Next week I go 'back to work' as I've been saying to my kids.
This statement is false. I've been working as a freelancer and adjunct professor for five years since my last full time job. And work, oh man have I ever worked. I went back to work a week after an emergency c-section, newborn in one hand and two needy siblings in the background begging for playmates, food and attention. I worked away more weeknights than when I was in university. I lost most Sunday-fundays to a desk in the corner, one floor from my kids and hubby's laughter.
The last five years were the hardest of my life.
Every hour that I worked,
Every moment of my professional life,
Chosen to avoid interference with my priority.
Motherhood.
For the last five years,
My every thought.
Every choice,
Every priority,
Was my children.
That's a little crazy to 'say' out loud.
I never imagined feeling so passionately about being a mom.
I didn't know children would take over my heart and soul and mind.
I had no idea my whole world would change the moment I became a mother.
That my family would supersede my career.
That I'd be willing to work less, and spend more time, with tiny humans.
Yet here we are.
And the last five years are coming to a close.
Like the end of a maternity leave, where mom talks about 'going back to work', I find myself having similar discussions with my kids about how life is about to change.
I will not pick them up from school at the end of the day.
I will not go on every class trip.
I will not be home with them, this summer.
This is the hard part.
I adore these pieces of my life.
But wait.
Let me explain....
In all honesty, I have come to notice, in the last year, that my children and I have developed some borderline unhealthy co-dependencies.
They cry when I leave for meditation, stating they miss me too much when I am gone.
They need me to 'help them' with small tasks, simply because they want me to be in the same room.
They nnnneeeeeeeedddddd me, all-the-time.
And truthfully, I need them too.
I feel lost when they are not around.
I love to be free of parenting duties, but spend all my time thinking about them when I'm not with them.
Kind of crazy, right?
We are super attached.
SUPER ATTACHED.
And now it's time for us to find some space.
Space for my children.
To explore their own abilities.
To gain new skills.
To mature and grow and learn, without me... sometimes...
Space for me.
To focus more time on my career.
On my health.
On my healing.
I do not anticipate it being easy.
But I know we are rooted in strong values.
Unconditional love.
Mutual respect.
Faith.
And family, always, at the heart of our being.
On Sunday we went and had some family photos taken. On the drive home my oldest asked if he could have copies of the mommy-kids and daddy-kids photos. When asked why, he expressed that he would like to display them in his room because they were special to him. His sister and little brother swiftly echoed his thought with a 'me, too' and in that moment I smiled knowing that everything was going to be just fine, with this little family of mine <3
This blog was created in 2011 to capture my very personal journey of leaving full time work to become a work-at-home mother of three beautiful children. Naturally, this space has morphed into a place of personal reflection, celebration and sometimes even sadness. I’ve written about childhood cancer, food allergy and anaphylaxis, grief, marriage, friendship, parenting and everything in between, all with a growing sense of mindfulness and gratitude. Please, grab a cup of tea and stay awhile.
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
Saturday, September 24, 2016
d day. part two.
(2 of 3)
diagnosis day. part two.
Immediately following the news of Brooklyn's cancer diagnosis, Jay and I agreed we should call a few people to update them. I offered to call our three sets of parents, and ask them to share with the rest of our family.
I remember the exact spot I sat in, a crumbled heap on the floor.
I was outside 3B2, where a mechanical penny machine sits in glass.
I sat down on the ledge beside it, unable to walk any further.
It was cold.
Hard.
Exposed.
I didn't know where else to go. I think, in a way, I needed to be in a public place, and as it turns out God blessed me with a McMaster mom angel who stopped not once, but twice to check in on me.
"I can see you are having a hard day. Please let me give you a hug." she said. I was so shocked by her kindness, yet so grateful for her in that moment.
I called my mother-in-laws. One at work. One at home.
I also called my parents, my dad picked up the phone.
Never in my life have a stuttered like that.
Never.
I couldn't string a sentence together.
I remember saying 'Brooklyn... has... cancer.... surgery... biopsy....'
But I don't remember being able to say much else besides a quiet request that they each contact our siblings and extended family to update them of this news.
For the first time as Brooklyn's mother, I was useless.
There wasn't a thing I could do to stop the train.
A train which derailed, earlier that morning, and was speeding.
Speeding down a hill so steep, I was breathless.
---
Because Brooklyn was on the 'add list' as a registered patient in surgical, hospital OR time was very fluid and changed in a heartbeat. We knew she would have surgery later that afternoon, a laparoscopic biopsy, to test the tumour inside her abdomen.
What we weren't prepared for was hearing the head of oncology tell us they'd like to insert a port-a-cath into our daughter's chest. This tool was vital for chemotherapy, a medical procedure they believed essential given the potential for an advanced stage cancer.
I remember sitting in the social room in 3B2, surrounded by families playing games, laughing and participating in craft time.
I remember our table was not laughing.
Not having fun.
Not even close.
The rest of that afternoon was like a hyperspeed episode of a hospital drama.
From the meeting, to a child life specialist racing down the hall to tell us she was being taken for surgery.
To the OR holding area, only to be bumped and forced to wait almost two more hours for surgery.
Into the OR, where my daughter begged to go home, then fought every doctor and nurse who attempted to touch her.
I left my daughter in an OR.
Cancer in her stomach.
Her future resting on the results of a biospy only moments away.
I left her.
I couldn't help her.
I couldn't fix it.
I remember falling into Jay's arms, a heaping mess of exhaustion and anxiety.
I remember him forcing me upstairs to Brooklyn's room, to my waiting mother and aunt who, despite my best attempt to tell them to leave, stayed to care for us. Thank God.
I was completely numb.
I was shaking.
Thousands of pounds on my shoulders.
My head was exploding.
They made me a sandwich.
I sat in stunned silence.
d day. part two.
January 20th, 2016.
#CCAM #WarriorPrincess #TeamBrookie #MorePreciousThanGold
diagnosis day. part two.
Immediately following the news of Brooklyn's cancer diagnosis, Jay and I agreed we should call a few people to update them. I offered to call our three sets of parents, and ask them to share with the rest of our family.
I remember the exact spot I sat in, a crumbled heap on the floor.
I was outside 3B2, where a mechanical penny machine sits in glass.
I sat down on the ledge beside it, unable to walk any further.
It was cold.
Hard.
Exposed.
I didn't know where else to go. I think, in a way, I needed to be in a public place, and as it turns out God blessed me with a McMaster mom angel who stopped not once, but twice to check in on me.
"I can see you are having a hard day. Please let me give you a hug." she said. I was so shocked by her kindness, yet so grateful for her in that moment.
I called my mother-in-laws. One at work. One at home.
I also called my parents, my dad picked up the phone.
Never in my life have a stuttered like that.
Never.
I couldn't string a sentence together.
I remember saying 'Brooklyn... has... cancer.... surgery... biopsy....'
But I don't remember being able to say much else besides a quiet request that they each contact our siblings and extended family to update them of this news.
For the first time as Brooklyn's mother, I was useless.
There wasn't a thing I could do to stop the train.
A train which derailed, earlier that morning, and was speeding.
Speeding down a hill so steep, I was breathless.
---
Because Brooklyn was on the 'add list' as a registered patient in surgical, hospital OR time was very fluid and changed in a heartbeat. We knew she would have surgery later that afternoon, a laparoscopic biopsy, to test the tumour inside her abdomen.
What we weren't prepared for was hearing the head of oncology tell us they'd like to insert a port-a-cath into our daughter's chest. This tool was vital for chemotherapy, a medical procedure they believed essential given the potential for an advanced stage cancer.
I remember sitting in the social room in 3B2, surrounded by families playing games, laughing and participating in craft time.
I remember our table was not laughing.
Not having fun.
Not even close.
The rest of that afternoon was like a hyperspeed episode of a hospital drama.
From the meeting, to a child life specialist racing down the hall to tell us she was being taken for surgery.
To the OR holding area, only to be bumped and forced to wait almost two more hours for surgery.
Into the OR, where my daughter begged to go home, then fought every doctor and nurse who attempted to touch her.
I left my daughter in an OR.
Cancer in her stomach.
Her future resting on the results of a biospy only moments away.
I left her.
I couldn't help her.
I couldn't fix it.
I remember falling into Jay's arms, a heaping mess of exhaustion and anxiety.
I remember him forcing me upstairs to Brooklyn's room, to my waiting mother and aunt who, despite my best attempt to tell them to leave, stayed to care for us. Thank God.
I was completely numb.
I was shaking.
Thousands of pounds on my shoulders.
My head was exploding.
They made me a sandwich.
I sat in stunned silence.
d day. part two.
January 20th, 2016.
#CCAM #WarriorPrincess #TeamBrookie #MorePreciousThanGold
Friday, May 27, 2016
This morning was a tough one
Brooklyn and I went up to Mac for her three month check up, sprinkle donut in hand, singing loudly to the 90s mix on the radio.
We arrived on time, and B was happy to be there.
She ran to the far right desk in the entrance of the 3F clinic, proud to know her way around.
She grabbed her paperwork, and in we went.
The 3F clinic was quiet. We may have been the first family to arrive.
She was happy to play toys and wait for the doctor until we found out she required a finger poke, as oncology teams call it, down in the lab.
We hadn't been there before.
A finger poke was new.
She was used to IV lines and major blood draws.
Because of this, she immediately shut down the moment I told her we needed to take a walk.
The child life specialist and I bribed her with ipad time and treasure chest rewards.
She was leery, but she went.
Upon entering the lab, her switch flipped.
Happy, agreeable Brooklyn was gone.
Angry, anxious Brooklyn had taken over.
The nurse, child life and I couldn't convince B to walk into the finger poke room.
She literally dug in her heels, crossed her arms over her chest and started shouting NO WAY.
My heart sank.
My body started to shake.
Tears formed in my eyes.
A beautiful, teenaged cancer kicker (who was waiting for her own finger poke) noticed.
With her thin frame, cute hat and positive smile, she came over to Brooklyn.
She was in for her second finger poke of the week, she said.
Do you want to come and see how we do it, she said.
It's really ok, she said.
You even get to pick the bandaid, she said.
Brooklyn's shoulders dropped a little.
Leery once again, she held my arm tightly and entered the finger poke room.
This gorgeous cancer kicker, with her wide smile, talked Brooklyn through the process. Why they warm her finger, how quick the poke was, how she looks for a cool bandaid while the nurse works in order to stay distracted.
B watched.
B listened.
In the end, it didn't matter. Brooklyn has post-traumatic stress associated with needles and her fight or flight instinct did kick in. She completely lost herself, kicking and screaming and hitting and crying so hard she was sweating.
It was overwhelmingly sad.
My heart broke into a million more pieces.
My heart broke into a million more pieces.
Cancer fucking sucks.
But, this girl, this teenager who's fighting cancer the way a boxer would his opponent, she reminded me of something.
Even when our bodies feel weak.
Even when our spirit is on empty.
Even when every single OUNCE of our mind tells us life isn't fair.
We have to fight back.
We have to stay focused.
We have to lead with love.
This girl, she led with instant and genuine love for my Warrior Princess, and for that I am so grateful.
