...a renewal.

Six and a half years ago I was sitting on the precipice of my plunge into motherhood. Hovering in that knife-edge place between mother and maiden. I didn't have any clue what that first baby would have in store for me. What she would teach me. Whom I would become as I was reborn a mother. I don't know if I fully know now as I look back. Too much of what unfolded in those first weeks, months and even years remains in a bit of a fog... But I think she was my baby of grounding. Not that she was grounded... No way! She was my flexible baby. Would sleep anywhere, could stay up til midnight and sleep in the next day. We travelled with her, partied with her, shopped with her...basically we towed her along on every wild adventure we could. But slowly she tamed us. And I became a very, very capable mother... Oh who am I fooling? I became a bit type-a like I am with everything I did. If I couldn't do it to "perfection" then I didn't bother. And I couldn't throw in the towel on this one so I had to get it right! I cloth diapered her little bottom and laundered them myself. I made all her baby food and froze it in perfectly portioned cubes. I read to her, took her to music class, taught her sign language... I wasn't trying to be the "perfect" mother. I was just trying to get really good at my job. Meg taught me how to be a mother. And for that I will always be grateful. She was a great teacher. Yielding, yet firm. And clear about her expectations most of the time. We became a good team and I got good at my job. It didn't always look pretty but it always got done.

Today I had the overwhelming sense that Lola is my baby of renewal. Or perhaps of awakening. Although this has been happening over the last few years I feel like Lola was the piece to this puzzle that I was missing. Like a catalyst for a big plunge deeper into my youthful spirit. I want to play more and work less. I want to sing and dance and create. And it's not as though I haven't always been that way. But this feels more like a living, breathing, dynamic, undeniable, passionate force working through me. Its a beast, whose insatiable hunger for growth and creation is only matched by its insatiable hunger for chocolate! My conversations feel more alive. My body feels more.... full. And sometimes I feel like I am spinning in a vortex over which I have no control so I spin freely and try not to fight too hard. Sometimes I even will the spinning to accelerate. What the hell, if the ride is gonna make you dizzy then you might as well do it large.

I wrote this a few days ago and now as I reflect on it maybe I have it all wrong. In fact I was tempted to delete and edit the entire first paragraph. It feels stilted and inaccurate. It feels like I was searching for something and never quite found it... and that is why I left it. That was me I suppose. I had spent a long time crafting the persona I portrayed to the world. And in one psyche shattering event I didn't know which way was up let alone who I was supposed to be now. But what I think now is that maybe neither Meg nor Lola had any specific thing to teach me or reveal to me. Maybe it is just about shedding one more layer to reach my true authentic self. Maybe with the birth of each baby I have just rendered myself more transparent. Found more of who I am. But not the kind of finding that happens after you lose something. The kind of finding that happens when you never knew it was there to find. You know what I mean? Perhaps that is why it feels like Lola has revealed to me my more youthful spirit. After all, our most authentic selves are the ones unencumbered by our domestication. How lovely that we get to experience our youthful spirits again as we age. Some of our filters are shed with each layer too. And we are able to express ourselves more fully and with less inhibition. And with the added grace of our maturity........ and hopefully our wisdom.

...some yummy treats.

Look what I had for breakfast, lunch and dinner today! Deeeelicious...

...the other mother.

My business partner, dear friend and fellow mommy-blogger, Skyla has a regular feature on her blog, Cool Beans, called "Not Me Monday". I love it! It is honest, funny, charming and clever. I was at her house last Monday and we talked about it over scones with jam a healthy snack. I told her I was gonna give it a whirl on my blog if I ever had a reason to. But I didn't think it would happen because I am a perfect mother... the person that screws up, neglects her children, eats too much chocolate, worries too much about her appearance and doesn't have a piping hot meal on the table and a clean house when her husband comes home......well that is "the other mother".

So here is my first tale of the "other mother"...

On Wednesdays I have a great routine. Walk Meg to school, Lola falls asleep, I do some work around the house, meet Maria for coffee at The Carrot and then walk across the street to my great yoga class at Bedouin Beats. Last Wednesday however things went a bit pear-shaped. Miss Lola did not fall asleep on the walk home. I was definetly not pissed that I wouldn't get the breakfast dishes away and my emails answered. Nope, I was thrilled that I would have some extra quality time to hang out with my delightful 5 month old. I would never just pop Lola into her Rock and Bounce still in her pyjamas so that I could carry on, business as usual.
Those emails could wait and I certainly wouldn't waste spend time on facebook or catching up on my favourite blogs. No way, not at all! In my perfection I would never have heard a huge rumble in her diaper and smile sweetly at her only to carry on with my indulgent business. Her comfort and happiness is my number one priority. I wouldn't hope that the episode of Sex and The City educational programming on TV would keep her amused while I finished just one last thing. And of course there is no way that I would hear even more poop sounds and keep blindly typing away. Never ever would I wait another fifteen minutes before looking up at her again only to find her skating around in a poop puddle. Her little legs slip-sliding away under her, grinning from ear to ear. If this did happen, which I assure you it did NOT, the last thing I would be thinking of is grabbing my camera to document the event. That would be hilarious dreadful, unforgiveable behaviour for a mother of my caliber. Let me be clear about this... I would never have phoned my mother to tell the tale and laugh about it while she continued to swirl her toes in the yellow mess. Nope, not a chance. And under no circumstances would I look at that smile on her face and decide that if she was still happy then I could surely get a bit more work done while she wallowed played for a while longer.

