Where I'm From

This excercise has been haunting my dreams ever since I read Jett Superior's stellar version a while back. When I stumbled across Schmutzie's this moning, I knew it was time.

So here's mine.

I am from bikes, from Burton, and from so. much. sky.

I am from windraked grass and jutting limestone and soft, flaky shale and clay valleys slaking away into a wide calm river. I am from Chinook arches and a big wind that blows life and death over the foothills onto the Prairie.

I am from raucous family reunions and stolid practicality, from Hildebjorgs and Kvellos and McKenzies.

I am from the storm and the calm. From Wind'll Change and Your Face Will Stay That Way; from Books Are Awesome.

I am from the CathoLutherProdeUniWhatever, pretty much in generational order.

I am from a small town clinging to the edge of a fjord, from a green island I have never seen, from the deep forsests and open plains of a new world.  From lefse and lutefisk and Yorkshire pudding.

I am from the ones who came North trapping and hunting horse thieves; from those who rode days in bumpy carts to break an ancient Prairie. I am from workworn bodies and beautiful eyes.

I am from a simple writing desk crammed with journals going back a hundred or so years. I am from a big kitchen and lots of hands to help with the work. I am from big hugs and fierce love and workparties and feeding people too much. I am from who came before and who comes after. I am from laughter and anger and denial and acceptance and family and grace. So much grace.

April 28

Yesterday was a strange day for me. I woke up thinking of my mom - not a surprise, since it would have been her birthday. All day little things kept reminding me of her, especially seeing the first crocuses of spring.

My mother loved crocuses. I think to her, they represented a little of the home that she loved so much. She grew up on a farm in Saskatchewan, and always kept the prairie in heart, even after she moved to the city.

I learned my love of nature, especially of wild prairie, from my mother. Already I find myself passing that love on to my own children, and looking forward to teaching them all about the natural world around them.

Thanks mom, and happy birthday.  I love you, I miss you. 



Oh Thank God it's Over! ( the Holidays, That Is..)

I  am going to pay for this blog post at 11, when Snugs wakes up to eat. I will pay for it again at 2 and 5a.m. too, but screw it. I miss my blog.

Snugs will be one whole month old tomorrow. It may well have been the craziest month of my life. If you, unlike me, are in the habit of planning your children, let me advise you not to bring home a newborn shortly before any major holiday. Doubly so if it is a second child. Sure, there are lots of arms to hold the adorable new addition, and it makes great fodder for the annual family newsletter (yes, we do), but let me tell you; it ain't worth it. You may have the most adorable Santa pictures in the world, but they won't make up for that  morning when you throw in the towel and have a complete breakdown in front of many visiting family members.

 Also, you will be in every single photo anyone takes, in all your sweatpanted, messy haired, puffy eyed glory. Sweet.

You see, things I've taken for granted about the holiday season before - a total break from routine, irregular mealtimes, tons of junk food with nary an apple or carrot in sight, relentless travel and visiting - make for strange times when it comes to the younguns. Add a newborn to the mix, and you have a recipe for disaster.

Now that the holidays are over, things around here are slowly but surely returning to a new kind of normal. Chaos is learning that the tiny interloper in my arms isn't going to take me away from him, and together we are learning a new routine. There's still lots of time for stories and wrassling and snuggling and playing together. It's all brand new for all three of us, but we're settling in. In the meantime, I'll be taking lots of deep breaths, pawning the kids off on the nearest relative, and stealing the odd nap.

And writing, whenever I can.

Stick around. It's about to get interesting.

Also, if anyone has any advice on how to stay sane with two under two, bring it. I'm all ears.

My Family is Complete

Meet The Snuggler. Cap'n Chaos has a sidekick. Once he gets over his jealousy issues anyway.

Welcome to the world, little guy.

Happy Holidays, everyone. Hope you're surrounded by love this season.

#Reverb 7 - Community

I thought about this post all day. This evening, was getting ready to wind my day down by writing my thoughts.

That was kyboshed when I discovered my grandmother had suddenly become ill.