This morning was a tough one.
I will take some time to cry.
Grieve.
Hurt.
And then I will pick myself back up and love, the way this beautiful girl demonstrated today.
I hope you'll do the same <3
#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess
Friday, January 29, 2016
Coping
Brooklyn has finally completed the last of the required tests.
Her only scheduled appointment next week is a surgical follow up from her biopsy.
Now we wait.
Wait for a diagnosis. A treatment plan. A timeline.
It's the scariest feeling ever, to know something so important rides entirely on others. Highly intelligent and well trained others, but still the lack of control takes my breath away more than once a day.
I feel sad.
Empty.
Anxious.
Shaky.
Weak.
I've really pulled into myself, the way a turtle crowds it's shell during times of danger.
I worry about my boys and the trauma this has caused each of them.
E has endured nightmares. He needs to know where I am going and when I'll be back. He asks lots of questions about where his siblings are, and he was so angry last week when we made it clear he wasn't allow to hug his sister because of her boo-boos. He cried the most gigantic, most heartbreaking tears last weekend as he spontaiously told me how hard it was to go from the babysitter's house to his grandparents' house and back. His entire routine was disrupted, despite our best efforts.
N is sullen, at times unable to decipher what he's feeling. He made a feeling picture with the Child Life Specialists yesterday, of our faces before B got sick and since B has been in the hospital.
This image brought me to tears. He is right and its hard to know he's hurting as much as we are, despite our attempts to be as warm and normal as possible. He is a feeler, a deeply emotional child, and he knows that this is serious.
When my mind wanders, I sometimes think about the worst case scenario.
Chemo. Hair loss. Extended hospital stays.
A daughter with self esteem issues... her first set of incisions really upset her.
And then sometimes I focus on the beautiful party we will have when this is all over with.
The music. The jumpy castle. The cold drinks and big hugs.
Tears of joy.
A chance to thank everyone for their support.
The entire next week is out of our hands, all there is left to do is pray that hope becomes reality.
I find myself too tired to pray these last few days, and so I am grateful for all of your spiritual dedication to my family.
xo
#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess
Her only scheduled appointment next week is a surgical follow up from her biopsy.
Now we wait.
Wait for a diagnosis. A treatment plan. A timeline.
It's the scariest feeling ever, to know something so important rides entirely on others. Highly intelligent and well trained others, but still the lack of control takes my breath away more than once a day.
I feel sad.
Empty.
Anxious.
Shaky.
Weak.
I've really pulled into myself, the way a turtle crowds it's shell during times of danger.
I worry about my boys and the trauma this has caused each of them.
E has endured nightmares. He needs to know where I am going and when I'll be back. He asks lots of questions about where his siblings are, and he was so angry last week when we made it clear he wasn't allow to hug his sister because of her boo-boos. He cried the most gigantic, most heartbreaking tears last weekend as he spontaiously told me how hard it was to go from the babysitter's house to his grandparents' house and back. His entire routine was disrupted, despite our best efforts.
N is sullen, at times unable to decipher what he's feeling. He made a feeling picture with the Child Life Specialists yesterday, of our faces before B got sick and since B has been in the hospital.
 |
| Left - before B became sick . Right - after B became sick |
When my mind wanders, I sometimes think about the worst case scenario.
Chemo. Hair loss. Extended hospital stays.
A daughter with self esteem issues... her first set of incisions really upset her.
And then sometimes I focus on the beautiful party we will have when this is all over with.
The music. The jumpy castle. The cold drinks and big hugs.
Tears of joy.
A chance to thank everyone for their support.
The entire next week is out of our hands, all there is left to do is pray that hope becomes reality.
I find myself too tired to pray these last few days, and so I am grateful for all of your spiritual dedication to my family.
xo
#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Mom friends, unite
Mom friends, I need to talk to you.
Thank you for being honest.
For posting photos of your worst parenting moments.
For crying out for help when you couldn't stand one more minute with your kids.
For laughing hysterically at my mishaps, and letting me do the same at yours.
Thank you for reserving judgement.
When I admit I've just pulled into the McDonalds drive thru with tears in my eyes.
When I couldn't go out for drinks because I didn't have $10 in my wallet to spend.
When I wore the same faded pair of yoga pants for the third day in a row.
Thank you for listening.
About my larger-than-life worries regarding fevers, ear infections and immunizations.
About my feelings of failure, disappointment and utter dismay at being a mom.
About the moments that made me cry deep, dark tears from my soul.
Thank you for being my cheerleader.
For sending virtual hugs that reassured me I was worth it.
For the messages of love when I was sick, run down and crawling out of bed.
For the acts of kindness that filled my heart with gratitude and love for our friendship.
The truth is, we're all in this together.
And its the hardest thing we've ever done.
We need each other more than ever.
And we need to stop comparing ourselves to each other.
The choices you make, may not work for me.
Your beliefs will not match all of mine.
How I choose to parent may not be comfortable for you.
And that's ok.
Let's make the conscious decision to support each other with love, kindness and genuine appreciation for our individual journeys. Can you imagine the example we can set for our children?
Mom friends, unite.
Thank you for being honest.
For posting photos of your worst parenting moments.
For crying out for help when you couldn't stand one more minute with your kids.
For laughing hysterically at my mishaps, and letting me do the same at yours.
Thank you for reserving judgement.
When I admit I've just pulled into the McDonalds drive thru with tears in my eyes.
When I couldn't go out for drinks because I didn't have $10 in my wallet to spend.
When I wore the same faded pair of yoga pants for the third day in a row.
Thank you for listening.
About my larger-than-life worries regarding fevers, ear infections and immunizations.
About my feelings of failure, disappointment and utter dismay at being a mom.
About the moments that made me cry deep, dark tears from my soul.
Thank you for being my cheerleader.
For sending virtual hugs that reassured me I was worth it.
For the messages of love when I was sick, run down and crawling out of bed.
For the acts of kindness that filled my heart with gratitude and love for our friendship.
The truth is, we're all in this together.
And its the hardest thing we've ever done.
We need each other more than ever.
And we need to stop comparing ourselves to each other.
The choices you make, may not work for me.
Your beliefs will not match all of mine.
How I choose to parent may not be comfortable for you.
And that's ok.
Let's make the conscious decision to support each other with love, kindness and genuine appreciation for our individual journeys. Can you imagine the example we can set for our children?
Mom friends, unite.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
The Year of Celebration
It's New Year's Eve.
How did that happen?
As I reflect on this last 12 months, I am profoundly grateful.
My children are healthy.
My husband and I are madly in love.
My mother is recovering like a champ from surgery.
I've grown closer to many relatives and in-laws.
Strengthened friendships with beautiful and strong women.
Unconditionally loved an animal despite its flaws.
I'm writing more often.
Meditating regularly.
Walking through my house daily with a greater appreciation for its character and nuances.
I worry less.
I choose my words more carefully.
I choose gratitude over anger.
I've begun a deep dive into my newest writing project, My Journey to Worthy.
For all these discoveries I have become a more mentally healthy woman. I feel as though my soul shines more clearly around my body, that those who I surround myself with have been privy to my most authentic self to date.
Yup, I really feel that way.
And its awesome.
I am very much looking forward to 2016, as it will mark some major milestones... 'big' birthdays, anniversaries and life stages which deserve celebration.
The kind of celebration which leaves you smiling ear to ear.
Where you heart bursts out of your chest with joy.
And your eyes fill with tears of excitement and love.
Bring it, 2016.
You are my Year of Celebration.
How did that happen?
As I reflect on this last 12 months, I am profoundly grateful.
My children are healthy.
My husband and I are madly in love.
My mother is recovering like a champ from surgery.
I've grown closer to many relatives and in-laws.
Strengthened friendships with beautiful and strong women.
Unconditionally loved an animal despite its flaws.
I'm writing more often.
Meditating regularly.
Walking through my house daily with a greater appreciation for its character and nuances.
I worry less.
I choose my words more carefully.
I choose gratitude over anger.
I've begun a deep dive into my newest writing project, My Journey to Worthy.
For all these discoveries I have become a more mentally healthy woman. I feel as though my soul shines more clearly around my body, that those who I surround myself with have been privy to my most authentic self to date.
Yup, I really feel that way.
And its awesome.
I am very much looking forward to 2016, as it will mark some major milestones... 'big' birthdays, anniversaries and life stages which deserve celebration.
The kind of celebration which leaves you smiling ear to ear.
Where you heart bursts out of your chest with joy.
And your eyes fill with tears of excitement and love.
Bring it, 2016.
You are my Year of Celebration.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
A letter to my kids
Dear Nolan, Brooklyn and Ethan,
It's been a pretty great year, hasn't it? I wanted to take some time to share with you a few things I learned in 2015, now that it's coming to a close. I hope that someday you'll read this and find some comfort in these lessons.
First Lesson
The first lesson that's really stuck with me this year is the importance of taking care of my heart and soul, my spiritual self. You see, when you all came into my life, my focus really shifted from being Pam to being your mom. In doing so, I naturally put my needs at the bottom of my priority list. Slowly but surely I lost myself, my interests and hobbies, my personal passions, and began to carry around guilt any time I prioritized my own well being. Leaving my full time career further resulted in less time for self, and while I have been incredibly blessed to be your full time caregiver and mama, somewhere in the last four years I lost myself as a woman and spiritual being.
The big lesson I've discovered is this: I am a much better mother when I take time for myself each and every week, aiming for daily whenever possible. This might be a simple guided meditation, reading, creative writing or even putting you all in front of the TV so I can cook alone in the kitchen. I have discovered that dedication to self is not selfish, but one of the most outwardly beneficial choices I have made for our family. Remember this, as you juggle and prioritize in the future.
Second Lesson
Believe it or not, I learned a lot about hair this year. Weird, right?
One of my newest friends, a dance mama met at Brooklyn's dance studio, taught me that hair should be embraced, regardless of what it looks like. She lost hers during her battle with breast cancer, and as she fought her butt off this last year to kick cancer to the curb, her determination to be well really struck me. I used to spend so much time complaining about my 'boring straight hair', yet she was without any at all. As this year went on, Brookie and I decided to grow and donate ours, as a way to honour our awesome new friend. Of course Brooklyn had no problem at all cutting 12 inches off and rocking an adorable bob, but here I am, still growing it (almost 10 inches now) and every single time I want to cut it off because its driving me nuts, every time I see a shiny little grey staring back at me in the mirror, I think of my new friend. Her determination to be well. Her passionate zest for life.
You see, hair will grow, be cut, grey and maybe even recede over time, but in the grand scheme of things, embracing it in whatever shape, form or length you are given will remind you to focus on the great gifts in your life, not vanity in the mirror. Remember that even without an ounce of hair on your head you will be loved, honoured and cherished in every way.
Third Lesson
Remember when we decided to adopt Mae earlier this year? Remember how excited we all were and how much we instantly fell in love with her? Well guess what? Daddy and I struggled every single day for the first two months after bringing her home. Accidents in the house. Biting incidents. One food challenge with Moe resulting in curled lips and scary growls. Midnight barking fits begging to go outside because she ate something she shouldn't have earlier in the night.