There is no way I could fathom stripping down to my knickers right in my living room to retrieve her from her filth so that I would not ruin my new shirt and jeans. Unacceptable! Wouldn't do it. After an escapade like that a child would most definetly need a 30 minute soak in a warm bath. Of that I can be sure. I know I could never let this poopapalooza happen because you would not find me on my hands and knees scrubbing the yellow poop grout out of the cracks in my hardwood floor. Not on your life.

Nope, that would be the "other mother" and I have the pictures to prove it.

...someone that is shivering.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Today I got a phone call from the school... I hate it when I see that name on my call display. My heart always skips a beat and I try to answer with a calm sound in my voice. The secretary at our school is an angel. She has experience with my kind. "Hello, it's Bonnie calling...It's not an emergency." Bless her heart. Those are always the first words out of her mouth. I have never asked her but she must be a mother. I breathe again. She was calling to tell me that my big girl had a bathroom accident. She needed me to come with a change of clothes. My mind raced. Why? Why now? My girl with a bladder of steel. She potty trained at 2 and a half, in one weekend and we never looked back. So far I have only changed the sheets in the night because of vomit, never pee. We have had a handful of very minor accidents at home but that is it. I babbled something about how surprised I was and tried to form a coherent thought. She made it clear that my girl was standing in the office waiting for me. Right... "get moving" my brain said to my body. I looked down at the sleeping baby in my arms. Nappus Interuptus once again. I ran up to grab a new set of clothes. Funny what went through my head. "Must find something as similar as possible to what she was wearing", "What will I say to her?", "How did the other kids or her teacher react?" It is only now that I replay this process that I can see my big/little girl standing in that office, one shoe sloshing with pee, being offered a jelly bean, the seconds ticking by while I am looking for just the right clothes. I ran out the door with babe on my hip and a bag full of clothes. Sped to the school and ran in the door to find her standing there shivering with the cold and the wet of it all. Lately she has seemed so big to me. She is the big sister, the grade oner, the six year old... But today when I saw her standing there as I stood in that doorway, catching my breath... she seemed so small. So fragile. So... vulnerable. It is my job to protect her and I want to do that so completely.


We walked to the bathroom. I hadn't anticipated that she would be shuffling so awkwardly with that shoe full of pee. I was surprised at just how wet she was. I crouched down to look her in the eyes. I needed to see into her and find out how she really felt. I tried to be lighthearted about it but not just blow it off. I could see my reflection becoming more clear in her eyes as the tears began to pool. Her lip beginning that twisted downward curl of utter disappointment in herself. This is what I signed up for. The messy, scary, challenging trenches of parenting a school age child. I face it all as squarely as I can but I had no idea that my heart would lead and then ache so much in the process. I held her and she whimpered that she was scared. Scared seems right to me. I'm scared.... shitless sometimes. I realized that I couldn't help her out of her wet clothes and clean her up with a babe in my arms so I ran back to the office and handed the slobbering 5 month old off to that secretary. She willingly swept her up in her arms (I do think that woman needs a bouquet of flowers). When I got back to the bathroom I was able to get to the business of it. She told me more of what happened and that she was cold. She told me about the offer of a jelly bean and her polite refusal. She told me which friends helped her. She told me there had been a puddle and they had to call the custodian. Each detail making her seem more vulnerable. We quickly got her changed and while doing so she asked me if she could go home. There was only an hour left of school, I wanted nothing more than to take her home but I wanted her to decide what she needed, so I hadn't offered. I was glad she asked. When we headed for her classroom the other kids were just getting ready to go out for recess. So I asked if she wanted to join them before we headed home. I wanted her to go home feeling better about her day. It looked like business as usual on the playground.

And that was just one of the things I did today...

...someone that is refreshed.

Ran into a friend as I was flying through the local Italian Market (Spinelli's) before I had to get Meg from school. The night before I only had 5 hours of very interupted sleep. That morning my non-napping babe kept me from washing my hair or even my face. Don't even think I brushed my teeth, either. She told me how amazing I looked.

huh?

Asked me where I had been and we both smiled knowingly when I told her...

...I love yoga!

...an Argentine Tango.

I love that dance. Have you seen it? Argentine Tango

This dance requires complete connection with your partner. Feet so close and so intertwined at times that one wrong move would lead to a pile of body and limbs on the floor. It is breathtaking to watch.

Wikipedia says this, "Argentine tango is a new orientation of couple dancing. As most dances have a rational-pattern which can be predicted by the follower, the ballast of previous perceptions about strict rules has to be thrown overboard and replaced by a real communication contact, creating a direct non-verbal dialogue. A tango is a living act in the moment as it happens." I like this description. It is so much more than steps to follow. So much more than footprint diagrams showing you where to step next. It is not about "dancing". It is about being that act of dancing.

