St. Valentine and his Day

I know a lot of people who have a beef with the commercialization of Christmas. Every holiday season we're inundated with images of a jolly old chap selling us Coca-Cola, every product imaginable, as well as an array of toys that defies my imagination. To some extent I expect it at Christmas these days. And if the birth of Christ is open game, I shouldn't be surprised by the sickeningly sweet shades of pink and red that are washing over the local stores. Not that they're just starting to spread. Most retail outlets had at least one Valentine's Day aisle while Christmas shopping was still in full force. It feels like a slow-spread disease, the symptoms of which are forced displays of affection, a blindness to any colour not in the family of red or pink, and high blood sugars from excessive chocolate consumption. While I'm sure a lot of folks aren't just making displays of affection for Valentine's Day and are daily making their significant others feel beloved, I wonder why it feels like the message is to absolutely spoil your partner or spouse for the one day, but not to focus on the other 364 days. Even if you are a spontaneous person who spoils your loved ones in unexpected ways and on any day, the expectations behind this singular day are so huge, how can even the most loving person manage to keep up? It seems, according to the media and consumer stores, that I'm supposed to be expecting spa packages, special meals, cards, gifts, special mementos and so much more from my husband. Apparently all that is required of me is that I show up to be loved, maybe get him a card, and watch some hockey. I feel like something's been lost in translation.

St. Valentine must be rolling his eyes up in Heaven. Here a was a man, a priest, who gave his life to God and to God's Church every day of his life up until the moment he was brutally martyred. He was a man of daily charity to those who relied on him to give them the Sacraments. St. Valentine is associated with romantic love because he risked his life to help couples celebrate the Sacrament of Marriage at a time when Christianity was prohibited in the Roman Empire. At any point he could have given up his clandestine works of devotion to his flock, but he continued on until he was arrested and martyred. To me, this seems so much at odds with the current incarnation of his feast day. Here's a man, a beautiful image of sacrificial love, whose feast day is being used for indulgence, selfish expectations, and excess. The couples for whom he risked his life to witness the Sacrament of their Marriage, must be up there in Heaven rolling their eyes too. They had to gather in secret locations away from the eyes of the Roman law to sanctify their union. I'm pretty sure the idea of chocolates and spa treatments seem empty next to the freedom to celebrate their faith in peace. I may be speaking out of turn, but I'm pretty sure these couples would be at Mass on February 14th, giving thanks to God for the priest who gave everything to God and to them.

All of this leads me to reflect that if we're going to set St. Valentine's day apart as a special day, it shouldn't be a day to celebrate saccharine emotional displays. It should be a day to emulate that sacrificial love that St. Valentine lived unto his own death. And like St. Valentine, it shouldn't just be on one day, it should be the act of every day. While I think it's always great to remind people around us that we love them, I think we should go well past just saying it, and prove it year round, by devoting small duties and prayers to ease their path and bring them closer to God. Through the daily administering of his duties, St. Valentine brought Christ to those around him. This St. Valentine's Day, perhaps what we could do for those we loved would be to pray for them, offer Mass, and instead of handing over our money to the stores for the sake of trinkets and foods, give our loved ones the gift of ourselves. Maybe that means sitting down and taking extra time to listen to them, or pray with them, or even letting them go and take a nap when they get home after a long day. All the things that society tells us will express our love will only last a day or two. The flowers will wilt, the chocolates will be eaten, the cards will find their way into the recycling, but the gift of yourself will build up your relationship in a truly lasting way that could snowball and improve your relationship for the rest of your lives together.

Husband, Kids and Pregnancy

A busy week here in our house. For one, my husband has started adding, at the request of his boss, an extra hour or hour and a half to every work day for the foreseeable future. That's about ten and a half hours a day, averaging 52.5 hours a week. I know this won't last forever, and that since the whole shop is taking a week and a half off around Christmas, it's a financial boon. With how busy things have been at the shop lately, I'm not entirely surprised everyone at the shop is adding hours to their week. It's part of how they work together to be one of if not the best cabinetmaking shop in our city. They want the extra time to install their kitchens right, so the customer is pleased with the results. It's obviously working well, because they have about as any kitchens scheduled for the next two months as they have all summer, and they're finishing them with the same flawless skill and efficiency. I'm really proud of my husband for working so hard for our family so we can have a little extra. Extra for the kids and extra to share with others as we can.

And then there's the kids. They've been a mix between lovely and mind-boggling. I got my hair cut short last month, so it's a little harder to pull all my hair out, thank God. I love each and every one of my precious little blessings, but there are days, people, there are days. I won't regale you with all the details, but it has involved crayons on wall, potty training mishaps (every night for several weeks), diapers being removed and used for "art" projects, nasty coughs and runny noses, vicious angry (poor baby!), fighting between big and small and just general chaos. The funny thing is that most of the bad stuff only lasts a few minutes, and then we're back to hugging, cuddling, laughing, and general silliness. I have to remind myself that I can't let a few minutes ruin my whole day, but it can be tough when I'm scrubbing the walls and changing sheets while trying to break up fights. Because we had the kids so close together, we get the upside of them being the best of friends, but with that comes the complication of them being toddlers and preschoolers all at the same time. Looking back, I really wouldn't change anything, because I think the benefits outweigh the pee-soaked sheets. That's what I have to remind myself when I'm down in the trenches. The fact is that with one or two kids, I'd probably be just as stressed out by teething, potty training or whatnot, but I wouldn't have each of these beautiful little people to love and to inspire me to keep getting up every day to be everything to them.

With another pregnancy I'm looking forward to adding this new baby to the mix. Yes, it'll be another baby's worth of diapers and sleepless nights, but this baby will be one more reason to fight through my own selfishness and laziness to become a better person for the kids and my husband. Each of them love me so much, I can't help but want to love them right back and then some. I've often joked that life with toddlers must be some kind of purgatory, but every day I get big ole slices of heaven tucked in there to keep me going. I'm trying every day to embrace what I've been given, and to always have gratitude on my heart, no matter what the kids throw at me, or the walls.

For Her, Not for Me

As I'm sure most homeschooling families can attest, choosing to educate your children from home seems to invite a certain amount of discussions, questions, and criticism. Sometimes these conversations are eye opening, sometimes they make me want to close my eyes and shake my head. I have no doubt that if I had chosen private school for my child we'd still get questions, but it would be more about the uniforms and tuition fees than whether we were doing right by our kids. On top of that I know that if we had chosen public school, it would be treated as so matter of fact that the most we would have been asked was which school, what outfit for the first day, and what school supplies we'd purchased. No one would be asking me if my curriculum was sufficient, if the teacher was capable, or if I thought my daughter would thrive in either public or private school.

I appreciate there is a certain amount of curiosity surrounding homeschooling as it is not as common as the other alternatives. Most of the people that I had heard about being homeschooled were those who were taken out of public schools as the result of bullying. It's only now as an adult that I'm meeting those who choose not to join the public school system in the first place. A few of my friends are actually homeschooled children, and seeing what bright and socially capable they are, I'm actually very encouraged by our choice. I think that the so-called "weird" or "awkward" homeschooled kids aren't that way because they're homeschooled. I met plenty of "weird" or "awkward" kids in public school. All the socialisation in the world didn't change that. Often times those kids became magnets for bullies and spent more time trying to survive school than actually learning. If there seems to be a greater proportion of "weird" kids that are homeschooled, I'd suspect that's because their parents have pulled them out of public school so that they could focus on their education rather than on how to avoid being bullied or ostracised by their peers.