Adopting an animal is NOT EASY. Let me repeat this. Adopting a pet is INSANELY DIFFICULT. The emotional toll of integrating animals into a family home is not an experience to be taken lightly. Having said that, as an adult, not all of your decisions will have everyone standing behind you in agreement. Sometimes you must go with your gut instinct, find the tools you need to make your instinct a reality and let the rest go. It's really tough, but remember that when you are faced with a decision, make it a quickly as possible and then forget it. The moment of absolute certainty never arrives.
Now, six months later, I feel in my heart that little miss Mae was brought into our lives to teach all three of you a lesson in unconditional love. What it looks like, how difficult it can be, and (hopefully) the pay off when you put your heart and soul into making something's life better than it ever imagined was possible.
Fourth Lesson
Lastly, and most importantly, this year your Daddy and I learned an enormous lesson about our relationship. You likely never noticed, but this year was incredibly difficult for us. There was a very long, three month period of time when I wasn't working. This meant we lived on one income, which paid our bills just fine but left us without a single extra cent for anything else. Our savings filled the gap for the first seven weeks or so, but after that your Daddy and I were overcome with worry, anxiety and the feeling of intense failure.
Here's the cool part; in the face of very negative circumstances, we were rock solid. We didn't fight, hold grudges or blame each other. In fact the opposite occurred. We held each other tighter, cried together and worked hand in hand to make significant changes to our financial future. In hindsight, we were gifted this challenge to show us the depth of our relationship and love for one another. Your Daddy is my best friend, and I pray each of you will meet someone equally wonderful someday down the road.
So there you have it kiddos, Mommy sure has learned a lot this year. Life continues to supply its challenges but when I choose radical acceptance of the situation I have discovered an ability to more calmly and assertively respond to any challenge set before me.
You three are my obsession.
My every moment is consumed with my love for each one of you.
It is my daily prayer that you will each grow in love of self, our family and of your very blessed life.
I pray your spirituality will also grow in whichever way you feel called.
And my goal as your mom is to continuously show you that kindness, compassion and grace will always lead you down the righteous path.
All my love, forever and always.
xoxo
Mommy
It's been a pretty great year, hasn't it? I wanted to take some time to share with you a few things I learned in 2015, now that it's coming to a close. I hope that someday you'll read this and find some comfort in these lessons.
First Lesson
The first lesson that's really stuck with me this year is the importance of taking care of my heart and soul, my spiritual self. You see, when you all came into my life, my focus really shifted from being Pam to being your mom. In doing so, I naturally put my needs at the bottom of my priority list. Slowly but surely I lost myself, my interests and hobbies, my personal passions, and began to carry around guilt any time I prioritized my own well being. Leaving my full time career further resulted in less time for self, and while I have been incredibly blessed to be your full time caregiver and mama, somewhere in the last four years I lost myself as a woman and spiritual being.
The big lesson I've discovered is this: I am a much better mother when I take time for myself each and every week, aiming for daily whenever possible. This might be a simple guided meditation, reading, creative writing or even putting you all in front of the TV so I can cook alone in the kitchen. I have discovered that dedication to self is not selfish, but one of the most outwardly beneficial choices I have made for our family. Remember this, as you juggle and prioritize in the future.
Second Lesson
Believe it or not, I learned a lot about hair this year. Weird, right?
One of my newest friends, a dance mama met at Brooklyn's dance studio, taught me that hair should be embraced, regardless of what it looks like. She lost hers during her battle with breast cancer, and as she fought her butt off this last year to kick cancer to the curb, her determination to be well really struck me. I used to spend so much time complaining about my 'boring straight hair', yet she was without any at all. As this year went on, Brookie and I decided to grow and donate ours, as a way to honour our awesome new friend. Of course Brooklyn had no problem at all cutting 12 inches off and rocking an adorable bob, but here I am, still growing it (almost 10 inches now) and every single time I want to cut it off because its driving me nuts, every time I see a shiny little grey staring back at me in the mirror, I think of my new friend. Her determination to be well. Her passionate zest for life.
You see, hair will grow, be cut, grey and maybe even recede over time, but in the grand scheme of things, embracing it in whatever shape, form or length you are given will remind you to focus on the great gifts in your life, not vanity in the mirror. Remember that even without an ounce of hair on your head you will be loved, honoured and cherished in every way.
Third Lesson
Remember when we decided to adopt Mae earlier this year? Remember how excited we all were and how much we instantly fell in love with her? Well guess what? Daddy and I struggled every single day for the first two months after bringing her home. Accidents in the house. Biting incidents. One food challenge with Moe resulting in curled lips and scary growls. Midnight barking fits begging to go outside because she ate something she shouldn't have earlier in the night.
Adopting an animal is NOT EASY. Let me repeat this. Adopting a pet is INSANELY DIFFICULT. The emotional toll of integrating animals into a family home is not an experience to be taken lightly. Having said that, as an adult, not all of your decisions will have everyone standing behind you in agreement. Sometimes you must go with your gut instinct, find the tools you need to make your instinct a reality and let the rest go. It's really tough, but remember that when you are faced with a decision, make it a quickly as possible and then forget it. The moment of absolute certainty never arrives.
Now, six months later, I feel in my heart that little miss Mae was brought into our lives to teach all three of you a lesson in unconditional love. What it looks like, how difficult it can be, and (hopefully) the pay off when you put your heart and soul into making something's life better than it ever imagined was possible.
Fourth Lesson
Lastly, and most importantly, this year your Daddy and I learned an enormous lesson about our relationship. You likely never noticed, but this year was incredibly difficult for us. There was a very long, three month period of time when I wasn't working. This meant we lived on one income, which paid our bills just fine but left us without a single extra cent for anything else. Our savings filled the gap for the first seven weeks or so, but after that your Daddy and I were overcome with worry, anxiety and the feeling of intense failure.
Here's the cool part; in the face of very negative circumstances, we were rock solid. We didn't fight, hold grudges or blame each other. In fact the opposite occurred. We held each other tighter, cried together and worked hand in hand to make significant changes to our financial future. In hindsight, we were gifted this challenge to show us the depth of our relationship and love for one another. Your Daddy is my best friend, and I pray each of you will meet someone equally wonderful someday down the road.
So there you have it kiddos, Mommy sure has learned a lot this year. Life continues to supply its challenges but when I choose radical acceptance of the situation I have discovered an ability to more calmly and assertively respond to any challenge set before me.
You three are my obsession.
My every moment is consumed with my love for each one of you.
It is my daily prayer that you will each grow in love of self, our family and of your very blessed life.
I pray your spirituality will also grow in whichever way you feel called.
And my goal as your mom is to continuously show you that kindness, compassion and grace will always lead you down the righteous path.
All my love, forever and always.
xoxo
Mommy
Friday, November 13, 2015
Three children, three reasons
Today is a PA day for my oldest two kiddos, aged seven and five. Both excitedly counted down for their 'home day' and both begged for a jammie party morning of kids cartoons and lego. But they are not the only two kiddos in this house. My wee man, aged two, makes three.
Three kids.
One family.
One mom.
One dad.
As I enjoy listening to my three kids playing this afternoon, I thought I would share three great reasons to have three kids. After all, I am asked the question at least once a week :)
Here goes:
1. The three to one ratio: at any given moment, there are three little opinions about what to make for supper, which songs to sing and what to watch on movie night. Three opinions, but only one choice to make. This creates a constant need for my kids to negotiate, listen, empathize and sometimes flat out compromise with their siblings. While I will admit this can be a challenge, the truth is these are incredible transferable skills for a lifetime of relationships, both personal and professional.
2. Helping hands, kind hearts: our day to day life is chalk full of opportunities to extend help to one another. Older siblings helping younger ones with shoes, zippers and snack time. Younger siblings helping older ones to clean up, set the table and grab blankets for snuggling. Its wonderful to see my youngest 'beam' with smiles when his sister and brother proudly hold his hands on the way into the grocery store. It's even more exciting to observe my oldest two in a teaching moment - be it how to shoot hoops, wash toes in the tub or pet dogs safely while out for a walk. Had we stopped at two, my middle child would never have been given this delightful experience.
3. The pact mentality: research suggests dogs in groups of three or more become packs. They form a hierarchy, move with purpose and become fiercely protective. I find this very similar with my three kids. They have their own special pack bond between them which makes it impossible for any one of them to be away from the others for too long. They NEED each other to feel safe, happy and content. In having three children, I have ensured a built-in safety net for each of them. A safe place.
The truth is, having three kids is difficult. Forget that, it's darn near insane most days. My husband and I are on zone defense ALL THE TIME, we are outnumbered and so we must strategize about things families of two or less likely don't blink an eye at - bedtimes, bath times, extra curricular demands and of course ensuring we each get quality one-on-one time with each child regularly.
In having three kids, I've also been given an amazing lesson in letting go. LIG, as my husband often reminds me. When you have three children at home, its impossible to make everyone happy at the same time. To help dress, provide homework support and potty train all at once. I've tried, trust me, I've tried. But in letting go of doing everything for every one of them something miraculous happened.
My kids found themselves more powerful.
More capable.
More able.
They discovered that they can help themselves. They can help their siblings. And sometimes, on the best days, they can be a big help to mommy and daddy as well.
Three kids.
One family.
One GIANT love.
Three kids.
One family.
One mom.
One dad.
As I enjoy listening to my three kids playing this afternoon, I thought I would share three great reasons to have three kids. After all, I am asked the question at least once a week :)
Here goes:
1. The three to one ratio: at any given moment, there are three little opinions about what to make for supper, which songs to sing and what to watch on movie night. Three opinions, but only one choice to make. This creates a constant need for my kids to negotiate, listen, empathize and sometimes flat out compromise with their siblings. While I will admit this can be a challenge, the truth is these are incredible transferable skills for a lifetime of relationships, both personal and professional.
2. Helping hands, kind hearts: our day to day life is chalk full of opportunities to extend help to one another. Older siblings helping younger ones with shoes, zippers and snack time. Younger siblings helping older ones to clean up, set the table and grab blankets for snuggling. Its wonderful to see my youngest 'beam' with smiles when his sister and brother proudly hold his hands on the way into the grocery store. It's even more exciting to observe my oldest two in a teaching moment - be it how to shoot hoops, wash toes in the tub or pet dogs safely while out for a walk. Had we stopped at two, my middle child would never have been given this delightful experience.
3. The pact mentality: research suggests dogs in groups of three or more become packs. They form a hierarchy, move with purpose and become fiercely protective. I find this very similar with my three kids. They have their own special pack bond between them which makes it impossible for any one of them to be away from the others for too long. They NEED each other to feel safe, happy and content. In having three children, I have ensured a built-in safety net for each of them. A safe place.
The truth is, having three kids is difficult. Forget that, it's darn near insane most days. My husband and I are on zone defense ALL THE TIME, we are outnumbered and so we must strategize about things families of two or less likely don't blink an eye at - bedtimes, bath times, extra curricular demands and of course ensuring we each get quality one-on-one time with each child regularly.