My normal nighttime routine was quickly overtaken by rushed phone calls to family and emergency services, talks with the EMTs. Childcare was arranged so that I could follow the ambulance to the hospital, where I stayed with grandma and spoke to doctors and nurses, mostly on her behalf.

My grandmother is ill. Tonight she will stay in the hospital, and tomorrow I will find out more about what is making her that way. Until then, I have to try and get some sleep.

If you read this, keep my grandmother in your thoughts and best wishes.

December 6 - Make

December 6 – Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it? (Author: Gretchen Rubin)

On January 2nd, 2010, I wrote my very first blog post. (Go and marvel at the cheeks, even if you don't read the post. Trust me. It's worth it.)

It's made of HTML and, um, pictures and words. And time. I'm really proud of this little blog, and my commitment to it. It's been a massive source of inspiration for me.

 In the past few years, I've let my writing slide, to the point where even I believed it was nothing more than a pastime. A lot of the posts in this blog would not have been written in my journal. I would have made excuses - not enough time, not enough energy, not enough to say. Nothing to write about. For some reason, this blog has kept me from making those excuses.

I've found community through this blog. I've found some amazing writers, and some amazing people. It's made me feel less lonely on my journey. It's given me a lot of ideas. It's helped me be a better parent. It's helping me become a better writer. It's even teaching me about that newfangled interweb the kids are always talking about.
Someday, I may even have a semblance of computer literacy. My god.

Heh. I just re-read my prompt. This blog is certainly not the last thing I made. Since then, I've made another baby. It's made of DNA and, um, love...

Oh and I made this, for Captain Chaos. Because he loves him some Sandra Boynton.

I have a giant pile of things I want to make. My sewing machine is lonesome for me, and I for it. But life is busy, and I am a tired, tired mama. Writing is my priority right now, and the rest will have to wait till life calms down.

Reverb 5 - Let Go.

December 5 – Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why? (Author: Alice Bradley)


Dammit! I just popped over to Finslippy, Alice Bradley's amazing blog, and of course got caught up there for waay too long. Why does she have to have a link to Let's Panic! (about babies) right there? Now it's super late and I should be sleeping instead of just starting my post. Jeez. On the upside, I just laughed until I peed a little. And I started making a list of awesome kid's books for Chaos and Co.

*An aside. I was reading Let's Panic the night I had Cap'n Chaos. I'm pretty sure the hours I spent sitting in front of my computer, laughing till I cried and my sides hurt like hell, had something to do with inducing labor. Thank you, ladies. No, really. Thank you. Let's try again with baby #2.

Anyway. What (or whom) did I let go of this year, and why?

This has been one of the most transformative years of my life to date, and I have let go of many things. When it's all boiled down, though, what I have let go of this year is fear.

I've held onto many of my fears for years - my fear of sobriety, of leaving my childhood behind and fully embracing adulthood. My fear of success. My fear of failure.

Some are markedly more recent - my fear of being a single mother, for instance. Kind of had to take that bull by the horns.

I've had to take a long, hard, honest look at myself in the past year, and I certainly haven't liked all that I've seen. So, for the first time in my entire life, I've begun to work to change the things I don't like, rather than run from them or drown them in beer and smoke. I've begun to work towards goals that I've been shuffling off for years. It's goddamn hard work, and I've got a long road ahead, but it's worth it in the end.

I want my children to grow up unafraid. I want them to know what is possible if you trust yourself, if you are open to the sudden changes life brings. I want them to know what can be accomplished if you are singleminded in your pursuits and work hard toward your goals, in spite of what others may think or want you to do.

That's why I'm letting go of fear. For them. For me.

I'm Still 16

heh heh. I just noticed that I have 69 blog posts so far. heh heh.

Well, 70 now. That didn't last long.

Reverb 4 - A Sense of Wonder

Children live in a world of wonder. Firsts abound. First smile, first solid foods, first birthday, first steps, first words.  Every day brings a new discovery, new opportunities to learn and grow.

Our challenge is to let their wonder into our own lives. It becomes too easy to simply exist as caretaker and custodian, passively watching as our offspring soak up the amazingness that is the world.

