Learning Practical Skills

I've been doing quite a bit of reading lately about the Montessori method of learning and have been struck by how much a two year-old could be doing if only we'd give him an opportunity to learn. Today I set up a lesson for Ben in cutting (Sam wasn't too interested in participating today). I'm starting to have them help prepare their own snacks and meals, slowly teaching each step as they're able to grasp the concept.

I had to carefully set up the cutting board in such a way that I knew he would be able to get the dull butter knife through the apple peel (lay apple on its side) and lay everything out from left to right in a way that would make sense to him. I was surprised at how much concentration he applied to the task and how much he enjoyed being able
to do something he has seen me do so often.

This is just the start. I have turned a corner in the way I think about these young ones and how much they can achieve if only given an opportunity. I plan on spending the time teaching them how to achieve practical life skills instead of simply doing everything myself - even though that is exceedingly easier than showing them over and over and waiting for them to finish their task. The goal should be more about helping them to be independent and less about getting the job done.

Easier said than done, I think. You'll know how it's going by the blog posts. If there are blog posts then it's obviously working! :-)

Who is Sam?

It's a mystery. We used to have a little boy named "Sam" but he seems to be missing. Oh, Terry and I mention his name from time to time, but he's never really around. We do, on the other hand, have two Bens.

You see, Ben is Ben. Ben refers to himself as "Ben". Sam refers to him as "Ben". We refer to him as "Ben". He answers to it. It seems to be his name.

Sam is also Ben. Ben refers to Sam as "Ben" (or sometimes "Benny"). Sam refers to himself as "Ben". When Sam looks in the mirror, he points to the person looking out at him and says "Ben." When Sam looks at a picture of himself, he points to it and says "Ben." Sam usually will look up if we call the name "Sam" - but not always (not sure how much of that is him simply ignoring us though). If we run through the family names, he will point out who everyone is flawlessly . . . until we get to the name "Sam." "Okay, that's good. Now where's Sam?" He's stumped. Sam? Who's Sam?

I thought we'd gotten used to it. Terry and I just kept right on correcting them and saying "No, that's "Sam""... until I noticed something strange. I caught myself calling Sam "Ben" all week. I shake my head and correct it and then promptly do it again. I'm being brain-washed by two-year olds. I'm convinced of it. I can picture them now, upstairs in their rooms, giggling together at pulling one over on Mommy... and they're probably up there calling Sam by his given name. Sam.

Silence

I'm not going to lie to you ... I hide out in the bathroom. It's true; I did it today. Don't get me wrong - I Love (with a capital "L"!) my little guys but sometimes you just need a little peace and quiet from the relentlessly annoying sounds of The Wiggles, the cars being tossed across the room and all the toys that light up and scream music everytime a little finger presses a button. It can get very LOUD (also with a capital "L") around here and if, for the sake of my sanity, I have to perch on the edge of the bathtub for 5 or 10 minutes, so be it.

This is not something I do very often though, for two reasons. First, one never knows what trouble a couple of two year olds can get into when they're unsupervised (or even when the ARE supervised, for that matter). Secondly, and of much greater concern, the whole experience tends to end badly which kind of takes the peace out of the proposed bathroom solitude. Usually it ends with two heartbroken little souls wailing at the top of their lungs (thereby nullifying the "escaping the noise" reason for being in there in the first place) and pounding on the door until they eventually just fall in a pathetic heap on the floor in front of the door. I admit that I have become quite familiar with this entire routine during even those very legitimate bathroom excursions so I have found myself trying to limit even those... unless of course it's nap time, then it's good to go.

There's something about knowing your precious child is weeping on the other side of a closed door that instills even greater sympathy than having those same tears in front of your face. It's heartbreaking - and makes me feel like the worst kind of mother for sequestering myself in there in the first place. So, of course, unable to bear it anymore, I gently nudge the door open against their sprawled bodies which causes them to slowly slide across the kitchen floor (as they would still be refusing to get up at this point, in protest). The following hugs, kisses and reassurances tend to make it up to them and they scamper off with nary a bruised heart between them, while I still have that lingering guilt hovering around the edges.

Ah, it's a tricky thing - this solitude and silence that we sometimes seek - while our children are still toddlers (barely even into toddlerhood at that!) People tell me all the time that it too quickly passes and then you're wishing for those very loud, busy days back instead of the quiet empty house you have then. It's hard to foresee such a quiet time - with little ones, even the nights are sometimes loud so there is no guarantee of quiet even in sleep. Would I trade it? Never! Do I wish for a sound-proofed room in which to pass an hour each day? Absolutely! Will I forget the guilt from today and find myself again perched on the edge of the porcelain tomorrow? Likely.

Egg Carton Edibles

What parent isn't looking for a way to get their kids to eat their "food pyramid?" How to get those veggies or fruit or proteins into them? Oddly enough, it never seems to be too hard to get those carbs in!

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Expanding on an idea I saw that used muffin tins (a little too many cups to fill for two-year olds), I cut an egg carton in half so both Sam and Ben would have a tray that was manageable enough for them to carry to the table on their own, and had just enough spaces to hold the amount of food they'd eat. This was a huge hit with them! The egg was pretty messy but it was, naturally, the first thing they both ate. The ideas are endless - fill the cups with cheese, broccoli, asparagus spears, peas, rolled up luncheon meats, cut grilled cheese into strips, French toast cut into sticks . . . the list goes on.

.It is a challenge every day to keep the boys' minds engaged in things that do not involve the Wiggles, Barney or Hi-5, but I am determined to try - even if it just means making mealtimes a little more fun. I want them to linger at their activities and play instead of sailing through them all at high speed. I'm trying to slow down their life in any way I know how. Okay, so a cut-up cardboard egg carton is probably not going to change their world, but I'll tell you, that snack took three times longer to eat than the ones they wolfed down yesterday and it was enjoyed. And isn't that what childhood is all about? Enjoying each moment. Oh wait a minute - that's what motherhood is supposed to be about. Got it.

Animal Fun

Noah's Ark Little People play set, flannel board "animals and their homes" and forest animal magnet boards . . . why, the boys don't even realize they're learning! They are, after all, only two years old; a time when 95% of their time should be spent hard at work playing.

They're thrilled when I pull out the very special sets to play with, all the while practicing the animal names out loud. They run to the cupboard and bang on the drawers and say "toy, toy, toy" so I will pull out what, in actuality, is a learning tool that I've been using with them.

I love scouring the 'net for new activities and am constantly emailing my friends for ideas they've tried with their own kids. My sister, Heather, is regularly emailing me links to blogs that get my creative juices flowing. It is so incredibly worth every effort and each moment of time it takes to plan something new. When I see their eyes light up when I pull out a new craft or even present something to them in a different way, it makes my heart smile.