In having three kids, I've also been given an amazing lesson in letting go. LIG, as my husband often reminds me. When you have three children at home, its impossible to make everyone happy at the same time. To help dress, provide homework support and potty train all at once. I've tried, trust me, I've tried. But in letting go of doing everything for every one of them something miraculous happened.
My kids found themselves more powerful.
More capable.
More able.
They discovered that they can help themselves. They can help their siblings. And sometimes, on the best days, they can be a big help to mommy and daddy as well.
Three kids.
One family.
One GIANT love.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
The Bandaid
Last night I fed the boys supper earlier than usual. Their sister was off enjoying some time with family, so I made an easy meal and set them up to eat on our small counter height table in the kitchen. Somewhere between placing their food on the table and starting the dishes, I realized I had cut my foot.
No big deal. Right?
By the time I looked down, the blood was running off the top of my foot onto the floor.
Opps.
I looked down, surprised, and said out loud that I didn't realize it was bleeding. Nolan, who's always been interested in cuts and blood immediately hopped out of his chair and knelt down over my foot.
"It's bad mom. You need a Band-Aid!"
Off he scurried to the upstairs bathroom to grab one on my behalf. I knew he'd have to climb on the counter to reach the medicine cabinet, but I let him do it anyways. I knew he was capable (and his siblings weren't there to learn his trick).
He came running down the stairs and the most curious event happened.
He ripped off the paper cover.
Peeled the sticky edges.
Then placed the Band-Aid over my cut.
Talk about a role reversal.
I was in total awe. My six year old acted calmly, swiftly and with great compassion.
I leaned over to kiss his forehead, and thanked him for his kindness.
His reply?
"I love you mommy."
And then my heart melted.
No big deal. Right?
By the time I looked down, the blood was running off the top of my foot onto the floor.
Opps.
I looked down, surprised, and said out loud that I didn't realize it was bleeding. Nolan, who's always been interested in cuts and blood immediately hopped out of his chair and knelt down over my foot.
"It's bad mom. You need a Band-Aid!"
Off he scurried to the upstairs bathroom to grab one on my behalf. I knew he'd have to climb on the counter to reach the medicine cabinet, but I let him do it anyways. I knew he was capable (and his siblings weren't there to learn his trick).
He came running down the stairs and the most curious event happened.
He ripped off the paper cover.
Peeled the sticky edges.
Then placed the Band-Aid over my cut.
Talk about a role reversal.
I was in total awe. My six year old acted calmly, swiftly and with great compassion.
I leaned over to kiss his forehead, and thanked him for his kindness.
His reply?
"I love you mommy."
And then my heart melted.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Snuggles with my baby girl
We're a few weeks into the new school year.
It appears that all of us are suffering, adjusting perhaps, a more appropriate term. The kids come home tired. Exhausted really. Their baby brother won't sleep through the night or nap during the day. I'm back to class and working on two contra projects (in addition to my latest freelance contract).
Seems so pop culture-cool to suggest we're zombies. All five of us. But we are.
It's difficult to be a good mom when I'm tired. When I'm exhausted, I feel like the worst mom in the world (so I'm also more dramatic when I hit the wall). But seriously, I thought losing two kids to full day learning would make my life easier. Turns out, not so much.
Tonight, after a VERY LONG afternoon, and after multiple requests to go to bed early, I found myself in Brooklyn's room. She chose her 'favourite' books, two oldie board style toddler reads for us to snuggle into bed with and read together. We took our time, I asked plenty of questions to practice her new speech therapy goals and when we were all done, I turned her light off and stepped back to her bed to tuck her in.
Then something fabulous happened.
'Mom, stay and snuggle with me.'
Oh, snuggles. I love me some snuggles. Especially with my girl, my built-in friend for life. My immediate reaction was to smile and hop in, but as I found my way to her extra pillow I realized I hadn't snuggled in some time. In fact, I don't remember the last time she and I snuggled at bed time.
The last two and a half weeks had been so busy, I forgot to snuggle.
I'd been racing. From project to project, from meeting to meeting, from school to home and back again. And I'd forgotten how much I needed a snuggle, how important they were to my relationship with my daughter.
The two of us got all comfy, closed our eyes and then she jumped.
'Wait! I have to kiss you!' she said.
Ok, now she's scoring major bonus points. She proceeded to grab my hand. One by one, she separated my fingers and kissed them. Gently. Carefully. Then she asked for my other hand and repeated her pattern of kisses.
I was in such awe of her perfection. My four year old little princess. I could feel the tears warming my eyes but I was speechless.
When she was done, she grabbed my face. Kissed my nose, forehead, chin and each cheek. Then she smiled brightly, and laid a giant one on my lips.
She has a way of knowing exactly what mommy needs. And I love her to pieces for it.
I am smitten with this little girl. Her gentle soul. Her crazy laugh. And most of all, her ability to remind me that nothing - not a bad day, week or month - is ever more important than taking time for her snuggles.
It appears that all of us are suffering, adjusting perhaps, a more appropriate term. The kids come home tired. Exhausted really. Their baby brother won't sleep through the night or nap during the day. I'm back to class and working on two contra projects (in addition to my latest freelance contract).
Seems so pop culture-cool to suggest we're zombies. All five of us. But we are.
It's difficult to be a good mom when I'm tired. When I'm exhausted, I feel like the worst mom in the world (so I'm also more dramatic when I hit the wall). But seriously, I thought losing two kids to full day learning would make my life easier. Turns out, not so much.
Tonight, after a VERY LONG afternoon, and after multiple requests to go to bed early, I found myself in Brooklyn's room. She chose her 'favourite' books, two oldie board style toddler reads for us to snuggle into bed with and read together. We took our time, I asked plenty of questions to practice her new speech therapy goals and when we were all done, I turned her light off and stepped back to her bed to tuck her in.
Then something fabulous happened.
'Mom, stay and snuggle with me.'
Oh, snuggles. I love me some snuggles. Especially with my girl, my built-in friend for life. My immediate reaction was to smile and hop in, but as I found my way to her extra pillow I realized I hadn't snuggled in some time. In fact, I don't remember the last time she and I snuggled at bed time.
The last two and a half weeks had been so busy, I forgot to snuggle.
I'd been racing. From project to project, from meeting to meeting, from school to home and back again. And I'd forgotten how much I needed a snuggle, how important they were to my relationship with my daughter.
The two of us got all comfy, closed our eyes and then she jumped.
'Wait! I have to kiss you!' she said.
Ok, now she's scoring major bonus points. She proceeded to grab my hand. One by one, she separated my fingers and kissed them. Gently. Carefully. Then she asked for my other hand and repeated her pattern of kisses.
I was in such awe of her perfection. My four year old little princess. I could feel the tears warming my eyes but I was speechless.
When she was done, she grabbed my face. Kissed my nose, forehead, chin and each cheek. Then she smiled brightly, and laid a giant one on my lips.
She has a way of knowing exactly what mommy needs. And I love her to pieces for it.
I am smitten with this little girl. Her gentle soul. Her crazy laugh. And most of all, her ability to remind me that nothing - not a bad day, week or month - is ever more important than taking time for her snuggles.
Monday, September 1, 2014
I'm not ready
The truth is, I'm not ready.
I don't think I'll ever be ready.
I just tucked in my two oldest, beautiful children. Asked them to please get a great sleep because tomorrow was their first day, first experience as full day students.
We'd already shopped for back to school clothing. Pulled out backpacks. Talked about snacks and lunch and which zipper container to open on their new, very fancy lunch bags.
Reminded them to use their manners. Get to the bathroom before too long. Wash their hands. Listen at circle time. Ask questions. Behave.
I told them how proud I was of each of them. How much I love them. How I will miss them dearly.
Then I said goodnight. Closed the door. And cried.
Cried for my pending loss. Cried for the quietness about the take over my house. Cried because I know life moves too quickly, children grow too fast, and kisses don't fit inside backpacks.
I cried because I love them. Love who they have become, love seeing them grow every single day, love every single ounce of their little bodies and souls. Love who they have moulded me to become as a mom and woman.
This journey, this incredible opportunity to have been home, their stay-at-home, work-at-home mother, has been more demanding and as a result more rewarding then I ever dreamed was possible.
And so, I'm not ready.
To walk them to school. Kiss them goodbye. Turn and walk away.
I'm not ready.
My Nolan. My Brooklyn. Forever my preschoolers, forever my little sidekicks on an adventure with me. Forever my soul mates, partners in crime and snuggle monkeys.
Forever my babies.
And so, I will cry. Over and over again.
Because I have been blessed with the most special gift of all. Being their mother.
xoxo
I don't think I'll ever be ready.
I just tucked in my two oldest, beautiful children. Asked them to please get a great sleep because tomorrow was their first day, first experience as full day students.
We'd already shopped for back to school clothing. Pulled out backpacks. Talked about snacks and lunch and which zipper container to open on their new, very fancy lunch bags.
Reminded them to use their manners. Get to the bathroom before too long. Wash their hands. Listen at circle time. Ask questions. Behave.
I told them how proud I was of each of them. How much I love them. How I will miss them dearly.
Then I said goodnight. Closed the door. And cried.
Cried for my pending loss. Cried for the quietness about the take over my house. Cried because I know life moves too quickly, children grow too fast, and kisses don't fit inside backpacks.
I cried because I love them. Love who they have become, love seeing them grow every single day, love every single ounce of their little bodies and souls. Love who they have moulded me to become as a mom and woman.
This journey, this incredible opportunity to have been home, their stay-at-home, work-at-home mother, has been more demanding and as a result more rewarding then I ever dreamed was possible.
And so, I'm not ready.
To walk them to school. Kiss them goodbye. Turn and walk away.
I'm not ready.
My Nolan. My Brooklyn. Forever my preschoolers, forever my little sidekicks on an adventure with me. Forever my soul mates, partners in crime and snuggle monkeys.
Forever my babies.
And so, I will cry. Over and over again.
Because I have been blessed with the most special gift of all. Being their mother.
xoxo
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
A letter to my sister
I drove over to my sister-in-law's place Sunday night. Long story short, I missed my Goddaughter's baptism celebration because my wee man was sick. My brother-in-law offered me a beer, not my style anymore (I must be getting old) so I settled for a coke. When I popped open the tab, she asked, 'who are you sharing a coke with?'
I peeked at the side of the can and it said, sister.
Yup, I sure was. And the rest of her gorgeous family. It got me to thinking, we've shared an awful lot these last 13 years...
Her first keg party and my home-hosted event.
Graduations.
Movies.
Slopitch games.
Family vacations.
Blue Jays games.
America's Next Top Model.
Shopping.
Ok, lots of shopping.
Tapas.
Our weddings.
Bridal and baby showers.
Our neighbourhood.
Our neighbourhood school.
Play dates.
So You Think You Can Dance.
Meals.
Baking.
Birthday parties.
Dance parties.
Late night walks.
More importantly, we've shared our journey as mothers.
Two pregnancies in tandem.
Seven beautiful children in total.
Gripes over swollen feet, giant boobs and clothes that didn't fit.
Slurpee, ice cream and candy cravings.
Tears.
Panic over unknown illnesses, bumps on the head and fevers.
Joy in first steps, words and smiles.