Let the dishes go. Let the floor remain unvacuumed. Close the laptop. Spend a half hour stuffing your child into long johns, double socks, snowpants, two shirts, a sweater, a coat, mittens, toque, and scarf for a twenty minute sled ride. It's a lot more work than staying inside, but it's worth it's weight in wonder.

Reverb 3 - Remembering How to Live

December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)

This one was easy. I smiled when I opened up my prompt last night, thinking of this moment.

This summer, I took the little guy on a road trip.  His father had just walked out on us. I was four months pregnant, hurting, angry, and scared for our future. It was some kind of serendipity that brought me a bunch of time off work at about the same time a couple of very dear friends invited me to Starbelly Jam, a music festival in Crawford Bay, BC.

This picture was taken the day that we arrived. Chaos was hot, tired, and cranky after two days on the road, and I wanted to thank him for being such an awesome road trip companion by taking him for a swim.

We met up with my friends on the road to the beach. It was quite an experience, seeing them in their truck, with their son strapped into the back, and me following in the first car I've ever owned, with my own little guy in tow.

You see, twelve or so years ago, we had been together in almost exactly the same spot, on the same road. We had met up for a weekend in the Kootenays then, too - my friends, who were still just dating at the time, in his '84 Charger, and myself (with yet another ill-advised boyfriend), who had hitchiked in from Jasper. We had no money and certainly no kids, but we did have a lot of beer.

My friends ended up getting engaged that weekend and were married a couple of years later. We live in different provinces now, and we've shared our ups and downs, but we've weathered the passing of time as friends do.

So, when we reached our destination that day and got out of our respective vehicles to greet one another, it was a very special moment. I had met their little guy once before, and they had never met Chaos. I remember the crunch of gravel beneath our feet as we hugged and introduced our children to one another. I remember the scent of cedar baking in the hot summer sun and the incredible view of the Kootenays that opened up to us  as we made our way out of the woods and down to the pebble beach.

We spread blankets on the rocks and broke out water bottles, snack containers, sunscreen; all the accoutrements of parenting young children. I remember thinking how amazing it was that we were here, together, at this time in our lives, and how lucky I was to have had these people in my life for the past fifteen years.

My girlfriend's mother had come with them for the weekend, and she took Chaos while I swam in the lake. I remember the gratitude I felt towards her for allowing me that. It had been a long time since I had really swum anywhere, as opposed to simply splashing around with a squirmy water baby in my arms. It was wonderful.

We sat long into the late afternoon sun on that beautiful pebble beach on Kootenay Lake, eating oranges and blueberries, chasing our children in and out of the water, talking as old friends do. At some point we rounded up the kids and wrestled them into dry clothing, packed up our blankets and snacks and hats and bags, and headed to where we would be staying that night.

As we drove out into the soft evening light, I opened my windows wide and felt the breeze on my face, smelled the fresh mountain air. It had been an amazing afternoon for me. I had come to this place of healing brokenhearted, lonely, and found my friends again. I looked ahead at the tail lights of their truck, and behind me at my precious son sleeping in his carseat, and was happy, surrounded by love.

Reverb Day 2 - Writing! How To Avoid it at All Costs!

December 2 - Writing.

What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?

(Author: Leo Babauta)

Well, damn if I don't ask myself that same question, framed differently, on a regular basis.

Why am I not writing?

The answer to my question is always easy.

 I'm exhausted. Cap'n Chaos kept me up all night with his incessant teething. I'm nine months pregnant. I've been busting my ass around here all day.

 I'm too busy. Grandma has a doctor's appointment then it's playgroup time then I have to make lunch then it's naptime then I have laundry and dishes and cleaning to do then it's time to wrassle with Chaos for a bit before I have to make supper then it's bathtime and bedime for the little guy then I have to talk to gramma about her meds and make a shopping list and then I have laundry and dishes and cleaning to do...

And so on and so forth.

The answer to Leo's question was harder for me to find. But only because it caught me off guard.

What do I do each day that doesn’t contribute to my writing — and can I eliminate it?

wtf? Really?

