or inclination :)

We chat about Danny fairly frequently. Not so much what makes him different, but more what makes him 'him'. Dan has severe autism and things are unusual in his relationships to others, including limited speech. This won't come as news to any of you who spend time with children, but they have a remarkable way of taking all things in stride, and from day one nothing about Dan has phased Jamie.

I am keen on 'please' and 'thank you' being said often in our family and this was the stepping stone to the question 'how do you ask for things if you can't talk?' Well, uncle Dan uses some signs, and we playfully showed Jamie 'please', 'thank you' and 'I need to pee' amongst others. Next we chat about how else we talk with our hands (waving goodbye, thumbs up, stop...) and he started inventing his own ('Please may I get down from the table' with lots of wild pointing, waving gestures where he nearly knocks his water tumbling onto the floor, and Marti and I are trying so hard to stifle giggles at this earnest display).

This long story ends like this: tonight, a whole day after the signing conversation, we are eating supper and J asks for a drink. He asks twice, but I won't make a move until he says the obligatory 'please' and he knows it, but alas he has put another fork full of mash and peas into his mouth.

I wait, but the drink situation is obviously urgent and we suddenly realise he is signing 'please' in his uncoordinated, 3 year old, but unmistakable way. I am momentarily stopped in my tracks by the way my first born baby has not only remembered the demonstration with no hint to a prompt, but integrated and transferred it to this situation. And he didn't talk with his mouth full. There is hope yet :)

The universe is blossoming everywhere I look.

All advice welcomed!

2008-04-22T21:02:00.002+01:00

So, while Jamie was sick a couple of weekends ago he mentioned the following, out of the blue:

J: I like to hurt babies

K: why?

J: because they are so soft

K: um.. why does that mean you like to hurt them?

J: I like the bumping noise they make (as they fall down and hit the floor)

Yikes.

Obviously the conversation went on with a little chat from me about babies being people, and how they feel hurt, and kindness... you get the idea.

In actual fact he doesn't like to hurt babies. Really he quite likes softly patting the heads of the small offspring of friends and is always gentle in this. He does occasionally seem to have a strange compulsion to push Noah over backwards, when often indeed there is a 'bumping noise'. He always says sorry and seems genuinely to be so, but it does tend to happen again.

See, I detest aggression and worry about it, particularly in boys. I have started to write several posts about it but can never seem to finish, worried that I am portraying Jamie as some psychopathic little bruiser.

I think I know this is just a 3-year-old phase, him testing words, impacts, feelings and boundaries. I also know having Noah has been hard on him, but that things are getting better.

So I'm not worried. Except that I am a little.

I am suffering from the curse of the professional versus personal - I am over read for parenting. Its my job and I am mostly successful in putting all in sensible perspective, but occasionally I make myself crazy. Research shows us that developing empathy is key in personal, emotional and social development, and especially in counteracting bullying and aggression toward others.

So, I'd value your input on this one...what do you think, what do you do?

thanks :)

The Rolling Exhibbition

2008-04-17T21:48:00.003+01:00

As I get further into photography I'm more conscious of still 'image' and design - lines, colour and shape everywhere.
Today, I found this. Check it out.

Camping

2008-04-16T20:55:00.009+01:00

So I feel a little bit bad for all the whinging in the last few posts and wanted to let everyone know that the sickness is over and we just had a really great weekend.

In a moment of reckless spontaneity we decided to take the van and go camping for a couple of nights. We ventured into the wilds of the Jurassic Coast (read: a mile outside Bridport, a whole 45 minutes from our house) to a little village called Eype.

The site was on the side of a cliff (I exaggerate not) and for some totally nonsensical reason the 3 other visitors were pitched on the side furthest away from the amazing sea views. After manoeuvring the van, pitching our little storage tent, gazing at the view, almost getting blown over by the gale force winds and moving the van to the other side of the site we settle down for some warm supper, hot chocolate and bed.

The big news of this first night is that Jamie is out of sleep diapers and is actually dry all night. Coming in a close second is the tent blowing away across the field and Marti going out at 2 am in a huge storm to get it back and take it down...ahhh camping.

The weather was pretty blustery all weekend, but that meant the scattered showers forecast were just that, and most of the time was sunny. We hung out on the beach, hunted for fossils, explored the village and country side, and did a long cliff walk to the next town over for fish and chips. Jamie walked all the way. I'm super impressed.

The pictures do a better job of the story than me... Enjoy.

First pitch. See? Great Views....

Really Little House

2008-04-11T09:23:00.003+01:00

Someone asked me the other day why the blog was called 'Little House', and if it had anything to do with the classic Laura Ingalls Wilder books.
As satisfying as it would be to claim that depth and literary connection its actually not so.

Our house is simply really small. I can here you saying, 'yeah, mine too...' but you underestimate the true meaning of small in terms of English houses. Ours clocks in at about 515 sq feet total, over 6 rooms and 3 floors. It was built sometime in the 1880's as a stable hands house, and probably housed more than one family at that time!

All I can say is that its a good thing that, with 2 young boys, this is a temporary adventure in quaint English cottage!

To give you an idea I've copied a piece below that Marti wrote a while ago...

"I've always found it a challenge getting people to believe me when I say that our house is really small. We really do live in one of the smallest houses in Dorchester...

The other day Kate and I walked in after a quick trip to the grocery. The day was a typical Dorset autumn day -- slightly overcast, with a brisk wind blowing off the channel.
Opening the door and walking in, I sighed "mmmm.... toasty warm".