Pure exhaustion.
The baby blues.
Money, and the lack of it available to make ends meet.
Discipline.
Disappointment.
Grief.
BBM conversations at nearly every hour of the day and night, about the highs and lows of our day. About our lacking desire to be a mom. About our amazing kids. About the incredible heartache of losing a daughter and niece. About being fully convinced that our children were going to push us to the brink of insanity.
We've laughed as much as we've cried.
We've shared brilliant days and many difficult, if not painful ones.
We've borrowed strength, shared hugs and reminded each other we are never alone.
Last May, two births. One enormous loss. Grief. Rage. Guilt.
This May, one birth. One first birthday on earth, one in heaven. More grief. More guilt.
What a journey.
My sister,
This last year has bonded us in a way most will never fully understand. I will never, ever forget that day. Seeing you walk up my driveway, tears streaming down your face. The following days of waiting, praying, induction, early morning conversation and the moment little Kinsley's photo popped up on my phone. I wanted to run down to that hospital and hold her, hug you and carry your broken heart.
Your boys are my sons. Your daughters, mine too. Your angel in heaven makes her presence known in my home, and she watches over all of our children each and every day. We are one big family.
I love you, my sister. And I want you to know that I couldn't do this thing... this mama thing... without you.
xoxo
I peeked at the side of the can and it said, sister.
Yup, I sure was. And the rest of her gorgeous family. It got me to thinking, we've shared an awful lot these last 13 years...
Her first keg party and my home-hosted event.
Graduations.
Movies.
Slopitch games.
Family vacations.
Blue Jays games.
America's Next Top Model.
Shopping.
Ok, lots of shopping.
Tapas.
Our weddings.
Bridal and baby showers.
Our neighbourhood.
Our neighbourhood school.
Play dates.
So You Think You Can Dance.
Meals.
Baking.
Birthday parties.
Dance parties.
Late night walks.
More importantly, we've shared our journey as mothers.
Two pregnancies in tandem.
Seven beautiful children in total.
Gripes over swollen feet, giant boobs and clothes that didn't fit.
Slurpee, ice cream and candy cravings.
Tears.
Panic over unknown illnesses, bumps on the head and fevers.
Joy in first steps, words and smiles.
Pure exhaustion.
The baby blues.
Money, and the lack of it available to make ends meet.
Discipline.
Disappointment.
Grief.
BBM conversations at nearly every hour of the day and night, about the highs and lows of our day. About our lacking desire to be a mom. About our amazing kids. About the incredible heartache of losing a daughter and niece. About being fully convinced that our children were going to push us to the brink of insanity.
We've laughed as much as we've cried.
We've shared brilliant days and many difficult, if not painful ones.
We've borrowed strength, shared hugs and reminded each other we are never alone.
Last May, two births. One enormous loss. Grief. Rage. Guilt.
This May, one birth. One first birthday on earth, one in heaven. More grief. More guilt.
What a journey.
My sister,
This last year has bonded us in a way most will never fully understand. I will never, ever forget that day. Seeing you walk up my driveway, tears streaming down your face. The following days of waiting, praying, induction, early morning conversation and the moment little Kinsley's photo popped up on my phone. I wanted to run down to that hospital and hold her, hug you and carry your broken heart.
Your boys are my sons. Your daughters, mine too. Your angel in heaven makes her presence known in my home, and she watches over all of our children each and every day. We are one big family.
I love you, my sister. And I want you to know that I couldn't do this thing... this mama thing... without you.
xoxo
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
End of an era
It happened today.I set our infant car seat out for garbage, expired and worn.
I really didn't think the garbage man would take it, but I knew it was time to come to terms with not requiring it any longer. So I set it out there.
I was hoping someone would pick it up and take it, even though it was expired. Maybe someone could repurpose it, recycle it, memorialize it for me.I didn't expect the garbage man to take it.
Then, as the kids and I ate lunch, the garbage truck pulled up.
And he took it.
He took the infant seat. Threw it into the back of his truck and drove off.
Whoa. The tears began flowing. I scared the kids even.
I tried to explain it, how hard it is for mommy to see them grow up so quickly. I tried to tell them I was just sad that time keeps passing and they keep getting bigger.Then Nolan got it. "Mom, I understand. You are sad because we all sat in that seat right?"
Yup. Cue the tears again.
Postscript: My nephew used this seat also, between Brooklyn and Ethan, here's a photo
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
It won't be long
The last few weeks have been increasingly difficult for me. My mama strength is depleted, leaving me exhausted and low on patience. After a particularly exhausting dinner on Monday, my dear mother pointed out that I should enjoy the insanity as someday the silence would sound deafening. It got me to thinking...
I should embrace the meltdowns at dinner time, because it won't be long before she is too worried about her weight to eat.
I should embrace his face all lit up when he talks about fire trucks, because it won't be long before video games become his favourite pastime.
I should embrace the early morning baby feedings, because it won't be long before our quiet cuddles are replaced with sleepovers away from home.
I should embrace the meltdowns over who gets to wash their hands first, and in which bathroom, because it won't be long before they aren't home at lunch to eat together.
I should embrace the tears over unwelcome meals, broken lego and bedtime, because it won't be long before tears are shed over first loves, first lovers squarrels and first loves lost.
I should embrace the dark circles and puffy eyes from the very little, broken sleep patterns of these early years, because it won't be long before missed curfews and drunken experiments leave crows feet and worry lines.
I should embrace the chaotic sounds of three children talking over one another, because it won't be long before they don't want to talk to each other, or me, at all.
Most of all, I realize I should embrace the now.
I will move from 'should' to 'will' embrace our crazy, chaotic life. I will accept and find peace in knowing my children are smart, confident and loving in every way.
Mom - you always know just what to say.
xo
I should embrace the meltdowns at dinner time, because it won't be long before she is too worried about her weight to eat.
I should embrace his face all lit up when he talks about fire trucks, because it won't be long before video games become his favourite pastime.
I should embrace the early morning baby feedings, because it won't be long before our quiet cuddles are replaced with sleepovers away from home.
I should embrace the meltdowns over who gets to wash their hands first, and in which bathroom, because it won't be long before they aren't home at lunch to eat together.
I should embrace the tears over unwelcome meals, broken lego and bedtime, because it won't be long before tears are shed over first loves, first lovers squarrels and first loves lost.
I should embrace the dark circles and puffy eyes from the very little, broken sleep patterns of these early years, because it won't be long before missed curfews and drunken experiments leave crows feet and worry lines.
I should embrace the chaotic sounds of three children talking over one another, because it won't be long before they don't want to talk to each other, or me, at all.
Most of all, I realize I should embrace the now.
I will move from 'should' to 'will' embrace our crazy, chaotic life. I will accept and find peace in knowing my children are smart, confident and loving in every way.
Mom - you always know just what to say.
xo
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
My riding partners
Have you ever been on the Drop Zone ride at Canada's Wonderland?
It's the one where you strap yourself in and then slowly, but surely, head straight up the very tall pole until you stop. In the moments that follow, you feel equal parts amazed at the view from up high and terrified as you know what comes next will be an epic thrill.
Your feet dangle.
Your heart races.
You look around at the faces of family members riding along side you and your eyes meet... 'what the heck were we thinking?' you say silently.
Then, you drop.
Fast. Hard.
Insanely quick.
And just like that, the ride is over. Your heart is still racing. You legs are weak. You stumble off, grab the arm of your riding partner and decide that, for now, ice cream is about all you can handle. Then you wander off to find that yummy chocolate-chip-cookie-with-chocolate- chips-treat they sell for too much money.
That about sums up my life at the moment.
The drop is a near-daily occurrence for me. A roller coaster of emotions as I struggle to be a great mom, great wife, great instructor, great freelance professional.
I'm exhausted. Actually I've never felt more exhausted in my life. Yet I strap myself in every morning, say a silent prayer that I'll be 'great' today and prepare myself for the inevitable rise.
I try, whenever possible, to enjoy the view. My kids are beautiful, growing and smarter than I ever imagined. In those moments, I am comforted by their hugs and smiles.
Then, I panic.
How in the world am I ever going to get (insert project, prep, other work-related requirement) done in time to sleep tonight? How can I possibly be a great mom/wife if all I do is work?
I can feel my feet dangling, The inevitable about to happen.
I'm going to drop.
Thankfully for me, I have two amazing riding partners.
One is Jay. He is calm, loving and ever-supportive. He reminds me that - yes - we are about to drop. But the ride is purposeful, fun and there's a treat at the end so just hang in there.
The other is my mom. She is warm, empathetic and an excellent listener. She too, reminds me that the ride is worth enjoying, that it's ok to be scared and that, no matter how much I scream, she will love me and my family just the same.
Best. Riding. Partners. Ever.
I love you both.
xo
It's the one where you strap yourself in and then slowly, but surely, head straight up the very tall pole until you stop. In the moments that follow, you feel equal parts amazed at the view from up high and terrified as you know what comes next will be an epic thrill.
Your feet dangle.
Your heart races.
You look around at the faces of family members riding along side you and your eyes meet... 'what the heck were we thinking?' you say silently.
Then, you drop.
Fast. Hard.
Insanely quick.
And just like that, the ride is over. Your heart is still racing. You legs are weak. You stumble off, grab the arm of your riding partner and decide that, for now, ice cream is about all you can handle. Then you wander off to find that yummy chocolate-chip-cookie-with-chocolate- chips-treat they sell for too much money.
That about sums up my life at the moment.
The drop is a near-daily occurrence for me. A roller coaster of emotions as I struggle to be a great mom, great wife, great instructor, great freelance professional.
I'm exhausted. Actually I've never felt more exhausted in my life. Yet I strap myself in every morning, say a silent prayer that I'll be 'great' today and prepare myself for the inevitable rise.
I try, whenever possible, to enjoy the view. My kids are beautiful, growing and smarter than I ever imagined. In those moments, I am comforted by their hugs and smiles.
Then, I panic.
How in the world am I ever going to get (insert project, prep, other work-related requirement) done in time to sleep tonight? How can I possibly be a great mom/wife if all I do is work?
I can feel my feet dangling, The inevitable about to happen.
I'm going to drop.
Thankfully for me, I have two amazing riding partners.
One is Jay. He is calm, loving and ever-supportive. He reminds me that - yes - we are about to drop. But the ride is purposeful, fun and there's a treat at the end so just hang in there.
The other is my mom. She is warm, empathetic and an excellent listener. She too, reminds me that the ride is worth enjoying, that it's ok to be scared and that, no matter how much I scream, she will love me and my family just the same.
Best. Riding. Partners. Ever.
I love you both.
xo
Sunday, April 7, 2013
orange + purple + blue = family
It's hard to believe I'm having another baby.
I struggled with the decision to be 'done' with two, as the final arguments pitted my reasonable mind against my needy heart. I'd heard all the logical arguments... the world is built for a family of four... middle children struggle... there's only three bedrooms... children shouldn't outnumber their parents... tuition will be a zillion dollars by then...
Yet it only took one photo to confirm that my heart spoke louder, more clearly than any argument based on fact or currency. This photo, a simple shot of my kids on the dock at their grandparents' cottage, left me feeling as though something was missing. This simple open space was my sure sign of room for another sibling.