I have a new dance partner. She and I have only been dancing together for just over a year. At first we were all left feet and I, quite frankly, did not feel the least bit graceful. I was still enjoying very much the fluid and effortless footwork with my dance partner of 5 years. I wasn't sure if I was ready for another one. It had taken all of those 5 years to perfect some of the steps with her. We were starting to take on more challenging footwork some days or enjoying the ease of something familiar on others. Did I really want to start from square one again? But after a rough start and a lot of resistance on my part we just clicked one day. It took about 7 months before I found that I felt really beautiful as we swayed together in our nested embrace. We had shifted from "gestating" to "being the act of gestation". Together we were a whirling dervish of growth and creation. Culminating in the wildest, most frenetic dance of our lives on the day we met. Now with 5 months of face to face dancing under our belts I am happy to report that we are just as clumsy as ever some days and as skillful and agile as professionals on others. It helps when we both pick the same dance of course. Sometimes I am in the mood for a waltz or a foxtrot but Lola is all revved up for a quickstep or jitterbug. The roles reverse just as frequently too. But it truly does feel like one, long, seamless (or attempt at seamless) dance. Each move by one of us having a direct impact on the other. We ebb and flow, sway and shuffle... It isn't always pretty but it works. Now that we are a family of four it gets complicated. I guess on a good day we get quite the hoedown going. Our unconventional square dance is a sight to behold. But most days I think it looks like more of a mosh pit.

I find that at any given time I have a good groove going with one of my dance partners and the others are a bit awkward. One day maybe I will become skillful enough to dance with all three of my partners with grace and endurance, simultaneously. For now I will dance with wild abandon. I will feel the beat deep in my bones and create a rhythm that rocks our love-filled home.

...a family, all just trying to get it right.

This afternoon I had one of those defining moments as a parent. The kind of moment that brings into sharp focus the magnitude of our impact on our children and the enormity of our job as parents. The kind of moment that has given me a constant and physical reminder all evening with the stinging and fatigue of eyes that have wept. An all too familiar feeling sometimes.

It was 17 degrees here in balmy Edmonton today. Unheard of for the 5th of November. Early dismissal at school so a perfect day to stay for a long, lingering play at the park. We stayed too long. Joyful play turned to frustration and unkind words. Words, that as soon as they are spoken almost choke a six year old with regret. But their fragile little egos hold fast to their convictions and sorry is a word too hard to utter in this frustrated state. I was serenaded with muffled sobs the whole walk home. Wishing I had a transporter beam so that we could just be home, cuddled up on the couch and talking about how darn hard relationships are sometimes. How grown ups feel the same frustrations with our friends sometimes but we just don't have the guts to tell each other how we are feeling most of the time. The walk, the sobbing and my frustration with not being able to help her with just the right words had worn me pretty thin by the time we got home. When we got in the door it was like my patience abruptly expired. Everything she said sounded like a whine after all that crying and I just didn't want to hear it anymore. She was tired and hungry. She asked for a granola bar. I just couldn't make another decision and sent her to ask her dad. We have been working pretty hard to help her notice her whining voice and when she asked him for a granola bar he asked her to try again in a different voice. Poor dad. He didn't know the ordeal we had both just endured and Meg couldn't handle this blow to her ego. She came back to the front hall where I was hanging up coats and melted onto the floor. I left her there while I continued to tidy her school things away. When I came back around the corner there she was... knees to chin, tears streaming down her cheek, practicing out loud "Can I please have a granola bar" in the nicest voice she could muster between sobs. And then muttering to herself that it wasn't good enough.... What had I done? Why does she have to feel that way... that aching, tormented, struggle to try and just get it right? I gathered her up in my arms and cried my heart out with her. I don't even know what I said to her. We went to the kitchen and got a granola bar and then I cradled her in my arms again and told her how much I loved her. Dave looked down at the two of us crying in a heap on the floor and said "I don't know how I am doing as a dad but I can tell you one thing Meg, you have the best mom in the world." ................... Stunned silence .............

And there we were the three of us...clearly all just trying to get it right. And as quickly as if nothing had happened at all our lives just went back into step. Meg ate her granola bar and got out her colouring book, I sorted through Meg's school bag and Dave got out the ingredients for supper. And I wonder, will that be one of the moments that Meg remembers, reflects on and agonizes about for years? Or maybe her moments and mine will be completely different. Or maybe there will just be some sort of psyche imprinting from this experience. It will add another layer to her armour. She won't remember the incident at all but her psyche has been undermined... or strengthened(?) by the experience.

I don't feel like the "best mom in the world" and by his comment I know Dave doubts himself as a dad. Both of us have had life long struggles with "trying to get it right" despite the fact that we know there is no "right". And I have watched Meg colour inside the lines since she was 3. Painfully realizing that my paralyzing quest for perfect would be an enduring legacy.

...sliding doors.

It's funny how the mind works isn't it. I'm sure we all have our quirky little way of partitioning and filing our thoughts and beliefs. More specifically about time and space. For example I have a very graphic picture of how I lay out the year in my head. I can't describe it really but I can see it perfectly in my own mind. There aren't really starts and finishes so much as there are turning points and there are months that are grouped together for some reason and parts that go up and other parts that go down and some that are static. Does this all sound a little weird? I presume that everyone has these little quirky ways. For that matter there are ways we must be doing this with our lives as well. Grouping certain years together or imagining certain steps that might serve as a marker for a shift in our psyche or a rite of passage. I may be way off here but I bet if I asked you to draw the timeline of your life the way you see it in your head it would not be dots on a line. OK so where am I going with this? Well in my life "timeline" I have a few points where I have little nubs.... Like the starts of paths I chose not to take...or the impossible dreams that I kinda knew would never happen but I wasn't willing to close the door on so I just drag them along with me... They kinda feel like my "sliding door". Like there is another dimension where I am living out those dreams or walking those paths. But over the course of the last couple of years I have come to view all of that a little differently. Call it maturity, enlightenment, maybe even cynicism.... But I have decided that I don't have to leave those nubs in my timeline unanswered. Because the truth is that this is the "dimension" I am living in and I only get one kick at the can so I might as well kick the living daylights out of it.

