First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

So I thought I'd come out of the "homeschool" gates running today by preparing a big to-do to replace the "back-to-school" rituals that other children are subjected to... er, I mean enjoy. Well, I had purchased an alphabet stamp kit for Addie to work with and was hoping to prepare a bag to carry it in and keep its many pieces together. (What good's an alphabet with a missing letter? How will my kid get into university with only 25 letters?) At about 10:30 last night I realized I would need to choose between the finished bag and my sleep/sanity. I'm glad to report that sanity prevailed. The sudden realization that I had nothing to offer my 3 year-old also donned on me - that would never do - so the present stayed hidden for another day.

Well, I thought, I don't have the new outfit or "school supplies" part ready, or the organized play room, or "first day of unschool" photos, but I can still have a special celebratory breakfast. Thank god I had the foresight to purchase sausage links yesterday, and the creativity (and gall) to pronounce the processed meat and waffles a "fall breakfast." We all enjoyed the meal thoroughly, though I don't think the specialness of it was adequately recognized since we eat elaborate breakfasts five out of seven days - just another lovely side effect of being at home a lot!

Anyways, with the lead up to "school days" and Addie's potential first day of kindergarten, I had been feeling the pressure to "do it right" and really get down to business. In our "Sandy and Bucket Story" last evening (the nightly serial bedtime story featuring a family of horses roughly parallel to our own) I found Bucket (Mom) explaining to Sandy (Addie) about "homeschooling" and how it would work. But the fact of the matter is that Addie seems only vaguely aware of "school" and has zero interest in attending such an entity. It's me who's making a big deal out of it, processing it continually, both out loud and in my mind. I don't want my child to feel left out or that he's missing something, so I try to replicate the excitement that I think school children are experiencing - but it's really not necessary right now.

This leads me to the larger question of why I am trying to define our life's rituals around a school calendar when my child is thrilled to be with his family, continuing to enjoy his daily routines of play and snacks and family fun? This realization led me to the "fall breakfast" idea this morning, an adhoc replacement of the rather forced "back to unschooling" breakfast theme I had been bouncing around. I think I just want to live our family life as mindfully and authentically as we can muster - celebrating and recognizing transitions and holidays and friends in a way that is genuine for us. Being proactive and positive (rather than always reacting to outside pressures and feeling defensive) and trusting our own inner guidance systems will be the on-going challenge of this first year of saying "no thanks" to the formal school system.

Retired Blogger

Well, just in case anyone is checking, I should say that I am now considering myself retired as a blogger... at least as Mommy Besieged. With the new job (which I love, by the way!), I just don't have the time and energy for everything I'd like to do... and I'd rather be sewing or knitting than sitting in front of a screen. This blog helped me to reflect on my life and get some perspective during a time when I felt somewhat isolated by my parenting of very young children, and for that I'm thankful. I may occasionally pop in to verify my existence, but I think this is goodbye. Let's just be real life friends now.

Off the Wagon and Being Dragged Underneath

The bad news is that I've defintely fallen off the wagon with my blogging. The good news is that Christmas was actually peaceful this year, I completed two pairs of knitted socks for friends' children, and I've got a half-time job. Yes, I'm now a curious hybrid of house artist, mom and cultural worker. As I bizarrely said to the person offering me the job, "Congratulations me! Congratulations you!"

Now the nerves begin. How can I leave my young children for 20 hours a week? Regret over time wasted lamenting my joblessness, being frustrated with so much parenting washes over me. Why didn't I just totally appreciate my boys in their beautiful newness? It will be over so quickly. Alas, so many contradictory feelings cohabit in the mother's heart, and being an adult means learning to accept the paradoxes. Moments of deep gratitude and absolute devotion to the boys follows on utter frustration and near desperation and around and around we go.

The job will start in a matter of a few weeks, and a few things buoy up my intermittent hopefulness: 1) many of my mom-friends work part-time, and though they were hesistant at first to leave their children for a more extended bit every week, they have found it to be a really rejuvenating experience, one that allows them to be better parents and appreciate their time with their children more; 2) I have had up to twenty hours of childcare on certain weeks and I haven't found it too much to be away from the boys; 3) this will relieve Daddy of the "burden" of earning our entire family income and allow him to spend more time with the guys - awesome!

