Battle Stations

I've been wrestling with this decision for months, and now that it's been made, I feel a huge sense of relief. You see, kiddo turns 4 next week. For the past 6 months he's been asking for a sword. And/or a gun. I made the mistake of saying "Maybe for your birthday," thinking he would forget about it in 6 days, much less 6 months. However, as his birthday crept closer and he kept asking, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I mean, we worked through the biting phase, survived the hitting phase and finally made it through the spitting phase. Do I really want to start arming him with weaponry at this point?

I did relent this summer and let him have a water gun. In part because I love a good water fight as much as the next gal, and in part because the boundaries are more easily defined. Also, they didn't have Super Soakers when I was a kid; those things are fun. They can cover some serious distance. The rules are pretty much common sense: only outside, and only when everybody has bathing suits or play clothes on. And Momma gets to put them away when we're done. No, I didn't go so far as to get a gun safe for the Super Soakers; it's just a high shelf. But I don't relish being ambushed by a stream of water running down my back while I'm chopping onions.

I used to think that you could shape your kid's interests, and that they would just play with whatever toys you gave them. Then I saw my 16-month-old son making motor noises and pushing around his shoe because I hadn't thought to buy him any toy cars yet. If he has a mind to, he can turn an empty paper towel roll into a sword. However, it's just as likely to become a telescope or a trumpet at this stage. I realize that his interest in combat toys is not going to go away just because mommy is a pacifist and wants to live in Nirvana-la-la-land. On the flip side, the day I relented to let him hold the sword in the store, what do you think he did with it? That's right. Let me tell you, just because it's a Nerf sword, doesn't mean it feels great when it cracks you in the ribs. So for this year's birthday, he'll be getting a marble maze that he can build into different configurations (Quadrilla is so cool!) And maybe, just maybe, after a few more years of work on boundaries and impulse control, I'll let him have a Nerf sword. Like, when he's 17.

The Not-So-Extreme Makeover

The prospect of rejoining the paid work force is rather terrifying. For one thing, I'm looking at my closet and realizing that I've worn nothing but the Mom Uniform of a t-shirt & jeans for the past 4 years. And at my last position as an apprentice cabinetmaker, I just wore grubby t-shirts and ripped jeans. Not to mention that I haven't bought make-up since my wedding. I've never really been a fashionista, but I at least used to have more than two pairs of shoes. I actually bought an InStyle magazine the other day just to see what the kids are wearing these days. Thankfully, I think I missed the resurgence of 80s fashion; that was bad enough the first time around.

Thinking about it, the bigest part of the return-to-work makeover is internal. 4 years ago I went through a major identity shift, not simply adding "mom" to my list of roles, but subtracting "productive member of the work force." A difficult thing to do in our capitalism-based society, and also just as a person who has always taken pride in her independence. The words "just a mom" can either be a convenient summation of my life or an insult, depending on who says it and how it's said. I now face saying goodbye to the days of wallowing in toddlerhood and reinventing myself, yet again. There is some trepidation about how I go about talking to adults again about things other than sleepless nights and bodily functions, but I'm sure I'll get there eventually. My plan? When in doubt, just say "Looks like we're in for some more rain" or "How 'bout that Lindsay Lohan?"

Transferrable Skillz

Let me just say off the top here that I never aspired to be an at-home parent. My mother stayed home with my sister, brother and I until we were all in school. I saw how hard she worked and how little external validation she got. It's not like any of us pulled her aside at the end of the day and said "Great job parenting today, Mom. I really liked how you handled the blankie situation, and your mediation of the cookie debate was truly inspired." No, we absolutely took her for granted, assuming that because she had always taken care of our needs, that it was her singular role in life. I'm sure if you asked her today she would say that it was her most important, and most rewarding job, as would any parent. But let's be honest here - I've had some irrational, demanding bosses in my time, but none of them can hold a candle to a 2-3 year-old.

I suppose I decided to stay home with my son out of a mixture of love and arrogance. I knew in the large scheme of life, a few years would go by in a blip. I didn't think it possible that someone else could love him as much as I do, or manage his life the way that I wanted it done. I figured I would never have the chance again to spend such an intense period of time with my child, and I'd be foolish not to take it, if possible. This was the decision for me and my family. Some mothers need to work shortly after giving birth either for financial reasons, or for reasons of their own sanity, and I fully support this. The great thing about living in the 'free world' is that we have the freedom to make whatever choices best suit our families. Now that my son is almost 4 and in Preschool, I'm starting to feel the itch to return to the outside working world. Due to the difficult nature of my pregnancy (I have subtitled it "280 Days of Puking") I haven't worked in almost 5 years. Some months went faster than others. Some phases have dragged on beyond reasonable limits, but for the most part the 5 years have blown by.