A quick look at Twitter this morning confirmed my suspicion that I wasn't the only one who had been caught off guard by the question - and probably more specifically, the way it was framed. A lot of people seemed put off by the question. A lot of people seemed defensive.

I was too, at first.

Everything I do each day contributes to my writing. I can't "eliminate" any of it. That's a stupid question.

I write about my life and the people in it. It's just that they keep me so busy I don't have time to write, really.

Hmmm.

I love that my prompts come first thing in the morning, because I've actually carved out a tiny bit of space at the end of my day for myself. For writing, mostly. I have all day to think about these questions, and believe you me, I do. It's awesome. Anyway, as I was rushing around today making breakfast for three people and cleaning the kitchen so grandma wouldn't have to and comforting a tired, cranky Chaos who wanted my undivided attention, please, and starting lunch for five people, it hit me.

aha.

I do too much for everyone else and not enough for me. Too much is what doesn't contribute to my writing. Too much, also known as procrastination.

Fahhk. I knew it!

I've been a procrastinator ever since high school. It's always taken on different forms. Alcohol and drugs, mostly. But this one, this taking care of everyone within arm's reach, has always been there too. It's much easier to take care of everyone else than to take care of me. It's a great excuse to put off working toward my goals.

Procrastination is insidious. Just when you thought you booted it out one door, it sneaks in another, wearing a different guise. I started this blog as a form of motivation to write, as a space for myself, after Chaos was born. I did it because I knew that if  I didn't, I would spend all of my time and energy taking care of the people around me, and none of it taking care of me. And here I am, doing just that.

So, can I eliminate it?

I've committed myself to caring for my grandmother and my children. That is not negotiable.

What is negotiable, though, is how I go about it. I have a wonderful support group here in the form of family. I have aunts and uncles and parents who are willing to help shoulder the weight of this task. I may be a single parent, but I am definitely not alone.

So? How do I do it?

I recognize that writing is an integral part of my life and my well being. I make it as important to me as my family is. It is not simply recreation, it is not a waste of time. It is my goal in life to make a living and a difference with my words. There is nothing trivial about that.

When I need help being a good parent, I don't hesitate to ask. When I need support taking care of my grandmother, I get it right away. When I need a hand with my own goals? I will reach out.

From now on.

* PS  I am due to give birth any day now (hear that, little guy? Anytime) so I may be out of commission for a couple of days. I don't really consider it procrastination, though.

Reverb 10, Day 1 - One Word

This project has been, as a friend put it, keeping me up at night.

One of the most tumultuous years of my life so far is drawing to a close, and another, surely as chaotic exciting as the last, is dawning. In the midst of everything that's gone on, it hasn't occurred to me to sit down, take a breath, and reflect on what's passed, let alone manifest what's next.

But that's exactly what I am doing, every single day, on an unconscious level.

For my kids, for myself, I am becoming the person I've always wanted to be. It's hard work, to put it lightly. So difficult, in fact, that until I had children (okay, one and one on the way), I'd always given up. It was easier to party than to create meaningful work for myself, to wander than to put down roots, to kill time instead of manage it, to avoid the people I loved than to face myself in them.

Now everything is different.

Which is why my word for 2010 is simply change.

I want to keep on this path of positive change. I want to explore it. I want the opportunities that lie ahead to be realized. To make sure that this happens for me, I need to be mindful, to be grateful, to be open and strong. And I can be all of these things and more, as long as I keep at it, and don't lose sight of my goal.

My  wish for a word to sum up 2011 - tenacious.

I like it.

Oh, he's mine all right...

Me: "I'm going to go run your bath, little guy. Try not to destroy anything while I'm gone."

Chaos:  Smiles sweetly, gurgles. (sitting on bed, fully clothed, playing with toy.)

30 seconds later - It's too quiet. I go to check on him. Find pantsless baby removing framed pictures from wall and dismantling them.

30 frickin seconds to get half nekkid and start wrecking shit. Man, I love that kid.

