A piece of home or heaven

This morning on the way to school I played Simon and Garfunkel for the kids. I turned the volume up louder than usual and we rode in silence as we listened to The boxer. Midway through the song, I adjusted the rearview mirror to see how they were taking it in. Both boys were looking out the window, watching the cars slide gingerly along the cold snowy terrain.  I turned my attention back to the road, lost myself in the story, musing over  the genius blend of music and poetry.

It filled me with glory despite the dim, blustery January morning.

We poked around a second-hand music store, a relic in today’s uber-tech environment, over the Christmas break and although we were looking for some inexpensive copies of Star Wars - Shaune has been anxiously waiting for the right time to introduce the saga to the kids, I thumbed through the  CDs hoping to find something on the mental checklist I’d been keeping. 

I hit the jackpot when I saw the familiar cover of their Greatest Hits album; I’d owned it almost twenty years ago in university. In the days that followed, I listened to it a handful of times, as a mother and grown woman now, and still it felt like I’d found a piece of home or heaven, just like it did all those years ago.

We didn’t do much else over the break. I spent many early mornings running outside, eight or so kilometers and just as many mornings looking for workouts on the internet, which I did in the basement amid the Lego builder and budding artist who were given plenty of warning about what could happen should they interrupt me for the 45 minutes I needed. 

We also tinkered with our new phones (Loving the LG G3!), met up with family, made it to hockey practices and spent the rest of the time eating curries, when Shaune felt like cooking, and eating salads when I had to, assembling toys, picking up Lego, assessing dozens of new drawings the kids churned out at what felt like break-neck speed, and lounging around the now familiar living spaces in our home, on this very first Christmas here. 

It was a good end to the year.

These guys spent two uninterrupted weeks together. Most of the time they played really well together but if I'm going to be honest there were also many trying moments. Lots of tattling. Lots of fights needing mediation. Lots of tears. Lots of wine.

Deaglan spent a good deal of time building Lego. Cars, spaceships, submarines and even a Woolly Mammoth. And I spent just as much time picking tiny pieces out of the rug, off the kitchen floor, from the bottom of staircases, out of my hair, my teeth...etc.  

And Naveen, well he refused to do anything or go anywhere unless it was in his pajamas. So because we understand that he values comfort above all else, together we gifted him four new pairs this year. 

Here's what we ate on New Year's Eve. Shaune made mussels in a tomato broth and chorizo sausage topped with scallops and lobster. And because our brother-in-law doesn't do seafood, there was also grilled steak, mushrooms, crusty garlic bread and Caesar salad.

We cut the tree out of the house when all was said and done. It was such a nuisance to get into the house that it made things easier to just trim it branch by branch. Here's how it looked after its substantial haircut. 

Speaking of haircuts. 

Naveen's friend Lawson's Mom, Diana is a hairdresser and when we told him she would be cutting his hair he sat still and quiet while she clipped away. It was a first!

I know not to ask these people to smile when I point a camera at them because this is all I ever get, yet I do it all the time. 

I hope the end to your year was just as good.

The long road to Spring

We’re more than halfway through a new month of a brand new year and you’ll be comforted to know that nothing much has changed around here. Mornings are still harried as I race against the clock to get myself and two boys out the door looking our parts: me – business casual, them – ready for running, jumping and whatever they do that has worn out the knees on just about every pair of pants they own, all the while remembering everything it entails: a packed lunch and backpack, dry mittens, hats, zippers and snowpants, homework and signed notes, and often, a toy or well-loved stuffy to bring the familiarity of home to where they spend their days.

Many mornings go as smooth as these things can, meaning I’ve used minimal bribery for cooperation, I’ve not had to yell (too much) to be heard, and our goodbyes are said without tears or resentment.

But many mornings have been the exact opposite of this.