Our house is a "mid terrace" house, meaning we share walls on either side with our neighbour. While this helps to keep down the heat loss, it doesn't generate much warmth. We don't have central heating, so the fact that the temperature inside was significantly warmer than the outside was a bit surprising.

The mystery resolved itself about five minutes later, when I leaned against the kitchen counter. Apparently, when we had left the house a half hour earlier we had forgotten to unplug our eight inch George Foreman grill, that had then heated the whole house!"

Self indulgent whinging

2008-04-06T13:14:00.005+01:00

I am sitting at the computer (read: on the couch with the laptop) on Sunday afternoon. We had planned to visit my cousin and his family today while they are on vacation in a pretty seaside town not far from us.

I was actually really looking forward to it. So you can understand how I spent most of yesterday with phrases like 'well, it was quite a late night on Thursday' and 'he did eat a Marmite sandwich only an hour or so ago' or 'well, this heat is really unusual for this time of year - its just making us all lethargic' spilling forth like so many grains of rice. Trying to maintain the ever obvious illusion that Jamie was in fact quite well, and the loss of appetite and floppy tiredness was not at all due to any type of sickness.

All pretense was shattered at about 6pm with the throwing up, followed by the fever, followed by the sleepless night. sigh. (read: yawn).
So here we all sit, Jamie curled up on the couch next to me, and Noah and Marti in bed. Really, it was a late night......

I have a confession to make. Whilst I am full of loving compassion for my sick son, and will comfort and change and bath and sing-to at any time of day or night I am finding myself just a little (here goes) annoyed by it all.

'You need a drink of water, 4 seconds after I asked you if you did, you saying no, and my coming up stairs and sitting down?'

'You absolutely, desperately need a new Bob the Builder show even though we actually only have the same DVD's we had 10 minutes ago?, and no, I can't somehow magic new ones up right now..'

'You can't possibly sit up on your own, or even stand alone for just one second, even though I am holding the baby and a pile of laundry??'

So there you go. Bad Mummy moment. (although I don't actually believe this makes me a bad mummy..unless you say it does....does it??)

On top of this, wonderful pre-school, that Jamie loves, and I love, and that saves my sanity for 2.5 hours 4 times a week, and that has been closed for 2 weeks of Easter break goes back tomorrow. This has been an event much anticipated by all in our household, and now seemingly one to be missed due to this sickness. J will be so sad when I say he can't go, will want to go anyway and will have a tantrum. And it will only be a sense of thinly held adult self control that will stop me joining him.

Whine, whine, whine. Thanks for the catharsis.

Its Ok sweetheart. Mummy's here.

Kate's Top 13 List ( in no particular order) as of right this second..

2008-03-19T22:46:00.006Z

1) I'm listening to Bruce Springsteen sing 'Old Dan Tucker' with a huge kitchen gig band backing him. Its totally great!! Who would have guessed it?

2) Came across this site and I'm so caught up in the moment I'm gonna stick some stuff together and call it craft. Creativity is stirring. It must be spring.
If I make it through without A) breaking something (and I don't mean a leg or anything actually on me) B) Getting sidetracked half way through or C) gluing something to the floor I'll post pictures.

If you visit the above check out community and 'Holly B'. She's my neighbour :)

3) The awesome pasta Marti made for supper last night:

Pasta a la Morgan:

Butter (about 3 tablespoons)
Uncooked bacon, cut into small pieces *optional
5 parsnips, cut into thin-ish strips
1 sweet potato, cut as parsnip
2 cloves garlic
2 sprigs of rosemary, chopped
Dried pasta (about 300g, or enough to feed however many are eating!!)
Grated Parmesan

Melt butter in wok / large pan
*Add bacon, cook until crispy
Add all veg
Stir fry until soft (about 10 mins). Add garlic and rosemary part way through this process
Cook pasta in water
Toss veggies / bacon mix and pasta together
Serve with a liberal sprinkle of Parmesan.

4) The line up and ethos for the Tolpuddle Festival 2008. Weird, eclectic, funky, and, well Billy Bragg.

5) Our new, shared 1983 VW T25 camper, Daisy, who will be taking us to the above!

6) Our local dump. Debated putting this as it sounds so skanky but we've just rescued a great old fire place surround, and a chair. Go recycling!

7) The West Wing. I know its over, but still the smartest, sharpest, most interesting thing not on TV

8) The colour Sage Green. I'm addicted. (see the kitchen wall, couch, bedroom curtains, throw.. need I say more??)

9) Warm, sunshiny days. Sounds obvious right? I just can't get enough of finally being outside, and not rushing on because of being completely freezing. We are such beach bums all year, but heat makes it that little bit more relaxed, if less atmospheric.

10) The US race for the Democratic nomination. Totally insane system, and even the most left is too far right for me, but its got my political mind racing. What a good place to be in when 1. there is finally a race on the left worth watching, 2. its between a black man and a woman, and 3. there is passion, idealism, and hope being sent forth from the podium.

11) Clear lip gloss. 'Nuf said.

12) American author Catherine Newman. Her book 'Waiting for Birdy' and Dalai Mama blog in Wondertime magazine. Funny, moving, totally relate -able writing for parent types.