It is a challenge not to get frustrated by the mess and to reign myself in when one of them runs off with one of the pieces to an activity set and tosses it down the floor vent, but I'm working on it. I keep telling myself that these are new skills they're learning - even just sitting still for any length of time - and breathe in and out a few times when my "orderly tendencies" are tested by the messiness of toddlerhood. I remind myself not to expect too much and to remember that it really is all just play.

Homeschool-ish Sort-of-Preschool

Circle Time, hands-on directed activity, songs, finger play, puzzles, painting, playdough . . . I have changed my parenting philosophy and am reaping the rewards already. My boys are calmer (more often), my home is quieter (sometimes) and I am a whole lot less frazzled (usually). I have my sisters to thank for this whole new attitude adjustment; my two homeschooling, innovative, creative sisters. They are inspiring.

I have watched and learned as they've homeschooled their-collective-eight children. I have watched my nieces and nephews blossom under the tutelage and direction of their very-present-mothers. I have seen the difference that hands-on teaching makes when a child is having difficulty in one area or another. I have been inspired by the earnestness in their voices about their homeschooling classes and groups that they are involved in. Beyond that, I have seen the life lessons being taught that are sometimes neglected in a traditional classroom.

My boys are only two, but I want them to have that same experience - as much as they can for their age. I want them to have the structure that comes from learning at home, instead of being plunked in front of the TV for all hours of the day. I want them to learn their colours, shapes, letters and words as soon as they're ready, instead of waiting for their first day of school to begin their learning journey. I want them to have fun doing things that other creative parents are showing me they could be doing by now. I want them to play with things that don't require batteries and don't have flashing lights and screaming sirens. I want them to learn to sit still and listen so they're prepared for Sunday School. I want them to remember they were loved enough to be given the gift of discipline. I want them to know I cared enough to spend time with them. I want them to remember the joy of being little boys.

Already I can see a difference between the days when they have one too many kids videos on and the days where I pull out the Circle Time mats and we sing our songs and do our playing exercises. I can see the light in their eyes when I pull their chairs up to the kitchen table and bring out a special craft or activity they've never tried before. I hear their new words and see the way they share so well with other kids in the nursery at church. I see them becoming more purposeful in their playtime as I become more purposeful in the one-on-one time I spend with them.

I love how it makes me feel as a mother when I become a part of their lives instead of just trying to get through the crazy days. And as much as I want them to remember the joy of being little boys, I want to remember the joy of being their mother.

Potty-training TWINS; a lesson in differences

Do I do it at the same time or one at a time? Do I wait until they're both ready or just grab the one who looks like he'll go for it and focus on that one? Do I do rewards and stickers or praise? Do I use pull-ups or big boy underwear? Do I have myself committed to the pscyh ward today or tomorrow? AHHH!!!!

I researched. I read. I surfed the internet on all the twin sites for advice. I wondered "when". When is the best time? Are they ready? Is ONE of them ready? Am I even ready??? I worried and stressed and worried some more... and then one day I came home with a pile of tighty-whiteys and Sam wouldn't take them off. Well! Decision made. Two weeks before their second birthday Sam has decided that diapers are not for him. Stickers? Doesn't care. Reward treats? Never tried it because he doesn't care. After a few tutorials, he now just hops on, hops off, washes hands and out the door he goes. Ooookaaay then.

Ben? Oh, well Ben runs screaming in the other direction if he's even presented with a pair of big boy underwear and don't even get me started on sitting him on the potty; I can't even get him to bend into a sitting position! SOOooooo not ready.

I'm reminded, yet again, at how different the boys are. I should have known; what works for one has never worked for the other. And so, with that in mind, I started the sticker charts anyhow. I know that Sam could care less most of the time about getting a sticker for his efforts - he sometimes looks at it as just one more thing standing in his way before he gets to exit the bathroom and go play - but I know that BEN will need it. And so we do it anyhow so that, when he's ready, Ben will get his motivation and reward.

I love their differences. I love that they aren't two halves of a whole, but two very different little guys with two very different minds. And I LOVE that, right now, I'm only running one kid to the potty at a time and only changing one set of diapers. What a treat that is for me. So, thanks Sam, for making that decision so your dear ol' mommy doesn't have to have herself committed over a silly little thing like potty training. Maybe we'll save that one for the day you guys learn to drive.

Rememberings

I finished a book today in which a fairly minor character had a fairly major impact on my thoughts today. She was a large, feisty woman who loved God, loved to laugh and loved to "visit" with all who crossed her threshold. She went weekly to the rummage sale held in the basement of an old church and picked out scraps of fabric with which to make rag rugs. She reminded me of my grandmother. The woman and the rugs; Mama made those too. I kept thinking how I wish I'd had her show me how.

Odd times, certain things will bring her to mind - like these rugs or the canned plums I'd preserved this summer. I'd never done them before but the moment I took the first bite, she came straight to mind. Mom said the same thing when I handed her a jar. For me, it was the reminder of the plums my sisters and I picked from the tree at our Scenic Drive house that Mama collected from us and made into jam. I couldn't have been more than twelve then, but that taste has stuck in my mind as a memory of her.

Like Tetley tea and white bread with butter and brown sugar. Like peas on toast or soft french toast with icing sugar. Chocolate macaroons or thimble cookies with jam spooned into the fingerprint pressed in the centre of each one. Like biscuits brought to Thanksgiving dinner in a cookie tin lined with waxed paper. Like pickled beets and whole tomatoes eaten like an apple with a sprinkling of salt on each bite. There are reminder smells and sights that bring her to mind too but these are the tastes I go looking for when I want a good remembering.

Mama and I used to swap books all the time. We'd each read the book ahead of time before we gave it to the other for a gift. I think she would have really enjoyed this one; it has a character in it I'm sure she would have loved.

Red-Handed

Mennonite Wanna-Be that I am, I spent the morning putting up pears and the afternoon in the backyard shucking dozens of corn cobs for freezing. My mind was on my sweet boys who have quite a fondness for the sweet yellow rows. My reverie was interrupted for just a moment or two while I ran to retrieve a ball that the boys had (somewhat strategically???) tossed behind the house, out of my line of vision.

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When I returned, both boys had mysteriously vanished. Panic set in as I scanned the perimeter of the fence as one boy likes to crawl under it and one climb over. I didn't have to look long before I found them, looking innocent as two white doves, sitting on the back step mowing down on two completely raw cobs of corn filched from my freezer bag stash. Little monkeys. I couldn't work up even a little frustration at their thieving shenanigans in the face of those corn juice splattered lips. All I could seem to work up was a desire to grab the camera. Motherhood is made for moments like this.

Battle of Will vs. Skill

Houdhini strikes again. That's what we've called Sam since he was just little and learned to open child-proof doors, climb over the baby gates and open all manner of things little babies are not supposed to be able to. Now he has learned to climb out of his crib . . . and into Ben's. This is a problem.