I'd always said that if we chose to have another baby we'd never find out the sex. What did it matter anyways, as we'd already been blessed with one of each? Well that all changed when we shared the news with N and B that mommy was pregnant, as they immediately concluded it was a sister... end of story. I couldn't imagine them visiting me in the hospital and being somehow disappointed that the outcome was different they we'd led them to believe. They knew it was God's decision to make, not ours, however in order to give them enough time to adjust we chose to find out the sex of the baby. Good choice, as little sister was replaced with ultrasound confirmation of a little brother :)
I've been utterly disappointed with the lack of enthusiasm for this little bean from strangers and well-meaning friends/relatives alike. I've been hit with more 'are you guys nuts?' and 'you have no idea how much you'll struggle!' than I care to count. As if our decision was made to somehow lessen our family dynamic instead of enrich it with more love and laughter. I still don't get it. A child is blessing, never to be thought of as anything less.
The third time around each little kick and punch still amazes me, leaves me staring at my belly and wondering what he will look like, who he will become. The heartburn, nausea and swollen feet are still issues, but have taken a backseat to ordinary days spent enjoying the company of my kiddos while balancing freelance projects late into the evenings.
Despite the uncomfortable sleep and aching back I cannot imagine myself any other way. My desire to be a mother, to once again grow a little miracle and share him with the world, is much stronger than I'd ever imagined. Ten years ago I was talking about fancy cars, big houses and a forward-marching career. Not so much at the moment, as my desire to be a mother continues to lead every decision I make. I'm left to borrow my bff's purses (although gorgeous) because all I can afford is a new, utilitarian diaper bag designed for three children's belongings.
Behind closed doors we continue to prepare as a family. We talk about our little baby boy with love and enthusiasm. We discuss baby names, toys meant for sharing and songs we can sing to 'our baby.' N and B happily became roomies in order to give their new sibling-to-be his own space. An adjustment met with very few concerns and more time spent worrying than was necessary.
The baby's room is nearly complete, bedding washed and books in place. Plenty of hand-me-downs from dear family and friends scatter the closet and drawers, a sure sign of the love and kindness he will feel once he arrives. He's a lucky kid, really, to be surrounded but such intense affection and support. It's something I will never allow him to take for granted, it's something too precious to forget.
As a tribute to his older siblings, little splotches of orange and purple paint still show on the baseboard of his now-blue room. My hubby said he just couldn't paint over it, or remove it, as it seemed so fitting that a little piece of our other children remained behind in this shared nursery.
What seemed like our painting errors on display has actually become a work of family art, a visual reminder of the trials, triumphs and new found love we found in raising each of our children. A reminder that, in our world at least, nothing happens without a reason. It is the simplest display which highlights our most important accomplishments.
I struggled with the decision to be 'done' with two, as the final arguments pitted my reasonable mind against my needy heart. I'd heard all the logical arguments... the world is built for a family of four... middle children struggle... there's only three bedrooms... children shouldn't outnumber their parents... tuition will be a zillion dollars by then...
Yet it only took one photo to confirm that my heart spoke louder, more clearly than any argument based on fact or currency. This photo, a simple shot of my kids on the dock at their grandparents' cottage, left me feeling as though something was missing. This simple open space was my sure sign of room for another sibling.
 |
| B and N, first weekend at the cottage in 2012 |
I've been utterly disappointed with the lack of enthusiasm for this little bean from strangers and well-meaning friends/relatives alike. I've been hit with more 'are you guys nuts?' and 'you have no idea how much you'll struggle!' than I care to count. As if our decision was made to somehow lessen our family dynamic instead of enrich it with more love and laughter. I still don't get it. A child is blessing, never to be thought of as anything less.
The third time around each little kick and punch still amazes me, leaves me staring at my belly and wondering what he will look like, who he will become. The heartburn, nausea and swollen feet are still issues, but have taken a backseat to ordinary days spent enjoying the company of my kiddos while balancing freelance projects late into the evenings.
Despite the uncomfortable sleep and aching back I cannot imagine myself any other way. My desire to be a mother, to once again grow a little miracle and share him with the world, is much stronger than I'd ever imagined. Ten years ago I was talking about fancy cars, big houses and a forward-marching career. Not so much at the moment, as my desire to be a mother continues to lead every decision I make. I'm left to borrow my bff's purses (although gorgeous) because all I can afford is a new, utilitarian diaper bag designed for three children's belongings.
Behind closed doors we continue to prepare as a family. We talk about our little baby boy with love and enthusiasm. We discuss baby names, toys meant for sharing and songs we can sing to 'our baby.' N and B happily became roomies in order to give their new sibling-to-be his own space. An adjustment met with very few concerns and more time spent worrying than was necessary.
The baby's room is nearly complete, bedding washed and books in place. Plenty of hand-me-downs from dear family and friends scatter the closet and drawers, a sure sign of the love and kindness he will feel once he arrives. He's a lucky kid, really, to be surrounded but such intense affection and support. It's something I will never allow him to take for granted, it's something too precious to forget.
As a tribute to his older siblings, little splotches of orange and purple paint still show on the baseboard of his now-blue room. My hubby said he just couldn't paint over it, or remove it, as it seemed so fitting that a little piece of our other children remained behind in this shared nursery.
What seemed like our painting errors on display has actually become a work of family art, a visual reminder of the trials, triumphs and new found love we found in raising each of our children. A reminder that, in our world at least, nothing happens without a reason. It is the simplest display which highlights our most important accomplishments.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
An Ode to Sleep
Sleep.
Oh sleep.
How I miss thee.
It's been eight days of germs in our house, and as any parent knows, germs equal NO SLEEP. It's been two-and-a-half years since B was born, a new sleep low for me, and four-and-a-half years since N was born, my first dip into the world of sleep deprivation.
I really miss sleep.
Late at night, after providing my kiddos with water/kleenex/chapstick or whatever else they woke me up for, I reminice about the 'good ol' days'. Evenings spent snuggling in bed with my hubby, watching a movie or some ridiculously awful TV series and falling asleep in each other's arms. Sleeping until I woke up because my body was ready and not remembering a single moment of what happened between when my head hit the pillow and the next morning.
All you single, newly married and married-without-kids friends, I AM JEALOUS OF YOU. That's correct, I'll admit it. I would trade my first-born child (and perhaps my second-born to sweeten the deal) just to get a few nights of uninterrupted, solid sleep. Is this why sleepovers were created? Hmm...
I used to think I was losing it when thoughts of booking a hotel room just to sleep for 24 hours crossed my mind. Then a girlfriend with kids the same age as mine reported the same wish. WHEW! If I was losing it, I was going there with someone else, thank goodness. I wonder if the beds are comfy in crazy town?
To complicate things further, my very loving, totally amazing hubby snores. LOUDLY. This means that once I've returned to bed after visiting my not-really-sleeping angels I lay awake in frustration. Often times the poor guy gets a bolt from me, asking unrealistically, to stop the maddness. He'll roll over and, before I'm even settled, be right back to sleep... and snoring...
I'm now 21 weeks pregnant. In first pregnancy language, this is the 'feel well' trimester marked by increased energy and desire to prepare for baby. In second pregnancies this is the 'feel ok' stage where you know you should feel energized and still prepare accordingly for baby. In third pregnancies, well, I'm finding that this trimester is as exhausting as the first, without much time to prepare for baby much less rest up. Thank goodness I'm able to sleep late on weekends, something hubby insists on at every possible opportunity. I'd kiss him for this, if I had the energy.
Sleep is just NOT my friend. And with our third baby on the way, I can only imagine how much worse this is going to get. Hubby and I have decided to bunk the little one with his older brother, secretly hoping that N will lead by example and teach his little brother that sleeping straight through the night is the cool thing to do (when you are healthy). When the boys are sick, it's going to be a certified gong show. I'll be sending Daddy in to 'deal with his boys.' ha!
In the meantime, I just keep plugging away at my mama and work-at-home-mama duties, dark circles under my eyes, hoping to win the sleep lottery. Perhaps someday I'll find the time to relax in bed, not because I'm tired, but because there is simply nothing to do and no-one to care for. I imagine this is part of having a seniors' discount? Seems more attractive all the time...
Oh sleep.
How I miss thee.
Oh sleep.
How I miss thee.
It's been eight days of germs in our house, and as any parent knows, germs equal NO SLEEP. It's been two-and-a-half years since B was born, a new sleep low for me, and four-and-a-half years since N was born, my first dip into the world of sleep deprivation.
I really miss sleep.
Late at night, after providing my kiddos with water/kleenex/chapstick or whatever else they woke me up for, I reminice about the 'good ol' days'. Evenings spent snuggling in bed with my hubby, watching a movie or some ridiculously awful TV series and falling asleep in each other's arms. Sleeping until I woke up because my body was ready and not remembering a single moment of what happened between when my head hit the pillow and the next morning.
All you single, newly married and married-without-kids friends, I AM JEALOUS OF YOU. That's correct, I'll admit it. I would trade my first-born child (and perhaps my second-born to sweeten the deal) just to get a few nights of uninterrupted, solid sleep. Is this why sleepovers were created? Hmm...
I used to think I was losing it when thoughts of booking a hotel room just to sleep for 24 hours crossed my mind. Then a girlfriend with kids the same age as mine reported the same wish. WHEW! If I was losing it, I was going there with someone else, thank goodness. I wonder if the beds are comfy in crazy town?
To complicate things further, my very loving, totally amazing hubby snores. LOUDLY. This means that once I've returned to bed after visiting my not-really-sleeping angels I lay awake in frustration. Often times the poor guy gets a bolt from me, asking unrealistically, to stop the maddness. He'll roll over and, before I'm even settled, be right back to sleep... and snoring...
I'm now 21 weeks pregnant. In first pregnancy language, this is the 'feel well' trimester marked by increased energy and desire to prepare for baby. In second pregnancies this is the 'feel ok' stage where you know you should feel energized and still prepare accordingly for baby. In third pregnancies, well, I'm finding that this trimester is as exhausting as the first, without much time to prepare for baby much less rest up. Thank goodness I'm able to sleep late on weekends, something hubby insists on at every possible opportunity. I'd kiss him for this, if I had the energy.
Sleep is just NOT my friend. And with our third baby on the way, I can only imagine how much worse this is going to get. Hubby and I have decided to bunk the little one with his older brother, secretly hoping that N will lead by example and teach his little brother that sleeping straight through the night is the cool thing to do (when you are healthy). When the boys are sick, it's going to be a certified gong show. I'll be sending Daddy in to 'deal with his boys.' ha!
In the meantime, I just keep plugging away at my mama and work-at-home-mama duties, dark circles under my eyes, hoping to win the sleep lottery. Perhaps someday I'll find the time to relax in bed, not because I'm tired, but because there is simply nothing to do and no-one to care for. I imagine this is part of having a seniors' discount? Seems more attractive all the time...
Oh sleep.
How I miss thee.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Hummingbird makes three, children that is.
It's been an interesting summer.
