Ode to a Slow Day

I hear the thump, thump, thump of little feet jumping up and down in the crib and the slamming of rails against the wall. An occasional squeal pierces the otherwise quiet and I debate whether or not to make the trek up those steep stairs for yet another stern talking-to, but somehow the other two kids (my own and one I look after each day) seem to have found a way to sleep through it so I decide it's not worth battling this obviously wide-awake boy. I decide instead to work on my next digital photobook and email back and forth with my sister who dropped a not-so-subtle message about updating my blog. So this one's for her; the sister who somehow manages to keep her own blog current, despite homeschooling her 4 children each day.

This is my ode to a slow, simple, small-town life, which I adore.

It smells like a bakery in here, with one loaf out of the breadmaker and another whole wheat whirring around in there as I write. That first loaf never really counts because it barely makes it to the end of the day anyhow, between the 3 toddlers, my husband and my own munching each time I pass the breadboard. It's the smell. Now, once it's a day old and the yeast is no longer wafting through the house, I can pass by with nary a glance. Who can possibly resist that smell? Just the thought of homemade bread, even in the breadmaker, tells me that my life has slowed down. Oh, it's busy. Some days it's almost frantic; that's not the kind of slow that I mean. I'm talking about slowing down in the ways that matter. I mean, taking the time for details like baking your own bread, canning from your own gardens and chatting with your neighbours.

We live in a small town that still requires you to walk to the post office for your mail (okay, they don't actually require you to WALK - you could, technically, use your car but who would on a nice day?). Actually, I'm fairly certain there isn't even another place you can mail a letter since I've never noticed a mailbox anyplace other than the post office. Yes, that can be a little inconvenient when you're home without a car in the middle of a freezing cold day and don't relish the idea of bundling up the kids just to get something mailed before the one pick-up time we're given; but at the same time, I love it. It forces you to take the time to purposefully run an errand instead of zipping here and there, in and out of stores at the speed of light. There's something about getting out the stroller, greeting your neighbours who are just starting to sit on their porches again, say hi to the Post-women who always remark on the boys' growth since the last time, and maybe even take the long way back to see if the ducks have flown back to our river yet. It's blocking off a good section of time just to do something as simple as get the mail.

Even a trip to the grocery store takes about 3 times longer than it really needs to because you're quite likely to run into at least one person from church, a neighbour or two, and very likely, a relative. Or you might just get chatting with the guy in line in front of you and find, through the usual "who are your parents?" game that is always on the agenda, that you are, in fact, related even to him! It took some getting used to when I first moved here from the city life I was accustomed to. Terry would run to the hardware store - just a block or two away from where we lived at the time - and wouldn't return for an hour. He'd always come in the door, filled to the brim with the lastest news from a long list of people he bumped into. It is something I have come to love, even as I roll my eyes with a smile.

The beauty of such a life shone through not long ago when Sam was so sick that he had a seizure in the middle of the night. It went on and on for so long that we called 911 and within 2 minutes a stream of firefighters poured through our door, all nodding to Terry on the way by and calling him by name. Once Sam got under control, the firefighter in charge tried to clear the room but no one would leave because they all knew who Terry was. Even the ambulance attendants who came later spent the entire ride to the hospital catching me up on the school days shared with my husband's family years ago. All of this makes for some rather personal care from such professionals. As the ambulance pulled away, the neighbours started calling, dropping off food and making sure their phone number was right beside our bed in case they were ever needed in the middle of the night. This is what people are always talking about when they say the word "community." I've never known such community before.

This is my blog for Heather because she is always commenting that we're living an episode of Little House on the Prairie, with the horse and buggies clopping by and the people who are so invested in their neighbours lives. This is my ode to slowing down, enjoying each task that is required and taking a moment to lean over the fence - where there even are fences - and sharing a mason jar full of soup and a basket of warm tea biscuits with your neighbours.

Unplugged

I found myself sitting in front of the entertainment unit which used to hold our TV / DVD player, wondering "what now?". About 2 minutes later, Terry came into the room and pronounced something like "well, are you ready to get spanked again?" I smiled. Not the usual reaction when someone declares a spanking is in order, but I knew he was referring to my almost ridiculous loss of "Sorry" which we had played the night before; he was offering a chance to re-live my defeat again tonight. Bring it on!

You might have guessed we've changed our entertainment ways lately. We not only cancelled the cable (which didn't matter anyhow since it didn't really leave our house regardless of cancelling it), but we also completely removed the TV from the livingroom and stored it in the cellar for an indefinite period of time. We had been talking about decreasing our TV time, but it seemed a little more difficult than expected since the boys have grown tall enough to reach the knobs to open the doors and smart enough to know which buttons to press in order to elicit their own noisy entertainment. It had to be completely removed. So we did. And then I breathed a great big sigh of relief that just one more source of noise had been removed from my living space ... and then I thought, "okay, what do we do now?"

