Monday, Sep 6, 2010 | Baking, Chores, School, Work, Writing |
My office has been touched-up, tidied, desk debris cleared (dusty three-year-old “must-do” piles purged into the recycling bin); we purchased a proper adjustable chair (and removed the folding chair which had replaced the exercise ball both of which had rendered me nearly lame on writing week; seriously, I temporarily lost all feeling down one leg), and Kevin used the skill-saw to customize the tiny computer desk I’ve been using since 1998 (now there was a worthwhile $99.00 investment in pressed-fibre technology). And suddenly, I am sitting in well-organized comfort before my computer screen, in a sunny room that is, yes, still a playroom; but the toys are easily hidden in cupboards and closet, and the bookshelf holds kids’ books on the lower shelves and my books on the upper shelves. I’m ready for the new year.
Because of course this is the real new year. Forget January 1st. I am filled with excitement and energy and ideas and plots and schemes and plans and routines, and my calendar is chock-a-block from one end to the other with everything we’re going to do.
I have spent today baking in preparation for school lunches and after-school snacks: chocolate sunflower granola bars; granola; banana muffins; bread. I didn’t feel much like baking all day, but put my head down and gutted through it–not unlike my run this morning–and it’s done, and I feel ready. The school bags are filled with supplies and new shoes. The lunches have yet to be made, but as part of our re-division of household labour, Kevin has offered to take over the packing of the lunches (YESSSSSS!!!!), as well as breakfasts, and Sunday evening supper–aka cooking with the kids. He’s also been noticing and doing dishes more frequently. I can’t express to you the difference this makes, but if you are the regular dish-doer at your house, then you will appreciate the change, too. The kids will pack their snacks on pizza day and sub day; I’m not sure whether we’ll also work to transition them into packing their own lunches more often. Baby steps. If I could get them to throw their dirty laundry into the basket, or down the basement steps in the direction of the washing machine, and to put away their individual piles of carefully folded clothes each evening … well, those seem do-able goals for the near future.
Friday, Sep 3, 2010 | Publishing, Writing |
It’s been a good summer, a fast summer, a hot summer that felt like a summer. I’ve ticked most items off of my “summer to-do list.” I’ve canned enough tomatoes to last us through winter (I think), and have filled one whole freezer with fruit and veggies and herbs, too. This morning, I dumped the water out of my canner and put it back into the basement. I’m all out of jars, and my pantry shelves are full. And my mom has promised to can peaches for us, so what more will we need? Yesterday’s canning session took all morning, but it wasn’t hard: one last 1/2 bushel of tomatoes, whose beautiful red flesh I’m looking at right now, glassed in on my countertop.
I fully intended for this week to be about letting the kids enjoy what’s left of their holiday and that’s what it’s been (I hope they’ll concur): sleepovers, playdates, and yes, computer playing. We’ve biked to afternoon swim lessons; we’ve been on one evening picnic; we’ve bought shoes, had eye check-ups and gelato, and we’ve shopped for school supplies at Shoppers Drugmart. Actually, that spree coincided with a moment in my life which I may never forget. The kids were mile-a-minute enthusiastically comparing bandages (Barbie? Star Wars? Pooh Bear?) in the first-aid aisle when I got a call from my agent. It was the kind of call for which every writer quietly waits. She said, Have I caught you at a good time? I said, I’m standing in Shoppers with my kids. She said, check your email when you get home.
I’m struggling with how best to share this news, because it’s tenuous in-between news, neither signed, sealed nor delivered; on the other hand, anyone reading this blog has suffered through the dregs of naval-gazing and self-doubt, and it seems more than fitting to share with you the flip side of the equation–the moments of affirmation. I found myself weeping–not in Shoppers, but later, when I’d had a chance to let the news sink in, yet while it was still fresh and utterly thrilling and overwhelming. Why are you crying, Mommy? Because I’m so happy! (Apparently, that’s how I do happy; it ain’t pretty).
My agent was calling to tell me that I have offers on my Nicaragua book; though the offers didn’t quite arrive in a lump, they came close, in the feast or famine style that is a writer’s fate. Wow. I almost can’t type those words out or trust in them. Might it all evaporate if I look at it too closely, or wave it around too excitedly?