Apart from my day-to-day life being home with my kids, I've been formalizing my skills into a little business, something more catchy than "I can help" and something less formal than advertisements and networking events.
It all began one night when I explained to my husband that I wanted (and needed) business cards, but that I didn't want to have my gmail address on them. It seemed borderline cheesy to me. "You need to own a URL in order to have a legitimate email address." Huh. A web site? I wasn't really planning to 'go there' just yet, but as with most things in life, a business card became a slippery slope....
I spent weeks agonizing over a name for my business. Having arbitrarily called it PI Creative Solutions, primarily for the purposes of invoicing, I wasn't particularly keen on continuing with such a, well, boring name. I looked to my friends and family for support, but I knew something was still missing.
In my weeks of brainstorming, I dragged a local graphic design artist through the process with me. Poor girl, I must have driven her crazy with my ad-hoc ideas and thoughts, but as yet I had no brand to guide me. After the first few drafts, I felt the need to ask for a hummingbird graphic. A little lost, that poor hummingbird was, until I realized that what my heart was really saying was already in front of me. I'd name the business after my spirit animal, the little bird with the amazing powers. Thus, Hummingbird Communications was born.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention why the hummingbird is so important in my life. I've always loved those little birds, I grew up hoping to see them fly nearby and wondered how they got so lucky to drink sugary water all day. As an adult, a few years ago, I saw a psychic who spoke about spirit guides, animals who help guide us through our day. She explained that the hummingbird was very much a part of my life and that my own personality was very similar. She told me to remember that just like the hummingbird, I also possessed special skills and abilities that were unique to others around me. That just like the hummingbird, which could fly both forwards and backwards, I too was capable of doing things that others could not, and needed to embrace my skills and believe in myself.
I was told to keep a hummingbird nearby, as it would remind me of my talents and keep me focused. The very next week I was at a local craft show and saw a little stained glass green and pink hummingbird. I promptly purchased the little piece of art and brought it home. She's currently hanging out in my laundry room, one of my 'thinking spots' and likely one of the only places in the house no-one looks for me.
Today I ran into a friend of mine who I met through Leadership Niagara last year. I just knew we were meant to meet, but today she really confirmed that for me. We ran into each other through the St. Catharines Early Years program, which toured the local #6 fire hall this morning. We had no idea the other would be there, but the moment she saw me she said she had something for me. She gave me a little square of text, one she'd been keeping in her purse and recently found. It said:
"Legends say that hummingbirds float free of time, carrying out our hopes for love, joy and celebration. Like a hummingbird, we aspire to hover and savor each moment as it passes, embrace all that life has to offer and to celebrate the joy of everyday. The hummingbird's delicate grace reminds us that life is rich, beauty is everywhere, every personal connection has meaning and that laughter is life's sweetest creation."
Goosebumps yet?
I'm so proud to share my newest, youngest child, with each of you: http://hummingbirdcommunications.ca/
P
PS: Thanks to my incredible husband for believing in my instincts, deciphering html code and most of all for keeping me company late at night when I'm working. Here's hoping my little hummingbird business cards and web site lead to plenty of projects, more late nights and the ability to celebrate every day at home with my kids.
Apart from my day-to-day life being home with my kids, I've been formalizing my skills into a little business, something more catchy than "I can help" and something less formal than advertisements and networking events.
It all began one night when I explained to my husband that I wanted (and needed) business cards, but that I didn't want to have my gmail address on them. It seemed borderline cheesy to me. "You need to own a URL in order to have a legitimate email address." Huh. A web site? I wasn't really planning to 'go there' just yet, but as with most things in life, a business card became a slippery slope....
I spent weeks agonizing over a name for my business. Having arbitrarily called it PI Creative Solutions, primarily for the purposes of invoicing, I wasn't particularly keen on continuing with such a, well, boring name. I looked to my friends and family for support, but I knew something was still missing.
In my weeks of brainstorming, I dragged a local graphic design artist through the process with me. Poor girl, I must have driven her crazy with my ad-hoc ideas and thoughts, but as yet I had no brand to guide me. After the first few drafts, I felt the need to ask for a hummingbird graphic. A little lost, that poor hummingbird was, until I realized that what my heart was really saying was already in front of me. I'd name the business after my spirit animal, the little bird with the amazing powers. Thus, Hummingbird Communications was born.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention why the hummingbird is so important in my life. I've always loved those little birds, I grew up hoping to see them fly nearby and wondered how they got so lucky to drink sugary water all day. As an adult, a few years ago, I saw a psychic who spoke about spirit guides, animals who help guide us through our day. She explained that the hummingbird was very much a part of my life and that my own personality was very similar. She told me to remember that just like the hummingbird, I also possessed special skills and abilities that were unique to others around me. That just like the hummingbird, which could fly both forwards and backwards, I too was capable of doing things that others could not, and needed to embrace my skills and believe in myself.
I was told to keep a hummingbird nearby, as it would remind me of my talents and keep me focused. The very next week I was at a local craft show and saw a little stained glass green and pink hummingbird. I promptly purchased the little piece of art and brought it home. She's currently hanging out in my laundry room, one of my 'thinking spots' and likely one of the only places in the house no-one looks for me.
Today I ran into a friend of mine who I met through Leadership Niagara last year. I just knew we were meant to meet, but today she really confirmed that for me. We ran into each other through the St. Catharines Early Years program, which toured the local #6 fire hall this morning. We had no idea the other would be there, but the moment she saw me she said she had something for me. She gave me a little square of text, one she'd been keeping in her purse and recently found. It said:
 |
| From Jess, the perfect reminder. Thank you. |
"Legends say that hummingbirds float free of time, carrying out our hopes for love, joy and celebration. Like a hummingbird, we aspire to hover and savor each moment as it passes, embrace all that life has to offer and to celebrate the joy of everyday. The hummingbird's delicate grace reminds us that life is rich, beauty is everywhere, every personal connection has meaning and that laughter is life's sweetest creation."
Goosebumps yet?
I'm so proud to share my newest, youngest child, with each of you: http://hummingbirdcommunications.ca/
P
PS: Thanks to my incredible husband for believing in my instincts, deciphering html code and most of all for keeping me company late at night when I'm working. Here's hoping my little hummingbird business cards and web site lead to plenty of projects, more late nights and the ability to celebrate every day at home with my kids.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Four life lessons learned from my four year old.
Tomorrow marks a special occasion - my son Nolan's fourth birthday. I'm really struggling with this one, it seems like only yesterday he was my 'little babah', swaddled in my arms, snuggling on my chest. Here we are now, a mere two months away from his first day of junior kindergarten. Seriously, where has the time gone?
Life with Nolan has been nothing short of a roller coaster. From a calm baby to a rambuncious toddler, on to a stubborn preschooler and now, well, I'd suggest he's become quite the negotiator these days. Every question begs for an explanation as to why he should be allowed to (fill-in-the-blank here). He's an eager communicator, chatterbox some say, unless of course his favorite show is on TV. That's about our only quiet time these days :)
As I look back on the last four years, I'd like to think I've taught Nolan a trick or two. How to drink from straw, wash his hands and make his bed. How to ask for help, use his manners and give really great hugs. Funny thing is, as I reflect I realize he's taught me some valuable lessons, too. In honour of his fourth, here's a list of the top four things he's taught me:
Number four:
It's fun to play dress-up once in awhile! Nolan is such a free spirit, he often surprises Jay and I by walking into the family room dressed in his giraffe Halloween costume. It's hilarious and he knows it, often leaving our entire family in happy tears on the floor. Just yesterday he received a fantastic knit firefighter hat... he's had it on ever since, even in the summer heat! It didn't matter to him that he looked different, or that it was funny, he was just happy being himself.
What a cool kid and a cool idea. I bet on those crappy, cranky days we'd have much better luck making ourselves smile if we wore an ugly tie (I found a few doozies in Jay's wardrobe pre-dating our marriage), a retro coat (think circa 1993 surf-sytle hypercolour popovers) or perhaps just donned a ridiculous goofy hat with ears before paying the bills. Laughter is the best family medicine, thanks to Nolan's lead I'm going to try this more often.
Number three:
Little things mean more! What surprises me most about Nolan is his uncanny ability to appreciate life's little things. It's a bird digging for worms, an airplane's loud engine off in the distance sky, the way he lights up when his sister shares her snack and most of all the way a siren of any kind, at any pitch, can send him screaming 'did you hear that!' wherever we go.
Why is it that as adults we lose our ability to appreciate such simple gifts? My mom always says, 'little kids, little problems. Big kids, big problems.' The beauty is that little kids also appreciate all the little joys around them. Everything is a new adventure, every day an exciting new challenge. My goal is to stop and enjoy these little gifts WITH him, double the joy and fun.
Number two:
Eat your veggies - raw! I've never seen a child eat raw veggies quite like my son. Every colour, shape and size, it doesn't really matter to him. He DEVOURS them. Enjoys every mouthful. Sometimes I swear I can see the vitamins and minerals nourishing his already-healthy complexion even more. I've never been a huge raw veggie eater, however seeing him eat such a naturally healthy, wholesome food reminds me that I can do a better job myself. In this case my son is modelling the way for me.
and the number one thing Nolan has taught me is...
There are a million ways to tell someone you love them! Forget a million, it's likely at a zillion by now. Nolan tells me every day, in every way, that I am loved. From the moment he runs into my room each morning to hug me I know that our love is both deep-rooted and mutal. He holds my hand, cuddles in my lap, begs for me to read him stories and calls for me the moment he's hurt. He shares his accomplishments, demonstrates his new skills and belts out top 40 hits every morning at breakfast while we laugh and dance.
A few weeks ago at bedtime we snuggled into his bed and talked about 'big boy school'. I was telling him how much he was going to love it, how he'd learn so many new things and meet new friends in his class. I told him how proud I was of him, but that I was going to miss him. At that moment he rested his hand on my head, looked me square in the eyes and said, 'I'll still love you when I go to big boy school mama." Talk about love. What a kid.
Happy 4th birthday to my not-so-little Babah, my Noly, my handsome, empathetic son Nolan. Mommy loves you more than you could ever imagine possible.
xo
Life with Nolan has been nothing short of a roller coaster. From a calm baby to a rambuncious toddler, on to a stubborn preschooler and now, well, I'd suggest he's become quite the negotiator these days. Every question begs for an explanation as to why he should be allowed to (fill-in-the-blank here). He's an eager communicator, chatterbox some say, unless of course his favorite show is on TV. That's about our only quiet time these days :)
As I look back on the last four years, I'd like to think I've taught Nolan a trick or two. How to drink from straw, wash his hands and make his bed. How to ask for help, use his manners and give really great hugs. Funny thing is, as I reflect I realize he's taught me some valuable lessons, too. In honour of his fourth, here's a list of the top four things he's taught me:
Number four:
 |
| Cutest. Costume. Ever. |
 |
| Yup, McDonalds. His favorite place. In his new hat. |
Number three:
Little things mean more! What surprises me most about Nolan is his uncanny ability to appreciate life's little things. It's a bird digging for worms, an airplane's loud engine off in the distance sky, the way he lights up when his sister shares her snack and most of all the way a siren of any kind, at any pitch, can send him screaming 'did you hear that!' wherever we go.
 |
| Absolutely nuts for sirens, at his first parade. |
Number two:
Eat your veggies - raw! I've never seen a child eat raw veggies quite like my son. Every colour, shape and size, it doesn't really matter to him. He DEVOURS them. Enjoys every mouthful. Sometimes I swear I can see the vitamins and minerals nourishing his already-healthy complexion even more. I've never been a huge raw veggie eater, however seeing him eat such a naturally healthy, wholesome food reminds me that I can do a better job myself. In this case my son is modelling the way for me.
 |
| Plate loaded with veggies at his party! |
and the number one thing Nolan has taught me is...
