Author: admin

All the Time in the World

I started writing a post awhile ago about why we started homeschooling. There are lots of reasons, of course, but the best reason I could come up with is that homeschooling gives my kids and I time together. Lots of time.

Too much time.

(Ha ha. Kidding… mostly).

Take our mornings, for example. Back when my daughter River* was in kindergarten, our mornings were hectic: Will we be late? Did River eat breakfast? Why isn’t she dressed yet!? What happened to her backpack!?! WHERE IS HER OTHER SHOE?! And her class didn’t even start until 12:30 in the afternoon. I know, I’m just that awesome.

But now? Now that we homeschool, we usually don’t have anywhere to be and our mornings are relaxed. We typically wake up around 8:00. I get up to make some tea, tidy the kitchen and start breakfast. My kids aren’t big on cold cereal so I usually cook something – either steel cut oats or bacon and eggs or pancakes or muffins. Our family-wide favourite is waffles with fresh whipped cream, but I save those for Sunday afternoons after church to reward good behaviour. Maple syrup is a powerful parenting tool here in Canada.

Anyway, on a typical day while I cook breakfast, River, my seven year old, will wander into the kitchen. Sometimes she’s got her nose in a book and she won’t make a sound until she finishes the last page and closes the book loudly with a satisfied sigh. Other times, she comes in with her paper and crayons and works at the counter for an hour or so on a book that’s she’s writing and illustrating. And then some days she comes in anxious to start school. On those days I have her read out loud to me from her nature readers – little stories about lazy minnows or clever frogs and other pond creatures. Personally I’m not a fan of bugs in either physical or literary form, so she takes particular joy in reading chapters about spiders and other creepy crawlies.

While River hangs out with me in the kitchen, my four year old child Harbour* is normally off playing intensely, lost in a world of pirates and princesses. She’ll run into the kitchen to eat a bowl or three of thawed blueberries but then she’ll race out again, back to her imaginary land. I’m glad that we have no where to be so that she can play her stories out to the end.

My youngest, Forest*, is not even one years old yet. He spends his morning diligently inspecting crumbs on the kitchen floor or pulling boxes and cans out of my cupboard. He’s remarkably quiet for a little one. I can’t remember if my girls were also that quiet at one time – maybe I was too busy to notice. Or maybe I just didn’t yet know that I should cherish the quiet baby babbles before the get louder.

It’s a busy house, but not in the we’re-so-stressed-and-we’re-never-going-to-catch-up sense of the word. No, it’s a good busy. It’s the busyness of childhood. And this busyness is only possible when there are large blocks of unhurried time available.

It’s on mornings like this that I can’t believe how lucky I am. Why is it that I get to stay home with my three kids and have a slow, peaceful morning while the rest of the world rushes off to work and school?

Seven years ago, I actually would have found this pace of life tedious. I would have search for other projects to fill up my time – but now? Now I feel utterly blessed.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some serene mother-figure blissfully munching on homemade granola that I harvested myself while serenaded by my children singing in harmony with the sparrows. No, not even close. I don’t even know if sparrows sing – I mean, I’m sure that they do, but I probably drown them out by yelling at my kids to get off the countertop or put the baby down or don’t lick that plant!

Despite my imperfect mothering skills, I know that life is good. And I’m glad we have the time to enjoy it. I know that childhood is short but the stretched out homeschooling days feel happily long. With no where in particular to be, it feels like we have all the time in the world.

*These are not my kids’ real names, because there is no way my husband would agree to them. Luckily, he doesn’t often read my blogs, so I can call ’em whatever I want.

July 20, 2015
From Scratch

One of the most popular posts on my first blog was how I messed up four batches of cinnamon rolls in one week. No matter how hard I tried to make them, they came out … well … hard. Ha.

Thankfully, complete and total failure didn’t turned me off baking altogether – I just dusted the flour from my hands and moved on to something else instead. Happily, I discovered that I can bake other breads just fine. Like bread, and pizza dough, and tortillas, and buns.

In fact, I’m grateful for the cinnamon roll misadventure because I learned a lot about baking from it. As an example: it took me two failures to realize that the water I add to the yeast with isn’t hot enough, and it took me three flopped batches to realize that my house is too cool and drafty for dough to rise – now I preheat the oven a teeny bit and then let the dough rise in there. Those are tricks that help me immensely when I’m baking bread today.

For the longest time (this is embarrassing) I didn’t realize that bread could be made at home, from scratch. It never occurred to me. Until my mid-twenties, I just kind of assumed that to make bread, you needed a factory of some sort. Yes, I know that pioneer women were capable of making bread, but I didn’t spend a whole lot of time in my twenties thinking about the olden days.