Because it is now the long weekend, I have several completely quiet days to think and to imagine. My agent, who has been with me and with this book for the years that I’ve committed to it, said she wished for me to relax and just enjoy the moment for what it is. Savour it. She, like my husband, gets an inside view of my efforts, hopes and ambitions, and I hear what she’s saying: This is where you are, right now. It took a lot of work to get here. There’s a lot of work ahead. This is one of those rare peaks along the climb, an opportunity, if I let myself take it, to stop for a moment and breathe in the view.
Sunday, Aug 29, 2010 | Photos |
The kids are hard to budge these days. Friday, Fooey had a dr’s appointment in the morning and we all went along for that (me and the kids) and it went quite well, but Fooey’s reward afterward was to get to watch a movie … which everyone else decided to watch, too, and then she wanted another movie, and TV, and on and on, until it was early afternoon, and I finally summoned the energy to say: no! We are going out, and now. Our outing? To pick tomatoes for canning. It was a bit of an impulse adventure. And it seems to take a herculean dose of energy to get everyone organized (water bottles, sun hats, snacks) and out the door (“I’m not going!” “I hate tomatoes!” “You’re such a mean mommy!”). If half the gang is excited, the other half is almost guaranteed not to be. One must first find an idea–an outing, an event, a destination–and then one must convince all involved that it is worth being roused for, and when this proves fruitless, one resorts to the methods of dictatorship: everybody march! It’s for your own good!
And it is. I promise.
We found the field, using my googled and scribbled instructions … and by God it was beautiful. “Don’t you feel better already? Just being out here? Isn’t this wonderful?” (For which I received some muttered agreement from the masses, if not outright enthusiasm). The sun shone, the tomatoes were ripe and plentiful, so many on the vines that we had to be careful not to step on them (they are paste tomatoes and grow on vines that crawl along the ground). In forty-five minutes we had picked approximately 55 pounds of tomatoes–or one bushel. CJ was the most enthusiastic helper, which explains the number of green tomatoes in my bin. The older kids grew tired and sat in the grass under the shade. But I was positively ecstatic. Dirt, sun, sky, the scent of ripe and rotting tomatoes.
Arrived home brimful of renewed energy and direction, and brewed up a pot of pearsauce using pears picked by a neighbour’s daughter and delivered hours before, managed to get the pearsauce canned, and then flew out the door with Kevin to see a friend play her uke at a festival in a nearby town.
:::
Yesterday, I started the morning with a run, then got to canning the first 1/2 bushel of these tomatoes, which turned into 7 quarts plus 7 pints of tomato puree. Kevin took the kids out for most of the afternoon to the Buskerfest (spend-your-money-fest), and everyone returned home with giant inflatable hammers and bats (sibling whacking devices) won in dart tossing games. Then we headed out after supper, on bicycles, to see our first roller derby match at the nearby rec centre. The kids had a blast, though mentioned it was awfully LOUD (was it ever). And Kevin and I enjoyed it too; though it didn’t inspire me to want to lace up my skates any time soon. Yikes. They fall down hard and often, and onto concrete.
::::
Second round of canning underway today. Have put on a batch of yogurt, too. Tomorrow, we’ll be out of homemade bread, again.
Will I exercise today?
I’ve noticed that my photographs have gone downhill. And I’ve been writing nothing but blog posts. Is this a factor of time, or energy? Do I have a limited amount of energy–creative energy inseparable from energy generally–and therefore I am using up all of my creative juices on early morning runs/yoga sessions/learning to swim/bike rides? The thought is slightly horrifying. Then again, maybe it’s just a downward dip, a little fallow period in the days before the new school year begins, and the rest of life and duties and new (and familiar) directions begin again.
Wednesday, Aug 25, 2010 | Uncategorized |
Here is a list of domestic duties at our house (unpaid), as mentioned in my previous post.
Note: this was really fun to do!