I know many people think I've drunk the special kool aid and that I've bought into some sort of hokum about how public school and teachers are evil, and I need to protect my kids from society so they don't turn into hoodlums and axe murderers. Seriously folks, that's ridiculous. While I see the difficulties of our public school system, and have even discussed them before, I do realise that some kids thrive in that scenario. I know lots of kids who excelled in the group learning scenario, made lots of friends, and came out the class president and valedictorian or whatnot. I value so highly what our teachers, principals, and other staff are doing for the kids in the system. They have tiny budgets, varied learning styles, complex material, and not enough hours in the day to connect with each and every student. They are incredible people, taking on the mantle of educating young minds, while receiving flak from students and parents alike for their teaching methods, quantity of homework, marking, etc etc etc. Over my years in the public school system I had many teachers who I realise now were experiencing an unimaginable level of burnout because they had tried so hard for so long to do what was best for the kids entrusted to them and simply had no more to give.

The fact of the matter is that while all of this came into consideration, the real reason we are home educating our child isn't because of our opinions about the public school system. I'm sure that if we sent her to school she'd do fine. Make a few friends, get a passing grade, and learn what she needs to learn. She'd have opportunities, experiences, make connections, and probably meet that one special teacher she'll look back on for years to come. All good stuff. All admirable and desirable. Plus, I'd get the pleasure of having one less duty around the house for the bulk of the day. But it's not about me. It's not about getting by or her being fine.

For me, homeschooling is a parenting choice. A choice based on each child and their individual needs. For lots of kids, public school is really the best thing. For others, private school is the way to go. For still others, homeschooling is the best avenue. Our choice to educate her at home isn't to shelter her from life, but to educate her in the way we think will best help her to excel, grow, and become who she is meant to be. After a lot of thought and prayer, and some initial resistance from both of us, we realised that the unavoidable truth is that homeschooling is not what we want, per se, but what she needs. That I can offer her this opportunity to learn in the way that is best for her is amazing and humbling. I am not unaware of the incredible responsibility I'm shouldering as her primary educator. I also know that with a lot of hard work, and by the grace of God, I'll look back and be happy we chose to accept this path for our family. This is a choice we're making as a family, for her sake, not for our own.

At the end of the day, questions are normal, especially with something so different from the norm. I still find it difficult to be given the third degree about this parenting choice from friends and strangers. (Not that everyone is giving us the third degree! So many of our friends are very excited for us!) As I was saying to a friend, you'd never corner a woman and berate her for breastfeeding or using a bottle (or for heaven's sake you shouldn't!). As strangers to the situation and the process behind the choice, we need to sit back and realise it's simply not our business. No parenting choice is taken lightly, from feeding, to diapering, to schooling. Each choice a parent makes is for their child, not for themselves. By all means, ask questions as a means to educate yourself on the choice. I'm more than happy to answer any and all questions in that light. However, if your question at any point starts with "Don't you know that...", "How could you..." or "What about..." or other judgement heavy lines, perhaps we would all be better served if you took to the internet or a book to find your answer. If a parent has come into a choice with prayers, discernment, and lots of research, all you're going to do by asking judgemental questions is to alienate them.

What I'm left with in all of this is that no matter what people ask, or how they ask it, we can keep our heads up because we know that this really isn't about us or what we want, it's about our daughter and what she needs. No amount of doubt or concerns from others can change the fact that we're doing the right thing for her, even though though we may not be doing right according to others.

First Day of Homeschooling

The first day of school is rapidly approaching, oddly enough without the sense of urgency I had expected. Unlike the parents of students going to public school, I can set my own start date. I also am not scrambling to buy up school supplies according to an exact list. Don't get me wrong, we've been slowly acquiring supplies over the summer. We already have paper of all varieties, writing implements, scissors and the like. We also acquired a few curriculum workbooks made specifically by Canadian public school teachers for reinforcement and enrichment of their programming that I'm going to use as a kind of benchmark for my daughter's learning in tandem with my own lesson plans. We also found, blessedly on sale, a collection of flash cards for early math, french vocabulary (because YES, I will be teaching my daughter the equivalent of core french), as well as sight words, which I am especially excited about. The great thing about these cards is that, unlike the workbooks which will be written in and then be done (it would cheaper to buy new ones than to photocopy the pages), I can reuse the flash cards for years to come. We also picked up a really great map of the world which includes the flags of all the countries. Seems silly, but I can't imagine a school room without one. Geography is such an essential part of education, even from the start. Kids always need to know the world is bigger than their classroom.

The other side of the first day of school jitters I know I'm missing is that of the teachers in our overwrought public school system. While they face a year of learning as few as 27 new names, preparing worksheets, tests, and permission slips, I have the distinct pleasure of already knowing every member of my class. I know how she learns, and I happen to know her parents personally. When I want to take a school trip, I won't need a week's notice. Maybe an hour or so because I'll need to check the bus schedule. I also don't have to worry about getting angry notes or visits from parents who don't approve of my teaching style or what I'm teaching. I can, however, fall more in love my sweet little student, give her hugs and kisses without fear of it being deemed inappropriate. When she's sick, I'll know well before it's time to take attendance. I also don't have to work as hard as the teachers in the public school system, who have to carefully manage their time to fit everything they need in a day. I don't have to worry that I haven't been able to spend enough time with each of my students comprehends the material. Because I won't have to stretch myself between 27 or more students, each unique and needing of different learning styles, I have the opportunity to tailor a program to just my child, a program that can grow and change with her. As I steadily prepare for the new year, I can't help but give a tip of my hat to all the public school teachers. They are truly making gold out of straw, and deserve our utmost respect for the good works they do.

For the next few weeks, as our excitement grows, we're working on what we'll be doing her first day of school. We want her to feel like this a special milestone, and to do activities that we can do the first day of school every year that she homeschools. We have a few projects in mind to fill our day. Because we want her Daddy to be there, we've planned the day of school to be on Labour Day, which is a holiday for him. So far we have the requisite first day of school picture, including fancy first day of school outfit. Next up we'll be doing a mould of her hand (and that of all her siblings because we want them to feel special too!). After that we'll be planting a garden box that we'll nurture as one of our nature projects during the year. I also plan to include a reading of Dr. Seuss' "Oh the Places You'll Go" and a picnic at a park down by the water if the weather permits. That will fill up most of the "school" parts of the day. The rest we'll spend like any normal day, being wild, loving, noisy, messy and fun. I know that the first day will be easy and wonderful. I know that every day after will be harder, but incredibly worth it.