From my employment counselor days, however, I know that 5 years is a long break to have in one's employment history. As much as we want to honour a parent's choice to stay home with his/her child, in reality it can be difficult for a parent to make the jump back into the paid work force. There seems to be the unspoken worry that being at home with kids can make you soft; make you lose your edge. Nothing could be farther from the truth, at least in my case. For instance, I used to have a hard time saying no. Now, I say it at least 20-30 times per day. I am better at delegating and multi-tasking. I have honed my skills in conflict resolution and crisis management. I can stare into the eye of the beast - the screaming, red-faced beast - and retain my composure. I just need to figure out how to get these skills onto my resume, and coax a good reference out of my kid (did someone say chocolate cake?).

Let The Music Play

I recently came to the awareness that how I experience music has changed over the years. We went to see The National play the Malkin Bowl in Vancouver this weekend. It was the first show I'd been to in at least 4 years; since the birth of my son. I realized that, prior to the show, I couldn't have picked a single band member out of a line-up. The last rock posters I had on my walls were of David Bowie, John Taylor and the Thompson Twins. My 'Tiger Beat' days are three decades behind me, and my days of endless MTV or MuchMusic viewing died the following decade.

If I like the music, I like a band. Plain and simple. However, until I see a band play live, it's more of a 'like' with an asterisk - playing well live is a litmus test for my respect. The National is one of those bands who are, incredibly, actually better live. And, thanks to the young ladies standing in front of me, I learned that their music could be much bouncier and perkier than I originally thought. In these girls' defense, they appeared to there for a stagette. It was easy to figure out which one was getting married: the young lady was literally glowing - or perhaps just reflecting light from the cell phone that she didn't stop texting on throughout the entire show. But when you're young, you go to a show for one of two reasons (both valid): for the music, or for the scene. If you're going for the scene, your interest will slowly wane as your scene changes. If you're going for the music, you'll always go for the music. And there's a plethora of great music out there. CBC Radio3 and Sirius XMU are great resources for finding independent bands, if you're not finding stuff you like on mainstream radio.

So I'd like to put out a big thank you to The Walkmen and The National for a great show. Thank you to my hubby & friends for a great night. Thank you to my in-laws for hangin' with the kiddo. And finally, thank you to my friend Gillian's unborn child for helping us score a premium parking spot. Getting old and having a family does have it's benefits.

No Worries

I read somewhere that worrying is like riding a stationary bicycle - it gives you something to do, but doesn't get you anywhere. I worried quite a bit in my youth, and I think the fear of what might happen kept me from enjoying things that were actually happening in the moment. Over the years, I've trained myself to stop worrying - or at least to worry less. However, when you have a child, that can open you up to a whole new class of worries. So when Offbeat Mama (one of my new favourite sites) linked to an NPR article by Meagen Voss entitled "5 Worries Parents Should Drop, And 5 They Shouldn't" I was curious to see what I could cross off my list.

According to the book Ms. Voss references in her article (The Paranoid Parents Guide by Christie Barnes), the top 5 worries parents have are: kidnapping, school snipers, terrorists, dangerous strangers and drugs. I'm proud to say that I don't spend a lot of time worrying about any of these things However, my son's only 4; I have plenty of time to worry about snipers and drugs later on. The top 5 things that do hurt or kill children are: car accidents, homicide by someone known to them, abuse, suicide and drowning. So fine; know your kid, know the significant people in his life, instill him with self-esteem and self-efficacy, make him wear his seatbelt, and make sure he learns how to swim. Bases covered, right? But what about my other worries? Like the fact that I'm probably doing something or will do something that will give him major issues later on and land him in years of therapy? Or the worry that he's just too damn cute for his own good, and that could land him in trouble someday? Or that someone, somewhere is eventually going to break his heart, and there's nothing I can do about it? I suppose that's the crux of it - there's nothing I can do about it. Which reminds me of another saying floating around somewhere in the dark reaches of my brain: Why worry? If you can do something about it, do it and stop worrying. If you can't do anything about it, what's the point in worrying?

I'm a parent and I'm a human. I'm going to make mistakes. The best I can do is love my kid and make the choices that feel right for us. Worrying only undermines my belief in myself, or worse - my son's belief in himself. So go ahead buddy, climb that rock wall. Ride down that huge hill on your bike. Just wear your frickin' helmet, alright?

Change in the Air

Ah, September; the month of new chapters. Since I was a kid heading back to school, September has always buzzed with the energy of change. New lunch box, new pencil crayons, new best friends to meet. My son starts his first day of pre-school tomorrow, and I think I'm more excited than he is because I know that this will open up his door to the world just a little wider. The weather is turning slightly colder, and a hell of a lot rainier (of course on the week that I have tickets to an outdoor concert).