It wasn’t just bread, either. I assumed that muffins and cookies needed a mix. I have very fond memories of making muffins-from-a-box with my mother when I was little. I remember cutting the white envelope open and the overpowering sweet smell of the muffin powder. My mom would let me stir all the ingredients together (water, oil and an egg) and then we would peel off the lid of the blueberry tin and gently, gently rinse the berries. Next, my mom would fold in the blueberries herself so they wouldn’t get smooshed. I was in awe of what I assumed were nature’s most delicate berries. I really loved those muffins. I’m still trying to find a recipe that replicates them, but with real, actual ingredients.

I’m not sure when I moved from mixes to real foods. It happened slowly over time. I didn’t even realize that I had changed until I was chatting with a friend on the phone – about waffles, of all things. Both of our kids love waffles and we both love how easy they are to make. “And really”, I said, “it’s just a little white flour, a little whole wheat flour, an egg, a bit of milk – they aren’t even that unhealthy until you add the syrup.” There was a pause on the phone. “Um”, she laughed, “I just get mine from the box in the freezer.”

That’s when I realized that I’d turned into one of those moms that makes everything from scratch. Cool. And I don’t even need a factory to do it.

Now we do it all – bread, buns, tortillas, even pizza dough. And every time I make something, I’m ridiculously pleased with myself. Because I made something delicious. Because I made something wholesome. Because I made something and saved the family money. Seriously, I’m as proud of myself as a four year old holding a glitter-covered macaroni masterpiece.

I hope my pride is obvious to my kids. I didn’t have a lot of respect for homemakers when I was younger. I guess I thought homemaking was fine for other people, but me? I was going to have a good job and be respected and successful. Now, here I am: a stay-at-home-mom. And I’m learning that there is a quiet dignity that goes with this life, one that I never saw before. I haven’t mastered all the skills yet, but I started from scratch and I’m getting better as I go.

I hope that when my kids are older, they have fond memories of baking with me, just like I have of baking with my mother. I hope that the smell of fresh bread will always remind them of home. And that they’ll be proud that I was their mother.

July 11, 2015
The Homeless Man and My Daughter

The other day we were driving home from Ikea and we stopped at a red light beside a homeless man. He stood on the median right beside our car with a scrap of cardboard that said something like “Hungry. Anything helps.”

I knew I didn’t have anything; we had just left Ikea where I’d actually put my daughter’s hot dog and juice on debit because I had no change. Hot dogs are what – $0.50? I was so embarrassed that I bought two just to make my order more substantial.

So now we were at the red light and I knew I didn’t have any money on me. But I started looking around anyway because a) then it at least looks like I’m caring, and b) I like to set a good example for my kids. Appearance-wise, at least.

I’m not sure how I feel about giving money to people on the street in general – I prefer to donate to a food bank. But I find it really hard to explain to my young children that I automatically assume someone is a drunk or a drug addict because they live on the street. Honestly, it seems reasonable until you try explaining it to a seven year old.

No, I’ve decided that it’s far better for the girls to actually see us giving money to people in need, so I always try to find a dollar or two that we can share.

Except last Friday, on the way home from Ikea. When I had nothing but a nickel at the bottom of our cup holders, floating in a suspicious sticky, coffee-scented goo. Sorry, man. Not picking that out for you.

So I gave up on looking and I stared straight ahead, grateful that I had stopped just past the man and his sign. No eye contact. No mumbled excuses on my part.

Then I heard the back seat window go down.

“Hi.” That was my seven year old.

“Hi.” That was the man. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“How was school today?”

“I’m homeschooled. But it was fun.”

Right. Cause we went to Ikea instead of reading history.

“Yeah! School is fun!” the man responded enthusiastically.

At this point I rolled down my window too. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

He came forward to my window and pointed to the back seat. “No!” he said, stammering a bit. “No, you’ve … you’ve got three … I don’t take money from the mouths … from the mouths of babes.”

The light turned green. He turned back to my seven year old. “Thank you for saying hi to me.”

As we drove off, I realized how stupid I was. When I saw the man on the side of the road, I had just seen an opportunity to teach my kids virtues like sharing, giving, charity, etc. But my daughter saw a person.

I didn’t see a person, I saw a teachable moment. Don’t get me wrong – I think that it’s great to teach our kids about all those lovely things, but I’d rather teach my kids that everyone is a person, worthy and deserving of love and respect and maybe a quick “hi” at a red light. There was a teachable moment there. For me.