Last week I turned one of those unanswered, silly, little dreams into a reality of minuscule proportions! I went to an edge. It was uncomfortable and exciting. But the opportunity was there and I took it. I have a dear, dear friend (more of a sister really) that makes me feel cooler than I am. She is like Audrey Hepburn, Nigella Lawson and Georgia O'Keefe all rolled into one skinny-jean-wearing, red-lipsticked, groovy, artist mama. And I adore her! She makes me think I can do anything. Her husband is a musician. He is in the middle of recording a new album and I have been teasing him for months that he can call me when he is laying down the background vocals. Last week he told me to be at the studio at 10 am on Thursday morning. I thought I was calling his bluff when I agreed. But the truth is that he called mine.

He has heard me sing a hand full of times. Happy Birthday at our kid's parties, a bunch of children's songs while bouncing around a kindermusik class and maybe I have squeaked out a melody or lyric when trying to pick his brain about an artist or song title. None of these would qualify as an audition and yet he was quite serious about giving me this chance. Was he crazy? Tone deaf? Really, really polite?

I don't really know how to describe the experience. I couldn't shake the image of all the bad American Idol auditions I have seen. All those people that really, truly think they have the voice of an angel. They genuinely do not know they suck, do they? All I could think of was how much work he was going to have to put in to make me sound half decent. But he kept encouraging me and telling me that it sounded good... It still makes me feel a little queasy thinking about it all. But I did it! And I would do it again if given the chance... Because maybe in one of those "sliding doors" dimensions I am a smooth and sultry lounge singer or a bad ass rock and roll diva or my personal favourite, a long haired, barefoot, acoustically inclined folk singer with flowers in my hair.....

Thanks Chris.

...watery eyes, runny noses and fever.

The "sickness" entered my house this week. It came in like a speeding bullet and I thought we would all be hit by it and hard, but so far it just seems to have tiptoed around our house quite gently and we are hoping it has already taken it's leave of us. However, even this most gentle of bugs did completely consume our home while it was here. Meg might not agree that it was so gentle since she was the one that had fever, chills, aches and puking. Knocked her on her ass for 24 hours. But the rest of us were overtaken by constant hand washing, gargling, nasal hydrating and an awkward dance of avoidance. Poor Meg. No one wanted to snuggle the poor little sicky and she slept in a nest at the foot of our bed so that she was near but not near enough to sneeze on us. She handled the whole thing with absolute grace (and a puke bowl in her lap for most of Tuesday)... Lola handled it all the way only a four month old could, with total oblivion...
And I let it totally consume me. I spent Tuesday doing what my mom did for me when I was sick. I made a bed for Meg on the couch and turned on the tv. I catered to her every need. When she asked for banana bread, I made banana bread. When she puked on her pjs, I did laundry. When she wanted a snuggle... I rubbed her feet. We were a good team, all three of us. Today she was better. So as the dust settled this evening and I looked around my house I saw what a couple days of getting out of our rhythm causes. I missed the deadline to order school photos, I missed our parent teacher conference this afternoon, Meg's tell and show homework is not done, her lunch for school is not made, her outfit for the morning is not laid out and she got to bed a bit too late. When I put her to bed (in her nest at the foot of our bed)tonight I thought she would be back at school tomorrow. Her fever will have been gone for 24 hours and she is pretty much back to normal. But just now she woke up in a confused stupor and wandered around the room looking for something, anything to comfort her. When I couldn't help her she brought me the phone, then she went to the bathroom and looked for something that she couldn't find there.... Maybe school is a long shot. One more day of mama loving couldn't hurt in the big scheme of things could it?

...a pudgy faced pre-schooler.

Today would be my father's 65th birthday. He was 63 when he died almost a year and half ago. I was looking on my computer for a picture of him to post here in honour of his birthday. I wanted to find the most recent one so I started looking from the day before he died and went back in my files. I only got a few folders in when I found this...

This is the photo that made me burst in to tears. This is the pudgy faced pre-schooler that my father knew. This is the little girl that rode her bike from the church to the senior's centre at my dad's funeral to honour him in her own way while we were all on motorcycles. This is the innocent child that watched her mom cry and ache with the deepest sorrow I have ever known. Those little shoulders had no idea the weight they would have to bear in the weeks to follow after this photo was taken. This sweet little soul isn't the same now. She can ride her two wheeler, she can do the monkey bars, she can read and count to one hundred and today she learned to write her name in cursive. She is a big sister, a grade oner, a six year old... She is someone that my father will never know. I can barely see the keyboard through the tears as I type these words. My grief still overcomes me regularly and fills me so completely that I feel I will burst, or melt, or scream.

Happy Birthday Dad.

...4 months of lovin'.