After several successful stealth missions (he's very quick and quiet) and no sleep in sight, Terry finally removed the bottom bolts of the crib and placed his crib mattress and future toddler bed mattress directly on the floor so Sam would have to climb an extra precious few inches. We also started locking the gate at the top of the stairs, just in case. This was successful . . . for 48 hours. Yesterday, I ended up spending over an hour parked in front of his door to escort him, every 2 to 3 minutes, back to his crib. I even attempted using the toddler bed but he is too young to be able to wander around freely upstairs - and my hope was that climbing in and out of the crib would at least wear him out. I know I, at least, was exhausted.

Today, while playing with the boys upstairs, I saw his skill in action - and countered with a mission of my own. I would try various techniques until I finally found a solution that would keep him from being able to climb out BEFORE I tried to put him down for a nap.

Attempt # 1: The crib mattresses directly on the floor. I even used his "blankie" and soother as bait, inside and then outside the crib to see if he could climb both in and out.

SCORE: 1 for baby

Attempt # 2: Push toddler bed up against crib so "Houdhini" can't push the crib and squeeze out. I have high hopes for this solution. Again, blankie and soother as "bait".

SCORE: 2 for baby

Attempt 3: Okay, this is it. Push dresser in front of crib. Please oh please oh please let this work or we will all never sleep again.

WAIT! Can it be ...

Ah, the sweet sounds of success. Success for today at least . . . he IS Houdhini after all.

**** much, much later - same day ***** Is that the sound of Ben's door being rattled from the outside??? Yep. SCORE? Baby: 3, Mommy: zilch. Houdhini breaks free once again.

My People

We walk towards the large group congregated under the picnic shelter and scattered on lawn chairs around it. Ben's hand is in mine and Sam's in Terry's. It's our church's annual outdoor service at Hidden Acres Camp. We get within sight of the crowd and I can feel a small tugging, becoming more insistent with each passing moment, until he finally uses his other hand to pry his little fingers from mine. I see what he sees. It's Abby and Sandy and Grandma at the top of the small hill and he is itching to run. I let go and within moments he is flying into a pair of outstretched arms, Sam right behind him. My heart bursts.

Today, as I continue my quest to re-read my old journals, I read of the days, early in my relationship with Terry, when I met, one by one, the many people congregated under that shelter. I remember feeling overwhelmed that I would never know them, that I would never remember all their names and that I would never piece together the connections they all have to one another. I wondered if I'd ever become more than acquaintances with any of them, if they'd ever become "mine." I smile at that now.

Yesterday, in between keeping an eye on this toddler or that one, I chatted here and there with so many. I did not look to Terry to fill in the blanks and did not need him standing beside me for comfort; we are years past that now. These people are "mine" as much as "his". I know them now. They are friends that fill a place in my life that I can hardly believe stood empty waiting for me to meet them. God created this life for me and I'd never have dreamed when I first met Terry that I would be living in this place or that I would have my feet so deeply entrenched here that I would not move from it. This is my home and these are my people.

Changing My World

It assaults me as soon as my foot steps over the threshold of the livingroom...again. Third time in an hour. I shake my head in frustration at yet another interruption in my big to-do list of the day. All I want is to get the dishwasher unloaded and the pile of dirty dishes out of the sink. I have a heap of laundry piled up on the dryer and also inside it, getting more wrinkled with each passing day as it sits neglected from folding. The floors and the bathroom? Agh. And now this. Again. It's the smell that tips me off. Diaper duty.

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I know I'm in for a battle; it's always like that these days. The screams and squirming to throw himself off the table as though this event were a surprise to him; as though we haven't done this dance ten times a day for 21 months now. Somehow he always seems to look shocked that it would come to this, and fights each step of the way. I have low toddler tolerance today. Still, it must be done. "Sam? Do you have a poopy diaper?" "No." "Sam? We need to change your diaper." "No." He draws the word out with his finger held up in admonition just to emphasize his unwillingness to play out this scenerio yet again. I brace myself and haul his kicking, howling body to the change table anyhow.

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I try everything. Lotion to hold and play with? No. Itsy Bitsy Spider? No. This Little Piggy? No. I am amazed that such a little body could possess such strength to fight me. I do not have the patience for this today and resort to venting my frustration, "SAM! SIT STILL!" Well that never works. I close my eyes and take a deep, shaking breath and begin to sing a Sunday School song loud enough to be heard over the ruckus. He rolls onto his back, looks up into my face and lies still. I am almost too shocked to take advantage of his acquiescence, but eventually spur myself into diapering action, singing all the while.

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Once finished, I stand him up and give him a big kiss on the cheek. "Good job, Bud." He scampers down and runs off to play with Ben in the livingroom. I am calm. I am amazed that I could forget each day what really matters in my day of housekeeping and babies. I am ashamed that I shirk aside the value of teaching these little ones the right things, in the midst of just "getting it all done." This is my world and even though it looks so different from the "value" I used to have involving myself in every ministry that came my way, I can make a difference here. Even if I am just changing my world one diaper at a time.

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"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and famous?" Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God." - Nelson Mandela-

Reliving the past

I have been re-reading old journals the past few days; an eye-opening endeavour, to say the least. I started at the first and am working my way through to the present. I find myself becoming increasingly frustrated at my former self for not "getting" the lessons that I see are glaringly obvious now in hind-sight but seemed so fraught with confusion and uncertainty then. I want to stand up and shout at "her" as she prays - yet again - for the same answers that now I see were right in front of her the whole time. It is a journey of moutains and valleys, angst and joy; one that has found so much resolution and peace in the present.

I can't help marvelling at how far I've come and how God truly did work a miracle in directing my life to the place it is now. I read page after page after page of lists of what I wanted in the person I'd marry, who was not even someone I knew at the time. How affirming it is to read those lists with a smile and mentally "check off" every single line as being perfectly Terry's character and 100% descriptive of our marriage today. At the time, those were wish lists, with very little hope of having such a life or such a husband who could possibly meet the overwhelmingly stringent criteria I filled whole notebooks with. And yet, here I am, living the life every day.

I have loved getting to know Terry again the last few days as I've relived the story of our meeting and dating and marriage. I am reminded of each moment that, at the time, I thought I'd never forget, but have. I'm so thankful now that I'd taken the time to write it all down; a lesson for me for today, to keep writing. It is so easy to become bogged down with the to-do list of life and forget the miracles in our midst. Terry is that miracle.

Over the backyard fence

This neighbourhood astounds me. At times I feel as though I've travelled back to a quieter, more considerate time in history when the reality is, it's the same busy, hectic time as everywhere else in this country. It feels different somehow. It's a place where people take a moment to chat with you over the front porch rails. It's a place where you wouldn't think to pass someone on the sidewalk without a nod or a hello, whether you know them or not.