As we turned on to our street a few minutes later, my daughter said, “I’m going to pray for that man.”

Ok, I said I learned my lesson. Way to rub it in, kid.

Linking up to Hip Homeschooling and Mama Moments Monday.

July 11, 2015
2 Easy April Fools’ Day Tricks to Pull on your Kids
We were able to pull off a few April Fools’ Day tricks on River this morning.

We stayed up late last night to get them set up – super late because just like Christmas Eves and the nights before birthdays, River couldn’t fall asleep and was awake until after midnight. When she fell asleep, we sprang into action. Well, sprang is probably the wrong word. Stumbled sleepily through the kitchen would be more accurate.

Here’s how it went down:
1. I prepared a bowl of cheerios with milk and put it in the freezer.
2. James poured two glasses of “juice” using Jello mix and put them in the fridge to set.
3. I added Kool-Aid to the remaining milk in the jug. I wanted to add food colouring, but we couldn’t find it anywhere and we used Kool-Aid instead. A word to the wise — Kool-Aid a bad idea. It curdles the milk and comes out like grape-scented vomit. Don’t worry — I didn’t include pictures of that one. Ew.
This morning, I couldn’t wait for River to come in for breakfast. As soon as she got up, I told her to start eating because we needed to meet the homeschool group for a hike.

Then April Fools’ Day began.

River was served a bowl of frozen cheerios that she couldn’t dig her spoon into. Once we were all done giggling at her confusion, we gave her the box of Cheerios and the jug of milk so she could pour a fresh bowl – and purple milk poured out of the bag. More laughs. Finally, she tried to drink her “juice” and it stayed firmly in the bottom of the cup.

River was absolutely delighted with each gag – she loves the idea of April Fools’ Day. She loves to listen to the Spring Sillies episode of Sparkle Stories all year round, and every time she hears it, she spends the rest of the day trying to come up with a good prank to pull on the next April 1. Which is actually a bit terrifying, because seven-year-olds don’t quite know where that delicate line is between a joke and total disaster.

One day she ran into the kitchen to ask me if my husband would be working on April Fools’ Day. We checked the calendar and found that he would be off for the day. She was disappointed. Her plan was to fill his work boots with water so that when as he rushed out the door for work, he’d discover that his feet were soaking wet. I laughed, but it was that nervous sort of this-girl-is-going-to-destroy-the-family kind of laughter.

So far it’s been okay: she offered to brush my hair, then used a brush that she ran under the tap first so that my hair would get wet. “APRIL FOOLS’ DAY!”

Hopefully, that’s the best she’s got. Either way, I’ll be hiding my suede boots until the day is over. And maybe James’ work boots too.
April 1, 2015
My Misadventures with Chalk Paint

My husband and I took the girls to a frog exhibit a few weeks ago. When we passed by the gift shop, the girls noticed the small aquariums with the African Dwarf Frogs for sale. They of course asked if we could buy one and I of course said no and my husband of course said yes and so, of course, I vowed that he will not be coming out with us anywhere ever again.

Luckily we didn’t buy a frog right then – my husband figured they’d be cheaper at a fish store and that we could use one of the five aquariums that we have stashed in the basement. Perfect, I thought. Everyone will forget about buying a frog by the time we get home.

Never underestimate the determination of a man with five empty aquariums.

The next day, my husband wandered from room to room, trying to find an acceptable place to set up. We finally agreed that it would go on top of the credenza that’s behind the couch (and by credenza I mean the old dresser that was passed down to us).

Picking a Paint Colour

You might remember this dresser from my kitchen, pre-reno. White. Kind of boring. I’ve been meaning to paint it for the last year or two or seven but I never had the time or motivation. Suddenly I knew it had to be painted immediately or I wouldn’t get the chance again until we upgrade to a larger tank. And goodness knows I’m going to fight that with every fibre of my being.

When I saw my husband hauling aquariums up from the basement, I knew I didn’t have long. I pulled out my collection of chalk paint sample jars and started holding them up to the couch, squinting at them through one eye and then the other. My husband looked at me with disbelief, certain that I was just looking for ways to stall his aquarium set up.

I promised that if he would just let me paint, everything would be done by the next day. And that it wouldn’t even cost anything since I already had everything I needed. I even had clear wax for finishing.

But first I had to decide on a colour. I knew I had to pick fast – no time to paint sample swatches. I turned to Facebook instead.

I got some good advice and lots of encouragement and one perfectly-timed quip:

The general consensus was that my favourite, the light aqua colour, wouldn’t look terrible. Good enough. That I needed so that evening I grabbed a brush and started painting.