Today was a PD day for Meg so we got to spend the day, sleeping in, baking muffins, drawing pictures and playing with Lola. I miss those days. Grade one has robbed us of a few of life's great pleasures. This morning I was reminded of one of them. My six year old is charming and lovable when she wakes on her own. 6 days a week now she is awoken with her curtains being drawn and her mother's voice singing sweetly (or so I think anyway) in her ear. She is still delightful but we are always in a hurry and there is no time for the love we would like to give each other in the morning. Dave is sick and last night he slept in Meg's bed so we could keep the sick out of ours. So this morning the three of us girls were in bed together when we all surfaced for the day. It was all smiles and giggles! And do my girls ever love each other. Meg played with Lola while I had a bath and this is what I found when I came out of the bath...

I love my iPhone but it doesn't like low light or movement. However this moment was captured because it is always handy! They are in LOVE, no?

The tone was set by this and our day was slow and sweet. Lola spent quite a bit of time in her "Rock and Bounce" and has started to push herself all over the floor in it. Every time Meg would leave the room Lola would push herself along and strain her neck to try and see where Meg had gone. And today she even started the old drop and retrieve game with a toy and Meg was happy to oblige...

...but who could resist this face.

4 months. And it feels like she has been a part of us forever. She probably has...

...a mettalic blue pontiac, a fiery red-head, a bushel of fruit and a box of pint sealers.

On Sunday I did something that I can't believe it has taken me 37 years to do. I spent part of the morning making jam with my baby sister. Oh, I have been somehow part of many, many, many a canning and preserving project over the years but it has been awhile and I was never co piloting the mission.

Last fall was really amazing. It was long and warm and each perfect day felt like it was borrowed. Like it was a gift from mother earth. We squeezed every last drop out of those days. Wringing them out like a wet rag. In June the promise of many great days to come has you squandering a few hours here and there but by September, when each warm day could be your last for months you tend to live it as fully as possible. We had so many days like that last fall that I felt I lived more fully for weeks. We walked, road tripped, geocached, picnicked and cycled. We found new places to explore in our own back yard and were surprised by the treasures we uncovered in the process. One of those days we packed all of our bikes in a few vehicles and headed out to cycle along the river in Fort Saskatchewan. Their trail system there is beautiful and most of it was very ridable for our gang of five year old bikers. Along the route we found an outcropping of chokecherries. Right next to the path. The branches were heavy with the weight of the fruit and we were shocked that no one else had relieved the trees of their bounty before us. We had some bags in our picnic basket so we began to pick. The kids loved it and in very short order we had filled all the bags we had with us. We hadn't even made a dent in the massive amount of fruit. We couldn't bear the thought of it rotting on the branches so we returned the next day with pails and bowls. As much as we could carry in the bike trailer. The picking was so gratifying. One of us would get near the trunk and pull the branch within reach and the other would hold a bunch of the cherries at the top and "milk" the berries into the pail. My Grandma would have been in her bliss. She used to take us for long car rides up and down the county roads looking for a crop like this. I spent hours upon hours of my childhood sharing the back seat of her trusty old Pontiac with a mountain of pails, my eyes peeled for the elusive berries. When spotted we would wade through thistle and tall grasses and stand perched on the slope of a steep ditch with a honey pail hooked on our belt.

I was so smug with the find and tickled with our harvest that I forgot about the labourious task of extracting the usable fruit from the cherries. So a few days later there were mom and I washing and boiling the mountain of fruit and then pressing it one cup at at time through a sieve with a spatula. For those of you not familiar with the chokecherry it has a surprisingly large pit for a fruit the size of a small blueberry. The first few sieves full had me cursing this brilliant idea...but then something happened. I became completely consumed by getting every last bit of pulp out of those cherries. Watching the thick, rich flesh ooze into the pot. Mom and I would trade off because the effort would soon turn our arms to rubber and force us to take a break but the satisfaction of the job kept us coming back for our turn to urge the fruit into our pot.

My mind is now swirling with what this all means.... my love of fall, the harvest, the warmth of the autumn light, the heaviness of the burden of winter to come. This subject is rich for me. I could write for hours in a meandering torrent of words that would turn over and over like a falling autumn leaf. Focus. Where was I? Ah yes.... I feel as though there is something in my DNA that compels me to harvest, and then preserve food for the long winter months. So far it hasn't been compelling enough to line my pantry with jars of preserves or my freezer full of pies but every fall I feel this urge to don an apron and juice, freeze and can everything in sight. I love to walk down the aisle of the supermarket specially stocked for fall with pint jars and pickling salt. There is something so completely wholesome about a mason jar and a fresh box of snap lids.