I'm concerned about how we'll fit everything in to our crowded lives, but even the prospect of employment has given me more energy, drive and confidence. Obviously I won't be doing much studio work, but if I'm to be honest with myself, I don't think I'm cut out for that life, constitutionally. It's been over six years since I've been out of school, and I just can't focus and get down to business. I'm always pulled away by my community arts interests, away from my personal art-making career. I long to make an impact somehow, and this job holds real potential.

In the meanwhile, I'm going to work on finishing a few outstanding projects and getting other parts of life in order. And finding a great sweater pattern to knit for myself. Afterall, I need something to wear to work!

Dont' Read This Blog

This blog is starting to look like the rest of my life - messy, imperfect, spotty. (Starting?) I got out of the starting block with great gusto in January after discovering the blogging world quite by accident. I became an instant fan of a few blogs and decided it would be neat to write my own. It didn't take me long to realize that this would be a time-consuming endeavour if I took it seriously.

Yes, in those early days I would spend an hour or two on each entry, crafting it, trying to make it just right. My time for other things - like sewing and sleeping - was getting eaten alive. So I started to slack off. I promised myself that I would jazz it up a little by buying a nice digital camera with a big chunk of money that my grandfather gave me, but it got sucked into the bank and hasn't been seen since. I can't even find my crummy camera now, and the days here have been so dark that the image quality is quite awful when the camera does re-emerge from the laundry or mail piles where it lives.

I've noticed that this kind of self-deprecating rant usually precedes some kind of shift. I wouldn't be surprised if next week I'm posting gorgeous photos from my new camera and writing thoughtful posts on a daily basis. Or maybe I'll just eat some more chocolate. It is Christmas afterall, and a Mommy has to have some consolations! Santa, I like Bernard Callebaut.

"Working" Mommy

Okay, so I applied for a job. Crazy, I know! What a great way to complicate my house of cards life even further. Part of me felt really sad at the prospect of having half-time work... especially when thinking of my 18 mth old. I don't want to miss a minute of his life! After talking to a friend, I decided to apply anyway, and I've found that I'm actually feeling really energized and confident as a result. I'm not sure what the chances are of being hired, but it's clearly what I needed to do.

Many of my friends juggle multiple roles, as did I until I found out Baby Toddler Boy was coming in for a breech landing, causing me to frantically dump everything and begin pouring through thousands of pages of research on breech birth! So I know it's possible. Possible to have a good vaginal birth of a bum-first baby... possible to hold together a range of responsibilities. Whatever happens with the job, I'm glad that I've at least taken a step in the direction of meaningful paid employment. I can't stand the financial dependence of generating zero income - it really brings me down. (Unless you count the money that the government sends me for having children!) That German Working Class Ethic that my grandfather is so proud of has a strong pull! And so does art!

A Pause

Had lunch with my man today. The tablecloth was relatively crumb-free, and I had cleared a layer of toys away earlier. Tuna and cheese sandwiches (on whole wheat) with bowls of freshly microwaved clam chowder. Hey, I opened the can myself! With homemade bread and butter pickles on the side, and a big slice of apple each. Skim milk in matching glasses. We watched the first episode of Little Mosque on the Prairie on his laptop, a fun little task in preparation for a workshop he's leading tomorrow. These are the simple things we take pleasure in these days. A quiet meal, uninterrupted, in each other's company... a pause in the parental chaos that is our lives.

Mommy Gets Some Work Done

I finished some pieces in time for THE SALE this weekend, proving that there is a god and that she does take mercy on mommies in creative distress. I documented the pieces with my good camera, I'll have you know, but these are the little digital images I made for instant gratification.

The Temptation of Addison #1, 2008, 9 x9 in.

The Temptation of Addison #2, 2008, 9 x 9 in.

Just Like Me(ow)

Just like me, this feline visitor loves to watch the slumbering boy. Held in the dreamy embrace of sleep, so quiet, so vulnerable, he is at his most beautiful - or maybe it's only at this time that I have a moment to breath, free of demands, to notice what's always before me. Purrrrrrr...

