Not Wasting, Not Wanting
The littlest of my daughters has been at school all day today, and I miss her. (I guess I’ve gotten accustomed to the two biggest children being gone all day, every day, which is perhaps a bit sad, too). But I had a writing morning, and it felt good. The work feels once again productive. It helps to have actual assignments with money attached, and deadlines. Earlier this week, I received page proofs for the stories in The New Quarterly, and perhaps just as exciting, saw the mockup for the proposed cover–for which, drum roll please, I’m also the photographer!! Cows on the beach. You can see it, too, in less than a month. Makes me want to go looking for a better quality camera, and acquire some actual post-production skills. If you want to see inspiring photos, take a look at a blog written by an old friend with an amazing eye for beauty; it’s called This Is Glamourous and these photos of Chicago are her own. Tangent. Where was I? Oh yes, scanning page proofs late at night. I’ve also been picking away at an opening chapter for the proposed memoir. My operational goal this fall is to squeeze it all in. The happiest days in recent memory have been filled almost to bursting; yet instead of feeling stressed or worn by the exacting organization, the necessary running from place to place (literally; I wear running shoes for this exact purpose), the occasional laspses (lost my wallet yesterday, only to find it ten frantic minutes later exactly where I’d been looking for it in the first place), I feel energized, enthusiastic. I feel like something valuable can be found in every moment, every interaction, even the ones that appear on the surface entirely unpromising. Waste not, want not. Despite all the hurrying, I am relishing a newfound (rediscovered) patience. Taking time to kneel in the grass with CJ and track the progress of a ladybug. Taking time to feel my feet grounded to this earth.
And now, a little more writing while naptime holds.
“I Was Happy”
Kevin cropped these for me: Fooey in her school lineup waiting to go in and start this next chapter in her life. We have now been regaled with stories and memories from that day (yes, it was only yesterday), and she was disappointed not to be heading back with the big kids this morning. “I was happy,” she confided as I hugged her (best hug ever) after that first full day. And I was happy for her! And yet my heart is quietly mourning this passage. Here begins her life apart from us–not a large part of her life, of course, not yet, and oh how proud I am of her confidence, her solid nature; but a part nevertheless. She will survive small struggles all by herself. She will manage. She will test out this larger world. She will discover. She will enjoy. Her mind is so eager to be lit with new experiences, to learn, and she will. I think parenting is renewing this pledge over and over: to let go, to trust our children, and to meet them wherever they are–to be in that present place, for them. At the very moment of her birth, this child occupied her space without me; even then. It’s just that I still see her at that moment, sometimes; especially when I look at these photos. I still see her as she was.Do you ever have a day when you feel struck by thankfulness, positively overwhelmed? That was my today. It was ordinary enough, I suppose, but filled with small gifts and reversals of fortune everywhere I turned. For example, after supper, my plans to get together with my siblings fell through so instead I rearranged the girls’ room and the playroom (it all started with an old wooden toy fridge, which we received secondhand years ago, falling over and almost crushing CJ; obviously time to get rid of it, and though it seemed like an insignificant object, its removal precipitated a great upheaval of furniture; CJ was unscathed, I must add). After this satisfying exertion, and having some scheduled “free” mama-away time, I threw on my running shoes and ran and ran and ran and ran around the neighbourhood. It felt transcendent. My breathing was easy, my body removed and full of energy, and my mind calm and meditative; the kind of meditation where you’re not really thinking about anything, your mind feels clear, untroubled. I run so rarely, it hadn’t occurred to me I’d be fit enough to arrive at that place of exercise nirvana. Note to self: get out and do this again! Burst blotchy-faced and sweaty through the door only to discover sibs night was back on and there was still an hour before Kevin was due to leave for hockey. So I got out after all. Cancelled out the run by eating soup, salad AND brie-dripping panini (thanks, sis). Arrived home in time for Kevin to get a ride to the first hockey game of the season with his friends–I literally flagged them down as they were pulling out of our driveway.
Okay, now that I write this all out it doesn’t sound special in the least. Neverthless. I’m glad and grateful and the slow-cooker’s been working well (roasted chicken was fabulous) and Kevin packed the kids’ lunches and and and. Full. I’m too full to sleep.
Or not. Never too anything to sleep.
(Can I confess that I’m almost too superstitious to post this entry; pride goeth before a fall, or, if you always think the worst, you’re more likely to be pleasantly surprised, which is not a real saying. Thankfully.)