So that brings us to Sunday... My first foray into the world of jam making. The chokecherry pulp was bagged and frozen last fall. And then shortly thereafter I was launched into the throes of gestation. Canning no longer held its romantic allure. In fact food prep of any kind was pretty much agony. Fast forward to this fall... My baby sister came into town unexpectedly this weekend and I bought a couple of boxes of pectin for the occasion. Mom took a couple of bags of raspberries out of the freezer for us. (The chokecherry pulp will lay in waiting while I hone my jam making skills.) Soon the sound of metal jar lids rattling in a pot of boiling water filled the air and I was up to my elbows in raspberry mush. Potato masher in hand, grin on face. We were a bit shy on raspberries so on the fly we made up the difference with fresh pureed apples. I felt like i was channelling my grandma and my Auntie Gwen all at once. The sugary fruit was bubbling away on the stove and my baby sister was juggling jars and lids with her tongs like an old pro. We poured the rich, red, molten mixture into the jars and carefully sealed them. Then they were gingerly lowered into a pot of boiling water to process for ten minutes. As this was all taking place I had started the second batch. I was merrily stirring and measuring when Kathy took the first jars out of the water. The first one popped as she extracted it with her tongs..... That sound... I had forgotten about that part. I almost burst into tears or song or applause or all three. A tangible, audible, heartwarming sign of success. It immediately transported me to my youth. To rows and rows of jars draped in teatowels and the sweet/sour smell of crabapples in the air for days. To my red thumb, raw with the tiny cuts of a paring knife after hours of halving those little red apples. To a stovetop filled with pots all bubbling away with juice or jam or jars in process. To my gran's agility in the kitchen when timing is everything and the nourishment of her family hung in the balance. All of those things and more flooded into me (or oozed out of me, I'm not sure which) in the moment following the sound of that jar lid popping. Each pop sent a tingle through my body. The feeling was sublime.

I plan to make more jam this weekend...

...two moms and five kids.

A couple of weeks ago I came home from a whirlwind trip to Manitoba and Ontario. We were going to a cousins wedding in Ontario's cottage country and so I decided that I would pack up the girls and spend a few days in Manitoba on the way there. I was looking for a chance to nourish my spirit a little. And the best way to do that is to run to the arms of someone I know will feed my soul.

The days leading up to my trip were filled with stress as I rushed around trying to get everything done that I needed to before I would be gone from, home, work and school for over a week. I finished packing just an hour before leaving for the airport and only let my shoulders come down from beside my ears as I sat down in the boarding lounge. Whatever I had not remembered or got done before I left was out of my hands now... My girls were dreamy! Meg carried her own bag, helped me with mine and just chilled with some markers and a journal on the flight. Lola nursed on takeoff and landing, hardly fussing at all. We were greeted at the airport in Winnipeg by one of the most amazing women I know. She had Lola in the sling and Meg by the hand within moments and I felt completely at home. It was late and when we finally got to her house we all just tumbled into her big bed for what would begin 6 nights of co-sleeping bliss.

In the morning I awoke to a little face peaking through the crack in the door. This dear, sweet 5 year old had been on pins and needles for a couple of hours while she waited to see any movement from our room. What a glorious way to wake up! And within the hour I had been warmly welcomed with love and hugs from the whole family. My Manitoba family. I have never felt more at home in someone else's home than this entire family made me feel. Little did all 5 of our combined children know that by feeling so at ease it would mean that for the next five days they would all have two moms! It was like a practice run for me, a glance into my future. You see, the youngest of this family is five but she has a fourteen year old brother and a fifteen year old sister. A larger age gap than my two but a similar dynamic. It was fascinating to see their relationships with each other and to see their own unique gifts, that when combined built the framework for a family that embraces life (and each other) in such a special way. I drank it in as I sat in their family room nursing my babe and being waited on by all of them. I watched them bicker, show off, open up and show up... To be honest the thought of teenagers had me scared shitless until I spent these five days with two of the most amazing young adults I could imagine. We had planned to do soo much while I was there. We always do. I think we imagine that when we are together we become super human. But in the end the time we value most is the time we share cuddled into bed together talking about our lives, our kids, our work and our dreams. Or the time we spend preparing food with a glass of wine or gin and tonic. We are wildly feminine as we pour our love into creating a feast for ourselves and our families. We often eat late because we are overly ambitious and so in the moment that we loose all track of time. And some of my favourite moments of my time with my Manitoba family were on the last night when a fifteen year old warrior woman in the making joined us while we laughed, and talked and baked cookies. Don't get me wrong... I am still afraid of my own life with teenagers but for now I have softened towards the idea.

I know how much I loved having a co-parent for those five days. I felt invincible actually. Like Supermama! I was bolstered by someone who's mothering I aspire to. We often joke when we are together that we understand the allure of communal living. Maybe we do become superhuman when we combine our gifts. What I don't know is how our five kids felt about having two moms.

Honourable mention goes out to those two husbands/fathers that indulge us in this soul nourishing love fest we yearn for every so often.

...the dynamics of being human.

Wrote most of this a few weeks ago (September 12 to be exact). I finally got a chance to get back on here and I like what I wrote so here it is. Finished hastily tonight, but finished and posted.

My mom got a tattoo this week. I went with her. I suppose I went to support her in some way even though I was not really supportive of the tattoo itself. I knew that this ritual was to be part of her healing, her honouring and her new life on her own. So I gathered up my 2 and a half month old and went to the tattoo studio with my mom. It was a bit nerve wracking to provide council for her on something that would be so permanent but in the end she did what she wanted and she is delighted with the results. The tattoo artist had a great rapport with us and we talked about a lot of stuff. I am fascinated by the medium of ink in skin and took the opportunity to study the process as he worked with such ease and confidence. He had a very light hand and was able to just kiss the skin with ink. Intricate lines were followed by an infusion of colour and then the addition of highlights and shadow it was really amazing to watch. At some point in our conversation the unique aspects of working in this medium were explored and he offered a perspective I had not considered. A canvas, piece of paper, lump of clay, slab of stone all remain fairly static upon the completion of the artmaking. But the skin is dynamic. By its very nature it will shift, grow, wrinkle, sag, sluff and regenerate. It is not the same from one day to the next.