The paint went on beautifully and the colour was gorgeous. But when I stepped back to admire my work, I realized that the aqua was somehow different than I expected and I was pretty sure I hated it. It looked terrible with my couch.

Uh oh.

Also? I was running out of paint, which was going to put me over my budget of “spending nothing.”

The next morning, I sat on a chair and stared at the dresser. The morning light was more flattering but I still wasn’t certain that I liked it. Then I threw a chartreuse-coloured table runner over top and suddenly, like magic, it was perfect. The table runner colour matched both my couch AND my new turquoise dresser and I was much happier.

Sealing the Paint with Wax

As soon as my husband woke up, I left him with the kids and drove across town to buy more paint so I could finish up. I also decided to switch my clear wax for dark wax after an hour or two of looking at chalk-painted projects on Pinterest.

The dark wax adds more depth and an aged look and seemed easy enough to use. Thankfully, the store was kind enough to exchange my clear wax for dark wax. I asked if I’d need supplies, since most people used fancy wax brushes in the YouTube tutorials that I watched.

“Nope, just a cloth, like an old t-shirt.”

Perfect. I went home with my paint and new dark wax.

We finished up the painting that afternoon. The drawers were painted a slightly different colour, a green/turquoise blend, on the suggestion of my seven year old and over all, the dresser looked fabulous. I love chalk paint.

My husband wasn’t convince though. “This stuff scratches right off?! It’s useless!”

“Well that’s what the wax is for,” I assured him. “It seals the paint.”

That evening, I was set to wax the dresser. My husband was raring to get the fish tank set up so I had to finish my project ASAP.

“Are you going to do it in the living room?” he asked. I thought I would. I mean, the wax has virtually no odour; I specifically asked about that when I bought my can of clear wax a couple months back. The sweet girl working at the store assuring me that it hardly smells at all – she even let me smell an open can and I could barely detect an odour. After all, it’s wax, right? That word makes me think of happy bees.

My husband looked at the can. “It says you need a layer of clear wax first.”

“What? No it doesn’t.”

“Yes, right here.”

“Nobody told me that!” It was 5:30. The store was closed for the day.

The next morning, as soon as my husband woke up, I left him with the kids and I drove across town to buy more wax.

When I got home, my husband asked once again if I wouldn’t prefer to wax it in the garage. Sigh. Oh, fine. We (okay, he) hauled the dresser downstairs and into the garage and finally I got to work.

As the World Turns

The wax actually did have an odor once you start to work with it, but it was tolerable. I happily worked on the six drawers, and then I stood up straight the garage suddenly tilted a bit to the left.

Whoa. I attributed my shakiness to the sudden change in temperature – the garage is way colder than our living room.

Just to be safe, I closed the door from the garage to the house so that they wouldn’t smell it upstairs.

I began to work on the dresser body. My head started to feel terrible. I opened the garage door, despite the fact that it was 15° below zero. I worked as fast as I could so that I could get away from the wax. What kind of sadistic bees made this stuff? Probably the petroleum-based, man-made kind of bees.

Finally I went upstairs and casually mentioned to my husband that I didn’t feel so good.

“Because you’re as high as a kite?” he asked.

Um … what? I was confused. I definitely wasn’t as high as a kite – maybe a telephone pole, but certainly not a kite. And the thought of a kite spinning through the air was making my head feel worse. Do kites spin? I don’t know. I leaned against the refrigerator.

My husband walked to the back of the house to open the bedroom windows.

“We can smell it back here,” he called. “I was just coming to open the garage door.”

I sank to the floor, still leaning against the fridge. “I opened the door 15 minutes ago, but I didn’t know it it was that bad.” I responded weakly.

This was actually comical – I’m always complaining that his model paints stink and opening the windows dramatically while my husband swears he doesn’t smell a thing.

I closed my eyes. “Some of the YouTube tutorial videos were inside. Nobody mentioned the smell in them.”

My husband came back to the kitchen and opened both windows wide.

“One video even had a kid making faces behind her mother. And another one had a baby laughing adorably somewhere off camera.” I continued feebly.

“Maybe they used a different wax.” he suggested.

I lay across the floor. “No, it’s the same name brand and there are only two options, clear and dark.”

“Well then maybe the laughing baby was high too.” he responded.

“That’s a terrible thing to say!” then suddenly I realized my three children were all exposed to this horrid stuff too and immediately began to cry. Because, you know, I was pretty loopy.