13) The song 'Earl had to die' by the Dixie Chicks. Cut to the chase lyrics, great music for driving. And I'm not a country music fan

Procrastinating and not sleeping

2008-03-18T02:33:00.004Z

Do you ever get that sinking feeling when you start something with gusto and then, some months and, well, a modicum of horn-tooting later the zeal starts to fade just a little and you realise that you can't quite keep up with the standards you have set yourself?
Its kinda like posting a picture of you on a dating web site (insert message board, year book, staff gallery [mine] here) looking your very, very, shiniest, sexiest, most coiffed self and then, when the time finally comes to meet that 'special someone' you realise that on almost all other days you bear very little resemblance to that fake you in the picture , and are slightly embarrassed and feel bad about the (perceived) inevitable disappointment?
Its kinda like that with this blog. I'm so enjoying the keeping of it, and the intentionality of reflection that it requires, but I feel like a bit of a shiney photo fraud.

I started with one or two posts, contemplative and reflective, on the deeper aspects of the parenting journey, and got such supportive, 'I hear you sister' type comments that it fuelled my habit and I just kept posting.
Now things have settled down a bit (not that I need your comments you understand, cos I'm obviously, total self actualised. ha.) and I just want to post about our flu, the weather, and the state of my cooking. But god, I feel a little like maybe I'm letting someone down.
Its here that the Marti in my head reminds me that for most of you life will in fact go on and you don't actually live or die by this blog. No kidding.
But still. Sorry for the humdrum. I'll try for the other again soon.

I'm up late writing this (very late. In fact, early.) because I've been procrastinating on marking a pile of student papers for oh, about 3 months now. The deadline is now past here and so obviously I'm blogging. Actually I've marked 7 already tonight, added to the 7 last night leaves me only 3 to go and frankly I need a break from incomplete sentences and boring renditions of psychological theory. Its not as if I'm actually getting a whole lot less sleep than I would be if I were in bed. Noah is waking every 3/4 hours on a good night, and Jamie has been up and down with a blocked nose for the last two. In addition to that, and against all sanity and reason I just seem unable to go to bed early. I crave that few hours of space, quiet.

Tiredness takes on a whole new dimension when you're a parent. We are permanently, clinically sleep deprived. There is no possible way I could pull the all nighters (both academic and, well, less so) of my younger years, but I can make a damn good play-doh tractor and fix a broken zipper, whilst spraying the anti damp stuff on the spark plugs of the car to get it started on less than 3 hours sleep.
Parents of older children have told me that even when they do sleep through the night (and often well into the morning) you still stir at every sound, ready to be awake and alert in an instant if they should need you or lie half awake until they too are safe in bed.

So right now I'm beyond tired, but its quiet, and I need to get back to Vygotsky, Piaget, Bronfenbrenner and Bruce.

Good night. Sleep well.

Storm in a teacup

2008-03-12T21:41:00.006Z

Lots of news this week about the big storm hitting the south coast, en route from Canada. I was going to write a deep, reflective post about how perfect a metaphor this is for our lives with Jamie at the moment, because he has seriously been a 'big storm' with all its raging, wilds and unpredictability and, oh metaphoric perfection, he is even the baby 'from Canada'. But, who would have guessed it, it turns out not to be.

Jamie has been sweet, even tempered (for the most part - see post below re: perfection!) interesting and joyful all week. Even the pre-school teachers commented on it.."he's like a different person" (actually not sure I know how I feel about that one, but I am choosing to let it go into the cosmos, rather than analyse it to death. See? Growth!)

Actually all of us are settling down this week. Noah is finally over the awful cough and barfing, and I am.. well, more chilled and generally joyful. Not that a little more sleep wouldn't be most welcome, but we're getting by, and feel, for the first time really in 6 months mostly like our heads are a little above water.

So, in the absence of good metaphor, some photo's of what actually turned out not to be quite as big a storm as was predicted (ooh look - I knew it was hiding somewhere!!)

Just a quicky...

2008-03-08T23:49:00.006Z

I've been really delinquent about posting, and to compound matters this is going to be a bit of a nothing post. Sorry. Will do better next time...
The excuse is simply the amount of unwanted bodily fluid that has been flowing in this house over the last week or so. Everyone as had the barfing, snotting, whimpering, never sleeping flu. Its almost gone now. God, even as I typed that I thought 'now I've jinxed it... the kids will wake up tomorrow with raging fevers again..' That's the kind of defeatist, pessimistic mood I'm in after this week. ug.

That said, some highlights...
Scored one for the 48/480 list by going to see a band, the Baghdaddies, last night. Our first night out since Noah was born. Its not like we're totally, depressingly tied to our kids, 24/7, rather just that we don't really mind it. Its just easier being together as a family somehow, that and we're just so bloody tired by 7pm. But my Mum came, we put J to bed and out we went, had fun, talked to each other, ate street food at midnight, and came home to sleeping children. What is it about other people watching your kids, and always seeming to have no problem getting them to sleep, after you've been wining about just how impossible that is...?

The sun has been shining so we're out and about all the time. Lots of flowers and spring lambs to see.

We're in full summer planning mode, looking at trips, visits and festivals, and that always cheers me up. Not that I struggle to live in the moment, you understand ;)

That's it for now....
More later!

My children are perfect. Nah nah nee nah nah.

2008-02-17T20:16:00.015Z

I overheard an altercation between parents of two separate kids in the park the other week. It’s been grating (the word I want to use is 'niggling' - do North Americans understand that term?) for a while, and I wondered what part was making me revisit it in my mind so often. Was it the fact of parents fighting in public, and worse in front of their kids? Could it be the aggression displayed by the two children toward each other that prompted the argument? Was it the raised voices? (I hate raised voices in public. Just a little piece of personal, irrational peeve. I'm honestly working to me more chilled, and less aggravated by the behavior of others...;)

Actually none of the above. It turns out, when I stopped to really think about it, that it was the final comment, that went like this:

"I'm not saying my kids are perfect, but it was yours who...."