Good Taste in Popular Culture

I grew up in a family that didn't really follow the popular music scene (except my eldest brother, who even then had rather moderate taste). We listened to our national radio station, lots of classic albums (okay okay, my Mom may have owned a few Cheech and Chong albums we laughed our way through), oodles of musical theatre, and a large quantity of folk style music from the 60s and 70s. The first CD I ever owned was the soundtrack to Evita (still listen to it today). I got more excited about a newly discovered Sondheim play than whatever New Kids or Boys to Men album had dropped. That wasn't because my folks didn't want us to listen to pop music or had some sort of ban of what was "cool", it was because that wasn't their taste, and they didn't have a problem commenting on the style, or lack there of, of whatever we listened to. My folks could be swayed by a band that played with real talent and style (the Barenaked Ladies were a great example), but if it was garbage, they had no problem telling us. They didn't stop us from buying whatever music we wanted with our own money or even as gifts, but they instilled in us an ability to see past what the radio was telling us was "good" to figure out what was music written by truly talented musicians. We are a musical family, and we wanted our music to be well written, lyrically deep, and to have staying power. That's probably why the Beatles had more play in our house than the Backstreet Boys. In the 90s as so much of the music was overproduced, ghost written or lyrically just atrocious, I was glad that I had been raised to have good taste rather than popular taste.

The same went for books. Most of the books on my parents book shelves today are the same authors as they were back in the 80s. Usually if they're purchasing a new book it's a replacement of an old copy that has become so worn through multiple readings it has fallen apart. Books are like friends, to be treasured and visited often. Lots of great, classic sci-fi, fantasy, military, thrillers, and of course the English classics. Besides my Dad's ever growing collection of Clancy books, the most modern thing on our shelves was probably by Hemmingway. As a kid I read all the usual suspects (included my fair share of Scary Stories anthologies and Judy Bloom books), but side by side I was making my way through a fair collection of books I would still read today. In grade 2 I read the Hobbit for the first time. I tried the Lord of the Rings the next year but found it boring. My University degree in Classics proves not much has changed, except that my reading selection has gotten even older and dustier. I am a great troller of used book stores. Lately I've made my way through some new writers whose epic stories (yes, the word epic is deserved here) and easy reading stories have kept my attention. I'm talking about the Harry Potter series, anything by Jasper Fforde (get out and read some of his well written, clever books!) and the Hunger Games more recently.

I think one of the greatest legacies my parents taught me wasn't to stay away from culture, for better or for worst, but to have real discernment for what I choose to spend my valuable time on when I go out and seek it. I have fallen prey to some awful music over the years, but when I'm in the mood for something that speaks to my souls, I will always turn to the Beatles, James Taylor, The Mamas and the Papas, and other such solid, beautifully written music. The same goes for books. I might get a thrill out of some hilariously trashy reading once in a while, but after reading A Moveable Feast, I'm reminded that real literature is something you become emotionally attached to. It's a book so well loved and leafed through that it passes from hand to hand, generation to generation, never losing its charm. So, while I won't keep my kids from reading whatever the latest incarnation of popular music or literature is out there when they're old enough to enjoy it, before I throw them into the fray of pop culture, I hope to have built in them the same good taste and critical eye I was gifted with by my parents.

Natural Family (Un)Planning

Let me start his off by saying that I love Natural Family Planning, or NFP. Many of my friends are complete pros at using it, and I find myself in awe of their faith in action. That being said, I must confess we're not exactly the best with NFP. We've done the reading and figured out the rudimentary facts of how it works. I have been able to look at it objectively and see that it is a wonderful, natural and intelligent way of looking at the gift of our fertility. Subjectively, however, I just don't feel that it's right for our family. From before we got married, my husband and I have always felt moved to simply let things come as they will. Any attempt to plan has always led us into great spiritual frustration, which is fruitless for ourselves and our family as a whole. When we have simply lived our lives according to the daily movements of our spirits, we have felt closer to God and to each other. I believe that God inspired the good people who worked out the science of NFP for the sake of His people. He created each of us, and so I trust that He has a plan for each of our families in how we should approach our fertility.  In my heart of hearts, I believe that when He created my husband and I, He created us knowing we would be happier following the voice of our spirits instead of the signs of NFP.

I know that I will accept whatever God gives me. I know that this is the same for my friends who use NFP. Let me clarify that we're not going to go above and beyond to try to conceive 100 children or whatnot. Thus comes our ideology of Natural Family UnPlanning (which I will not abbreviate, as it doesn't have the same clean sounding name as NFP). Even that's a bit of a misnomer. I realise that while I may not be trying to plan my family according to my means, circumstances, and the calling in my hearts, I am depending entirely that God has a plan for our family which He is revealing as we continue on. I guess the difference is that we're completely handing over the control over the scheduling to God. A great example is that right now as we speak, I, for the first time since the 2nd month of our married life, am not pregnant. My body needed a break, and our growing family needed extra attention, so God has worked in His plan that I won't be pregnant for now. This means that, as my husband is suffering with some medical issues, I have been able to devote my love and energy on him without shortchanging our kids. If I was pregnant right now, I would, knowing my history of pregnancy, be overly tired and cranky (okay, I'm still be cranky) and probably increasing in width as I decreased in my ability to do the physical tasks needed to help him cope with these medical issues. God has blessed me with a lack of fertility right now. If He chooses to bless me with fertility later, I will embrace it, and any children that come from that.

As I went in to tuck my little monsters in to bed when I got home from grocery shopping, I was struck by the immensity of God's blessings. If we had used NFP to observe our fertility, I wonder if we would have each of them. The only time we actively tried to have a baby was with our first child, and that was because we felt so strongly called to have her at the time. After her birth we researched NFP, but dropped our books in favour of simply allowing whatever would happen to happen. With 4 little miracles in our 6 years of marriage, I feel that we made the right choice to trust our fertility to God in this way. He took our simple offering and, as He does with all things, has made something greater than we could have imagined. He made us a family. A big, noisy, very messy, blessed family. I have never, not even once, regretted any one of them, even when they're acting insane and I'm feeling like I'm the ringmaster of a three-ring (or is that a 4-ring?) circus gone awry. I'm left at the end of each day exhausted, a little relieved, and a whole lot of thankful for each of them (even the one who has recently taken to biting. Ouch!).

When we were Franciscans, our Superior taught us that the greatest calling of spiritual poverty was to be able to trust entirely in Providence. I guess a part of us never let go of that little lesson, tucked into every homily, every formation day, and every chat we had with him. We've never had to go begging on the street like our holy brothers and sisters, but God has made us the benefactors of His great and continuous Charity through the hands and hearts of so many friends, family and even strangers. Our children have always had a roof over their heads, we've always had transportation, and we've never lacked for food. While we may lack patience some days (and often are at the bare acceptable minimum of clean socks), we always have an overflowing store of love in such abundance that I can easily imagine God doubling our family and still having more. So long as we're called to live this way, I know we will continue to rest entirely on God's mercy, trusting as always that His plan for us is for our good.

School

Our oldest child is about to enjoy the last summer of her life before summer is associated primarily as the vacation from school. This September, at the impossibly young age of 4, my big girl will be old enough to enter her first year of school. I have been dreading this moment for the past 5 years (I'm including pregnancy, folks). I'm not sure she's ready to go. I'm not sure I'm ready for her to go. To me she still seems so little, so young, and simply not ready for that level of all-day learning required at the school she would be attending. Four months seems like too short of a time for her to suddenly become a morning person, and additionally to gain an attention span of more than twenty minutes. She is distractible at best, easily frustrated at worst, when faced with any attempt to learn new things. I look at her face and know that sending her to school doesn't feel right. Doesn't feel fair. I can see in her all the necessary ingredients for the same false ADHD diagnosis we hear is being levelled upon so many young elementary school students. I fear her being bullied as she is small for her age, and in so many ways still very innocent and naive about the cruelty of others.