Going Out Momma

Have you noticed that many of the old boundaries seem to be slipping into disuse in our society? Identity politics seem to have fallen out of fashion, both for the better and worse. Or maybe it's just me still crawling out of the cave of my conservative religious upbringing, but the lines seem to be shifting, moving, taking on new shapes. I notice this phenomenon in relation to gender and sexuality, in particular. And in motherhood, too.

A few weeks ago a friend brought this to mind when she said, "It's so nice to have another stay-at-home mom living close by." I have to admit that I was jolted by this nomenclature. I guess I've just never seen myself as a "stay-at-home mom." Firstly, I rarely stay at home. The boys and I are always on the prowl, looking for adventure and seeking to escape the messy confines of our roost. Secondly, I love my "work" - all the volunteer and creative stuff I'm so committed to... made possible by Daddy, Grandparents and an assortment of trusty paid caregivers. And perhaps I resist all the social and political associations of being a stay-at-home mom. It all feels a little too George Bush Family Values for my taste.

But most of all, the term just doesn't reflect my reality. I would argue that the binary labels of "Working Mother" and "Stay-at-Home Mom" no longer adequately represent the lives of women-parents I know, if they ever did. Most of the mothers I know work part-time and are with their children part-time. Many of us do non-traditional and contract work (artists!), patched in around available childcare and balanced with Daddy's schedule. Like the Supermoms of yesteryear, I want it all (a vocation and a family) minus the burnout. Instead of two full-time jobs, I'd like something more reasonable, like maybe 1.5!

On a different note, thanks to all who came out to my second son's first birthday bash at the beginning of summer. We got a ton of stuff and were able to make up four lovely newborn kits to send to families in need around the world through MCC. Bennie did get some enjoyment out of them before we got them out the door!

Advice for Babies

For any babies who may be reading this blog in an attempt to understand their parents, a word of advice: don't bite the boob that feeds you. Simple. Obvious, even. But some inexperienced little fellows need counsel on this subject.

Standing between Mommy's legs, crying fiercely, Baby-Toddler-Boy's frustration mounts. Mommy tries to block out the noise. She is cutting up Older-Toddler-Boy's pancakes, desperately trying to avert another hungry and impatient explosion from that quarter. Suddenly, mid-slice, a searing pain rips through Mommy's chest, causing her to bolt upright, knocking Baby-Toddler-Boy onto his well-padded bum.

In a move not necessarily approved by child-rearing experts, she lifts the fallen child to her eye level and very sternly (and repeatedly) asks, "Why did you do that? Why did you bite mommy?" She follows up with some equally articulate, "Don't bite mommy. That hurts. It's not nice." (Parent-led research shows that in nine out of ten cases speaking to children from less than five inches away proves effective in communicating the seriousness of a matter .)

But the damage is done. Mommy notices blood leaking through her shirt. The injured nipple scabs over quickly, but remains a sore spot between mother and child.

"Literally," quips Daddy.

Art Is Where My Heart Is

I had a really illuminating conversation with my new neighbour the other day. Yes, we are selling the other half of our side-by-side mansion to some very lovely people - a couple, their two kids (close to our boys' ages!) and their brother/sister-in-law. Finally, the "community thing" we were hoping for when we bought this house four years ago is coming alive! And maybe they'll inspire me in my on-going quest to fix this place up!

Anyways, we were talking garden stuff on the back deck. My lovely neighbour explained that while she's not much of a gardener, her mother is really into it. Her parents' house may be messy, but their garden looks fabulous. "My mom's heart is in the garden," she said. "My heart is in my home." It's true. They just moved in and their place is looking peaceful and orderly already.

While reflecting on this later, I realized that my heart is in art - my personal creative projects as well as numerous community-based art initiatives. I love art, and it's a big part of what I think about all day long as I go about my other tasks. I mentioned this new "art is where my heart is" discovery to my in-laws and they felt the need to add, "And you love your boys."