When I glance at the houses on our street while I'm out for my daily walk with the boys, I don't see bricks, I see gestures. On the corner is Ray and MaryAnne's place. MaryAnne is a senior who, even in the dead of Winter, just days before her hip surgery, hobbled across the street, leaning heavily on her cane, to drop off a plate of freshly baked tea biscuits and homemade jam. Next door is Gina who buys packages of cookies just for Sam and Ben and runs into the house the moment she hears their chatter so she can be ready for them with hand outstretched. There's Elaine who baked Terry a strawberry pie for his birthday last month and Vern who supplied me tomato seedlings that he started in his mini greenhouse. A few doors down is Angela who cuddles and kisses the boys each chance she gets and who, through her son who also lives down the street, gave the boys the swingset they play on each day.

And then there's our next-door neighbours, Gary and Laurie. Gary, who passed on bags of cement from his shed for Terry's posts and Laurie who shares her own garden bounty with us. Just yesterday, she passed a bucket full of zucchini she picked moments before, over the backyard fence. We meet often over that fence; Terry and Gary tossing jokes back and forth like a volleyball and Laurie and I lamenting and discussing the joys and frustrations of our gardening endeavours. We take turns chasing the boys who are constantly trying to escape into their yard to see them.

Saturdays will inevitably find all the neighbours wandering outside to gather on this person's porch or this person's lawn to shoot the breeze about everything or nothing at all. By unspoken agreement, we trail away at some point, back to our own yards and porches, only to reunite again once children are tucked away in bed and dinner dishes scrubbed.

This is the good life. This moment, this home, this town. I love this town.

Awake My Soul - Psalm 57:8

Have you ever felt so overwhelmed and for such a long time that you have to pull out old photo albums and journals just to remind yourself that it hasn't always been this way? Have you ever had one of those days that starts with babies covered in paint and ends with them crawling under the newly installed fence, running to freedom (with you safetly locked away inside the yard with no way to fit YOUR backside under the fence to go after them)? Have you woken up so tired that when your eyes finally focus on the kids in front of you it takes another 2 or 3 minutes before you recognize them as your own? And your day hasn't even begun.

Those have been my days for the longest while lately. I am begging for time. Time to sleep. Time to relax without feeling guilty about the chores that await me. Time to myself again, although it's been so long that I might actually be dreaming that such a time existed. Time to remember who I used to be before that person became buried under a pile of poopy diapers and loads of dirty laundry. Today I carved out that time.

I took advantage of the boys nap, left the laundry on the laundry room floor, the toys all over the livingroom and the evidence of lunch on the kitchen counters. I pretended I was blind and therefore, what one doesn't see, doesn't exist; "there is no mess, there is no mess . . ." I took the coffee Terry made for me this morning and an old book to the porch, curled up in the white rocking chair and breathed. And then I prayed. I asked to be reminded of who I was and shown again who I could be; not this exhausted shell of who used to reside in this body. But of me, the real me.

And then I read this quote:
"Usually, when the distractions of daily life deplete our energy, the first thing we eliminate is the thing we need the most; quiet, reflective time. Time to dream, time to think, time to contemplate what's working and what's not, so that we can make changes for the better."
(Sarah Ban Breathnach - Simple Abundance)

Laundry will always be there - and ever in abundance. Toys? Well, no matter how often you put them away, they always seem to jump right back out of their bins. Diapers? Well, unfortunately, those are just going to need changing no matter what. But there's always time somewhere. Get away from the phone - somewhere you can't even hear it ring. Shut the door. Sit. Close your eyes. Relax. There it is. Yep. Can you feel it? It's there. Solitude.

Now breathe.

Trikes

Well I love a bargain. Thrift stores, garage sales, second hand shops, hand-me-downs, all of it. I just love it. Sometimes it's the bargain itself but a lot of the time it's the thrill of finding something you were actually looking for and not expecting to find. Terry and I had been looking for trikes for the boys (hopefully two that were very similar so there would be less to fight about) but were not looking to have to spend a great deal of money TIMES TWO if we didn't have to. Now, as purveyors of kijiji, we know we don't ever have to. One never has to buy retail unless one specifically wishes to. We did not wish to.

I was actually at V-squared (as Heather calls Value Village - home of great deals, cool finds and lots of junk to wade through to get to it. I, of course, love it there. Anyhow, I was actually looking for a potty book for the boys (and found it, thanks for asking) and just flashed through my mind how I would love to find a trike for the boys to share and then hopefully come across another similar one somewhere else. Not two seconds later, I rounded the corner to find two MATCHING red and white trikes for the low, low price of $6.99. WHAT???? In my glee, I just about knocked a woman over, scrambling to lean over the carts clogging up the aisle to wrestle one into my buggy before anyone else could see the incredible find hidden away under all those laundry baskets and '80's exercise equipment. Truthfully, not many people are likely to be in the market for two matching toddler bikes but still, I had a moments panic before they were both safely ensconced in my cart.

A little bolt tightening and the white touch-up paint I picked up from the hardware store on the way home and they'll be good as new. Now, that's a deal. $6.99? ? ? You can't beat that. But I have to say, much as the thrill of the find and the bargain I scored hit the spot, the sight of those two boys desperately trying to reach the pedals (not succeeding) and the excitement of driving it backwards using their tippy-toes on the ground (succeeding) beat the bargain by a mile. They've thoroughly examined every bolt, screw and wheel spoke, stood on them and rode them, swapped them and flipped them and have been as excited about them as if I had special ordered them, outfitted them with all the gadgets and gone into debt over them. They love them. Now THAT's what makes a good deal; when you take something that should be expensive, get it for an outrageously low price and find the experience of having it renders it infinitely priceless.

Hollandaise From Scratch

Do you know that 1 cup of Hollandaise sauce has 1264 calories? It does. I know because I ingested at least that much last night. I always sort of thought that, with the exception of die-hard cooks with nothing but time on their hands, Hollandaise Sauce was made from a white-ish powder, neatly enclosed in a foil-lined packet. Not the case, as it turns out. Let me explain.

My boys, Sam in particular, are fierce asparagus / broccoli-loving toddlers. Give it a green colour and make it look like a twig or a tree and they are all for it. Needless to say, we are eating a lot of gas-inducing vegetables these days. Sam might not mind but, for me, these things have got to become a little more interesting if we're to consume so much of them. Hence, the Greek spiced pizza with asparagus, zucchini and broccoli of 2 nights ago and the Hollandaise covered green veggies of yesterday. That's Hollandaise from scratch, by the way.

Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my. Give me a vat full and let me lick off the whisk too. It's amazing to me that I can even write about this with any sort of authority; after all, it wasn't that long ago I figured pasta had to come with a packet of powdered cheese and pancakes with a note to "just add water." Who is this girl whose idea of a good time is a shelf of cookbooks and a pantry of exotic ingredients? I remember, not so long ago, a friend giving me a recipe for a chicken dish that called for a clove of garlic and I thought that meant the entire bulb. Thankfully, crisis was narrowly averted as I received a fairly quick rescue email from her before I dumped the entire spicy lot into the mixture.