I don't think I should have to change her, to crush what I love best about her, so that I can prepare her for a school system that is woefully underfunded, understaffed, and overflowing with students at the youngest levels. Through the years I have watched so many of my friends become teachers, working hard to enlighten and inspire the generation entrusted to them. I love these teachers for their enthusiasm, dedication, and fortitude. I respect them for trying to do what they can with what little they are given, making gold out of straw in so many cases. That being said, I look at my daughter and wonder if I can give her more attention here at home. While her teacher could have something nearer to 30 students, I would have just her (plus the distraction of 3 other little monkeys who, fortunately, take naps). I am a university educated woman, and although I don't have a BEd I'm relatively sure I can figure out how to teach my daughter what she needs to know (and some things she doesn't need to know too). I've already taught her about letters, numbers, shapes, colours, phonics, spelling, some french vocabulary, and music. Her reading is coming along slowly, but primarily because she is only 4 and still has a very short attention span. I can see that she knows how to sound out her words, but doesn't have the patience to sit and do it with every word. So we read short simple books, but we do read.

The one thing that had kept me dedicated to the idea of sending our daughter to public school has been that we would send her to French Immersion. Both my husband and I had our schooling primarily in French, and I do feel like it served me in the long run. My paternal Grandpapa was also French, so it was important that my kids learn the language as well. We recently discovered there's a good chance that due to budget cuts the school that our daughter would be attending might be losing its French program over the next few years. There have also been lots of talks of school closures in surrounding regions which I'm sure will be coming to our part of the city too, when you consider the number of schools close to us with the declining enrolment, not to mention the declining education budget.

As we reflected on all this information, we came to the conclusion that, for us, homeschooling was the right path for at least this year. I don't know how many years we'll be able to keep this up, but as long as it's what's best for her (and later on her younger siblings), our home will also be their school. With a bit of guidance from some other homeschooling parents I'm going to dive in head first and do everything I can to give my daughter the best possible educational experience.

Can't Say It Enough

Sometimes I think I get so wrapped up in parenting, I can't see the forest for the trees. There are days when every time I open my mouth, it's only to tell someone to stop standing on something, stop fighting, stop whining, or to do something like clean up, eat, or sit. Time after time there are only corrections and instructions. With four kids, I find myself talking at them pretty much all day. I know that because they're toddlers this is part of the deal. They need boundaries. They need guidance. Still, there are times when I sit back and go over my day and I can't help but wonder what makes me so different from a daycare or a babysitter. Nothing about what I've done all day is so much different from what we could pay a stranger to do instead.

It's in those times of reflection that I realise I need to make time for more cuddles, more laughter, and I need to remember to say more than the "do"s and "don't"s to my kids. Over the past week I've tried to make a conscious effort to interrupt my own constant stream of instructions to pause, take each child aside, and to simply say "I love you" and "I'm so glad you're my child". I'm sure this seems obvious to everyone, but it's something I struggle with. I do love my kids. If anything ever happened to one of them, part of my life would end there and then. Everything I do every day is for them. I gave up my chance to have a career outside the home to be able to be with them, to give them everything they needed.

All my instructions and guidance comes from that place of deep love, and wanting to help them be safe and also to learn and grow, but I know feeling this love for them isn't enough to let them know I feel it. I'm sure when they're older they'll be able to look back and see that all of this is coming from a place of love, but until then I need to say it, as often as I can, when they're being good and when they're being bad. I want them to know that I love them no matter what, and always have. I can't stop setting limits for their safety, but I never want to set a limit on my love for them.

After about a week of spontaneous "I love you"s, I'm still finding the kids crazy, wonderful, a little out of control, and hilarious. They haven't changed much, although my oldest son has started spontaneously saying "I love you" too every once in a while. I really wasn't looking for a change in them, I was looking for a change in me. I know I needed to do this so I could appreciate again my special role in this family, that I'm more than a housekeeper or babysitter. Whether we're at home or working, I think every parent teaches one great lesson to their children: that no matter what, there is someone who loves them unconditionally, deeply and constantly.

East Coast Home

Today as I was checking out my social media feed, I couldn't help but notice that all the big Canadian magazines and blog sites are based out of Ontario (with a more or less particular bent for the Toronto crowd). I find it fun to read about the adventures of my Ontario counterparts. They get all the best concerts (without all the controversy we seem to attract here in the east), amazing museums, arts coming out of their ears, not to mention the fact that there is ample entertainment for kids that doesn't quite bother making a tour spot anywhere near my city. That's the benefit of living in a bigger city, I suppose. We've talked about moving out west (yes, Ontario is out west to us!) several times, but I can't imagine transplanting our lives for the sake of being able to see something like Disney's Stars on Ice with the kids. (Although really, if that were here, I'd be waiting in line for tickets or whatnot).

I suppose it's more than convenience that keeps us here, or even our family. Despite the fact that we are lacking some of the really upper crust cultural things here, I feel like there's so much to see and experience in our beautiful province that makes up for the lack of worldly culture. Everywhere you look in our small city there's some history to behold or a song to be sung. We may not get U2 to rock the commons, but we're the home of Joel Plaskett (how many times can you mention Clayton Park?), Chris from Sloan (I used to sing in a choir with his lovely Mom!), Sarah McLachlan, Matt Mays, Anne Murray, and many other musicians of the past, present and future. Our pub scene is crawling with future stars, all singing music on the cutting edge of their style.

Even ignoring the music, an obvious favourite of mine, we also have several world class universities, including NSCAD, which is churning out a new generation of artists as unique as they are numerous. While we may not have the unarguably amazing Art Gallery of Nova Scotia, we're lucky enough to have a city teeming with new art from up and coming talent that has come to study here from all over the world.  There's also our museums, which tell the tale of our rich and fascinating history. How many museums can boast an extensive collection of Titanic memorabilia? Some adorably nerdy folks from one of our local museums live tweeted the morse code messages between the Titanic and surrounding ships at the exact time, 99 years later, of the night she found her resting place on the ocean floor. I don't need to see Titanic in 3D this year (although I might anyway, classic), because I can go to the Fairview Cemetary to see the graves of her victims arranged in the shape of the bow of the ship. Our whole province, and those surrounding us, are littered with history houses turned museums. One of them is even the old family home of my grandmother's family. In PEI, there is the home made famous by L.M. Montgomery in her Anne books, Green Gables, beautifully preserved. We have forts, grand houses, churches built in a day, and so much history we endeavour to share, while maintaining the thriving life of a young and vibrant downtown core.

I think that's what I really enjoy about province and our city. We have the best of both worlds, though obviously on a smaller scale than our counterparts in central Canada. We have history mixed seamlessly with modernity. History meets social media through our innovative museum staff. All the benefits of culture on the backdrop of a truly beautiful landscape. While I would love to be able to experience some of the world-class events places like Toronto can attract, I wouldn't trade our beautiful harbour, friendly faces, and local flavour for them. So while I may seem a little green some days as I read of all the activities I can't share with my kids, I'm thankful to call the East Coast my home.