Of course I love my boys! I would chop off my sewing hand for them, if required. (Under what bizarre circumstances would this be needed?) They ARE my life.

It occurred to me then, as it has many time before, that being a good mom is very much associated with the home, homemaking and housework. I first really clued into this phenomenon when I was listening to CBC one day and heard about a little feature called "Moms with Thumbs" - this week's episode would involve three moms facing off on the topic of which shower cleanser was most effective and easy to use. What does this have to do with being a mom I wondered?! Okay, I RANTED! In fact, I raved on about this for weeks... apparently I can't stop!

As I've alluded to many times on this blog, I'm not a housekeeper. I don't groove on home-making. I'm an artist and a mom, and I think these two things are as compatible and meaningful a combination as mom/homemaker. My boys are going to grow up in a slightly messy house with decent food, adoring parents and a lot of exposure to creative people, places and materials. As far as shower cleansers are concerned, I'm afraid they're on their own!

Let the Leaves Fall Where They May

The boys and I went to visit Great-Grandma's farm yesterday. No, there are no animals there, and actually, it's not a farm at all but an acre of garden around a now suburban plot of land. We used to call it "the country," but urban sprawl has bridged it to the city. Daddy is superb at marketing even the most mundane outing - he should have been in sales - so off to Grandma's farm we go!

As always, we spend most of our time visiting Great-Grandma in her lovely yard. There's so much room to play outside and none of the stress of negociating the heavily knick-knacked interior of the home. Great-Grandpa makes regular hobbling excursions out of his bedroom to coo over the kids and posit theories about the dreadful state that American financial institutions currently find themselves in.

Grandma's plants are still vibrant - humungous baskets of pink petunias hanging from tree limbs, healthy petals peeking out from every patch of dirt, and her lawn covered in a light dusting of orange, yellow and red leaves. So beautiful. But she keeps commenting on how difficult it is to stay on top of the leaves, how they keep coming back, how she just raked yesterday and already more had fallen, how the neighbours don't have as many trees, that's why their yard is cleaner. Unbelievably, I realize that she is lamenting and apologizing for autumn. Fall is busy being itself - calling for leaves to turn colour, trees to shed their multi-coloured clothing, wind to blow it all about, nourishing the soil for next year - unaware of her consternation. This angst about the "mess" of leaves is so funny and sad and unnatural all at once that I can barely contain myself!

As I ponder the silliness of fighting trees and seasons, I notice just how like my grandmother I am. Everytime someone enters my home, I'm apologizing for the state it's in. "Hi there. Welcome to the war zone. Please try not to look down, I'll clear a path for you through the devastation. Excuse the carpet, the dirty dishes, the smell of diapers, the ubiquitous piles of laundry. Sorry everything's such a mess. Sorry."

Well, Mommy, welcome to life with two toddlers. This is a messy and chaotic season of life, full of noise and needs, joy and irritation beyond what you ever imagined possible. Watch how the leaves fall. Do they struggle to free themselves, to reach the ground? No. The wind blows as it likes and the leaves are carried - sometimes gracefully, sometimes fitfully - and set down on the waiting ground below.

Everything is exactly as it should be, Mommy. No more apologies and hand-wringing for you! Enjoy the fall.

High Flying Momma

I am soaring today on the wings of having acted on my art ambitions. With the tremendous help of friends, I actually managed to finish three art pieces, document them in photos (a many, many houred, multi-faceted ordeal) and send in an application to be in a show. Right now it doesn't really matter to me that I've got a snowball's chance in hell of actually getting into said show. I did something, folks! I feel like a real artist. I'm more than just a soggy, tired, ragged old piece of momminess. I feel like an actual human being. What a rare and precious thing!


(Detail from Some Assembly Required, one of the pieces I completed this week.)

Pure Bliss

Is there anything more lovely than falling asleep in the car and being carried inside in a parent's loving embrace? I remember being a child and pretending to be sleeping when we'd arrive home just so I could have the pleasure of being carried inside and put to bed in such a groggy state. Pure bliss.

And now we know that bliss from the other side. Who would have guessed that our parents felt the beauty of those moments as exquisitely as we did? Ahhh...