Little Things

When is too much, too much?

One of my favourite training activities is an ice-breaker called "Group Juggle", where members of a group throw a soft ball across a circle to one another in a set order. In round one, they must set a time goal to get the ball around the circle as fast as possible. In round two, I introduce a plethora of other soft objects (basically, my kids' stuffed animal collection), and they try to "juggle" as many things as possible without dropping them. Of course, chaos ensues: objects collide, people scream and laugh, and many balls get dropped.

It always reminds me of my life. Round two, that is.

Round One is so calm, so organized, so efficient: twenty people focusing their attention on one ball, smoothly gliding from person to person. Every group always breaks their time goal on the first try. They get better on the second. By the third time, they are so confident that they are almost bored by their own success. Like someone in the stride of their career, they know they have mastered their job and nothing can throw them off of their game. They got this.

Have I ever lived a "Round One" type of life? I think to some extent I have. Certainly before I had kids I had figured things out so that, at least, the chaos I chose - self-employment, travel, lots of "projects" - was well-managed, organized, and efficient. But on the other hand, I've also always been a "bite off more than you can chew" kind of person. I've always loved having a million interesting things on my plate. I've always loved doing "too much". I've accepted this as being part of who I am. And while I wouldn't say I "thrive" on chaos, like some people do, I would certainly choose chaos over boredom. Even today, a big part of me quite likes the daily gong show that is the result of my proverbial juggling act of trying to balance motherhood, work, friends, creative projects, and some play.

Except the part that doesn't.

The other day, as I was picking up my son from his art class at the end of the day, I decided to count the number of times I had gotten a kid (or two, or three) in and out of their car seat that day. I counted twenty-two. Twenty-two times! It seemed so ridiculous that I counted again. I got the same result. No wonder my head was spinning.

It didn't take long for my mind to start whirling with worry about whether I have imposed my own "Round Twoness" on my poor unsuspecting children. Ostensibly, I know we do "too much". Like most families I know, we spend many before-and after-school hours running around to hockey practice, swimming lessons, art classes, soccer games, gymnastics class, and the like. Our days are stuffed - sometimes Christmas-dinner-stuffed. But this is our life. We created it this way.

This week, in those moments where I was rush-rush-rushing from one thing to another, I started to wonder: is there a point when "too much", is just too much? Is it possible that each family has a "tipping point", a critical juncture that is revealed to us not by a certain number of activities we do, but rather by a feeling in the pit of our belly that just tells us that we have reached it?

I think it's possible. But what to do? It's not like we are going to stop, outright, doing all the things we do. Is there some middle ground somewhere?

Maybe the folks in Round Two can offer some insight. For once the laughter has died down and the group sits down to talk about why they dropped so many objects, and what they could do differently to be more successful, most groups come to the same conclusion: they must slow down, breathe deeply, and try to find a balance between the boredom (Round One) and the chaos (Round Two).

Alas, so must I.

As I begin another week of hustling from one activity to the next, I vow to try to find some balance of my own. I will try not to hurry so much; to arrive a little earlier to places so we aren't always almost late. I will try to bike or walk Max to school as much as possible, since that seems to slow us down and make us calm. And I will try not to worry about skipping an activity if we are really into something else when it's time to go. It's not much, but it's a start.

But I'd also like to hear how you deal with the craziness of life, with or without kids. How do you find balance in your everydays? What do you do to make it work? Or do you just embrace the chaos and try not to think about it too much??

Help me out here, if you can.

And if you can't, well, let's at least sit down some day with a bottle of red and toast how lucky we are to have the luxury to worry about such things in the first place.  

Ode to Homecoming...