Faith to Grow With

In case it wasn't obvious by the former nun and former monk getting hitched business that is our life, and our 4 kids in 5 years, we are Catholic. Because our faith is so important to us, we are trying our best to teach our children about the faith they are inheriting from us. Our TV stand has an earthen tone Nativity (it doesn't look Christmas-y as it is in muted colours, so I don't feel ridiculous having it out year round. Plus, I loves me my baby Jesus!), a statue of St. Francis with a deer (a gift from the Franciscans for our baby girl's baptism. A nice replacement for our old statue we bought on our honeymoon that got knocked over and decapitated by oldest boy), and a small statue of Our Lady of Guadaloupe (bought when I was preggers with baby girl. She was with us in the delivery room and was a great focal point). Our house is also littered with a few pictures of our favourite saints (St. Mary, St. Joseph, St. Monica and St. Augustine, St. Padre Pio, and Blessed JPII) and a cross-stitch of the Prayer of St. Francis made by hubby's Mom. Thanks to both sets of grandparents and our friends, the kids also have a large collection of books related to the life of Christ and various Saints. When he was about 20 months old, our oldest son started to ask if he could take a rosary to bed with him, so he could have "his" Jesus with him. I'm not here to give you an inventory of our home, or trying to look holy or whatnot. I'm just trying to give a sense of the daily normalcy of our Catholicism.

To some people who don't share our values or our particular faith, this may look like brainwashing. You might see our statues, relics, rosaries and stash of Christian books, and think that we're forcing our beliefs on their young minds on a consistent basis. From the perspect of faith, of any faith mind you, not just Christian, a faith worth believing in is a gift that is worth sharing. Belief in a benevolent Creator, who has knows us in every way, is a great comfort as we go through our lives.

As those of you with small children know, everything they do feels like life or death to them, including whether or not they get to have another cookie. Given the fact that we as parents are not perfect, I find it important to be able to point them to a holy Mother and perfect Father to give comfort to them in their darkest hour, even if that darkness seems a little, well, melodramatic to us. We need to realise God made them, knowing that they'd be children, and then even in their littleness He knows them and wants to comfort them in all their struggles. Having the presence of God be real to them from birth can be a true gift that can help them in their frustrations and fears. God's Fatherhood can stand alongside our parenthood without getting in the way. His Fatherhood supports us, and makes good of our parenting when our children are small and we're still learning what it means to be a parent.

By the time they are teenagers it may already be too late to start introducing them to God in the authentic way we can introduce Him to a child who is still full of awe and wonder. In my experience with teenagers, their ability to have perspective on their lives is arrested by the thick fog of hormones, peer pressure, and the isolated life of junior high and high school. How many of us spent our teen years filled with anxiety and writing dramatic poetry about what we would consider now to be small problems? While I felt like I was being swallowed up by the drama in my life, I felt I couldn't talk to my parents because they simply didn't, wouldn't, or couldn't understand. I can see now that wasn't true, but as a teenager that's how I felt. It was in those times that my faith grew from the firm foundation of my childhood into something more personal. I was able to take the lessons of my childhood and use them in my own life. It was about this time that I started reading the Psalms. Nobody does drama quite like King David. I joined him in crying out to God in the depths of my despair, wanting so badly to trust that He would carry me through. And carry me He did. If my parents hadn't taught me about our faith, or spoke of God's love and faithfulness, I'm not sure where I would have turned.

I'm not saying that teaching our children about our faith is going to automatically help them face every problem with great fortitude and grace. I just know that some day, one of them will have a problem they are struggling with, a problem they think is bigger than them and than us. When they're faced with that problem I want to know that we've given them every resource we can to get them through it. The first time they need to utter a prayer not of thanksgiving, but of despair and hopelessness, I hope that praying to the God who they already know loves them, cherishes them, and protects them, will make it a little easier for them. If they know and trust in God, perhaps those troubles that come to them won't seem so great. I want to teach my children about God, because I want them to know they are never forgotten. There is a plan for them even greater than they can imagine. They are always loved. If that faith can start as a child, and stay with them through their teenage years and then into adulthood, I will be able to face them knowing that if I failed in all else, I can be sure I gave them one great gift that will be a testament of my love for them.

Ladies Night Out

I should preface this by saying that I don't get out often. Pretty close to never in fact. I'm lucky enough to have a lady friend who knows the value of time as a woman, instead of just as Mommy, and this lovely lady has been so kind as to encourage me to get out. She adds kindness upon kindness by organizing outings and even coming to get me to make it as easy as possible for me to take a night for myself. I even blogged about the sweet freedom of getting out with her before. She is a true blessing, and a saint in disguise (though barely disguised, her holiness emanates like the rays of the sun!).

Before she and I became good friends I literally never got out without the kids. I'm definitely an emotionally attached mother. I find it incredibly hard to leave the house, even when they're all asleep. The world can get really insulated when you let your kids become your everything and don't allow yourself the freedom to take time for yourself. For the past four or so years I've been that woman, the one who's %100 Mom. I thank God for bringing a friend into my life who could lead me by her fine example to become more than a Mom. If not, I can only imagine where I'd be now. Probably a lonely, burnt-out Mama without any energy to give to my children, let alone my sweet husband, anymore. I was nearly there when my dear friend started dragging me out of the house. Now, I'm actually attracting compliments for how easy I make it look to have four kids, which is thanks in no small part to the fact that I've re-discovered the woman who is the foundation of the wife and mother with the help and encouragement of my friend.

As little as an hour at night doing something for myself reminds me that under the spit-up, cooking splatter, and possibly funky smell, there is a woman worth fighting for. If I can show my children that I value myself enough to take care of myself, then hopefully they'll follow that example and remember to pursue their passions and interests even in the middle of life's important duties. I don't want my kids to look at me in 10 years and think that I gave up my entire life for them. I want them to look and see that getting married and having my children enriched my life, gave me purpose, but didn't swallow up all my dreams and potential. If I lose myself in my desire to be everything for my children, I'm afraid when they leave to live their own lives, I won't know how to define myself outside of them. I'm afraid I'll be grasping after the little birds as they try to fly, rather than lifting them up and teaching them to soar. The knowledge that I have a future without them makes me want to make the most of this time with them, because it truly is fleeting, even with four children to enjoy. While I nuture my little blessings, I plan to continue to follow the good example of my friend and I will nuture myself too so I can continue to grow into the woman God intends me to become.

The Lord's My Shepherd

Recently you may have noticed our family is on a home made kick. Baby girl is 6 months old now, and I'm back to my characteristic level of energy and enthusiasm. We've been spending more at our local farmer's market than at the grocery store, which is a good sign that I've been doing more from scratch. With the exception of one loaf this week, I've made all our bread, pizza dough, and rolls entirely from scratch. Today, with the help of the three big kids (if you can call a 22 month old, a 3 year old and a 4 year old big), we made some beef stock from scratch. With the exception of a little bit of rice or pasta here and there, everything is made fresh from food we're picking up at the market. I don't want any of the busy and harried folks out there to think that I'm badgering you about it, or that I think you absolutely have to do it. First of all, it's not my business what you all do in your kitchens. It's a lot of work, it takes a lot of planning, and really forces a change of diet pretty much immediately if you go all in.