A few days later I had the pleasure of a walk with a friend on a lovely fall afternoon and we talked about change in our families. Did I ever regret the decision to have another baby? Was I truly happy when we were a family of three? What was it like to have such a massive shift in our family? The truth is adding a new member to the family certainly created a landslide kind of change in our existence but by our vary nature we are human. And like the flesh that was the canvas for my mom's tattoo, we are dynamic. We change. Our relationships change. Our lives change. In five minutes I will not be the same person I am now. So although my answer is a resounding YES to the question of my happiness with my family of three, it was going to change anyway. New member or not I could not clutch that triad of perfection to my breast and will it to stay the same. It would not. Meg would grow and we would all age and stretch and shed and sluff and wrinkle and sag and regenerate...

...a do-over.

Little by little this baby of mine is weaseling her way deeper into my heart and feeding my soul with her very clearly unique being. She has big personality already. She laughs and squeals with delight when you find just the right thing to tickle her funny bone and then if you are distracted by something else and turn away she will complain fiercely until the attention is back on her. She also has a coy little smile that she delivers with a turn of her head that will melt your heart. She is her own person through and through. So why do I feel like it is my Meg do-over? Why has nobody told me that this is what a second baby feels like? Is it just me? I find myself talking about the things I am going through with Lola as if it is my second time around with Meg. Like Meg and I are both 6 years on and starting fresh armed with what we know now that we didn't know then. It is like "sliding doors", an alternate reality. You would think from that perspective I would have it all figured out this time. After all I already had my trial run 6 years ago. Made all my mistakes and learned from them. Shame on me if I haven't.... right? Bahhh. Things are different this time, that's for sure. This time she cries a lot more. She gets ignored in favour of getting a meal on the table or wiping another child's bum. She is awoken from naps and in the morning to make the trek down the road to drop off or pick up at school. Smiles and coos are missed as we struggle to keep our house and lives in order some days. She will need to exert her personality just to be noticed. She hangs off my hip as I run around getting stuff done and quietly tolerates this existence for the most part. Can I pinpoint the things that would make my life easier if I had done them differently the first time? Was there a derailment in parenting that I can avoid in order to help my child sleep better, eat healthier, live a happier, more carefree life? Maybe... but somehow I find myself parenting by feel again. As if blindfolded, flailing arms, shuffling feet, hoping not to bump into anything or fall off a step. It feels like a crap shoot once again and I don't think there is any other way to do this thing. It's messy, heartbreaking, completely perplexing... But there is love...lots of love in this house.

On another note. We are seeing how things are unfolding for Meg as she navigates her first few weeks of grade one. She is so open to her experiences right now and it is allowing for such a lovely transition into this new phase in her life. We are still struggling with the six year change here at home but at school she is flourishing, flowing, blossoming...bliss.

...the end of our first summer vacation.

Tomorrow is the last day of summer vacation 2009... Our first real school vacation for Meg. It has been short. In some ways we are all craving the return of some routine to our lives but in quite another we are already feeling the loss of our freedom. So in a show of true rebellion we have spent the last week in carefree abandon. Maintaining our late bedtimes and erratic eating patterns. I thought I would be using the last few weeks of summer to work ourselves into the routine needed for our early morning start at school. But instead I decided not to "waste" two weeks easing us into a routine when we should still be enjoying our all too short summer. Even tonight Meg settled into her bed after 10pm. And now on the eve of our last day I am wondering what we should do to squeeze out the last few drops of sweet summer nectar. It almost feels like a panic. We MUST make the most of the day. Like the last day should encapsulate all that is summer. A bike ride, a swim, a play in the park, a bbq and of course some ice cream. But what about the other part of summer I love so much. Doing absolutely nothing... A day spent in our little backyard, kiddie pool filled, camp chairs with cupholders and a fortrel picnic blanket for the kicky babe to squirm around on. I wonder what will win out...

I'll let you know.

...something that is sleeping.

I haven't done this in awhile. I am sitting cross-legged on my bed, computer in lap and remembered that I have a blog. This is how I blogged before Lola. Or at least when she still interfered with my lap and wasn't beside me (interfering with my sleep instead). My whole house is sleeping except me and my brain is racing... a few hours ago I had a million things I wanted to do and couldn't because I had a babe in my arms, a six year old that I promised I would make muffins with and a date with a zucchini or two. Now that I have my arms free and my house quiet I can't remember what it was that was so damn pressing. But I will remember tomorrow afternoon when my arms are full of chubby baby again and the six year old has me captive with some very intriguing story or high priority task.

I noticed a shift the other day. I am sure that I have been shifting (physically as well as emotionally) a lot these past two months but in my postpartum haze I haven't been able to recognize these shifts. Ahhhhh yes, I forgot one cannot witness their own death and rebirth.... I have been piecing myself back together. I forgot... I forgot that after you have looked death in the eye you turn to mush. So the other day when I noticed this shift it felt very surprising to me. I felt as though perhaps I had been approaching this new baby and new mothering very mechanically (much as I had the first 6 months of my pregnancy). Why hadn't I been mothering soulfully, why did it take two months for me to feel something noteworthy bubbling up from under the surface? But I had forgotten. Ah, the grace. I can open myself up to feel things and know things on a soul level again because I don't have to protect the raw flesh of my being as fiercely. I wasn't a shallow mama, just going through the motions and watching each day pass mindlessly. I was surfacing...