There are a million ways to tell someone you love them! Forget a million, it's likely at a zillion by now. Nolan tells me every day, in every way, that I am loved. From the moment he runs into my room each morning to hug me I know that our love is both deep-rooted and mutal. He holds my hand, cuddles in my lap, begs for me to read him stories and calls for me the moment he's hurt. He shares his accomplishments, demonstrates his new skills and belts out top 40 hits every morning at breakfast while we laugh and dance.
A few weeks ago at bedtime we snuggled into his bed and talked about 'big boy school'. I was telling him how much he was going to love it, how he'd learn so many new things and meet new friends in his class. I told him how proud I was of him, but that I was going to miss him. At that moment he rested his hand on my head, looked me square in the eyes and said, 'I'll still love you when I go to big boy school mama." Talk about love. What a kid.
Happy 4th birthday to my not-so-little Babah, my Noly, my handsome, empathetic son Nolan. Mommy loves you more than you could ever imagine possible.
xo
Saturday, June 16, 2012
And in a flash, she turns two.
Today we had a 'pretend birthday' party for our youngest, precious little girl Brooklyn. Pretend because her official birthday is a few days away, real in every other sense of the word. Seeing her so happy to be surrounded by her family and friends, opening gifts and looking at her Dora cake got me thinking about how far she's come....
The summer before I got pregnant, I went on my first trip to NYC. Sitting atop the classic red, double-decker bus sightseeing around the city I began to notice the signage everywhere - Brooklyn. I remember pulling out my phone, considering the cost of messaging my husband and deciding it was worth it. "If we have a daughter, we should call her Brooklyn" I had said, I just thought the name was so beautiful.
That fall we were fortunate to conceive. Fast forward to the 20 week mark, we found out we were having a girl. Elated, the name game began. We both agreed to not share our short list with family or friends, we knew how opinionated others could be so we essentially left it up to our son Nolan to figure it out. We spent weeks asking him to say "Abby", as I'd always envisioned a daughter named Abigail. After about six weeks we felt like it was getting old, instead opting to hear him say "B".
Before we knew it, my husband Jay had nicknamed the baby "Dodger" (get it?) and we spent the last trimester of my pregnancy secretly laughing every time someone said we must have chosen Abigail. We knew she'd be a Brooklyn, without a doubt.
The day she came into this world, my heart skipped a beat. Many parents of one child worry that they couldn't possibly 'have room' to love another. Quite honestly, the moment I laid eyes on her my love grew tenfold and my life changed forever.
Brooklyn was a very fussy baby. I remember the first night she was born barely sleeping because she was crying and seemed uncomfortable. I remember thinking, I don't recall Nolan being this way, in fact I think I had to set my phone alarm to wake myself up to feed him. Not the case with my little princess. Little did I know she was going to be a bigger handful than I imagined!
I took a trip down memory lane this week (thanks facebook timeline) and found these old status updates, they basically tell the story:
"Wonders if you've found my patience? I lost it, can't seem to find it... hmm..." - August 2010
"Colicky baby makes Pam go something something... crazy? Don't mind if I do... "- September 2010
"Is totally and utterly exhausted. Done. Well done. Overcooked." - September 2010
"Endured two hours of steady screaming until Brooklyn's first two teeth broke the gum line this am... dear God help me if this happens every time!" - September 2010
"Knows Brooklyn would win the award for loudest, most deafening screams... after hearing hours I've it, I'm utterly convinced... and I'm pretty sure I've lost my ability to hear properly" - September 2010
"Would like to drop kick infant colic and immunizations in the mommy-daddy button... over and over and over again..." - October 2010
"Has enjoyed an exceptional weekend... to be topped off with an early dinner out with Jay... thanks Michelle, Joel and Addi and Sama and Grandpa too! After a weekend like this, I still don't want more kiddies, but I can definitely see the light at the end of this very long colic tunnel :) - October 2010
"Was told today by two perfect strangers that I have a smiley, happy girl. It filled my heart with such joy... we've come a LONG way in 8.5 months..." - February 2011
I walked around, Brooklyn spawled across my forearm, for the first five months of her life. It was insanity. Complete insanity. I spent most days crying, most nights angry with her and most weekends fending off requests to 'get back to normal and get out of the house' because mentally and spiritually I was drained to the point of exhaustion. I felt robbed, I rarely enjoyed her company and lacked the bond I easily established with her brother.
Suffice to say our first year with Brooklyn was one of the most difficult, life changing events to date in my life. I worry more. I sleep less soundly. I panic over things I never cared about previously. Colic has a funny way of changing a person, it's definitely not just something you 'get over'.
Fast forward again and we're celebrating her second birthday. A Dora-themed bash, it was simple yet incredibly enjoyable. She was very delighted by her cake, and even more so by her new gifts.
Now a smart, hilarious two year old, Brooklyn is nothing like her former infant self. She is a confident risk-taker, and a naturally caring and nurturing little girl. Her smile in infectious, her laughter is like sunshine and her hugs, oh her hugs will melt your heart. She completed my life in a way I never thought possible, allowing Jay and I to confidently call ourselves a family.
She's often my shadow, calls out for me at least a thousand times a day and shares with me the very same bond I share with my almost four year old son. My, how times have changed.
I really couldn't be more fortunate. I really couldn't be more in love.
Happy Birthday baby girl, daddy's little 'munchie'. Mama loves you very much.
xo
PS: As an afterthought, this article really spoke to me in the midst of Brookie's colic. A worthwhile article for everyone who ever dealt with colic “Our Son Got over Colic, We Haven’t: The real damage in dealing with a crying baby” http://www.babble.com/baby/baby-health-safety/colic-dealing-with-crying-baby-harm-to-parents/ A copy of this article is safely tucked away in Brooklyn's memory box, although I hope she never needs to read or sympathize with it.
The summer before I got pregnant, I went on my first trip to NYC. Sitting atop the classic red, double-decker bus sightseeing around the city I began to notice the signage everywhere - Brooklyn. I remember pulling out my phone, considering the cost of messaging my husband and deciding it was worth it. "If we have a daughter, we should call her Brooklyn" I had said, I just thought the name was so beautiful.
That fall we were fortunate to conceive. Fast forward to the 20 week mark, we found out we were having a girl. Elated, the name game began. We both agreed to not share our short list with family or friends, we knew how opinionated others could be so we essentially left it up to our son Nolan to figure it out. We spent weeks asking him to say "Abby", as I'd always envisioned a daughter named Abigail. After about six weeks we felt like it was getting old, instead opting to hear him say "B".
Before we knew it, my husband Jay had nicknamed the baby "Dodger" (get it?) and we spent the last trimester of my pregnancy secretly laughing every time someone said we must have chosen Abigail. We knew she'd be a Brooklyn, without a doubt.
The day she came into this world, my heart skipped a beat. Many parents of one child worry that they couldn't possibly 'have room' to love another. Quite honestly, the moment I laid eyes on her my love grew tenfold and my life changed forever.
Brooklyn was a very fussy baby. I remember the first night she was born barely sleeping because she was crying and seemed uncomfortable. I remember thinking, I don't recall Nolan being this way, in fact I think I had to set my phone alarm to wake myself up to feed him. Not the case with my little princess. Little did I know she was going to be a bigger handful than I imagined!
 |
| Brooklyn Amelia Isaak. Ten days old, taken by her very talented Nanna 'Fire Truck.' |
I took a trip down memory lane this week (thanks facebook timeline) and found these old status updates, they basically tell the story:
"Wonders if you've found my patience? I lost it, can't seem to find it... hmm..." - August 2010
"Colicky baby makes Pam go something something... crazy? Don't mind if I do... "- September 2010
"Is totally and utterly exhausted. Done. Well done. Overcooked." - September 2010
"Endured two hours of steady screaming until Brooklyn's first two teeth broke the gum line this am... dear God help me if this happens every time!" - September 2010
"Knows Brooklyn would win the award for loudest, most deafening screams... after hearing hours I've it, I'm utterly convinced... and I'm pretty sure I've lost my ability to hear properly" - September 2010
"Would like to drop kick infant colic and immunizations in the mommy-daddy button... over and over and over again..." - October 2010
"Has enjoyed an exceptional weekend... to be topped off with an early dinner out with Jay... thanks Michelle, Joel and Addi and Sama and Grandpa too! After a weekend like this, I still don't want more kiddies, but I can definitely see the light at the end of this very long colic tunnel :) - October 2010
"Was told today by two perfect strangers that I have a smiley, happy girl. It filled my heart with such joy... we've come a LONG way in 8.5 months..." - February 2011
I walked around, Brooklyn spawled across my forearm, for the first five months of her life. It was insanity. Complete insanity. I spent most days crying, most nights angry with her and most weekends fending off requests to 'get back to normal and get out of the house' because mentally and spiritually I was drained to the point of exhaustion. I felt robbed, I rarely enjoyed her company and lacked the bond I easily established with her brother.
Suffice to say our first year with Brooklyn was one of the most difficult, life changing events to date in my life. I worry more. I sleep less soundly. I panic over things I never cared about previously. Colic has a funny way of changing a person, it's definitely not just something you 'get over'.
Fast forward again and we're celebrating her second birthday. A Dora-themed bash, it was simple yet incredibly enjoyable. She was very delighted by her cake, and even more so by her new gifts.
 |
| Here's a picture of Jay, Brookie and I after singing Happy Birthday. I promise she was happier than in this photo! |
Now a smart, hilarious two year old, Brooklyn is nothing like her former infant self. She is a confident risk-taker, and a naturally caring and nurturing little girl. Her smile in infectious, her laughter is like sunshine and her hugs, oh her hugs will melt your heart. She completed my life in a way I never thought possible, allowing Jay and I to confidently call ourselves a family.
She's often my shadow, calls out for me at least a thousand times a day and shares with me the very same bond I share with my almost four year old son. My, how times have changed.
I really couldn't be more fortunate. I really couldn't be more in love.
Happy Birthday baby girl, daddy's little 'munchie'. Mama loves you very much.
xo
PS: As an afterthought, this article really spoke to me in the midst of Brookie's colic. A worthwhile article for everyone who ever dealt with colic “Our Son Got over Colic, We Haven’t: The real damage in dealing with a crying baby” http://www.babble.com/baby/baby-health-safety/colic-dealing-with-crying-baby-harm-to-parents/ A copy of this article is safely tucked away in Brooklyn's memory box, although I hope she never needs to read or sympathize with it.
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