For this miracle I can only blame pirated cable and the FoodTV Network. I was on bedrest, pregnant and large with the boys and became hopelessly addicted to the channel. I was mesmerized by the way a chef could make a complicated dish look simple enough for even my own basic (very basic) skills. I would check-out a dozen cookbooks at a time from the library and keep them all piled haphazardly on the coffee table or floor around it, to be pulled out and read through like novels. For his part, Terry didn't dare say a word about having to step over yet another stack of books stacked dangerously high as he'd never eaten so well since he said "I do."

Hence the Hollandaise and the minor miracle that the boys have, thus far, been raised to subsist on something other than instant mashed potatoes (although surprisingly good as they are) and frozen TV dinners. To that end, I will happily devise new and interesting ways to eat aspargus until they have passed on this particular culinary phase in favour of something even less likely for a toddler, like artichokes.

Old Bookshops and Little Boys

I love musty old bookshops; they're restful and hushed, like libraries. I love the ratty book covers with strings pulling down the sides from use that creak a little when you open them. I love the yellowed pages, so brittle that they crumble as you turn them. I could spend hours poring over the various tommes, completely perplexed as to how I could possibly choose only one or two from the hordes that are calling my name. I could, quite happily, immerse myself in the words of obscure authors for days on end. if only the store would stay open long enough to let me.

Sam and Ben do not love musty old bookshops. They are, in fact, quite annoyed by the constant admonitions to not touch, not to pull covers off the books, not to empty the shelves with a sweep of the arm, not to run behind the counter to press the cash register buttons, not to toss fragile antique books to the floor in a fit, not to run away from me in a stream of giggles and squeals like we're playing a game of tag, not to hide under the bargain table when I finally get within reaching distance . . . not to, not to, not to. . .

I don't know what I was thinking. Is it a surprise to me that these two particular toddlers would not be interested in sitting cross-legged in the children's section, quietly perusing picture books while I looked at my own options nearby? Oh wait - maybe if I just strapped them in the stroller with a couple of books to look at for a few minutes while I finished up making my purchases. Mistake #1: trying to harnass them after they've had even a small taste of freedom - never a plausible idea. Mistake #2: Keeping the stroller within arms reach of shelves on either side - a difficult feat to overcome with a side-by-side stroller as wide as the store aisles.

I don't know who breathed a greater sigh of relief when I finally managed to wrestle the stroller out the almost too narrow doorway - me or the store owner. To his credit, he did only grimace once or twice and, I think in sheer joy that we were finally leaving, did cover both boys' hands in a plethora of puppy dog stickers. And I did find an old Kitchen Garden book from the 1960's, so it wasn't a total wash.

Note to self: quiet, restful excursions to locations with pricey or priceless merchandise is best handled alone. There are a lot of activities that I can do with these guys that involve running, climbing, playing and squealing; an old bookshop is simply not one of them.

Dirt

It could be kind of embarassing when you hand a store clerk money with a hand creased brown and dirt under the fingernails, but I don't mind. I had been out digging in the garden, thinning the radish and carrot seedlings and found, to my delight, tiny breakfast radish. Wow - so there really is something going on down there under the ground, after all! Sometimes I wonder. I had wriggled my hand underneath the enormous potato plants to see if there were any wee little new potatoes I could sneak, but couldn't find a thing. Perhaps I was looking in the wrong place or, my great fear abounds, maybe there is nothing to show for my efforts but a gigantic bed of inedible leaves. Stranger things have happened.

What a thrill then to discover a little treasure ripe for the plucking. It gives me hope that maybe things really are growing under all that dirt in the garden (not just under my fingernails) and that I can't rush things just for wanting to. Patience patience patience, I say to myself (sigh). I could be patient, if only these things would hurry a bit.

The Garden Today

It's amazing what can happen overnight. Since yesterday's blog, I took a little stroll out to the garden this morning and was surprised to see even more tiny green tomatoes clinging to the vines. Where there was one pea pod, now there's two. The bean stalks are over-run with flowers now which makes me wonder, what is someone who doesn't like beans planting beans for anyway???

Gardener

It's one of those things; you do everything you can to give it a good start, but the results are pretty much out of your hands after that. Naturally, I'm talking about my vegetable garden. It's been freezing cold, windy, rainy and basically, sun-less in our backyard. The rain is giving me the biggest plants in the neighbourhood but if we don't get any sun, the plants might not set fruit in time. It's been my constant worry as I wander down the little rows, plucking this weed and pinching off that limb, watching the plants grow higher and higher with no evidence of flowering or fruiting on the horizon. What if they bolt? What if nothing comes of this little experiment and I'm fraught with disappointment after all this hope and toil?

But today!!!! Today it happened. Flowers on the potato plants, the melon, the beans, the tomatoes and the squash. One tiny pea pod poking it's little nose out from behind a bunch of leaves and carrots finally keeping up with their neighbour, the radish. On closer inspection, there are even tiny little green mini-tomato-wanna-be's clinging to one or two branches! It's happening! It's really happening! This foray into the gardening world will not be for naught (ha ha).

It's a wonderous thing to see something that was once a wee little seed become something edible. How incredible to know that something that will soon be a whole meal was once in a little $1.49 packet so slim it could fit in my wallet. It was today when I realized that I've caught the bug. This won't be a one-year-trial of "let's just see what happens". I've seen the miracle of vegetable life and am already planning next season's garden. I have become what I never dreamed I'd be. I am a Gardener.

100 mile culinary disaster

This 100-mile challenge is ... well, it's a challenge. I had a hankerin' for some rice today, something I don't eat a lot of normally, oddly enough. But I just had to have it today. What to do? Do I cheat? Again? NO. I won't. Not this time.

Oh the things we do for a cause. Pilaf with spelt berries. What the heck are spelt berries? Well, I can tell you this; they're chewy and . . . squeaky. Yes, squeaky. They're supposed to be a rice substitute but really, who wants squeaky rice? Me, apparently. And now, by virtue of me being the cook in the house, my entire family. Let me tell you something else; they taste nothing like rice. They're plain ol' chewing, squeaky, tasteless little kernels of nothing. Mmmm... dinner is served.

Maybe I can make up for this culinary disaster with a side dish. Let's see, what local vegetables do I have in the fridge here at the end of the shopping week? Hmmm... swiss chard. Oh great. Another new addition to the palate. One can only hope my young toddlers are adventurous eaters, or at least that I can scrounge up a little peanut butter and jam to smooth the ruffled baby feathers.

It's challenging to come up with new meals each day using less pantry items than we're used to. It's sometimes hard to come up with a substitute or to pass over the recipe book entries that look oh-so-delicious, yet carry at least 5 contriband items on the ingredient list. One thing could be said for the challenge though - it certainly pushes you to try new things as you become desperate for a seasonal vegetable (hence, the swiss chard) or a side dish (enter, spelt berries). It's challenging. It's interesting. It's too far from over.