Well, we read. And we play games. And we get things done that have been hanging over our heads for a while. And we talk. And we go to bed at a decent hour instead of being held hostage until the show we're watching is over. And the boys play more and go outside more and do more things in the kitchen with me. And it's quieter here ... okay, not a LOT quieter because, let's face it, I have twin toddlers who seem to have no sense of volume and do everything at the highest possible decibel, but still, it's better.

Do I delude myself into thinking it will stay this way forever? Of course not. That was never the intent. The plan is to rethink what's important to us so that, when it returns, we won't think it's an easy solution but, hopefully, more of a nuisance that we'll choose to shut off in favour of quality time together instead. We'll have found a better way to spend our time. We have an idea of the life we want to have and, I'm happy to say, the TV plays a pretty insignificant role in it.

Lovin' the Library

I am LOVING the Library for the boys. Mind you, at this stage of the game (particularly with the newly acquired walking cast on my left foot) it's a whole lot easier to make the trek to the Library on my own instead of trying to keep two two-year-olds from de-shelving all the books in the children's section. At the same time, we're finding it an incredible resource for my rather frugal ways... although I do keep adding to my "must buy" list of favourites that I'd like them to own.

One of the best things about the Library is that I really take notice of their favourite books, since I end up having to check them out again and again as they're requested by the boys over and over once they've already been returned. Here is our Library List of late:

The Napping House, by Audrey Wood (anything that talks about sleeping works for Sam)
I am a Little Giraffe (or monkey or Alligator or Bear or Duck etc...) by Francois Crozat
Shoes, by Elizabeth Winthrop
Brown Bear, Brown Bear, by Eric Carle (Ben's personal fave)
Hermie's Bugginings: Colours, by Max Lucado (taught them colours quicker than anything else did )
Goodnight, Goodnight Sleepyhead, by Ruth Krauss (we've been reading them this one since they were tiny and it's still a favourite)

Most of all, I love that it is instilling in them a love of books, which I hope will eventually grow to become a love of reading on their own some day. There is something to be gained when you read a good book; a story that can touch your soul and stay with you the rest of your days. I hope this is something they experience as the years go on and the stories eventually pass from hearing my words to reading their own.

Living Simply

I'm one of those people who can not function well in chaos. As organization gives way to mess my blood pressure peaks, I start to get antsy and I can feel all sense of calm leave my body to make room for frustration. I just can't do it. I know that I am more productive and a much saner (and sweeter) mother when I feel like the home is under control. Does it have to be perfect? sigh. Ah, in a perfect world it would be but, with four people taking up the same space, it's not likely. It does, however have to be at least orderly and "picked up". I can live with at least that much ... for now.



All of this to say, I'm on a purging binge again. I love to purge. I love to load that car, packed to the roof, full of things I am no longer using or the boys have outgrown, and drop it all off at the MCC Thrift Store. I feel so much lighter in spirit on the trip home from there. I love near-empty shelves and drawers that only house one particular type of item instead of a whole jumble of things. I can train the boys better when there is a very clear place their toys belong. I am happier. I have also noticed a dramatic shift in the disposition of Sam and Ben when there is order to their world. Ben, in particular, seems to be most appreciative of an orderly environment (I wonder who he gets that from?).



So far, we have taken 3 very full carloads to the thrift store and are just getting started. I have never been much of a pack-rat but things somehow tend to pile up anyhow. My mantra is "if it hasn't been used since the last season (winter clothes used since last winter) then out it goes." Even things like china - who uses all that stuff? I figure, if it has been sitting on the shelf all year without being taken out, then someone else could be loving it and using it (see-ya-later!). We have since emptied the entire cabinet (which now holds the everyday dishes) an entire pantry (which now goes in the regular cupboards) the bottom of the entertainment unit (now holding bins of toys that the boys can reach) and an entire toy cupboard. I love it. Our goal by the weekend is a basically empty backroom to make room for the sand and water table for the boys.



We want to live simply but that is hard to do when you have too much stuff. We want to be hospitable but that is hard to do when you don't want drop-in visitors because you won't have a chance to clean up all that stuff before they arrive. You want to be able to teach your children to take care of their things and learn to be responsible for them but you can't because there are no empty cupboards for them to put their things away. You want them to appreciate how special their toys and games are but they don't because they have way too much other stuff. You want them to learn to concentrate and spend time at a task but they are constantly flitting from one activity to the next because they are overwhelmed with too many things capturing their attention at once.

This is more than just de-cluttering this time. We are taking back control of the way we want to live our life. We are deciding how we want Sam and Ben to be raised and making changes now to accomodate that. Why are we keeping things that don't fit into the picture of the life we're creating together? Why are we allowing things into our homes that don't fit that picture? I heard a phrase "picture the way you want your life to look and get rid of everything that isn't in that picture". Well that's what we're doing and let me tell you, it feels great!

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.