This weekend was Homecoming weekend at Bishop's, my old undergraduate University. I didn't go back for it. In fact, I've only been back once in the whole 15 years since I graduated from the lovely place. But I was thinking about Bishop's this weekend, and so I thought I would post a piece I wrote three years ago, when I did go back to revisit the old haunts. Here it is:

"Going “home” for Homecoming after twelve years of being away is a strange, wonderful,  and somewhat surreal experience. At first, it is as if nothing has changed. You walk into the Lion amidst a sea of faces that are strangely familiar, like relatives at a family reunion. Maybe it takes a few seconds longer to recognize the people behind the faces; but immediately, you know this group. On second glance, as you begin the typical “where-are-you-now-and-what-are-you-doing” discussion, you come to see that, in fact, everything has changed. These people have also moved on. They are not the cute guy from the Plex or the girl from your drama class anymore, but people who, like you, have jobs and families and lives that have little to do with Bishop’s anymore.

 

Of course, there are the handful of people who you really came to see; the ones who you “experienced” university with in various ways, and who you really want to connect with, to laugh with, to remember with, or maybe get some kind of closure with. And then the remembering begins. You remember the times you were an idiot; you remember the times you were inspired; you remember the times you stayed up all night laughing or studying or getting some action. You remember the food fights and the parties at the Pink House and long nights at the Lion and of course the football. You remember your favourite profs and the conversations you had as you wrestled with the big and little questions that helped you become the person you are today (though of course you didn’t know it at the time). You remember the smell of Dewies cafeteria and the sound of the train blowing its horn by the golf course and the feeling of walking through the Quad for the first and the last time.

You remember the friends who aren’t there with you now but who were with you then, and you smile as you think about them, and the role they played in making those three or four (or five) years what they were. You remember the bad times, too – the times you failed or got dumped or lost a game or lost yourself. If you look hard enough, you can almost see the person you were, walking through the Sub or sitting in a classroom or kissing outside the Pub after closing.

 

As you sift through these memories (as a three year-old sifts through sand to find shells at the beach), you find that after all this time, it is easy to let go of the memories you don’t need anymore, and gently hold on to just the beautiful ones. You don’t succumb to the nostalgia of it all, or become overly sentimental about it, but rather see those memories through the foggy lens of time; not as they were, but as you were.

 

Then all of a sudden, the Gambler is being played (not once, of course, but twice) and you feel a stirring inside you that you recognize most of all; and before you know it, Joey and Buddy are up on their chairs and you are 20 again; singing and laughing without a care in the world. And your soul is smiling because in that moment, as you look around at your old friends, you understand why you came back “home”; why you flew across the country to be here right now. You came back to (re)visit the person that you were, back then, and to (re)discover that you did belong here, once upon a time. That this was your place, your home; and in some small way, it always will be.

 

And you realize that, in fact, nothing has changed and everything has changed, and perhaps this is simply the nature and beauty of a small, close-knit University that perches proudly on the banks of the mighty Massawippi River; and perhaps this is also simply the nature, and beauty, of life itself. And for this – this simple yet insightful glimpse into the past (and present) – I am so thankful to have gone “home”.

A new obsession...

Now that the weather has turned a little bit cooler, and we're back into a routine of some sort, I've developed a new obsession as of late - sewing! My dear Dad gifted me with a new sewing machine this summer, which I have been wanting for so long. It is so much fun to have a new medium to play around with! I started off by making these flags to celebrate the boys sharing a room (and bunkbeds), and then moved on to making a birthday crown for my nephew Riley's first birthday. My ideas so far have come from Amanda Soule's wonderful book, "The Creative Family", which has tons of great ideas for fairly simple projects. I need simple right now. I'm such a newbie sewer that I still want to throw a party for every line of stitches I sew...  

 

 

 

Check out these delicious fabrics that I am (slowly) making into napkins (and a table runner, if I can figure that one out!) Oh, the joy of doing something new! Such fun! 

A surprise of a day...

Some days our kids amaze us; some days they make us want to burst with pride; some days they blow us away with their wisdom, intelligence, intuition or compassion. (And, of course, some days they don't.)

But some days - not too often - they just plain surprise us. I'm talking chin-to-the-floor kind of surprise. The kind you just shake your head and laugh at all day long, because you just never saw it coming.

Today was one of those days for us.