Pieces of a Blog
Recently, while playing wedding (Chach and B, we have you to thank for this alarming new trend), Fooey said, “And here’s where I’ll put the wedding cheese.” That caught the ear of her mother, passing by. “Umm, the wedding what?” “The wedding cheese.” “Oh?” Fooey looked a bit disappointed in me: “You know the wedding cheese. With the little people in it.” Then I realized that my brother had displayed just such a cheese (standing in for their cake) at his wedding. Ha! This is how traditions are started.
Well, she went into the school today looking very small, and very excited. “Hand on your hips, and finger on your lips,” said the teacher, and Fooey looked pretty darn pleased to oblige. I am thinking of her now, as quiet time approaches. So many small hopes I have for her day: hope she enjoyed her food. Hope there was enough. Hope she’ll have a rest. Hope she finds a friend to play with on the playground. Hope her big sister or brother visit at recess. And on and on.
I spent the morning alone with a little guy who could hardly believe his luck. We baked muffins together, matching aprons. Built block towers. Read books. Put teddies onto riding toys. Sounds pretty lowkey, doesn’t it? Then why am I twice as tired as usual? Here’s hoping I can head upstairs and get an hour to write. Cup of tea in hand.
Oh, I cooked a frozen chicken overnight in the crockpot. It was done by morning, whereupon I added potatoes and carrots and they were done within two hours. I set it to low the whole time, so maybe my pot runs hot? I removed the finished stew to the fridge, because it didn’t seem like it needed more time on the counter. The scent of roasting chicken invaded my dreams. I woke with this strong sense of purpose: to go downstairs, core one tomato, stuff said tomato with one peeled clove of garlic, and add this to the pot. The idea may have come to me in a dream, but that’s exactly the first thing I did this morning after brushing my teeth.
Yesterday’s crockpot meal was a perfectly acceptable (read between those lines) use of leftover brown rice, but not something I’d willingly serve to guests. Four out of six of us agreed; two said major blech and ate buns and cheese instead. Then we went to the family swim at the Rec Centre and had a blast. A perfect activity for Family Fun Night, as the kids like to call anything we do together that’s ever so slightly out of the ordinary. Way cheaper than going to the movies.
Shoot, was just prepping photos to post, and realized the ones of Fooey in her class lineup all involve other children whose parents I don’t know. It looked like a class of mostly boys. Sure hope they let her boss them around.
Food Food Food Food Food
Food food food food food … it’s on my brain. The need to prepare and serve it in a variety of ways feels suddenly more constant, more pressing, more always. And more difficult. It can’t be that there are more meals to make. It must be that there’s less time in which to make them.Yesterday, I spent the better part of the afternoon converting two baskets of market tomatoes to 14 jars and 7 freezer bags of the processed variety. (Plus one tomato from our front-yard garden: Albus’s! He insisted it go into the sauce so that he could imagine he was eating “his” tomato all winter). As a guide, I used last year’s blog entry on the subject of canning tomatoes. (Note: I forgot to mention, in that entry, that after placing the skinned tomato pieces into the jars, you fill the jars with hot water to a half-inch head). The work wasn’t hard to do, but it was time-consuming, and in the end felt anti-climactic as this won’t come close to filling our pantry. If I have the heart for it, I’ll repeat the exercise again next weekend. (It would be easier to do, and I recognize this, if there weren’t a thousand interruptions. I suspect it might even be something I’d enjoy doing: simple and productive handwork while the mind wanders. But right now, it feels like a chore among others.)
It’s Sunday, so I’m trying out my crockpot for the first time in years; that way, if the meal flops, we can order last-minute takeout and it won’t cramp our no-room-for-error weekday style. Are there some foods that actually taste better cooked in a crockpot? My experience, though limited, has been discouraging, so I would appreciate hearing some hurrahs for the crockpot. For tonight’s meal, I made up a recipe loosely based on a bunch of recipes in Fix It and Forget It, a cookbook which seems to rely heavily upon cans of cream of mushroom soup. No cans in my cooking. In fact, that may be why the crockpot has seemed so unappealing: because I’m used to eating food cooked up from scratch before mealtime, using the freshest ingredients. Can a crockpot really compete?
Here’s this week’s menu, at a glance:
Sunday: Crockpot brown rice casserole with hamburger, spinach, cheese and tomatoes. Roasted veggies on the side.
Monday: Chicken roasted (steamed?) in crockpot with root veggies. Buttered noodles on the side.
Tuesday: Mac and cheese with ham in crockpot. No time for sides.
Wednesday: BBQ at meet-the-teacher night.
Thursday: Beans or lentils, possibly in crockpot. Possibly not.
Friday: Leftovers. Plus some fresh items picked up from Nina’s buying club.