The end of the sentence is unimportant. It was the statement about the imperfections of her child that got me pondering.

So here's my secret confession: My kids actually are perfect. It’s true.

This morning Jamie had a huge meltdown about not being able to buy a crappy plastic car, of which we have, oh, a gazillion, from a garage sale. This is just one example in the daily arsenal of things which can send him into a screaming, crashing, running tantrum at the moment.

He is very funny - dry and witty

On Friday his pre-school teacher pulled me aside to 'chat' (oh god) about how he is having trouble transitioning from outdoor play through 'coats off' and lolling around the floor, being kind of 'passive / aggressive' towards others and generally refusing to cooperate (I actually have to stop my self crying at this. Geez.)

Today he narrated a hugely complex, made-up story about a little boy who traveled to the moon for a full 20 minutes.

Two days ago he hit a sleeping Noah on the head with a ladle.

He crawls into our bed at night just because he needs to be near someone.

He can't stop talking for more than 5 minutes, interrupts incessantly, but always says 'excuse me' when he wants your attention.

His ability in logic and language are way beyond what is expected of a 3 year old. This is both blessing and challenge.

The whining, oh god the whining, and demanding!

He is so sweet, kind and thoughtful. So many times a week I hear 'I think that boy is crying because he hurt / lost / broke something. He could share mine, or I could go and say 'hi' to him?'

His big boy body is just so scrummy I can't stop grabbing him and kissing.

Listening to, and acting on requests is not his forte.

He sings. All the time, often songs of his own composition.

He explores new concepts at a lightening pace. This week its 'dreams'. 'I'm just having a rest so I can get my dream ready..it’s about a boy who has a tractor...wait (closes his eyes), I need to wait for the next picture...

Noah is so round and fat that I need to nuzzle him under his neck or on his belly at least a billion times a day.

At 6 months he hasn't rolled over yet... well, kind of once.

He has the craziest, loudest, giggliest squeal - I imagine just to be heard above Jamie!

Sleep, at least at night, is not his friend, and is often in 30 minute blocks. We are all exhausted.

If sleep is bad, being put down is far, far worse.

He is never still.

He smiles with his whole body.

There is a little mewing sound he makes when he is falling asleep.

So, the point here is this. Of course I am not always happy with their choices or behaviour, and I admonish as much as the next parent, believe me. But they do what children, these children are exactly meant to do. Try things out, react, learn the boundaries. One woman I know by sight often comments when Noah is quiet 'Hasn't he been a good baby!' Well, actually no. Neither good nor bad. He's a baby! He is how he is, because he needs what he needs.

So as I get so tired, tear my hair out, giggle, sigh, and worry over my children it helps to think that, however cheesy it sounds, they - their full selves were meant to be my children and I their parent.

I often fall into that parent trap of conviction that my children are unlike any other kid anywhere; more challenging, more stubborn, often more cantankerous. And maybe I'm the one who is supposed to be able to see through all that and realize it's because they’re smart, intuitive, sensitive. Fully whole, fully children. Themselves.

48 in 480

2008-02-12T23:18:00.001Z

I am new to the world of blogging, and 'world' is just what it is. I had no idea of the immense number of blogs out there. Literally tens of thousands of people putting their thoughts, ideas and inspirations into print for others to read. On one hand it feels a little voyeuristic, sometimes its almost so huge and diverse its a bit scary, and often times I have to stop myself hopping from blog to blog as I feel little obsessions that eat up otherwise useful time growing, but mostly I am touched and inspired.

This week I have read two blogs that gave me energy. One has inspired this post, and the other will filter through in the weeks to come, no doubt.

As most of you know we have been living in the UK since 2005, and plan to be here until summer 2009. This is the country of my childhood, and I had great plans to show as much of it to Marti and the boys as possible - after all it’s a fairly small island that would fit into Alberta, or so I'm told!

Have you ever noticed that when you live in a place or know it well apathy takes over and you never manage to actually do any of the things that draw others there? This is what is happening to us. We have seen lots of great places, but not enough. Much of the parts of Europe that intrigue me are left un-explored.

So, in true planner, list maker, J-type fashion I have decided to embark on a project inspired by Sarah, who was in turn inspired by the '101 things to do in 1001 days project' Here begins '48 in 480'
Let me explain. 480 is the approximate number of days left for us in the UK. 48 is the number of goals I am going to set for that time. I should add a disclaimer here. I may add more. It’s just that 48 scans well with 480. I'm ever the perfectionist when it comes to neatness of prose.
Also, not just anything will make the list. As Sarah says, its a 'To Live list rather than a To Do list'. To be added to the list an item has to push boundaries, enrich our collective lives, make an impact on the future, or take steps toward a longer term, or long held goal. The things on the list will not only be intentional (by their very nature) by accomplished with intentionality, i.e. thought will go into the journey, not just the end result.
Here comes the teacher in me... My goals will also be SMART - that, for those of you not in my Personal and Educational Development seminar, equates to Specific, Measure, Achievable, Relevant, and Time Bound (hence the 480 days!)

So, wish me luck... Its Day 0. List making starts tomorrow....

A quiet dinner

2008-02-09T23:32:00.000Z

There is a part of my brain, now that I am a fully fledged adult with two, count em' two real life children, that occasionally simply blocks out the fact of these offspring completely. I seem to still fall occasionally into the 'nothing will change once I have children - they'll just come along with me' fantasy that you hold so confidently before you actually have children. Sadly I usually wake from this stupor when I'm in the very middle of what ever rash action I've taken and it too late to go back.