“I’ve damaged our baby!” I blubbered. “Can he breathe? Is he okay?” And then I whispered “Am I going to die?”

I should probably mention at this point that I have the same reaction to fabric softener and perfume and scented room plug-ins. Walking down the detergent aisle at the grocery store is akin to torture. I might be a teeny bit sensitive to chemicals. And a touch hypocondriac.

My husband looked at me and gave me an encouraging hug. Because sometimes the only thing you can do when your overly-sensitive wife is sprawled across the kitchen floor crying that the baby has just caught cancer is to just humour her as best you can. And hide your laughter.

“No, Tamara, people huff turpentine and paint thinner and stuff like that to get high. On purpose.”

I don’t know if that’s true, but it was encouraging.

We left the garage door open for the rest of the day.

The next day, I woke up with a sore throat but a clear head. My husband asked me if I was planning to do coat of dark wax. Are you kidding me? I told him that I wanted that stuff out of my house as soon as possible.

For some reason, my husband decided that he would do it himself. He assured me that he would wear a mask and gloves and have the garage door open and even seal the door between the house and the garage with duct tape before he started. I told him that I wasn’t certain that I wanted to sacrifice my husband in the pursuit of pretty furniture but he didn’t listen and off he went to the garage.

An hour later, he came back inside and had a coffee. He wasn’t bothered in the least. That’s annoying.

We left the garage door open all day again. The next day, we brought the drawers up to the living room, but even though I tried to pretend they weren’t bothering me, my husband brought them right back down with barely a word and opened the garage door again to air them out.

The next day, we brought everything up and admired our work. It was over zero outside and I figured this might be out only chance to throw open all the windows if we needed to (clearly I had no idea today was going to be so nice).

Anyway, it’s done. Isn’t it gorgeous? I love the colours so, so much.

I don’t know if I’m ready to paint anything else though. I might try something small and using a different brand of wax. I’ve heard of a Canadian brand that uses actual beeswax and is supposed to smell amazing. I might even try my own concoction. Or I might just wait until a windy summer when I can be sure the breeze will carry any offending odor quickly away. From my husband. I’m not touching that stuff again.

I’ve had a sore throat for a couple days now but I’m not sure if it’s related to this adventure. I’m not seeing double anymore, although I suppose that wouldn’t be the worst thing. This dresser turned out so well that I wouldn’t even mind seeing two of them, spinning around above me with a kite or two as I lay on the kitchen floor.

March 10, 2015
Unexpectedly TV-Free

This post contains affiliate links.

My four-year-old and I do not see eye to eye on the value of potty training, and she reminds me three to four times a day that I have no control over the situation.

No control? Oh, we’ll see about that. A couple weeks ago, after yet another accident, I finally decided to Assert My Authority and to Create Concrete Consequences (I’ve been reading parenting books again): I told her that there would be no more television until she’s figured out the toilet thing.

So now I’m locked into a battle of wills and my opponent is a four-year-old child. It’s difficult to predict who is going to win.

This is the kid that asks if she can watch TV before she opens her eyes in the morning. This is the kid that nags us all day long because there is nothing she likes better than passively being entertained. Of course, I don’t give in right away. I tell her 463 times that it’s not time yet – we don’t let the kids watch TV until 3:00 at the earliest.

Why 3:00? Because that’s when I need a break. I kick the kids out of the kitchen, pour myself a glass of wine or a cup of tea, and start cleaning the kitchen and prepping dinner. I listen to the radio or some podcasts and poke around Facebook for awhile. 3:00 is mom o’clock, and TV makes that happen.

And now I’ve gone and taken it away.

But here’s the thing: it’s going great.

The day I told Harbour that she had lost her TV privileges, she just said OK and went on her way. The next day, as I changed her, I reminded her that TV was off limits. She listed off the shows that she wasn’t going to watch and then ran off to play. On the third day, I changed her and reminded her that there would be no TV. With a look of utter exasperation that would befit a teenager, she replied “I know, mommy.”

And that was that.

Huh.

I thought it would be hard. I thought we’d give in after days and days of relentless nagging but our days have been better by far. Even River has grudgingly accepted that books are the new Netflix.

On most days, the girls play for hours, sometimes together and sometimes apart. I hear so much less “I’m bored” – I suppose that’s been code for “can we watch TV” but I didn’t pick up on it.

They’re not completely free of screens. River has been playing on the Wii and doing a lot of math games on the iPad. Harbour tends to sit and watch her, but somehow I don’t mind as much. Because really – watching your sister answer math questions? How long can that possibly last?