Our nights fare about the same: pick-ups spent gathering wet mittens and hats, slapdash dinners from whatever we remembered to put on the grocery list, homework and note-signing, bath-times and bedtimes, and a generous glass of wine to tie it all together.

Always a glass of wine.

Since I posted last, I’ve read halfway through two books, built three Lego vehicles, straightened out four junk drawers, donated five bags of clothes, and ice skated for the first time in almost 26 years. I also started drinking more water, and watching The Guardian on Netflix.

Two words: Simon.Baker.

It’s that long, hard part of winter and I’m doing my best to make the best of it. By practicing radical self-care (as Anne Lamott calls it), I’m hoping to cheat the system. I’m cleaning and purging, organizing and hydrating, reading and sticking to my routines. I'm also staying far, far away from sugar and cuddling the kids as much as I can.

And if I can remember to do it, I’m thinking good, wholesome, positive thoughts. Sometimes it's the only way to neutralize the winter blues.

One morning last week, I woke Naveen up, and held his sleepy little body on my hip.  With his arms around my neck he asked me if it was the weekend yet. It was only Tuesday. I kissed his head and tried to think of a way to answer that without making it sound like Saturday was eons away. 

It sure felt like it to me.

Santa left Jenga under the tree for Deaglan. We played the intended way a few times but he found more fun ways to use the wooden pieces.

Please ignore the empty raisin box. And the empty playdough container. And the unswept bit of floor.

That's a tiny Lego Mutant Ninja Turtle on top of that tower.
 Leonardo, to be accurate.

There's been lots of time spent in our favourite pajamas.

Lots of time spent watching our favourite shows. With Raphael.

 

Are you impressed with my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle know-how? Naveen always is...he asks me at least five times a day who my favourite Turtle is. I always say  the same thing. Hands down Michaelangelo, Dude!

 

And I got to wander a thrift store for a few hours to start this gallery wall.

 

What about you, what are you doing on these long cold winter days? 

 

A deposit

My parents gave the kids gift cards this past Christmas.

Their decision was based solely on the fact that every gift they bought for the boys last year was a duplicate of something they’d already received from one of our other relatives at earlier gift-opening ceremonies. When I noticed the recurring pattern, (and the disappointment on my parents’ faces each time)  I cringed with every subsequent unwrapping, silently praying it wasn’t something else they’d already received, knowing full well that Deaglan would exclaim loud and clear to the affirmative if it was.

So this year when they opened their Christmas mail from Mimi and Papa  (my parents winter in Mexico and had sent the cards ahead of time should we want to choose the gifts for the kids ourselves to eliminate last year's dilemma), I quickly explained what gift cards were. I had them (mostly Deaglan) imagine a time, much, much farther into the future, after Christmas was well behind us, when they might finally feel bored with their Christmas (and for Deaglan, birthday) toys, a point when they might be thinking how nice it would be to have a new toy or book. I explained that this was precisely when they would be delighted to realize they could walk into the toy and book store (for they’d received a gift card for each) and choose something of their wanting.

I’ll tell you, the prospect of this sounded very good to Deaglan, very, very good indeed. So good in fact, that after I’d explained it to him, he could not tuck the idea away for that future day I spoke of. Instead he wondered out loud every single day for the next few weeks if it might be the right day, that very day, to spend those gift cards, so that each time, increasingly wearily, I pointed out what I felt was the obvious, that there was an enormous pile of new toys, some still in its packaging, fresh, yet unplayed-with at his disposal.

This did nothing to discourage him.

It’s difficult for me to reconcile this kind of excess. On the one hand I’m exceedingly grateful to our very generous families for using their hard earned money to create wonderful Christmas experiences for our boys. I’m very, very grateful for it; I can’t stress this enough.

But I wonder too, each year, whether there is a way to stop the insanity of it; to bring the season back to its essence, you know, family time, helping people who need it, celebrating without all the commercialism and consumerism.