You need a little history. On Friday afternoon, we got a call from the local French Immersion school telling us that they had a space in Grade 1 for dear Max, who starts school on Tuesday. We had long since dismissed this possibility, as we were #13 on a wait list with only 5 spots available. Naturally, we had made other plans. Those plans included Max going to Queen Mary, the English school a block away from our house, with his friend Sascha. We had been discussing this for at least 6 months now. He had visited the school, played in the playground there dozens of times, and had begun calling it "his school" for months now. It was decided. He was going to Queen Mary.

So. Friday and Saturday Jonny and I privately wrestled with the possibility of changing him to the French immersion, but ultimately felt that he would freak out if we changed the plan this late in the game. Even though we would love him to speak French, the English school was still a great option and we decided not to rock the boat and stick with the plan.

This morning we sat Max down to tell him about our decision. But first, (even though we "knew" what he would say) we asked him his opinion. Where did he want to go to school?

His first reaction was to say that it was our decision, and we could decide. We pressed him further.

"Well," he said, "I'd like to learn French. So, I'd like to go to the French school. Let's try it for a year."

What? Did we hear him correctly? How can this be? Wasn't he supposed to throw himself on the floor and say that if we sent him to the French school he would never speak to us again, or tear his eyeballs out, or something equally appropriate for a six year-old to say?

We pressed him even further. What about his friend, and the nice playground, and the PLAN we've been talking about for months? Did he really want to leave it all - to abandon the PLAN - and go to a new place where he didn't know a soul or speak the language?

"Oui", he answered, with a little smile, "I'm smart. I can handle it."

"Ok", said his Dad, playing the devil's advocate, "what would you say if we told you that we were going to send you to Queen Mary anyway?"

"Well", he answered, "then I would say, 'Non, Monsieur!'

The conversations continued throughout the day. He didn't waver from his decision once.

It looks like he's going to French school.

He seems to know what he wants, and why he wants it. His confidence and steadiness inspire me. If only we all had this much clarity about all the decisions we make in our life, how much easier our life would be! How much smoother, and less messy. He is only six, but when I look at him, I see a wise old man, just gliding through life, unfazed by the bumps and potholes along the way. I hope he always has this kind of confidence, this ability to cope and gracefully adapt to change. Somehow, I think he will. 

And as for me, well, once again I've learned today not to assume that I know what my son - or anyone, for that matter - is thinking or feeling at a given time. That it's important to ask questions, to listen, and not to be afraid of the answers. Because sometimes- sometimes - they might just surprise you.

And leave you shaking your head and smiling at how it all turned out just how you always dreamed it would.

The End of Summer...

Well, it seems official: tomorrow is the first day of September, and that means that summer is over...even if the kids aren't in school just yet (151 hours left - but who's counting...)

The air has changed; hair has been cut; sunscreen put away; and there is a buzz in the air that signifies a new beginning about to...well, begin! But before I start writing about crisp fall apples and the excitement of buying school supplies for the first time, I thought I should have one last post about the glorious summer that was.

It is still August, after all...

Here are some of my favourite "little moments" from this wonder-full summer that I haven't written about yet:

:: Sam and Bash and their dear friend Viveka (who is already a total babe at 4...watch out, Fiona!) smiling and laughing on a windy day at the beach.

:: Baseball (sorry, "Blastball") days at Trimble park...

:: Hanging out with cousin Riley (ie: Mini-Ted)...

:: Badminton-fever (caught from their cousins Austin & Myles)...

:: Smiles at the airport, even when the news of a 4-hour delay hit...

:: On the ferry to Savary Island...

:: In Dallas's pickup on Savary...

:: On the beach on beautiful Savary...

:: We're going to need a bigger couch soon...

:: Cupcakes!

:: The last (?) beach day of the summer...

All in all, it really was a fabulous summer.

And the kids may not be, but I, for one, am ready for September!

"I was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids"

Michelle and I wrote this piece in 2000, when we had just got back from working on cruise ships with kids. I found it today in my "art file" (a stack of papers sitting beside my computer, in my messy office which I really should be cleaning up right now). It's interesting to read this over again now, ten years and three kids later. Is this still what I believe about how to celebrate children?