Slow Down

Today was an eye-opener about how fast paced my slow country life has become. It's not that I'm overly involved in many projects and just need to learn to say "no" when obligations come my way. That's not it at all. It has, quite literally, become fast. As in, running.

This afternoon I got together with a few friends who I have not seen in a very long time, and all of our children (nine of them, only two of which were boys - mine). I had so looked forward to seeing them all again, sitting down and catching up with them. I should have known how the visit was going to turn out when, within moments of us arriving, one boy dropped a very special tea set and smashed it on the patio, while another took off running towards the very off-limits pond down the hill. And so began the cycle of the day; chase this toddler back from the hill and deposit him back in the "safe zone", turn around and chase the other from the road, and so on and so on and so it went.

It was about four hours later when I realized I had not yet sat down and had barely said "hello" to my friends who were sitting around chatting together while their little girls either slept at their feet or played quietly in the yard. It was disheartening. I understand that the boys are at that age where they are curious and adventurous and want to explore and run and run and run. I understand that boys are vastly different from girls in their temperment. I really do. But when I finally gave up the fight and packed the boys into the car and drove away, having learned not one more thing about my friends' lives than I knew yesterday, I cried. Is this what the next few years will be like? Will I always be so busy running after two little ones that I barely notice all the other people in my life?

I need to slow down. I miss my friends. I miss sitting with a cup of coffee and catching up with the special people in my life. I don't like going to a family get-together and being so exhausted from chasing the kids the entire time in the no-kid-friendly zones of other people's houses that I just want to get out of there. I am missing huge chunks of my life. I know I need to slow down.

But how do you slow down when your kids are just getting faster?

security breach

Well, as of about 10 minutes ago, the last remaining line of defense between my boys and the kitchen cupboards has been officially breached. Ben watched on, taking notes as Sam, ever motivated to rise to any challenge put before him, mastered the last remaining child lock in existence to have thwarted his efforts thus far. The "child proof" (pfffttt) slide lock was laughably easy to open before he could walk. The baby gates became a redundant piece of furniture as soon as he could stand and reach the offending mechanism - athough, for a time, locking AND TYING the gate closed did the trick (as of 2pm yesterday, he simply by-passed the lock and tie and climbed over it instead). We have tried spatulas and wooden spoons, which simply make enough noise to buy you time to get there before all the contents are emptied onto the floor. The outlet covers, no matter how hard it is for Terry and me to pry them out of the holes, pop easily into his little hand. The last remaining security measure in this house was the cupboard door locks; inconvenient and tricky for most adults to use. Consider it no longer necessary to implement such measures. The cupboards have officially been breached.

Note to self: relocate to Fort Knox.

(By the way, the shirt reads "you can't spell AWESOME without ME". well, that's for sure)

Connected

Today was a "twin day." A lot of the time I take the fact that I have 2 toddlers pretty much in stride. Other days I really notice the "twin thing." Those are sometimes brutal days. Two babies getting into the same things, two babies showing each other all the trouble the other one hadn't thought to get into yet, two babies struggling to master basic skills, twice as many diapers, two babies trying to climb the entertainment unit at the same time . . . today was one of those days. . . and then I picked up some pictures from the photo lab.

Aren't they beautiful? Isn't this moment the most precious thing you've ever seen? Right in the midst of "that kind of day" I stop and take a look at the picture of these two sweet boys holding hands, simply going about their day together. I look at this picture and I am reminded that they are connected to one another in an incredible way. They are constantly drawn to each other and they love to be together. They hold hands often now and are constantly seeking the other out.
They, in their little baby way, love each other already.

Reminding myself of their sweetness and their innocence, I listen to their precious laughter upstairs right now as my husband is catching one of them in the act of throwing toys down the vent again and I think, "See ya! I'm off to the library for a little peace and quiet! Good luck with that!!!"

Worth the Wait

This weekend I attended a wedding of a couple of friends from Hamilton. Terry and I loved the wedding, partly because it was fun and relaxing and casual but also because it reminded us so much of our wedding. It was a similar style of reception, but even that was not the reason. We loved it because we had waited a very long time to find each other and could barely contain our happiness when we finally did.

This wedding was similar in that my friend Kelly had waited even longer than I, until Glyn came along. Seeing the look on her face when she realized that she is actually a "Mrs." now, was incredible. It's like it just dawned on her "FINALLY - this is for real." I loved that. I know she had moments when she felt like her turn would never come and doubts that God could have someone out there especially for her after all this time, but what a moment when she realized it came and He did.

No matter how long it takes, God really does fulfill the desires of our heart. Even when we sometimes give up believing it. He never does.

it's IN!!!!!

Okay, well maybe not totally in, but pretty much. I am, of course, talking about the long awaited vegetable garden. I have one more row to go and then it's done! My fingernails are caked in dirt, my skin has a particular brown-ish hue, my shoes are completely sodden and I LOVE it!

I have spent each nap-time for the past week out there in the blazing sun, watering this and planting that. I have forgone my reality TV nights for digging in the dark of night after they've gone to bed. My back aches and I am exhausted beyond measure. I have actually dreamed at night about compost; yes, I really am this enthusiastic about compost. There is a sense of accomplishment and a feeling of - dare I say - pride in the effort I put into it. There is just something special about working hard to do something you've never done before instead of just letting each day be the same as the one before it.

My back aches and I am exhausted beyond measure. This is definitely the life for me.

Being Neighbourly

One thing we have noticed in our town is that it really pays to be neighbourly. We are quite lucky to have such wonderful neighbours on both sides and down the street. Everyone is very friendly and chats on the sidewalk or over the hedges. We love that about living here. It really is the type of town where one can run next door and borrow a cup of sugar from a neighbour (or a can opener as happened in our case).

This week, being neighbourly brought quite the unexpected gift to the boys. One older woman down the street asked if we might be interested in having a swingset for the boys as her son and daughter-in law (who live next door to her) have one that their son has outgrown. Strangely enough, Terry and I had just been out at garage sales that morning looking for a playset for the boys.

This afternoon our other next-door neighbour offered up his services to help Terry carry it over to our house; so off the two of them went and lifted the whole thing, intact, down the road.

Is this a matter of living in a small town or is this the simple return of being neighbourly, no matter where you live? I don't know. All I know is that there are two little toddlers happily climbing and sliding and swinging in what was once an empty space in our backyard.

So many books...

So many books, so little time.

I am so happy that both my boys are learning to love books and "reading." Ben is one for spending much of his time quietly reading to himself, while Sam just loves to have his favourite books read to him; often the same one over and over and over again. I hope to cultivate this love of books over the years so they will continue to grow and learn and enjoy the simple pleasure of sitting quietly with a good book.