Famous last words, I’m sure.

Almost two weeks into our TV-free life, I backed down a bit and agreed that we would do a movie night once a week, regardless of the progress made in the bathroom.

The first movie night featured popcorn and donuts and hot chocolate and Megamind. I was afraid that I would undue all the progress that we made, and it took a few days for my four-year-old to get that movie night isn’t a daily ritual but we more or less survived.

I can’t say we’ve been perfect though. A week or so ago, we all got sick and I sent the girls downstairs to overdose on Disney while I stayed upstairs with the baby to catch up on Downton Abbey. A few days later, once the worst of it had passed, we all turned off the screens, emerged from our rooms and let our eyes readjust to natural light. I don’t mind the lapse – movie marathons are a part of being sick, right?

Though I do have to admit that since that week, I haven’t been as strict as I was before. I’ve been letting Harbour watch a show or two on the iPad while she sits on the toilet. My hope is that an episode of Bubble Guppies will help her relax and keep her there longer, and she humours me by making grunting noises if I walk by the bathroom.

Which means she might have won our battle of wills after all.

Crap.

Update: I’m amazed at how many parents talked to me after this post about their own four and five years olds that had trouble toilet trained. I really felt like we were the only ones, but it is so much more common than I realized. The book that really helped me was It’s No Accident: Breakthrough Solutions To Your Child’s Wetting, Constipation, UTIs, And Other Potty Problems by Steve J. Hodges, MD, is a pediatric urologist. He believes that bedwetting and delayed toilet trained can be caused by chronic constipation — which I never would have guessed, given the consistency and frequency of my daughter’s bowel movements. However, he described my daughter so perfectly that I’m convinced that constipation was the culprit. I recommend it for any parents struggling with toilet training.

March 6, 2015
Our Nursery is Done!

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Last night we finished decorating the baby’s room. Yeah, yeah, I know he’ll be five months old on Saturday, but what can I say? He’s kept us busy.

When we first decided to give him a room of his own, we weren’t even planning to decorate it. I mean, sure, I figured eventually we’d paint over the pink walls someday, but I certainly wasn’t in any rush. Why would a baby care what colour his walls are?

Then, a week before my due date, the nesting instinct kicked into overdrive and I went to the store to buy a gallon of paint, some curtains and a throw pillow. I’m not sure my husband totally believed me when I told him that we would be redoing the room that day, but when he saw me and my 39-week belly pulling furniture away from the wall, he knew he had no choice but to help out. So that day he edged and I rollered and Harbour tasted and we freaked out because eating paint can NOT be good for you — and then before we knew it, the room was a gorgeous shade of aqua. A fresh new colour for our little bundle of boy.

Didn’t it turn out great? I love the colours. And half of the stuff we used to decorate with was already stashed in our basement so the makeover was pretty cheap.

Like these adorably retro alphabet cards – I bought them years ago when we first decided to try homeschooling River. I downloaded the files for free from Handmade Home and then had them printed on cardstock at Staples – the whole set cost me maybe $10-$15 in total? The cards match the room so perfectly that you’d think that the whole colour scheme off of them.

This print came from Etsy too. I bought it on a whim because it’s fun and it matches the room perfectly and I like the idea of using a fair or carnival as a decorating theme someday.

The fabric bunting cost me next to nothing. I raided the discount section of Fabricland for orange printed fabric, and then I cut it into strips and tied the pieces to some twine along with the alphabet cards. Quick and colourful and easy.

These lanterns were packed away in the basement. They’re a hit — the baby loves staring at them. Or maybe he’s afraid that they’re going to fall down on his head and crush him — it’s hard to say. I originally made little paper baskets to hang under them so they’d look like whimsical hot air balloons – that’s why there are little flags around the middle. But the baskets looked awful. A total Pinterest fail. Oh well, you can’t win all the time.

And, well… these are just some wraps. Sorry, I know they don’t have anything to do with the room decor, but what can I say? I’m easily distracted by pretty wraps.

And by babies too.

Munch, munch, munch.

Back to the nursery. We just moved this chaise up from the basement last week. I’m far to lazy for rocking chairs — I like to put my feet up when I nurse. This is the Kivik chaise from Ikea and it’s ridiculously comfortable. I love having it in the nursery — it was going to waste in the basement. Now I can put up my feet, quietly watch Downton Abbey on the iPad and knit while the baby sleeps. That is, if the girls haven’t already grabbed a book and claimed it for themselves. I don’t blame them though. It’s a delightful room to be in.