Well, yes. In many ways. I definitely believe in celebrating the small moments as well as the big ones (for example, when Mama just feels like a cupcake). I still believe it's important to believe in their dreams (even if one child (who still skates on his "outside edge") believes that he won't even need to be drafted, he will just go right on the Canucks team at age 19; and the other one wants to be a peacock (or maybe - maybe - a zebra, when he's older). I still believe in building castles (especially when one child is digging a big hole and his brother keeps filling that hole up again); and telling stories (especially when it's bedtime and one of them is about to have the tantrum of all tantrums because he wants Dadda to put him to bed and not me).

I've learned that you don't have to "let" kids colour outside the lines. They'll do that anyway. And that splattering paint on the walls is a wonderful activity for art class, but not my living room. I've also learned that "coddling" doesn't 'cramp their style', as I once thought, but is lovely and important and necessary for both children and their mamas. (By the way, that particular line was there because I had just been on a plane with a little boy with an "unaccompanied minor" tag around his neck sitting next to me. He was eight. An hour into the plane ride, he looked at me and said, "You know, this tag they make me wear is just crampin' my style! I gotta take it off!" I was so impressed by his bravado that I had his spirit in mind when we were writing the piece). 

There's a hilarious book about parenting that's called, "I was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids", and sometimes, I couldn't agree more. Weren't we all? And though I worked with children for many years before having any of my own, I never really knew what it was going to be like to be a parent. So when I read this "Celebrate Children" piece now, it makes me smile a bit at what I now see as naivety (and maybe a bit of smugness?) on how simple I thought it was going to be to be a parent. I don't blame myself. I really did believe all those things. I just didn't know how difficult it would be some days to do them all.

And yet, when all is said and done, I can honestly say that affirming them, and playing with them, and asking them questions and listening to their answers, and loving them unconditionally and, yes, being a constant reminder of how marvelous they really are...are all things I still believe all the way down to my toes, and still try to do every day. Some days are better than others. But still, I try.

It's all a Mom can do, right?

My brother, the filmmaker

My brother Pete is a filmmaker. He makes beautiful, poignant movies, which are also quite funny. He writes the scripts himself, spending days, if not weeks, planning out the plots. Then he casts the movies, directs them with fervor, and edits them seamlessly. I've seen him make an entire movie, from start to finish. It's quite an amazing thing to watch. Sure, he gets a little crabby with the talent (but who can blame him? I saw the actors ask for a snack break TWICE in the course of ten minutes of shooting), and has a nasty habit of bellowing out, "Quiet on the set!" over and over, even in public areas (sometimes the crowds watching the scenes get a little rowdy, particularly those under a year old). But, when all is said and done, I think everyone involved appreciates the artist that he is, and can see his films as the rays of sunshine that they are. Watch out, Cannes. You, too, Toronto. Heck, Hollywood beware! I give you Peter G. Wall, filmmaker extraordinaire.

Check out his latest film here:

Une Visite à Hudson!

We had a lovely trip to Hudson in July, complete with lots of Grandparent and cousin time; lots of swimming, golf, tennis, and badminton; lots of visiting with dear friends and family; lots of hunting for frogs; lots of hot tubs; lots of trips for ice cream and popsicles for dessert; a "George Wall Tour of Montreal" for Max which involved a visit to Schwartz's smoked meat  (where Ben ate the better part of a sandwich), AND St. Viateur Bagels, (where Max proclaimed loudly, "This is the best bagel I've EVER HAD"!); two trips to the Eco-museum, and the sighting of a "moose-on-the-loose" (it was really a cariboo), two silly river otters, and a duck with a broken wing which Sammy swooned over; one yummy lunch at the Willow; and - of course- lots of running around (or sort-of crawling, for Ben) on the lawn.

The kids seem to do a LOT of running around on the lawn at my parent's place. It's like they just know that they are not in the city anymore, and they don't have to worry about cars or strangers or their mother screaming at them to watch out! (OK, maybe there was still a little of that...but when there is a hose in the vicinity, and Sammy anywhere near by - well, let's just say that all creatures, big and small, certainly need to WATCH OUT! Grampsie found out the hard way. And let's not talk about the words that came out of HIS mouth when the hose nailed him in the face on the "soaker" setting). Anyway. It was a lovely visit, and the kids had a wonderful time. Here are my favourite pics from the trip:

Summertime...