With the change of season, the garden is in transition, too. The greens are all but done; as per a friend's suggestion, I'm going to harvest some arugula seed pods to make some arugula-infused oil (thanks, Steve!) I'll leave only one arugula plant for my seed-saving experiment. The Romaine and red-leaf lettuce have been pulled to make room for some spinach; more of a cold-weather crop. We've been snacking on pea pods for a couple of weeks, but overall I have to admit that this year's garden has been a bit of a let down after last year's successes. It looks like I won't be able to make a yummy Greek tomato tart from my own cherry tomatoes this year. The corn stalks are beyond stunted. It's not their fault; they seem to be trying really hard, but to no avail. And to top it all off, I managed to choose a fake curry plant that is apparently inedible. It sure smells great, though.

On the plus side, it looks like I have an abundance of potatoes that I now have to figure out how to harvest and store. The acorn and butternut squash are developing nicely. The pumpkin plants are pushing out these huge velvety-curved flowers that I'm almost embarrassed to photograph. Hopefully we'll be carving jack-o-lanterns from our own pumpkins this year! Perhaps my proudest achievement is holding off on eating my blackberries - I should have enough to make a pie this week and enjoy the fruits of my labour. Or, more accurately, the fruits of my non-labour, as my most prolific crop grows wild without any input from me.

So, as my growing season winds down I am contemplating my next steps in life. Like perhaps changing the name of my blog, as I will no longer be able to pretend that it has much to do with gardening. Stay tuned; the winds of change are blowing, and bringing the fog and rain with them. Perfect time to curl up with a mug of cocoa and do some pondering.

Babe in the Woods

About 7 years ago, my husband (then, boyfriend) and I made the decision to move out of the city and into 'the country.' And we're not talking city suburb to small town suburb; we're talking two blocks from the heart of Kitsilano in Vancouver, to two blocks from the middle of nowhere. The learning curve started the first night when, after a full day of unpacking, we made the 25-minute drive into town to find something for dinner and luckily caught the A&W drive-thru 5 minutes before it closed. The grocery stores were dark, cafés long shut, sidewalks rolled up for the night, so to speak. An early wake-up call, coming from the land of 24-hour consumption.

For the first few months, it felt like we got a few glasses of cold water thrown in our faces. Back in Kits, I delighted in being able to walk on all my errands: groceries, drug store, post office, doctor. Suddenly, I was extremely reliant on my car (there's no bus service out this far). Then when you get to town, there's no guarantee that they'll have what you're looking for. The produce manager at one of grocery stores once looked blankly at me when I asked if he had any tomatillos (sure, not everyone is familiar with exotic vegetables, but I assumed a produce professional would have at least heard of a tomatillo). What I missed most, though, was the restaurants. There are some great restaurants in Sooke, but there were probably twice as many places to eat in one block of our old neighbourhood than there are in our entire adopted new town (yes, after 7 years we're still considered newcomers by some of the 'real' locals). When we lived a few blocks from the 5th Avenue Cinemas, we caught a couple of great movies every month. Now, with no local movie theatre (as well as the addition of our son) we're lucky to see one movie on the big screen per year. And while our local community centre offers some great classes and services, they're no match for the variety you can find in an urban centre.

That's just one side of the equation, though. We've learned and gained so much from living out in the bush. For instance, I learned that an adolescent black bear can fit through a dog door, and I should therefore NOT store a full bag of garbage out on the enclosed porch overnight. I've learned how to live more simply; how to be better organized and how to make do with what I have (since going back to the grocery store for something I forgot is generally not worth the time). It's forced me to become a better cook, because there's no pizza delivery out to our neck of the woods. I've gained trees, relatively secluded beaches, dazzling displays of stars in the night sky, bugs and slugs, bunnies, quail, eagles, bears, otters and seals. While I do have to work a little harder at finding social outlets for my son, I've never felt the need to buy one of those books on how to facilitate your child's connection with nature. We generally have to work at keeping nature from waltzing in the front door.

Is one better than the other? Depends on who you are, and who you ask (and for me, it sometimes depends on what day you ask). I do sometimes miss the energy and vibrancy of the city, but even the thought of leaving my little cabin in the woods makes me a little teary-eyed. It's been said that Vancouver Island moves at a slower pace than Vancouver itself, but I think it's more accurate to say that it just vibrates at a lower frequency. The energy is completely different; it's less about where you're going, and more about where you are. Less about finding your place in the world, and more about finding the world in it's place. And that's a beautiful thing.