Driving the Farm Truck

I'm fairly sure that my new-to-me car has been parked in my driveway most nights. I use it on a daily basis. I can say with almost total authourity that it hasn't been sitting in the back 40 for the last six months.

So how the fuck do I have mice in my car?

I'd love to post more on this subject, but I have to go clean my car out. Like, now.

NaBloPoMo prompt day

I'm having kind of a rough time being able to write. It's not for lack of things to write about; my life provides ample material for that. It's more that I'm dog tired.

It's molar cutting season around these here parts, and it's a miserable process. I sleep when Cap'n Chaos sleeps, and I comfort him when he's awake. I wish those fucking molars would come in so that I could get some laundry done or run some errands without all hell breaking loose. I'll probably hold a grudge against his molars for the rest of my life. Sad, but true.

So I'm going with the daily prompt from over at the NaBloPoMo site.

What is the biggest sacrifice you've ever made for someone? Was it worth it?

When I was nineteen, I fell head over heels in Love. No - IN LOVE. First time; we all know what that's like. Well, in a fit of teenagey-angsty-Iloveyoumorethananythinginthewholeworldandwoulddieforyou stupidity, I gave my soul to my beloved.

Seriously. I just said "you can have it" without a second thought as to what I may have been doing. Honestly, I'm pretty pragmatic about that kind of thing anyhow. I didn't think there would be any repercussions, much the same way I don't believe I will see pearly gates (or more likely hellfire and brimstone) and all my long lost relatives when I die. It didn't occur to me at the time that I actually did, on some empheral level, believe in my own soul.

What followed was seven years of pure hell. I floundered through my twenties. Bad things and bad people happened to me. I couldn't find my shit, much less get it together. I didn't know who I was, didn't know what I wanted, where I was going. I dropped out of college three times, then out of life altogether. I struggled with addiction and severe depression.  They were the darkest years of my life.

Now, I realize that a lot of this sounds like a chapter in the lives of many people. I also realize that to blame it all on something like verbally giving your soul away to a teenage love is a little naive. But I am convinced that I made a huge mistake saying those words all those years ago.

The number seven is associated with good fortune, luck, and forgiveness in several cultures, including our own. It is prominent in diverse circles of math and science. I won't pretend I know anything past that, but I do know that it took me seven years to earn my soul back after that slip, and I won't be letting it happen again.

Was it worth it? Yes it was. From that one seemingly innocuous youthful encounter, I've learned a great deal about my own belief system, about myself. I was allowed to peer over a precipice that most people simply fall from, and I was shown what life without my own soul would look like. To say it wasn't pretty would be to lay a thin veneer of words over the sheer horror of what I saw.

Every day I am thankful for those seven awful years. Every day I am thankful that I was allowed to leave them behind. I will deal with the psychic and physical scars from those seven years for the rest of my life, to be sure, but I survived for a reason. Even in my darkest times nowadays, I remember that, and I am willed to go on and be the best person I can be for myself, and indeed, for my soul.

Take it To Heart

Dear Baby Daddies;

When you make a commitment to your ex and your child, stand by it, no matter how trivial you may consider it to be.  I can assure you that you ex does not consider it trivial. You probably don't understand, but being a full time single mom is really, really tough. Your ex  may have to work, she may have appointments, she may be going to school or working on a project, or she may just need a couple of hours to have coffee with a friend, go to yoga, go for a walk. None of these things are any more important than the other. She is doing what she needs to do in order to be the best parent that she can be for your child/ren.

Your commitment to your child/ren is equally, if not more, important. They may be too young to be let down when daddy doesn't show up, or they may not show their disappointment, but they are learning all the time.  You are always setting an example. You are also setting a precedent. Your child/ren are relying on you to teach them to keep their word, no matter what. They are also relying on you to teach them -  through actions, not merely through words - that they are loved and valued enough that you will come through for them when you say you will.

So, once again, baby daddies, I implore you. Stand by your commitments to your exes and your children. In the end you will be helping to better all of your lives.