Curious about the teaforthree.ca copyright? That’s the name of my old blog. Not stolen, just never rebranded! 🙂

February 18, 2015
Simple Birthdays

It snowed on Sunday, just like it did four years ago when Harbour was born.

I remember going to pick up the birthing tub at the midwives four years ago. It was the day before her birthday – I was 40 weeks + 2 days. The midwives told me that a wicked winter storm was coming and that if I wanted a home birth, I’d have to deliver my baby before the snow arrived. Harbour, ever so compliant, was born early the next afternoon, right before 25 cm of snow was dumped on us by the “2011 Groundhog Day Blizzard.”

Four years ago, it felt like her birth day would never come. I was tired of being pregnant. I was just tired of waiting. This year, however, her birthday came all too quickly and I felt completely unprepared.

We didn’t do anything fancy – at four years old, just having family over for supper is exciting enough. So we invited her oma, poppa, grandma and pops, plus my cousins and my aunt and uncle. There was pizza and cake and gifts and I’m pretty sure she thought it was all fantastic.

Even so, part of me feels bad that we didn’t do something more, though I’m not sure exactly what that would even be.

My mom was always so good at birthdays when I was growing up. I’d wake up to an apartment full of balloons and streamers strung from corner to corner to corner. My mom would even twist two colours together to make the streamers extra fancy. Try as I might, I can barely get a single colour streamer to stay up on the wall. We tried in November for River’s birthday – I’m pretty sure my husband ended up using duct tape to keep them up. Clearly the skill of streamer manipulation was not passed down to my generation.

Harbour didn’t seem to mind the lack of decorations. Having a clean house was probably special enough. And I use the term “house” loosely – a “half of the main floor” would be more accurate.

We didn’t go all out on gifts either. This year we each made her something. My husband made a cake – a beautiful double-layer chocolate cake with pink buttercream icing. It was, of course, amazing. You’d never know it was gluten-free.

River made a book. She drew the pictures and then dictated the story to my mother, who typed out the text. Then I scanned the pictures and added the text and shipped the file off to Staples to be printed on glossy paper and spiral-bound.

I knit a stuffed toy – it’s Totoro from the movie My Neighbour Totoro. I’m more or less satisfied with how it turned out. The pattern I chose ended up being very unclear – I wish I had picked a different one because I had to just wing it while knitting as fast as I could. In general, the crochet patterns I found were much nicer but I’m not as comfortable crocheting – trying to crochet an entire project in less than 48 hours seemed doomed to fail.

Originally, I was going to make a felt birthday crown too, like the ones I’ve made for my older daughter’s last two birthdays. However, on Saturday I couldn’t find my felt and didn’t want to spend valuable knitting time driving to the store and back so I decided not to make one after all. I was already second-guessing the crown at that point – Harbour doesn’t like things tight around her head. I could barely get her to try on another crown so that I could judge the sizing. I’ll start making her crowns next year instead.

So that was it from us. A cake, a book and a stuffed toy. Does that seem like too little? I’m not sure.

Part of me is thrilled that we had such a simple celebration. It’s the kind of birthday that I always wished that we could do. Simple. Small. So why do I feel like I let her down?

Maybe it’s because the day didn’t feel intentionally simple – it just sort of turned out that way. I was too tired to do anything else. I’m too tired to plan. We were all sick this week, but beyond that, I’ve been exhausted for weeks. My thoughts are disjointed. My ambition comes and goes. I don’t feel rested when I wake up in the mornings.

I don’t know. I wish I had made the day more special for her because she really is a special girl.

The funny thing is, I think she had a great time at her party. I’m the only one that I disappointed.

I know there’s a take away lesson here – simple celebrations are fine? Presents don’t make the party? I think the lesson might be that I should some pretty birthday bunting that doesn’t require scotch tape or twisting, but I’m not sure yet. Thankfully, our baby’s birthday is still 8 months away, so I’ve got time to figure it out.

February 3, 2015
A Handwoven Wrap from Robbins Nest Weaving

What do you do with a baby that is sound asleep on your chest?

Some people might use that time to relax – maybe read a book or surf the web or add a few rows to a sweater that refuses to grow longer no matter how much time you spend knitting it. Stupid sweater.

Not me, though. When my little boy passed out on my chest a week or so ago, I jumped at the chance to finally snap some pictures of my baby in the most beautiful wrap I’ve ever seen.

Isn’t it just amazing?! This handwoven work of art is by Robbins Nest Weaving. It’s been on the road since July, with lucky mothers snuggling their babies in it for awhile before sending it on from house to house. I was fortunate enough to play with it for a few weeks and I knew it was time to send on home – but not without taking some pictures first.