Let me give you an example. My partner was recently away overseas for a week. We were, of course all very keen for him to return. Now my sensible self knows that for Jamie at 3 yrs old the anticipation of knowing we will be driving to London, to the airport to get Daddy on Sunday evening will be too much to cope with any time before Sunday actually arrives. So of course I tell him on Tuesday. I plan the route, the stops, the timings and just can't seem to stop pulling him into my fervor of excitement as if he is another adult.
It’s that isolation you feel as a lone parent I suppose that makes you forget that your eldest is still only a little person, with a little person’s mind.

And so, predictability by Sunday morning Jamie is drunk and dizzy with pure, manic joy at the prospects for the day. Here, of course comes the inevitable fall. The plane is delayed; Marti misses all his connections and is stuck in Miami for an extra 24 hours. Crap.

I am livid. And, although it manifests as anger at the airline, at fate, and inexplicably him, my frustration is really the crashing realization of the huge fall I've set Jamie up for. I vainly hope he won’t mind too much. But, again thanks to me he is predictably devastated and cries and cries for Daddy, and the promised adventure of the day now lost. And here's a stellar parenting moment for therapy in a few years...Even in this time of Jamie's great child need I find my self getting strangely frustrated that after a few minutes he can't just pull it together and cope. I mean, like, god, I'm disappointed too you know. No kidding.

It is here that my guilt and, I guess disappointment of plans disrupted gets in the way of my better judgment. I decide that we will go to the airport anyway and stay overnight in a hotel, with a pool, a clean comfy bed, and a nice restaurant, and meet Marti from the plane tomorrow morning. Doesn't that sound like a great treat? - It does to me, as I imagine it would to any adult who's spent the week buried in laundry, dishes, cleaning and young children. But wait....I'm pre-kids again and forgetting the children do actually have to come along too.

So there we are, in the swanky hotel I got such a great deal on from the internet, hanging out in the pristine room when I make the second error of the day. There is of course nothing to actually do in the pristine room. I am uncomfortable with lots of the TV that is actually aimed at children, and don't like to randomly channel hop in case Jamie sees something for adults with his keen eyes and sharp brain that is too hard to him to process, so my paranoia makes it impossible for us to relax and watch anything, even though for Jamie that would have been a real treat as we don't have TV at home. So I glibly ask 'do you want to eat in our room, or down in the restaurant?'
Have you ever asked a question of your child, but framed in such a way as to get the answer you really want, but so you can make out it was all their choice and you're actually doing them a favour? No? Ah. Jamie chose restaurant, so off we three go (you're not forgetting the 5 month old Noah just started on solids here are you? I apparently am.)

First the no-name bank machine refuses to recognize my card, so my 'lets splurge on a nice meal' idea hits its first snag. I have £13, and no other options for food, so we plow ahead.
The waitress seats us, and never taking her eyes and tight grimace off the children purposefully moves all the extra glass wear, china and cutlery from our table, leaving only one place setting.
I order the starter size dish for me, a children's hot dog for J and water to drink...'no, just tap water'. Her smile gets tighter, mine wider, as if grinning like a crazy person is going to insure all will go smoothly. We devour the free bread like we haven't eaten in days and await our meal.
Scenes from the dinner are a little hazy still and come back to me sporadically like repressed memories. I am an educated, refined woman who is deranged enough by parenthood to think that we should be able to pull it all off. After all, children can sit quietly, patiently, and make charming conversation with eating their dinners without mess and spillages. Is that really too much to expect?? yeesh.
Of course reality checks in.

At one point Noah has thrown pureed carrot over not only our white table cloth but the one next to us (carrot??? why, why??), the expensive carpet has more hot dog bun on it than the table, Jamie is eating ketchup with his fingers whilst calling across the restaurant to the waitress 'excuse me, but what is that funny smell? a flying baby arm has connected with my rice sending it across the table, the babe is crying, I'm two wrestling wiggling, sliding bodies, one 'out of the high chair, now!' and the other 'bend your legs, no, just sit for one moment, not the soother on the floor again' as I surreptitiously try to cover the pool of spit-up on the floor with my foot.

The two business men ushered to the table next to us quietly ask to be moved and I am defeated. Still grinning like an idiot I ask for the check, count out the exact change, leave no tip, and in a final raised finger to pre-child dignity stuff the two remaining pieces of complimentary bread into my bag for a snack tomorrow.

We stagger toward our room and as we ride up the elevator Jamie says 'that cafe was very quite, and the people all had grumpy, sad faces. Lets go in the big, funny bath tub'. So we do, and we have fun, and we don't sleep so well because we still miss Daddy, and it’s a strange bed, and I think how perfect and smart my children are.

Super Tuesday

2008-02-05T21:29:00.000Z

The European media keeps reminding us that all the candidates in running for the Democratic nomination are right / centre compared to what we would consider 'left'. It’s true. There are gaping policy flaws in all the platforms, and some of the things I am fundamentally opposed to about the governance of the States are unlikely to change whether a Democrat or Republican is in the White House. However I find my self a little swept up by the idealism, energy, and passion Barack Obama is inspiring among a disillusioned people. It’s a good place to be in when there is finally a race on the 'left', and it’s between a woman and a black man.

So my American friends - go vote this Super Tuesday, and in the series of elections of come. Every one of your votes counts for a hundred people around the world deeply affected by American policy.

Open letter..

2008-01-30T21:58:00.000Z

Dear Marti

Its almost 10 pm, and I'm writing this waiting for Noah to wake for the inevitable feed. He's been stirring for about 1/2 hour and I keep putting off starting things in case I need to rush up stairs to quell the wailing and try and keep Jamie from waking too. ah the joys of a small house...