I particularly love the picture of the boys' Aunt Sandy, reading to Sam. That one's a "keeper" for me as I treasure her place in their lives so much and will love to have that picture years from now. She, her husband, Mark, Abby (aka "Barbara') and Tyler (aka "T") are incredibly special to the boys. They usually take them for sleepovers about once a month (yippee!!!); even since they were only weeks old, so the boys know them very well and adore them (gross understatement). We are blessed beyond measure to have their influence as the boys grow and mature.

Speaking of their influence, I should get the boys' bag ready as they're heading over there for a special little visit this afternoon so I can get some gardening done. Did I mention that I love those guys? Oh, I definitely do!

Garden Fever

Well, you know your city-bred life's a-changin' when you are so excited by the prospect of spreading manure that you are on pins and needles waiting for your husband to come home so you can get at it. Yep, it's true. I'm having fits of glee over manure. Now THERE'S a phrase I never thought I'd say out loud.

I pored over the books detailing different types of manure, figured about how much I would need per square foot and scrutinized the prices from different sources. This is it. This is the last phase before the garden, at long last, goes in. I can't stand the wait. Heaven help me when I finally get to rip those bags open; I might actually keel over from excitement.

The seeds haven't even been planted and already I have garden fever. I'm not a patient sort, but I'm slowly learning that this is one virtue I'm going to have to somehow come to possess if I'm to get through this season. It's all about wait, wait, wait and I'm usually about go, go, go. This will be a learning experience for me in more ways than just knowing how and when to plant. I'm going to have to learn to live in a way that is somewhat foreign to me. Now, if only there were a fast-track way to do it.

Well, I've sat for as long as I can; I really do want to get out there and get my hands dirty. Must go. The manure pile awaits. sigh. Bliss.

Together

I love pictures like this one. Mom took this picture when we met her for brunch on Mother's Day. We were just walking along outside the restaurant, letting the boys blow off a little steam before packing them in the car again for an hour long ride back home.

Here are the four of us, walking along together, with no idea that this would eventually become one of those moments that we treasure later when we think back on it. As soon as I saw the picture, I melted a little inside. I hardly ever need any kind of reminder to feel incredibly blessed by the life I have been given, but it's still nice to get every once in a while anyhow.

Terry was an unexpected gift to me. I was in my thirties when we got married and it's safe to say, I was pretty sure "Mr. Right" must have missed my street when he was out looking for me. I was determined not to "settle" - although, not without some close calls in that department - and it was so very worth the wait. He turned out to be everything I had been looking for, and then some. And then some. And then some.

After that, to top it all off, we are very quickly given these two precious, ridiculously funny, sweet boys. It gets a little crazy around here sometimes . . . okay, a lot crazy, but that's okay.

We're together and that's the best place to be.

Cheating

Well, they say confession is good for the soul. We'll see.

So the 100-mile challenge started today. I'm very enthusiastic about it. I have purchased my stock of local foods to get us through until we can go to the Farmer's Market on Saturday. I've been emailing the participants encouraging gung-ho missives to keep the spirits high. I've cheated already.

Oops. Did I say that out loud? Yeah. It's true. Day One and I may have partaken in one small, teeny weeny, mint smoothie chocolate square. GASP!! I know. It's astonishing how quickly good intentions can fall by the wayside. The thing is, it was a Mother's Day gift so how could I, in good conscience, let it go to waste? I just didn't have enough room in me to gobble up that last one yesterday. In light of the fact that it was a gift, eating it was really the honourable thing to do.

Yeah, I know that argument has a thousand holes in it. So NOW, about 4 hours late, the challenge truly begins here. Truly. That was it for cheating. I feel sufficiently guilty enough to get motivated into taking the next half hour and cleaning my cupboards of all non-local items and box them up far, far away from the kitchen.

But at least, while taking the boys for a walk this morning, I did, in fact, pass up the pear from Argentina. That's good, right?

I think I have to say though, my only real consolation in the midst of my fallen state is that, about 1 hour ago I received an email from one of the pastors who is also doing the challenge; it was something about a weak moment and a tub of Moose Tracks ice cream. Well, you know what they say about confessions...

One More Day

Well it's almost here. Less than 12 hours and the 100 Mile Challenge is ON! I'm not going to lie to you, it's been a binge-fest today of all the things we won't be consuming for the next 3 months. I'm planning to squeeze in one last pop, a banana, and maybe even some pineapple if I'm not too full. I know, I know, it totally defeats the purpose of the thing if I consume 3 months worth of non-local food before this whole thing begins.

I have to tell you though, I'm already much more aware of how far our food travels. Today I took the boys for a walk and, as usual, picked them up an apple for the way home (a major treat for them) and myself a pear. I looked at the sticker on the pear - which we can grow right here in season - and it was from Argentina. Seriously??? A plane, truck, boat, something, had to travel all the way from Argentina just so I could have a pear when I felt like it? It's eye opening.

Am I only going to eat 100% local food when this is all over? Will I become a locavore convert to the extreme? Not likely. But I might just change a few habits and perhaps be just a bit more aware about choosing an Ontario or even Canadian option when deciding between two similar products. And maybe, just maybe, I'll do without something I have an urge for and choose something in season instead. Who knows?

Stranger things have happened.

Local Honour

Speaking of getting "back to the good", I came across a family today who brought life to that idea.

In getting ready for the 100 Mile Challenge (2 more days!), I headed to our local flour mill for some staple items. Oak Manor Farms is a family business which sells its product nationally but has a retail outlet right in their milling barn. I had been there with the boys a few weeks ago, scouting out the local offerings, so we were instantly recognized by one of the owners. That, in itself, is somewhat unusual when one is used to purchasing from large nameless, faceless store chains.

We proceeded into the store where the boys, being one-and a -half year old boys, started wandering through open doors into an office (where the other owner was working and happily allowed the interruption), behind the cash register (pressing buttons, by the way - AAGGHH!!!), and picking up bags of dry goods to deposit elsewhere. The woman was as thrilled as I was horrified. She simply said, "They're babies and they can't possibly hurt anything." In this "no touch" world, that was a relief to let them wander and know it was okay.

Once I'd loaded up my many purchases, I realized they didn't take Interac. Of course not. It's a farm store. I don't know what I was thinking. What happened next amazed me. She said to me, "Don't worry about it. Just take it and send me a cheque when you think about it." WHAT???? This is a legitimate business whose product sells in major grocery store chains and they're telling me to just send them a cheque whenever? And then, to top it all off, she promptly took the hand Ben offered, walked him out to the car amid much chattering, and strapped him into the carseat herself.

In this world of what often amounts to stand-offish relationships with customers, it was so encouraging to see that, even now, a hand shake is still worth something and the honour system still lives.

So Different

People always ask me, "Are they twins?" That baffles me. They're the same size, they're sitting in the same stroller, dressed alike and are clearly the same age. Um, yeah - they're twins.