Every time I consider that the right thing might very well be to take a stand, stop celebrating Christmas in this way altogether, I am forced to play the scenario out. And this is exactly when I recognize that although I could really get behind a more wholesome, natural way of doing things, due to the fact that I’m easily distracted, in order to really pull it off, we'd likely have to cut all ties with everyone we know in the free world, move out to the deep, deep woods somewhere in the northern part of the province perhaps; an isolated foresty locale where we would be required to live out a rustic, pastoral existence, without TV or internet influencing our desires for little more than twigs and rocks for amusement. A lifestyle  I fear I am in no way equipped to handle either emotionally or by way of skillset.

I’ve rambled. 

And I’m sorry.

Because this is not at all what I wanted to regale you with today. What I really wanted to tell you, mostly because you’ve received this kind of thing so well over the years and also a teensy bit because when you’re the mother of small kids who consistently do things that astound and amuse you (and so we're clear – also irritate the crap out of you), there is an itching desire to tell someone or many someones about it.  

You realize, however, not everyone thinks your kids are as charming as you do, and you can only deposit so many stories of their adorable antics into the Bank of Good, Kind, Listening Friend (GKLF if you will), so that you find yourself taking the leftovers to your blog to fully document the depth and breadth of how scrumptiously delectable your naughty two year old is.  

Sheesh, I’ve sort of built that up in a way I may not be able to deliver.

Here’s the thing: Every time Naveen sees me squeezing my Shea butter lotion into the palm of my hands, he asks if he can have some too. And every time I give him a dab, he rubs his pudgy little hands together, takes a whiff and says, “Mmm, Mommy your lotion smells like soup!” Only he has an S impediment (Love!) so he says thoup.

Also when we went to Toys R Us last weekend to spend the gift cards from Mimi and Papa, while Deaglan took close to eight hours to deliberate on just the right thing (an Iron Man star tek armour set) Naveen walked straight to the bright pink aisles, found a sparkling fuchsia Minnie Mouse tea cart on wheels, fully equipped with three different cupcakes, a lazy Susan, and purple serving tray and declared without hesitation that this is what he'd be taking home.

Phew. 

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.

De-Christmasafied

Am I the only one breathing a sigh of relief that it's over? That there's nary a hint of Christmas in our home? Not a sno-globe or candy cane in sight? Yesterday Shaune and I scrubbed it away, swore if we never heard another jingle bell it would be too soon.

Although there's a lot to do like build an addition on our house to accomodate the stockpile of new toys the kids received from their overly generous relatives, I've decided to sit down, watch the snow finally fall. There's been a lot of visiting and I don't know about you, but I take mine with plenty of breaks in between.

And while I don't like to focus on the material gifts received during the season, I can't help but tell you about the ones that touched me most. Like the toy vacuum cleaner Santa left for Naveen. Only during phases of sleep has he been without it. He walks around all day, holding it lovingly, chanting its name va-koooom.

There's also this drawing from Shaune's sister Katie of our little Naveen. Such a beautiful likeness of our Hoover-lover. She used one of the pictures in this set as her model.

Here's my winter mantle. The plate in the frame belonged to Matthew, just one of his everyday dinner plates. There wasn't much to take, very few memento-like things in the pile of his things in my parents' basement.

I've enjoyed looking at it, thinking about him.

And I'm itching to rearrange furniture, change up the curtains, get a new look. It happens every year around this time, when the rooms look suddenly emptier, cleaner. I see the possibilities again. I bought this beautiful vintage oval mirror (below) for $5 at a garage sale last summer.

And here's the drawing of Deaglan on the other side of the window. Sorry about the blurred photo. Katie did this one three years ago. That lady knows the way to my heart.

See the brass lamp below? I found two of them on the side of the road last year. Yup, garbage-picking. Only, Shaune didn't roll his eyes this time. He kind of liked them. Hello??? What's not to like - they were free! I'm just dying to spray paint them. Maybe the same blue as the dinner plate. What do you think?