Of course, in addition to supper, there’s also lunch, and tonight I will be making THREE lunches to send for school tomorrow. Fooey is thrilled. But I am suffering school-lunch anxiety: her teacher has requested that I split the lunch into two well-marked portions (the children’s school has two nutrition breaks per day, but the older children simply choose what they want to eat out of whatever I send). Fooey’s teacher recommends that the first portion of lunch be the more substantial: sandwich. The second should be more snack-ish: fruit, veg. I’ve almost paralyzed my thinking on this subject with over-complication.
Ah, cup of coffee. That’s what I’m enjoying right now. Soon it will be lunchtime … scrambled egg and bean burritos. It never ends. Well, it never ends right now. And I’ll miss it when it does. But perhaps that will be because I’ve romanticized these days and forgotten how little time there was to sit and think. I miss sitting and thinking. There’s much to be said for it, even if what it produces is invisible to the eye.
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Random bits. Yesterday, CJ took my hand and led me to the rocking chair in our backyard. “Sit” he said, and I sat. He wanted an audience for his sandbox play. Or maybe he just wanted his mother to sit and think …
The children have been practicing piano, ten minutes apiece, in a the mornings before school. I love this more than I seem capable of expressing. It’s a bit like love. There’s no way to describe love without diminishing it. Hearing them play (or attempt to play) these simple songs on the piano is both ordinary and deeply affecting. It’s comforting. It’s beautiful. It returns me to my own childhood. It is such a wonderful way to start our day.
Conscious Discipline
Conscious discipline. It is something I think about and struggle with daily, while trying to meet the needs of four very different children–and my husband’s, and my own. So it was like wandering through a cool, nourishing summer rainstorm to discover these ten simple principles of conscious discipline on my friend Kristin’s blog. (You will have to scroll down past the beautiful black and white photographs to find the link within the text). Kristin is the director of a preschool to which I long to send my children; except that we’re separated by several time zones. In fact, to my knowledge we’ve met only once in our lives, as children, and reuinted these many years later via the wonders of Facebook and Blogland.
I’ve tried to distill these ten rules of conscious discipline even further for my own purposes, and fit them all onto one handy reminder sheet which I intend to study whenever perplexed or frustrated. Here they are, for you.
1. Tell your children what to do. Rather than what not to do.
Principle: You get what you focus on.
2. When you’re upset, you need to give your children information they can use.
Not: “Why would you do that?” (Seriously, could you answer that? I know I couldn’t. Yet, it’s an oddly tempting opening line when upset).
Instead: “Let’s start by doing this …” “Let’s think about this …”
3. The only person you can change is yourself.
Therefore, you need to ask yourself questions that will bring about creative, cooperative solutions.
Not: “How can I make my child stay in bed?” (manipulation or coercion)
Instead: “How can I help my child be more likely to choose to stay in bed?”
4. Two heads are better than one.
Ask your children to work with you to solve their problems.
5. Spend time with your children. Establish family rituals. Be in relationship.
“I don’t care” = I don’t feel cared for.
6. Encouragement empowers.
Always.
In wonderful times. In tough times.
“I believe in you.”
7. Take back your power.
Not: “You’re driving me nuts.” (Who’s in charge of your feelings?)
Instead: “I’m going to take a deep breath and calm myself down. Then I will talk to you.”
8. Become the person you want your children to be.
Smile
Take a deep breath
And
Relax
9. Do not save your children from the consequences of their actions.
Principle: Psychological pain is a signal to make changes in your life.
Don’t lecture: “I told you so …”
Empathize. “I know that was really important to you …”
10. Conflict is an opportunity to teach.
Don’t punish children for not knowing how to resolve conflict.
Teach them: assertiveness.
“I don’t like it when you …”
(I would like to add that “taking a deep breath” is a really fabulous skill to teach your children. In fact, Albus uses this technique, and the other day was teaching it to his younger sister, who was in the midst of a tantrum. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, taking your time; repeat for at least ten breaths. You can do this facing your child, showing them how to breathe, too. Albus does it the other way round–in through his mouth and out through his nose; whatever works!)
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A couple more images from our today: Pie for breakfast! Now that’s a happy-making prospect. Thanks to Nina and Matthew, friends and neighbours, for giving us this delicious gift. I’m thinking … hmmm, pie for supper, too?
And talk about how a parent can help her child choose to stay in bed … well, late-night sewing projects are not a means to that end. Last night, after brushing her teeth and putting on her pajamas, Apple-Apple felt inspired to work on a dressing gown for the girls’ doll. This meant she did not get as much reading-in-bed time; she did not cope well with the consequences of this lesson in time-management. But she did wake extra early to continue working on the project, till done.