At the same time, I can't fault them for wondering. I just see them as two totally different boys. They aren't "twins" to us, they are just brothers who share the same birthday. I want them to know that we don't think of them as half of a whole, but as two completely exceptional, very different, and not at all interchangeable kids.

And WOW are they different. I might dress them alike and they may look as alike as any other siblings, but they are not really too similar in any other way. I'm very glad of that. I want them to be their own person, choose their own friends and their own interests. People are always striving to be "the norm". I want more from these guys.

I want Sam to continue to be the quiet, mechanically-minded, adventurous person he is today.

I want Ben to continue to be the funny, fiesty, enthusiastic kid he is now.

I'm glad they have each other but I'm especially glad we have them.

Canning

Have I mentioned that I love canning? I do. I really, really do.

When I'm in the middle of it and have been standing at the stove for my third hour, my hair is all frizzy around my face from the steam and I look around at the mess I'm going to have to clean up once this is all over, I don't know - I just smile inside. It's a little bizarre, isn't it? I'm sure, back in the day, people were thrilled when they were finally able to buy ready-made preserves from the grocery store after having had to "put them up" themselves for so many years, but not me. After having bought ready-made for so many years, I LOVE the idea of making them myself. Everything tastes better when you make it yourself. It just does.

So today, in response to the 100-mile challenge that I'll be starting on Friday, I spent the day in a big steam-bath of a kitchen, making local tomato sauce. I'm not going to lie to you - I kept pulling spoons out of the drawer to sneak a taste as it was cooking. OH YUM! It was delicious.

But now that it's all done and the jars are all filled and lined up on the counter waiting to go to the cellar, I look at the mess left behind and see, not the mounds of pots and canning supplies all over the place, but a product of my own hard work and the enjoyment of my day. Too often we can simply crack open a can without a thought to where it came from. Not today. I spoke with the farmer who I bought the tomatoes from and I know the ones who sold me the onions. Each jar is a labour that I remember and a memory that I loved.

Backwards from this progressive world that is so quickly moving forward to every convenience? Perhaps. But I can live with that.

100 Mile Challenge

8 more days to get in that last Big Mac, the last glass of pop, the last pre-packaged food, the last drop of sugar...

On May 15th, our family is joining a group of people from our church who will be doing the 100 Mile Diet Challenge, based on the book (and now, TV series). We will endeavour to eat only local foods, grown within 100 miles of our home for 100 days.

I've been the one doing the sourcing of local foods and ingredients in our area and, I have to say, I'm amazed at what we have here. It is the land of plenty in Ontario. Some provinces are unable to grow wheat, but we have a local farm and flour mill just 5-10 minutes from here. We have fruit in season, vegetables of all kinds and any type of meat you could want. The trick is just finding it.

I think the one more difficult aspect will be eating within the season because, while all the foods are available, we are used to eating conveniently, not seasonally. We can get strawberries from California anytime, we don't need to wait until they start growing here. We can get mangos, grapefruit, lemons, lime, olive oil, almonds, sugar and rice - all of which are not grown in our area. We are used to having whatever we want, whenever we want it, so the biggest adjustment might be just learning to say "no" to ourselves. We are a society who gives ourselves anything, whether we need it or not. This will be a tough lesson to learn, I think. Waiting for the season and telling ourselves it's okay to do without.

I'm excited. It will be challenging; cooking with what you have on hand, instead of buying what you want to cook. Hopefully it will help us grow in more ways than simply our health.

Live seasonally. Grow bountifully. Eat locally.

This is my mantra. 8 more days.

We're on our way! Terry single-handedly moved the shed off my garden plot last night. Yippee!!!! One step closer. . . If only I were as diligent with my poor seedlings as I have been with all my planning and dreaming.

I transplanted some seedlings from the peat pods to containers today and I fear I am a week or two too late. They're looking sorry and pitiful now. That's not even counting the entire "crop" of cabbage that I wiped out with a spatula. Don't ask. Just trust me that it can be done.

So, here's hoping that my little "babies" survive my rather neglectful treatment of late, to even make it outdoors to their new home.

Garden Miracle

Well it's a garden MIRACLE!

I finally decided today was the day to put aside my rather supreme disappointment about the container of peas and lettuce that became food for our wildlife neighbours. It was time to move on after my somewhat significant mourning period. I planned to dump out the whole sorry contents and start over - this time with some high tech security to keep the critters out (a.k.a. chicken wire).

But, to what did my wondering eyes appear??? A few tiny sprouts and a miracle dear! (Not DEER, as in the wildlife. That seems to be the only pest I DON'T have in my yard, thankfully).

I couldn't resist running inside, grabbing my camera and taking a few pictures, lest it seem later to have been a hallucination. But no. It's REAL. I even dragged Terry over to crouch down and inspect these tiny little green shoots. Suffice to say, he genuinely did try to summon up the same level of enthusiasm I was showing. Bless his heart for trying.

Now here's the dilema. The pests did such a thorough job of tunnelling through the soil that the seeds that survived their onslaught have been displaced so I don't actually know what little sprouts those are, as I planted 3 different vegetables in that container. It will be a mystery until the day they start producing, I suppose.

But it's a miracle. The amazing thing is that they survived without any help from me. All the books I've been reading all Winter, reminding me to coddle the little seeds and sprouts or they'd simply rot in the ground. And here, with me assuming they bought the farm ages ago, left them outside on their own, with just the rain and God.

Fortunately, God is a much better gardener than I could ever be. I think He knew I needed to see something good come of this first planting, to keep me hopeful about the whole garden. You see, I'm trying to change something about myself through this and He knows it. So, He sort of had to remind me that it's not about me. Sure, I need to do my part, but His part is bigger. He can make things happen all on His own.

And He did.

Gentle

Same day, different subject.

Today has been "personal space day". No, that is not a holiday you've missed on your calendar. No, sad to say, this is not going to give you the day off work this time next year. No, "personal space day" is a day when it seems the entire day is spent teaching the boys to keep their hands to themselves.

See, the personal space in question is not so much their own space, as it is their brother's. They are really "into" each other right now - thrilled to see each other first thing in the morning and always hugging and kissing (much licking involved in that process at this age, as it turns out). The problem begins when the loving gets kind of . . . enthusiastic. And, therefore, somewhat painful. Of course, the one doing the loving doesn't mind this at all, it's the receiver of all this good will that objects so strongly.

And so I say, for the thousandth time today, "Gentle, Sam. Be gentle." "Not so hard, Ben. Be gentle. Nice. You want to be nice." Gentle. Gentle. Gentle. Over and over and over. Until I finally ask myself; when did we stop learning that lesson? When did we stop reminding ourselves to be gentle to one another? If we wouldn't hesitate to teach this lesson, why don't we always practice it?

Just a question from someone trying to be a little more gentle.