Daily chores
– plan menus, prepare food, serve food, store food
– set table, clear table, wipe table and counters and clean under chairs
– wash dishes, put away dishes
– clean counters and sink in bathrooms
– sort laundry, wash laundry, hang laundry to dry, fold laundry, put away folded clothes
– water plants
– tend to children’s hygiene: bath/showers (3 x weekly), clip nails (weekly), brush hair (daily during school year)
– tend to younger children’s toileting needs
– organize creative activities for children (home-based)
– get children to and from school/nursery school
– empty backpacks, fill out forms from school, empty lunchboxes
– make school lunches
– supervise homework, piano/guitar/drum practice, theory homework
– arrange and supervise playdates
– bedtime: snacks, toothbrushing, reading/singing to children
– check and update scheduling calendar
– update grocery/pharmacy list
– tidy toys, books, puzzles, games in main downstairs rooms
– empty garbage, compost, recycling; take to curb (weekly); clean composter
Weekly chores
– grocery shop, order and pick up food from buying club
– make laundry detergent
– bake bread, make granola (bi-weekly), bake cookies and muffins, make yogurt (bi-weekly)
– clean toilets (bi-weekly); replace toilet paper, refill soaps
– vacuuming
– arrange outside childcare/babysitting
– outdoor, seasonal: water plants, tend garden, mow grass, sweep patio, tidy outdoor toys, shovel snow
– library visits, keep track of books due
– family meetings; allowance
– banking; bills; budgeting
– tidy toys in upstairs rooms (children’s rooms and playroom)
– change sheets
Seasonal
– canning and freezing
– arrange extra-curricular activities/lessons/camps, pack supplies necessary, provide transportation, entertain children who have to go along but are not involved
– sort and size children’s clothing/coats; organize by size in attic; give away; buy shoes/boots/etc.
– arrange for repairs (ie. appliances)
– birthday planning
– thorough cleaning/organizing of house and garage and yard
– apply sunscreen (beach/outdoor swimming/mid-day)
– pest control
Yearly
– eye appointments, dentist appointments, dr. appointments (as needed)
Tuesday, Aug 24, 2010 | Chores, House, Kevin, Mothering, Spirit, Work |
Wow. Some really interesting changes are taking place in my life right now. Changes are causing some conflict, and also opening up opportunities for discussion and potentially radical shifts (though I suspect these will be slow and steady rather than sudden and shocking).
This year, I’ve focused on my spirit, and that’s taken me to places of quiet reflection and also drawn out of me greater confidence and courage. My family has been noticing this is round-about ways, as I head out early in the morning to go for a run, learn how to swim, take time to bury myself in writing, head out as soon as supper’s on the table in order to take a yoga class, or set up the tripod and camera; all things that I am doing on my own, that don’t necessarily connect to their lives, and that might actually exclude them in one way or another.
Kevin and I have been struggling to find, in the midst of this extra-curricular activity, time to spend together. This morning it occurred to us that this is a problem of home economics. Kevin was the one who made this observation, not me. He observed that I am responsible for the bulk of the domestic work, and if I add in other work, whether or not it is of the paying variety, it means that my time becomes more and more squeezed. So I am writing down a list of all the domestic/household labour that I do (and that he does, too), with the idea that we work to split it more evenly, and also among the children, to some degree.
It’s quite a list.
Thinking about sharing this work, and therefore having time to focus more freely on the triathlon project and writing generally, brought me to a new revelation: I think part of me wanted to go back to school and become a midwife because then my time would be accounted for, my work outside the home acknowledged as important, and the family obligated to pick up (some) slack–because I wouldn’t always be there to do it for them, and with good reason. It is a little fantasy of mine to imagine children packing lunches for school and getting their own snacks after school, and then tidying up. (I did say it was a fantasy).
Kevin admitted that he has fallen into gender stereotyping–well, we both have. He works and earns the money, and I keep the home fires a’burning. Except I also try to squeeze in a side career, and it is indeed very squeezed. Partly this is practical: because he earns the money that keeps us afloat, his work-time isn’t optional, and mine, with its occasional grant/prize windfalls and trickle of odd-job cheques is nowhere near enough to feed and house a family of six. So, the divide has made sense. But we’ve also become trapped by it, and blind to it. Because of course my work will never add up to much if I can’t commit to or pursue freelance jobs that would require even moderate time commitment over and above what I’ve already carved out. And fiction writing is the kind of business that demands long-term investment, a risky investment at best. But without investment, it will add up to precisely nothing.
So, our question now is: how to go forward, treating what I do, outside of domestic duties, as work worthy of more time, and energy?