..."and the living is easy"? Really? No. I do not concur. Not for me, anyway. Or anyone I know who has kids. But though the living may not be easy, it sure is FULL.

I've just started to sort through the hundreds of pictures I took in our last month away ~ where we visited les Grandparents in Hudson, and then spent a week with Pete's family on Savary Island (a beautiful, not-so-easy-to-get-to island just off of Powell River, B.C..) The task of sorting through photos is a little too daunting for me to even attempt right now. It's not September yet. I think that's a September kind of job. So instead, I will post just one pic...one picture that I think captures the essence of July for us:

Dear Sam. With his sun-kissed, mosquito-bitten cheek; his sand-and-dirt-covered hat; his sea-sprayed shirt...and a deep, from-the-belly laugh...(for no good reason, other than it's summer, and the sun is shining, and we are at the beach, with his cousins. And there are seagulls. And the water's warm. And the sand feels good on his bare feet. And we have snacks. And we have nowhere to go. And a whole lot of nothing to do.)

Oh no...that sounds like "easy" to me. But maybe the living IS easy for the kids. They don't have to think about the sun or the mosquitoes or getting the baby and/or stroller down the 100-foot sandy bluff or any of the other bazillion things that make the living not quite so easy for the parental units. And maybe that is just the way summer is supposed to be, for the little ones. Care-free. Loose. Unburdened by the routine that makes us hurry from one activity to the next the rest of the year.

Easy, even.

What a lovely thought.

Something new...

The other day we went "adventuring" (which means we leave the house without knowing where we are going) in Ladner and ended up going berry picking and then to a new (or new to us, anyway) waterpark in Steveston. The kids loved the newness of it; the unexplored corners of the park, the rainbow-coloured sprinkler to run under, the turquoise squirters to attack unsuspecting children. We had a great day. This, combined with Ben's first swim(s) in the ocean and pool this week, has got me thinking about doing new things and going to new places.

It used to be, in my life b.c. (before children), that I seemed to do something new every other day -whether it was learning a new sport (like rock-climbing), exploring a new city or country, or trying my hand at a new project (like pottery, paper mache, or photoshop). I loved embracing the newness of each thing, and would obsess for days or weeks on each one. I loved the devotion, the feeling of throwing myself into something new, to just see what would come out. I miss those days.

These days, I'm lucky if I have five minutes at the end of the day to floss my teeth (or the energy and will left to do it). I don't have the uninterrupted hours I used to take for granted. What parent does? Most days I just feel like I'm in survival mode. But I also know that without adventure, without travel, without a "newness" in my days in some form, I'm quite a grumpy person. And so is my husband. So where do we go from here?

Well, we go to Ladner, for one. We go "adventuring" to new waterparks and new cities and new places close by. We take the kids on road trips to Portland and Calgary, and get them to help us plan our trips to Mexico and Montreal. We talk about our traveling days with them, and as soon as Ben gets a little older, we''ll take them to Bangkok and Paris and Ulaan Bator. And we try to take on new projects with them at home - like baking our own bagels, and making strawberry jam, and making hodge-podged mirrors - so that they, too, can get excited about trying new things. 

And as for me? Well, while I recognize that it's not realistic for me to take on big, ambitious new projects right now, I try to find new little things I can do to satisfy that stirring inside of me. Like take a 3-hour sewing class, like I did last week at Spool of Thread, where I made Max and Sam cozy new pillowcases. Or plan a weekend adventure with old friends, to reconnect and relax sans enfants. Or start up this blog, which helps me to get something on the page; something to mark this crazy, beautiful, sometimes overwhelming time of our life. It's not exploring a market in China, or learning to fly an airplane, or even cooking my way through Julia Child's cookbook - but at least it's new. 

And for now, that's enough for me.