I'm not bragging, trust me. My dedication to our new meal plan really would have waivered and probably failed by now if it weren't for a few circumstances that have forced me to dig in my heels and make it work. First of all, we've gradually emptied our pantry and freezer of processed or ready-to-make foods. It's hard to reach for frozen pizza when there isn't one. With 4 kids and 2 adults, it's not exactly cheap to hit the fast food chains either. With that, I'm left with whatever is fresh that we bought. It's forcing me to follow my meal plan and I must admit I love not having to think about what's on the menu. There's no last minute running to the store for a missing ingredient, which is another bonus. Secondly, baby girl has started on solids, and I absolutely refuse to use bottled or packaged foods for her. Ignoring all the recalls on that stuff lately, I can't get behind all the added preservatives and things. What's wrong with a few sweet potatoes and an ice cube tray?

The biggest reason we haven't been stocking up on frozen pizza, canned goods, and questionable grocery store meats, stems from recent instructions from the dietition trying to help my husband through his stomach issues. He's a type 1 diabetic and has recently been blighted by paralysis of the stomach. It's not a highly common complication, but once the doctor's figured it out, it was like the puzzle pieces of the past 6 or 7 years fell into place. When I met my husband he wasn't well, and was having problems understanding random low and high blood sugars unrelated to meal times. It turns out his stomach has been holding food, and most of the time only allowing it into his intestinal track as much as a week later, which was causing random jumps in his blood sugar. He's been losing weight lately and in terrible pain. Luckily, the doctors have been able to prescribe him a cocktail of drugs that are working together to make his stomach contract so that it can empty. The medications are only one side of his treatment. The other side, the side that is the long lasting treatment, is a drastic change in diet. First on the list was to eat smaller, more nutritious quantities of protein. The second was to reduce the quantity of fiber he was ingesting (these days even most white bread is fortified to have higher fiber content, thus our homemade variety is safer). He also has to stay away from anything with a high fat content. They also suggested he eat more soft cooked veggies, particularly in the blended form in soups, and to avoid processed foods whenever possible. I could be wrong, but to me that sounds a lot like the meal plan my husband and I worked on together. With baby girl well on her way with solids, a lot of these foods were on our list for her too.

Once again I sit in the face of what should have been a sudden and scary situation that would have changed our lives drastically in a matter or days, but instead of fear I'm left with the deep convictions of God's providence. God has once again led us, so gently, so slowly, to exactly where we needed to be, having armed us with the knowledge we need to do what's right. When we first got the phone call about this major dietary change we were scared and upset, but as the days went on we realised we were already there. If I needed any more proof of God's abiding love and faithfulness to us in a time when all else is falling apart, here it is. In every hour, I find God holding me, carrying me through the rough times.

For our wedding mass, we chose the psalm "The Lord's My Shepherd". I feel like we have made that psalm the motto of our marriage. Thank you, God, for leading us gently, and for loving us in times of fear and struggle. Perhaps instead of 40 days and nights in the desert, God is choosing 40 days and night of rain for our lives. Either way I know at the end God's promise stands firm, as a rainbow in the sky and the Cross on a hill faraway.

I will trust in you alone. I will trust in you alone. For your endless mercy follows me. Your goodness will lead me home.

Family Life, Unplugged

We decided this week to cancel our cable. In our area if you don't have digital cable or a converter box you don't even get basic channels. We struggled to make this choice, but after weeks of not watching any television with the kids (okay, okay, they've been watching movies instead) and basically only watching reruns and one or two new shows ourselves after the kids are in bed, we decided to re-evaluate whether or not we really needed cable.

I'll be the first one to admit I watch a lot of TV. Easily too much. When the kids are napping I turn on TLC and watch all the baby, bridal, and family shows I can muster. Looking at my regular consumption of visual trash, cutting off our cable is really no real sacrifice for me. I can honestly say it's good for me. My husband isn't a big television watcher these days because by the time he gets home from work, he'd rather spend time with the kids and I, and has lots of woodworking projects he'd rather get started on. For him, television is dull background noise at best, and a useless distraction at worst. Even the sports that he and I both enjoy can be watched online these days. When we used to watch cable together at night we'd click from show to mindless show just to fill the time. Half of it we weren't even enjoying or it was a repeat of an old favourite we'd seen a hundred times. Our lives were running by the cable schedule most nights with very little variety in between. We already have Netflix, so instead of investing in expensive box sets of shows we might like, we've been enjoying trying out new shows, one or two episodes per night. I know I'll miss a few regular favourites that haven't made the leap to Netflix, like Glee or The Big Bang Theory, but we can watch most of those online if we really want.

Already not having cable has been freeing. We're talking more, playing with the kids more, and simply enjoying each other more. This week, instead of turning on the TV to distract the kids, I brought them into the kitchen with me and we made bread together. They've also been helping me prepare all of our meals, which has made them more likely to try some of the new foods on our menu. They're also talking more for themselves, and spending less time mimicking their favourite characters on their morning shows (not that singing the alphabet song like Alpha Pig from SuperWhy was all bad). When we do watch a show or movie with the kids, we try to pick one good show instead of whatever's on, and then turn it off when we're done. We've also taken up bowling with them on our game system. It's pretty hilarious watching the two oldest kids jumping around with joy even when they get a gutterball. I can't imagine a better way to beat the winter blahs right in our living room.

So, while we're not entirely "unplugged", we're well on our way. Instead of tuning into the television, we're trying to tune in more to each other. I'm thankful my husband was keen on the idea too and am enjoying reconnecting with him by warm candlelight instead of the blue glow of our TV. The world is too beautiful to be seen through a box. It's time to start making plans that don't revolve around the cable schedule. It's time to work on us.

Calm After the Storm

I love Saturdays. Always have. This particular Saturday, I must say, might be in my all time top ten list. We've had a rough couple of weeks in our family. Besides Hubby's persistent, painful stomach issues (which are oh so gradually getting better), my father has been struggling with his own health concerns for a few weeks. He's had kidney stones, and after weeks of fruitless attempts to pass them, he finally had to have surgery. My father is a larger man, and I must confess I was more than a little concerned about the fact that they had to give him a general anesthetic for his surgery. By God's grace he came through in great shape and is recovering at home under the care of my mother, who happens to be a nurse. Besides all the health drama, I've been cheering on the sidelines as my mother interviewed for 3 jobs as a teacher this week. I don't know why, but I think I get more nervous and excited about it than she does. I want her to be happy and doing something she enjoys, so I find myself getting wrapped up in it all. I've also been busy having playdates and organising playgroups, which has been so rewarding for the kids and myself, but leaves me exhausted by week's end.

Suffice it to say, it's been busy, and even a little stressful around here. So as I sit lazily on my couch while the kids have their snacks, watching the snow drift down from the sky in fluffy clumps, I'm at peace. This is the gift of Saturday. This is the calm after the storm. There's nothing to do in this moment but enjoy my children and husband without worrying about the rest of the week. Our oldest girl is doing cute pirouettes to her favourite song, Cinderella by Stephen Curtis Chapman, as her Daddy watches on with a wistful smile, our oldest son is making up a story to go along with a book he can't yet read, our youngest son is snuggled next to me, eating a whole apple with a level of dedication and seriousness only he could muster, and our baby girl is on the floor getting good practice for crawling, which she seems only days away from doing (AHHHH!). My coffee is still warm and sweet. Life is enfolding before my eyes, and I'm just happy to sit back and enjoy it.

Thank God for today. A Saturday like this is just the right remedy for 100 Mondays.