I should mention that tonight is the first since you've been away that both children have been asleep for much of the early part of the evening somewhere not on me....no, wait. that's unfair to J, who has risen to the increased sense of responsibility attached to 'helping Mummy' this week with great success and has settled down for each night like a star, tonight saying with a shy grin and a roll of his eyes at his own perceived silliness 'oh, I thought this was a Daddy night, but Daddy's too far to reach my bed!' We miss you.

I also want it noted here that this is the first night that I have been alone in putting the children to bed. I'm quite (read: very) proud really. Tonight my children are both in bed and asleep, and have been since 7.30, tomorrow world peace. yeah. I simply can't imagine how single parents manage to stay sane and raise happy children. Seriously. Its been 3 days for me, and one night without a support posse and I feel like I must be, well, only the best parent ever to have accomplished such a huge feet, but that's quite enough now. You can come home.

Today was bright and crisp, and made me glad to be here so close to the country side, and a little less regretful not to be in Belize or New Zealand. We walked down to the river with Sal and Kacey and fed the ducks again. Jamie is a little baffled as to why Kacey doesn't share his total, all consuming passion for playing in dirt. I hope he can find a friend in a girl some time who does want to dig with him, and doesn't get sucked into the blinkered world of gender stereotyping at 3. I already see it beginning and it makes me sad. Ah well... much time and many new friends as yet un-met.

The weather held until after pre-school, so we wandered to the park, where my adult lack of attention span and cold fingers moved him on much sooner than he would have liked. I wish I could be more in the moment as a parent. I wonder if the need of some parents to keep things moving, be on to the next project at lightening speed to try and stave off their (well, my) own self indulgent boredom or juggle one too many distraction contributes to the growing number of children who have difficulty concentrating or experience high levels of stress..? One for the 'interesting future research topics' bin. All to say I'm trying to be slower and more present...

Still no desperate cries of hunger from Noah. Its funny, in a kinda depressing, neurotic way, how we either switch between desperation for our infant offspring to sleep for more than 10 minutes on their own, and thinly disguised panic that, when they haven't demanded our immediate attention for 11.5 minutes they must be ill, irreversibly maladjusted or dead. Oh. there he goes. phew. Damn.

So I'm off to bed, strangely reluctantly given how tired I am. Its just that I know this is the end of quiet time for another 24 hours, there are bottles to be done before I can go up, Noah will likely be up again in 2 hours and sleep is always a little lighter, more unsettled with you not here.

So, in a nut shell, things I have loved and loathed in our week without you thus far..

No loved so much...

Adult worries compound themselves with no one else to act as a sounding board and a voice of reason and perspective
Tired Jamie, tired Noah, tired Mummy, supper still to be made.
Two nights of every two hour waking
6 am mornings
Always something else to be done
No warm body in the bed
Baby missing you, squirmy and restless
Realising how ill prepared I am if something electrical or technical goes wrong in the house...(see list below)
Getting totally, embarrassingly lost on the drive back from London
Feeling a little bit guilty about Bob the Builder this evening (why is it parents aren't allowed a break once in a while from constant stimulating and educating their children without feeling guilty?? - see below again!)
The lack of just you.

Loved:

Bob the Builder
Jamie going to the counter in the coffee shop by himself today and asking 'excuse me, can I please have two napkins?'
The clear, spring-like weather, and the crocuses, birds and buds on the trees
Seeing that the goldfish in the sluis pond at the river, that someone seems to have released there and that I was sure would have perished by now have in fact multiplied!!
The gusto with which Noah embraces pureed carrot, and the surprising ease with which it seems to come off the newly painted walls...
Reading in bed tonight with Jamie after Noah had gone to sleep.
Carrying Noah around Yeovil in the sling after accidentally forgetting the pushchair
A small feeling of comfort knowing that everything electrical or technical that could go wrong in the house is probably already not working (see list above)
Yesterdays squash and today's chickpea curry.
The big family bath tonight.
Jamie's walking to pre-school today spotting shapes in the clouds.

Come home soon.

Love, Kate

High Waters

2008-01-19T22:22:00.000Z

I said that this blog would be tales from our travels in the UK, and as noted by some, so far it has leaned a little heavily on more parenting type posts. Sorry :) will try and rectify with this one...

The wind has been blowing strongly from the south for 4 days now, as it often does in this part of the country. It brings with it biblical rain storms and the rivers that border our town are deep, torrential, rushing and overflowing their banks, flooding fields and roads in their haste to just get away to some bigger space.

That's just how I feel about us at the moment. We are bursting out of the little house on all sides, rushing helter skelter to get to a million places, with always more to be done right now, and almost unable to stop, so strong is the current of our hectic lives. Its Jamie that feels, and plays it out the most. This flood bursts out of him in both frantic, wild excitement and almost out of control crazy behavior with shouting, pushing, inability to stop the tide of words and jumping, crashing feet. Even Noah is squirmy and restless.

Parenting little boys is always so physically intense. I don't know if it works this way with girls, but I get accidentally kicked, pushed, hit, and squished so many times in a day I loose count. Where did you get that shiner under your eye?!? Honestly honey I don't know. Some days it a struggle to keep from being washed away by the current of their physical self.

Jamie is so full of energy right now that it literally explodes out of him several times an hour. He doesn't simply move about but throws himself, limbs flying, from place to place. Many times its as if he is simply unaware that his body has got just so long, and I get a stray foot or hand in the face (back, stomach, head, arm....)