So with the baby sleeping soundly on my chest, I slowly stood up and made my way to the nursery to find the wrap. Our crib is nothing but a glorified baby carrier container and the wrap was right on top – perfect.

Slowly, carefully, I stepped over piles of baby clothes and cloth diapers, making my way to the crib. Happily the wrap was set up as a no-sew ring sling so all I had to do was slip it on. I lifted it from the pile and gingerly lifted the wrap over my head. Hardly breathing, I lowered it over us both and spread the fabric across my baby’s body. Then I gently pulled on the tail until the sling was snug. SUCCESS!

Photo time! Taking pictures was fun. Someday I’d like to have a real photographer come in and do babywearing photos, but I’m glad that I have a few of my own in case we never get around to it.

I cannot get enough of that tiny little hand sticking out from under the rings. Sooooo cute.

Isn’t the wrap fabulous? I can’t stop staring at all the colours!

My little baby must have sensed the camera because he woke up and immediately demanded that I take more photos. I mean, how else can I interpret these dimples?

After awhile, he settled down with his sister for a bit of a rest. I figure it must be hard work being so stinkin’ adorable, right?

Such a pretty baby. Such a pretty wrap. And so unbelievably soft, too – one of the softest wraps I’ve ever used. It was short, smaller than a size two (though I don’t remember the actual length). I was able to do a kangaroo carry with it tied under my baby’s bum, but I didn’t want to attempt a RUB back carry with a wrap so short. We also did a hip carry with a slip knot, but I found the knot too bulky for my liking and I borrowed a friend’s sling rings instead to try out a no-sew ring sling – much, much better.

It was just so lovely to wrap with. I can only imagine how wonderful a longer, more versatile wrap would be.

Thanks Rebecca for letting me play with this beauty. I can’t wait to see what you weave next!

January 14, 2015
A NEW New Year’s Resolution?

Every New Year’s Day I say that I’m going to get organized – that I’m finally going to conquer the clutter. So I dutifully take out books on home organization from the library and I subscribe to organization blogs and come up with decluttering plans.

“This is going to be the year,” I tell myself. “I’m going to set up systems and we are going to love them. We will all put our shoes in the right places and my keys will never be lost again. No one will mistake my kitchen floor for a laundry hamper and our hallway closet will be fully stocked with matching pairs of mittens, just waiting to warm up those chilly hands! Take that, house!! Yeah! YEAH!” Then I emphatically pump my fists in the air while my kids slowly back away, unsure of what to make of a woman gesturing wildly at a pile of papers on the breakfast bar.

This year though? I’m not feeling it.

Maybe I’ve given up. Maybe I’m just too tired to try yet again. Or maybe trying to get organized is such a part of everyday life now that stating it as a goal just seems redundant. Who knows?

So this year there are other possible resolutions floating around in my head.

For example, I could try being more disciplined this year – to not be distracted by Facebook or blogging or even an intricate knitting pattern when I should be preparing meals or reading with my kids. I want to have the discipline to get up early and write. I want to have the willpower to spend time each day in prayer. I want the strength to have supper on the table each night at the same time and the stamina to get my kids in bed on schedule, no matter how much they fight it. No matter how good my current Netflix addiction is.

Yeah, I suspect it will be a boring year.

On the other hand, I could try creatively working on my home for a year. I want to add colour – lot’s of colour. I want to add little knitted striped socks to my table legs and yellow patterned seat covers to the chair cushions. I want to throw brightly coloured blankets over my couch and I want to paint the old white dresser with six different colours of chalk paint. I want to learn how to quilt.

I foresee at least one future post about successfully getting supper on the table by 5:00, only to discover that it is still wet with paint.

Maybe this will be the year I get in shape. Maybe this will be the year that we spend time outside each day. Maybe this will be the year that we overhaul our backyard and grow a ton of our own food.

But right now, I don’t have the energy for any of that, for self-discipline or creativity or anything else. Right now I’m sitting on the couch in my bathrobe with a bag of chips. And what? It’s after 6:00? It’s looking less and less likely that a random stranger is going to drop by to feed my kids. I should probably quit blogging and make supper…

I’ll have to think more about New Year’s resolutions over the week and decide where to put my efforts this year. Though I suppose I could just default to the organization theme, right? I mean, check out the new label maker I spontaneously bought yesterday, in all it’s labelled glory:

Maybe I need to give the organization thing one more shot. I’m going to nail it one of these years, right?

*fistpump*

January 1, 2015