Battle Scars

After writing a post about teaching our daughters to always believe in their own beauty, I couldn't help but reflect that my reaction to the idea of my own beauty was not quite the same as that of my 4 year old daughter. When we tell her she's beautiful, she truly believes us and skips off joyfully, undoubtedly pleased with herself. My reaction isn't so cut and dry. I'm sure most of you can predict the mental hoops I jump through every time someone calls me beautiful, pretty or even cute. Unlike my daughter, I don't automatically agree and say thank you. And I certainly don't skip away. I may skulk though.

I go through my mental list of what I consider to be flaws at lightning speed. Yes, I'm beautiful except for my greasy hair, my possibly dirty clothes, the big bags under my eyes, not to mention my flabby middle section covered with long stretch marks. Given time, I'm sure I could easily fill this whole blog with descriptions about every part of my body that I don't like. I'm only 29 but my body has been ravaged by four pregnancies clustered over four years. I'm pretty sure that if I were on display in public the quiet whispers in the crowd would center around the idea of a woman who has let herself go. That's part of the human condition for both men and women. We self judge and the theme is rarely positive. Unlike my 4 year old daughter, the first thing on my mind isn't how pretty my hair is, or how much I like the dress I'm wearing (if I was wearing a dress instead of pajamas anyway).

I think in this instance I need to follow my daughter's lead. I need to learn to embrace her innocence. The other day when I was helping her get dressed, I noticed a jagged little scar on her knees. She saw me looking and smiled. She then proceeded to proudly tell me how she got the scar with great pride. She had simply tripped and scraped it at her grandparents' house, but told me the story like it was a great adventure. She recalled every detail about the special attention she'd received and that she got to wear a bandaid. She didn't remark upon the fact that her skin was no longer perfect. She has no problem wearing shorts or dresses even though her little scar is visible. For her that scar is a badge of honour, a battle scar earned during a grand adventure.

Why can't I try to look at myself that way? I may not look my best now. I am worn out and my body tells the tale with every glance. But, rather than judge the appearance, maybe I need to remember the hows and the whys of how I came to look this way. My eyes have bags under them because I was up very early feeding my baby girl. I may be a little greasy, but that's because I was working hard making bread with the kids. My clothes are dirty, but only because I spilled jelly on them while making lunch and haven't stopped moving long enough to change them (let alone take a shower yet). And as for my wiggly midsection and long stretch marks, maybe I should look at those battle scars too. I earned every inch of belly fat and every one of those stretch marks over my four pregnancies. I can't have my four kids without four pregnancies worth of affect to my appearance. I have to say, looking at it this way, it was all worth it. Sure, I'd love to be thin, unblemished, clean and awake, but not if it means I don't get to be Mom. Not if it means I don't get to be the Mom of these four children. Everything about me sings the battle song of my life, and I need to learn to be proud of it, just like my daughter is proud of her little scar on her knee.

That's the face of true beauty. Not the airbrushed and photoshopped "women" (most of them are still girls) we see in the media. True beauty is a life lived and enjoy, not Snow White trapped in her glass coffin. So let's agree to love what's truly beautiful about us.

Disorder and Order

After over six months of living here, my husband and I have finally unpacked our basement. Excluding a weekend when we first moved here, the entire bottom floor of our home has looked something like a shanty town. Dishevelled piles of boxes, random articles of clothing, and mismatched furniture were strewn in mighty stacks wherever we tossed them while moving in. We didn't care so much about how it looked. We had no real plans for it. It was too humid to make much use of safely with the children and with a baby on the way neither of us had the time or the energy to make any real headway in the large room that takes up most of that floor.

What really convinced us to make the time to sort things out was that we finally, truly decided we were staying here for more than a year. We had the opportunity to look into buying a home in the country at what looked to be a fair price. This house, that of my maternal grandfather, was nothing less than my dream house. A six bedroom house on a fairly large piece of land, that has the kitchen of my dreams, a layout I adore for our young family, and plenty of room for my husband to ply his trade as a cabinetmaker and finish carpenter. We could have our own garden, a shed for any animals we'd want to raise, and, perhaps best of all, we would be surrounded by my extended family, whom I have seen far too little of in the past years. In spite of this very overwhelmingly positive prospect, we took it to prayer and found our thoughts turned to staying in the city, in our current home. It wasn't without a twinge of sadness that I let go of the idea of the big country home in which I spent so many summers and holidays. I had to let go of the cheerful front door with a hummingbird captured beautifully in its stained glass window, the true sign that we were at our second home, a place where my grandparents would be waiting for us with expectant smiles and the smell of fresh bread.

So, we decided to stay here. In our cute city townhouse. Four bedrooms, big living area and lots of ugly shag carpet and wacky paint (sorry Dad, but I'm so over the pumpkin orange with green trim in the livingroom. Tuscan villa this ain't). We couldn't help but see so much potential within these four walls. A little paint here, some new flooring there, perhaps a workshop in our basement... And that's when it hit us. If we were really staying here, we couldn't live in complete order upstairs while the downstairs was in complete disorder. To be fair, a lot of items are in the wrong room or even the wrong floor because we had been hesitant to fully unpack. So at last we decided to give in, and in a few short days things started to come together. Suddenly, our basement has furniture that is there with intention. The small room is set up artfully with all of my husband's tools. The main room is starting to take on a very nice atmosphere as either a games room or even a second playroom for these winter days when going outside isn't an option, but a mere change of scenery dispells our cabin fever.

With no regrets, we unpacked our last box this weekend. If this can be home, even just for now, let it be so. No more holding back. If this is where we're meant to be, we will be, living wholly in this moment and, hopefully, enjoying it.

Inner Strength

As I type this, my boys are playing "sleepover" on the floor of our livingroom, curled up in baby blankets I was trying to fold from the laundry (oh well). They are whispering conspiratorially to each other, probably about trucks. I look at them and I can't help but love my sweet, energetic little boys. I wonder sometimes about what it is I have to bring to the table for these impressionable little men in training.

Just like girls, who are taught by society to aspire to an image of physical beauty that is unattainable, young boys are taught a similar message about strength, appearance, and success that, if it is attainable, is undesirable. Men are bombarded every day with images of the tall, dark and handsome superman type figure. Who cares if he's vapid, abusive or cruel, so long as he's good looking and rich, right? Such a sad image of real manhood. I think this image misses the true inner strength of a real man, the man some women don't even believe exists until he walks into her life. Sadly so many women settle for less not realising there are good men out there. I pray every day that my boys don't get caught up in society's vision of manhood being about size, strength, or paycheck.

So, what makes a good man? What inner quality do I pray my boys will have? Strength. Not physical strength, but an emotional strength that will carry them through rough times. Strength to be brave enough to love with their whole being. Strength to be unafraid to show emotions when they need to but also strength enough to control their emotions so they can hold someone else in times of need. Strength to fight the good fight, but also strength to let go of a fight not worth having. Strength enough to apologise when they're wrong but also to be charitable when they're right. Strength to believe might doesn't equal right and that all beings deserve our respect and care. Strength to be themselves, even if what they love about themselves doesn't make them popular, rich or famous.