The Pearl

She had a pearl. One perfect, opulent pearl. She had been born with it; had never known life without the pearl. When she was young, she hid the pearl from everyone. She didn't  know why she had it, didn't know what to do with it. She didn't know if other people had pearls, or if they had anything like the pearl - one unique, perfect endowment that had been with them as long as they could remember. She was afraid to ask, fearing exposure.

The pearl stayed with her through the years. There was nothing she could do to get rid of it. She felt she would not be the same person without it. Sometimes, that sounded good, when she did not want to be the person she was. She wanted to try on different cloaks, wrap herself in different personas. She felt there was one out there that would suit her better than the one she had.

Still there was this sameness. This pearl. No matter how far away she went, how many different lives she lived, the pearl stayed. It aged with her, became burnished and rich from wear. It suited every cloak she ever wore. It was the perfect accessory to her constantly changing styles. It became more beautiful with age.

If You Don't Fall, You're Not Learning.

*When I was twelve, my snowboarding instructor told me "If you don't fall, you're not learning."
It's stuck with me through all these years.*

Hi y'all. Hi NaBloPoMo. Did you miss me?

No?

Well, I guess it was only yesterday that I copped out. That doesn't give much time for the heart to grow fonder.

Well, I missed you.

I stayed up all night thinking about what I had done. Questioning my decision to back down in the face of adversity. That's not really me. To be fair, I stand by my not wanting to post a bunch of crap that I really don't care about on my blog, but seriously. I just can't throw my hands up and walk away when the going gets tough.

I mean, I'm a single mom, for Chrissake. I would never give up on that. I'm a caregiver to an elder. How would that have gone down, after a few months of being here and realizing how fucking tough that job is, to just walk away? "Sorry, grams. I know I told you I'd help you stay in your home as long as possible, but I didn't realize how hard it was going to be. If I can't do it perfectly, I don't want to do it at all. See you around."

C'mon. I can hardly bring myself to write that, let alone do it.

I'll give you the shirt off my back if I love you. I'll bend over backwards making sure you have what you need to be happy, healthy, and comfortable. I'll push my own needs aside for you.

That's all fine and good, but I need to do those things for myself too. I tend to give up on the things that are important to me, simply because I'm too fucking busy doing things for everyone else, and I don't have the time or energy (or divinity) to do it perfectly, the first time around. I don't like fucking up. Especially not in public. And that's not cool. It kind of stands in the way of being open and learning.

NaBloPoMo was important to me because I set myself a goal that I knew would be difficult. Attainable, for sure, but out of my comfort zone.I've enjoyed being forced to think of things to post about every day. I've loved writing every day. I may have grumbled, but I knew I was working towards that goal. And dammit if some of that stupid novel that's been writing itself in my head, but nowhere else, hasn't been rearing it's (ugly) head. That was exciting, even if it does read like a damn harlequin romance right now. Sigh. It'll get better. That's the whole point of writing every day.

So anyway, here's me, copping out on copping out. I'm gonna make spelling and grammatical errors that I may not catch right away (omg I think I just threw up a little bit), and my blog may look like a scratch pad for the next twenty-two days, but damn if I'm gonna give up on this.

Wish me luck. And finely honed editing skills.

This is me, copping out

So here's the deal. There's a lot of really shitty writing on the interweb. Really. Shitty Writing.

I don't want to be a part of that. Filling up space with crappy writing that I didn't have time to think about, don't have time to edit, and really don't give a good goddamn about is not something I want to be invloved in.

 I have a whole lot of shit going on in my life right now. It would be amazing if I managed to get one well written, well edited piece of writing out by the end of the month (I promise, I will try).

Maybe next year, when the boys are older and  I don't have any loved ones in hospital, I'll be able to give NaBloPoMo a real shot. Right now, I'm not. So here's me, copping out.

Be back when I have something real to say.

Island#3

The ferry's ancient motor started up and the captain gave a short blast of the horn, warning anything in the way to move. It was merely protocol on a day like this. There would be nothing else out on the water. Not in this weather. The tide was coming in, creating a strong current, and the wind was blowing the chop around, high waves already breaking against the bow. There was a storm coming on.

Another storm, thought Elise.