So this blowy Saturday afternoon we down renovation tools, don't rush one more time to the hardware store, stop the work phone calls, put away some of the deluge of toys and head out into the country.

Here we have open fields, woods and trails 5 minutes by foot, in 3 directions, from our house. We head to the River Frome, that form the ancient borders to the town, and the aptly, if a little obviously named 'Blue Bridge'.
For the first full 15 minutes of our trek Jamie runs grinning ahead of us down the path. We are of course following the swollen river, and its as if he's racing it. We slow down a little to marvel at gates now under water, huge mud puddles, and wonder where the resident sheep go when their field is waterlogged. And then we stop to feel the ducks.

Maybe there won't be any out today, we warn Jamie. The river is going too fast - they can't keep up. But then we find them. For a few minutes they paddle with the same frantic energy we feel, desperately fighting the current to snap at the bread, but then let themselves wash to the bank, (there is still bread... why aren't they going after the bread?...they might need it sometime... don't the ducks know that they might not be prepared for whatever could maybe, possibly happen some time?? Yeesh. ) joining the other ducks, and tucking their heads under their wings. It is here that they stay not to be enticed out again by anything.

....ah ha.

The big questions

2008-01-08T21:49:00.000Z

Death and God are on the table. Well, obviously not literally, but definitely, suddenly a topic for our happy family dinner time discussion. I read a suggestion recently that families make a jar with topics ideas written inside to stimulate talk around the table. The suggestion for this evening at our house would read something like 'how do you feel about the existential and theological implications of Bob the Builder?' I should note here, before anyone starts to worry, that no one we know has in fact died.
Young children have brains far more complex that adults very often give then credit for. What may seem like a totally random thought could stem from some 'seed', verbal or visual planted who knows when and stored, mulled and finally aired many weeks, months later. This is, at least, how Jamie's brain seems to work. I am frequently on the edge of my seat as I watch him struggle for the language to articulate to us woolly-minded adults a huge new insight.
This latest exploration started, as far as I can tell, while listening a Canadian singer/songwriter on a tape in the car. 'When we live in Canada' I casually mention 'we'll try and go to see her sing in a concert'. Now here's the jump - hold on to your hats... 'yes, and Jesus will be there too probably ' notes Jamie, equally as casually. hum...
Instead of reacting the way any sane person might, with a smile, an "interesting idea Jame" and a thought of 'let his mind work as it needs to and we'll move on' I feel compelled to be a good parent a grab a teaching moment with both hands. Yes, I know.
It is my ensuing dissertation, with four part harmony and feeling, on how Jesus lived a long time ago (what does that even mean to a 3 year old??) and how he isn't here any more, thus would not be meeting us at any concert, in a church or otherwise but he was very kind and important to people so he is still remembered...you get the idea, that brings us to, of course, death and God. Now somehow I did not see the next question coming. 20/20 hindsight... 'Where has Jesus gone Mummy?'

Jamie has not been exposed to the concept of death before. Thankfully he has never experienced the death of someone he knows, and it hasn't come up in any other contexts. This is not entirely by chance. I, we, believe quite strongly that he's too young to be exposed to the reality that people get ill or hurt and die and we never see them again. We talk about the latest obsession with ships, and in particular the Titanic in terms of the little boats that were used to carry all the people, away from the sinking ship. Its not that we will withhold from him an age appropriate explanation to help him cope when needed, but in the mean time we will shield. Shield. I hear the virtual tsk-tsk-ing of fortified British parents and grandparents in our local park as if to shield your tiny (but oh so big) child is to guarantee a mollycoddled, simpering, fatally naive adult.
I admit easily and often that I know almost nothing about parenting, and generally feel only embarrassment at even a hint of a suggestion that I have any type of expertise to offer on the subject of what's right for children outside of my designated, professional boundaries. Except for now. I am a lecturer in early childhood development and education. I have studied, researched, written and practiced for many years in this field and based on all of that, this is what I believe; young children never benefit from being frightened, 'toughened', being told about the huge sadness and pain of the wider world that they will one day experience, especially through enormous, abstract occurrences like death that they have no hope of being able to grasp, even a little. If it comes up in your lives handle it with great love, basic honesty, care and sensitivity. If not, let it be for now.
It is with this insight in mind that I completely botch an answer. I manage to convey my discomfort with the traditional idea of heaven, a far too complex idea of soul and remembering, and mutterings about not seeing the actual person any more ('I guess he's just popped out to Jasper, Mummy') with "ooh, look. Is that a new fence outside the bike store? Yeesh.
And so on to this evening. The conversation goes something like this:
J: Dylan has Bob the Builder too
K: (distractedly) oh, that's neat.
J: He has God in his, but I don't.
K:..um.. really?
Here I have visions of either a fundamentalist pre-schooler, trying with raised hands and a Billy Graham-like zeal, to convert the other, heathen pre-schoolers, or a deeply serious intellectual discussion on, as I said before, the existential and theological implications of Bob the Builder

J: God lives in a different town. Not in Bobblesburg
M: where does God live?
J: well its by Bobblesburg, in the mountains, like Jasper.
Yikes. I feel another 'expert' explanation coming on..... Oh wait....
K: Jamie, do you mean Gord?
J: Yes Mummy. I said that already. God the forklift truck.

ah ha.

And so the seed continues to germinate quietly until the next time..

The sleep of the damned

2008-01-08T14:58:00.000Z

Its 8.15 in the evening and both boys are in bed. ..Um..great...I hear you thinking. I should note here that this is almost unheard of in our house at the moment, so it should be cause for celebration, and it is. Mostly. Except that I'm feeling a touch melancholy about the whole thing.