Our boys won't have to look far for their example. Their father is a man of this kind of inner strength and true manhood at his core. He dedicates every moment to our family, rarely thinking of his own wants or needs. Like St. Joseph, his favourite saint, he chooses to live a life of abiding and daily faith, acting quietly and with great gratitude for all God has entrusted to him. As a mother all I can do is show them a man like their father is worth loving and let them know that they are worthy of unconditional love just as they are. I pray that they always see how grateful I am that when God knit them in the secret of my womb, He created them in His own image as a gift to our family. I pray they strive to live their lives trying to come closer to that perfection instead of the false image the world would teach them to strive for.

Join the Club

As I was walking to our Church for a young parents group today (after taking the bus with all four kids in tow!), I met 2 members of a not very common club. It's wasn't the Red Hat Ladies, or the Stonecutters, or even the Illuminati. As a member I can tell you we don't have a secret handshake nor do we whisper suspiciously in an ancient code while plotting world domination (not that I would lump the Red Hat Ladies in that category, you lively, lovely ladies! But then, again you never suspect the butterfly!). Members of our club are very noticeable up until we're in our 50s, but after that we look like any other person.

Our club doesn't have a fancy name (probably because we're too busy to think of one) but we are easily identified. We are the parents of many children. For whatever personal reason, at some point in our lives we decided it would be a good idea to have more than the average two kids. We joined the club when we had 3 and some of us kept going. The couple I met today were older than my parents, but once they had established that yes, all four children were mine, spoke to me at length about the huge blessing it was to have had their own five children in five years. The rare occasions on which all your kids are crying at once (which are nothing less than spirit crushing and usually result in Mommy bawling too) are more than made up for by the daily experience of having children who are never at a loss for a dance partner, someone to chase or giggle with, a confidante or, in other words, a best friend. If they're fighting with one sibling they can always play with another. While I do employ the electronic babysitter, I can trust that when I turn it off my kids will have some sort of wild, incomprehensible game going without any need of me in minutes. They feed off each other's imagination and energy. All of that is fabulous and the greatest gift I feel we've given our children. My Dad was an only child and he's told me more than once that the downside of that was that if something got broken his parents always knew whose fault it was. With 4 or more kids it would take the sleuthing skills of Sherlock Holmes to figure out who unravelled all the toilet paper or got marker all over the table. I'm relatively certain that that's because they're all accomplices and instigators.

It only took a few moments of conversation with the older couple we met while out on our walk to know we shared a common experience that's becoming all too uncommon these days. So to those of you out there thinking about having more kids I invite you to join the club. We have plenty of kool aid on tap (unless my kids have figured out how to open the fridge door) and we always love company. Sometimes it's better to live an uncommon life when that means there's always someone clamboring to say I love you, give you a peanut butter kiss, then get back to whatever mischief his or her siblings are up to. I promise once you join our club you'll find a hundred reasons every day to be thankful for your membership.

Two Kids Ago

In the spirit of nostalgia I was remembering how different things were when we only had two kids. That's literally half the kids we have now. We had really gotten settled into a rhythm and routine at this point. We were renting a fabulous 4 bedroom townhouse and had just upgraded to a mini-van. My husband had just gotten a hard earned pay raise and we finally had a kind of financial balance despite constantly rising gas prices. I was a Mom with 2 kids and a tidy little house. Both kids were reliably sleeping through the night and so were we. We both had energy to spare. For the few months before I became pregnant with baby I was Inspired to live another kind of motherhood than I do now. I'd get up and have my hot cup of coffee and hit the ground running. I think this lasted a ridiculously short time. Maybe 3 months. In those 3 months I:

1. Showered. Daily. And got dressed in more than pajamas.
2. Made 4 loaves of home-made bread twice a week and several batches of chocolate chip cookies.
3. Made yoghurt in my crockpot weekly.
4. Washed, folded and put away laundry. Sometimes I would hang it out on the clothesline.
5. Washed, dried and put away the dirty dishes. Daily.
6. Made 2 special home-cooked meals. Home-made baby food for the kids and something fancier for we adults.
7. Swept the floors. Vacuumed the furniture. Dusted. All daily. I'd wash all the floors on my hands and knees weekly.
8. I slept when I wanted. Or read a book. The kids lived by my schedule.

The other side of this litany of insanity is that we almost never went out. I also didn't spend as much time enjoying my kids. I ended up switching to formula because I couldn't keep breastfeeding and have a clean house. My oldest son's first year is a blur to me because I was too busy trying to be something akin to a Stepford wife to acknowledge all his needs and little milestones. I wish now that I had let the laundry wait and sat down to cuddle him when he was still able to sit still in my arms. When we had our third, our second son wasn't thriving on breastmilk and it wasn't caught until he was around 4 months old. After switching him to formula I ended up dedicating every free second to giving him as much fatty food as he could tolerate. I was so stressed I stopped all my extra baking, cooking, cleaning and self-pampering to be there for him. As stressful as it was at the time, once I dropped these (unquestionably excellent in principle) habits, I found myself with time to rediscover my older children. My priorities shifted dramatically. I didn't have to drive myself crazy with housework. It all needed to get done, but never at the sacrifice of the needs of the kids. When they're babies they need an extra hug more than they need a cookie. I'll take time later to build my legacy as an immaculate housekeeper. For now I'm happier building my legacy as the Mommy who thinks there's nothing in the world more important than kissing your boo boos, hearing your funny stories, dancing with you, and telling you "I love you" knowing those words feed your heart in ways unseen but lasting. So when people marvel at how we manage with 4 kids, I can't help but reflect that it's actually easier than when we had just two because along the way I've learned that another chance to enjoy a new baby while our house goes to pot again isn't a burden, it's a gift.

4 Under 4

For about three weeks after we had our 4th baby we were in the special parenting bracket of 4 kids under age 4. Just to be clear we are not one of those families blessed with multiples. We don't even have the fabled Irish Twins. Each of our babies came one at a time, no less than 15 months apart. I was reflecting as I ran another load of dirty cloth diapers that clustered families like ours have special challenges and gifts. So, in honour of the past 4 years of or being parents I give you this list:

Signs that You Have 4 Kids Under 4

1. You find yourself pregnant and one of your first discussions is whether your infant car seat can handle another baby before it expires.

2. You determine that after 3 excitable and bouncy kids, you need to retire your old crib.

3. You have one kid potty trained, one in progress, and two entirely in diapers.

4. You know how to take the cover off of your toddler car seats (yes, seatS. We have three!), wash and reassemble them with your eyes closed. You or your spouse has mastered the art of squeezing three full sized car seats in the back row of your van.

5. Speaking of vehicles, you've already long since upgraded to a mini-van and started researching the price of a Dodge Sprinter.

6. You cry when you get a dishwasher, but only for a second before you promptly fill it with sippy cups.

7. Not only do you have sippy cups in every shape and size, but the quantity of plastic dishes and utensils rivals your regular dishes.

8. Your bathroom has three toilets and only one of them flushes.

9. You didn't buy cloth diapers for the sake of the environment, but because it was financial common sense.

10. It's not unusual that you have three crockpots going at once (Yes we have three. Two are full-sized and one is small. We gave our second small one away)

For all the things that become common place, from spit up to minor illnesses to poop, there are some things that never get old. I still had tears in my eyes the first time our newest baby smiled at me. I'm also taking just as many pictures as I can each day and showing them off like there's never been a group of kids so darn cute. I'm tired of laundry, dishes and no sleep, but I will never get tired of being a Mommy. So bring on the adventure!