Let me back track a little. The health service in this part of the UK sends mixed messages when it comes to parenting young children. The birth of Jamie in Canada was attended by 2 wonderful midwives, from our home, to the hospital and back again, along with a whole host of others (at one count 9!) all yelling variations on the theme of 'push'. After only 6 more weeks we could have avoided seeing any other trace of humanity if we hadn't been so..well.. totally freaked out by every snuffle!

In contrast, here in the UK, we arrived at the maternity unit, were 'booked in' (taking all of 10 minutes) then made our own way through the very close contractions for about an hour, until Marti went searching for a midwife, who materialised another 40 minutes later. It was her alone, aside from Marti who helped me into the pool, and witnessed the entrance of Noah. Don't get me wrong - its was a wholly positive experience, and I appreciated the hands off approach. I'm just glad it wasn't my first.

All this to say it comes of somewhat of a shock that after the birth you are expectedto see first a midwife every day, and then after day 10 a Health Visitor, toting your baby and their little red development book, twice a week for two weeks, and then at 1, 2, 3.5 and 5 months..and on it goes (obviously at longer intervals) until they are 5! It is in fact a bonefide 'nanny' state!

Our health visitor is fine. Smiling, supportive and generally relaxed. Until the topic turns to sleep. 'Is he sleeping through?' she asks casually..Are you nuts?? I don't say this, but its what I'm thinking. We practice a vaguely attachment parenting approach to sleeping, that is they sleep where they sleep best, often in our bed, but sometimes in several beds throughout the night. For a long time with Jamie it was our guilty little secret, until we discovered how many other parents of great kids secretly (and not so secretly) co-slept.

I feel strongly that you parent the way that feels positive for you. Informed choices should be just that. Choices. I am almost obsessively (can you imagine) well read on co-sleeping and I am really, truly comfortable with that choice. Honestly. I only analyse and question it once or maybe twice a week. But when faced with out health visitor I mumble, apologise, justify, and eventually lie. I'm not proud, but there it is.

She is unbending in her condemnation of the practice and absolute in her insistence that if we don't let Noah 'cry it out' in his own crib he will never develop good sleep habits and will (I edit in) die alone and in extensive therapy.

So I nod, smile and ignore. And quietly resent. The medical establishment in this country is often very inward looking, convinced it knows best, and many older practitioners approaches haven't changes since the 1950's. Lots of people of my generation still would not dream of questioning their health care providers opinion.

New parenting is intimidating enough. You should be able to rely on your health visitor for a full and impartial set of options and support, not leave her office a gibbering wreck of uncertainty. It takes me the full 20 minutes of the walk home to re-establish my confidence in co-sleeping.

So my melancholy comes from this place; my health visitor is cheering - my baby is asleep in his own bed. I simply miss him, his warm little body needing mine for rest and comfort. How can providing that for a 5 month old (or in fact a 5 year old) possibly be bad parenting? Guess what - I'll let you into a little secret - its not.

So tell me... I really want to know...what do y'all do / did with your kids that would make your parents grimace or your old health visitor tut-tut, but that you know in your heart is just good?

Welcome to our first ever blog

2008-01-08T04:34:00.000Z

This week I have been inspired by two wonderful bloggers - the amazing Catherine Newman, and Marti's colleague Tim's daughter Leah (phew) - to start our own virtual vat to pour stories of our lives into.

It seems like a reasonable way to keep in touch with distant friends of which there are far too many. (re. the distance, not the number of friends). We promise to try and post as regularly as our hectic lives allow, so watch this space....

Kate and Marti

P.S I need to add a disclaimer here... This was almost entirely my idea (Kate) and although Marti is nodding and smiling in all the right places I suspect he is humouring me a little. Thus don't be shocked if the posts seem a little, well, me heavy ;)

Welcome to parenthood my friends

2008-01-07T21:15:00.000Z

Our dear friends just welcomed a new daughter into the world. I am so thrilled for them, and also strangely proud. That seems a funny emotion - one that should be reserved for your children, or maybe siblings, rather than adult peers, but there it is nonetheless.
Having been through child carrying and birth twice I feel somewhat of an experienced hand, and let me tell you, its no mean feet. Not just the physical aspect, although that's enough, but the emotional and intellectual task of getting another person into the world. Its just so intense, the idea that you are completely responsible for the shaping of this being, right from conception until, well, forever. Yikes. The burden of thinking that everything you eat for nine months, maybe the type of music you listen too (should I be playing Bach through headphones into my belly??!!) your emotional state, if the pre-natal vitamin makes you barf so much is it OK to stop taking it? Then, with no break to regroup, onto 'are they sleeping enough / too much?, am I too strict, or too relaxed? is it warping my child that I don't practice 'controlled crying' like every health visitor says I should?, do they feed enough/too much? .... and the list goes on.
These books on carrying, bearing and raising infants that all set out the rules like they are some kind of unchallengeable manual forget to mention the guilt and the worry. From the first little blue line on the stick.
So its because of this that I am proud, of every man and woman who doesn't run screaming into a padded cell at the first stirring of nausea, the first well meaning comment. ( and of those that do, but come out of it with some glimmer of sanity).
The amazing level of strength, of fortitude that goes into feeling all this emotion, somehow managing to not be a gibbering wreck (all the time), raise happy, health little people, and be mostly happy and healthy yourself is worthy of the most praise, recognition, the biggest salary, and all the pride I can muster.

Welcome Claire.