What was it that I felt shift? What awakened me to ask these questions and remind me that I have been on the hook? Crap, I can't remember... I know I was in the bath with Lola. I remember thinking "oh, this is good, I should blog about this"...

... the dog days of summer.

Oh how I love this time of year. The days pass timelessly and we revel in the length of our evenings here and find ourselves falling into bed only after the sun has made it's descent into the night sky. It is not uncommon for us all to go to bed together at 11 pm or later. On really hot nights we all lie on our bed with the window open and the fan on... eating frozen grapes and reading fairy stories. Without the rush of an early bedtime routine and the need to get up early to meet our academic obligations we can be free to live as our bodies desire. We are all late to bed, late risers. The first few weeks of summer I fight this flow because I have to work so hard all year to keep us in anything resembling a routine. And I fight the guilt until I remember that "early to bed, early to rise" is only an arbitrary virtue.

This summer we have enjoyed a little excuse named Lola. She has allowed us the opportunity to do as we damn well please and so we have! We have grown a garden and are now harvesting the rewards. We have travelled to the coast and dipped our feet in the ocean. We have adventured close to home, picking berries, throwing stones into the North Saskatchewan river, having parties, going to parties... And still our summer holds so much more for us.

We are looking forward to Folk Fest this week (Sarah Mclachlan and Tracy Chapman all on one night) and the arrival of a dear friend from Scotland on Saturday to give us the great excuse to vacation on our own turf.

All of this leaves little time to sit and write and I miss that but I will have plenty of time to catch up in the fall when the cool evenings bring us indoors to find warmth in our home once again. So I leave you with a few juicy images from the last month or so...

...a name.

I just realized I have never shared that we settled on a name for our sweet girl. I am getting settled back in to our routine at home since we returned early in this week. We caught up with family (my sister pointed out that this baby was only a month old and had been on vacation for half her life), caught up with work, saw the midwife (11lbs 5 ozs), and are throwing a six year olds birthday party. After I get a chance to breath again I look forward to a date with my computer. I want to answer the emails of all the people that have sent me their love and best wishes. And mostly I want to write. I had fallen in love with blogging. It was such a lovely part of waiting for Lola... Oh yah her name.

Lola Skye Dexie Walker

There is a long story behind the name and I will blog about that too... The summer is slipping by though and I will not be a slave to commitments when we have such a short sweet chance to feel the freedom of the long days of this glorious season in Northern Alberta.

...a road trip.

Road trips and newborns make it difficult to blog. We left Edmonton almost a week ago. It took five days and nights to get from the heart of the Alberta prairies to the West coast of B.C. Yesterday we made it to Vancouver. Our goal was to get the girls to an ocean and we did it. There were some sketchy parts to the car ride with a 3 week old that could not understand why we wouldn't pick her up out of that car seat. But there were some highlights for Meg. Hotels with pools and waterslides are at the top of the list. I forgot the cord to download photos from my camera so the visuals will have to wait.

...a few sweet images.

...a man I was honoured to call my father.

My father had seven grandchildren that were able to cuddle on his chest and know his love in the flesh. His eighth will have to rely on all of us to help her know him in a different way. This is what I wish he was doing this father's day with her.

Dad and granchild number 2, Sydney.

...another blessing.

I thought I had been blessed two weeks ago when my house was filled with women I love, showering me with adoration and love. This weekend my blessings multiplied...

... a baby ready to enter.

The house blessed, the energy of many open hearts, the water broken and now finally labour has begun. Soon we will know this little person. This souls that feels like it has been clawing it's way out for a couple of months now.... I am warrior ready.

...a home birth home.

Last June, on our first night in our new home my mom called me at 2am to hasten me to her side and ultimately to be with her as we lost my father. For a long time my house has felt like a sad place. In order to really believe that this horrible thing had happened I replayed that night in my head over and over again. I can still feel the leap in my heart at the ringing phone and the feeling of looking out my window as she told me what had happened. Over the past 12 months I have begun to feel the warmth of a home seep into this place and I am now starting to feel settled here. We have worked hard to achieve this and we have a long way to go to put our stamp on it. But last Saturday night my life in this home changed forever...

I knew that part of planning a homebirth would have to involve the preparation of my home. I don't mean clean floors and inflating a birth pool. I needed an infusion of the kind of energy that can sustain a mother through the darkness, mystery, pain and intensity of labour. The kind of energy that will provide peace for me as I unfold as a mother of two and work through the process of integrating a new soul into our family. At my mother blessing I received that in spades. Everyone crossed the threshold into my home with an open mind and heart. I was in awe of the edges that everyone went to in this powerful sharing and what came out of it was so rich and juicy. So much of that evening surprised and delighted me and even left me breathless. The ceremony began after I had been adorned by my "hand-maiden" with a wreath of flowers for my head, a double strand of lapis blue beads, gold bracelets and a blue woolen robe (or reasonable facsimiles). I then waited in my chambers for the signal to start my descent. As I came down the stairs all of these women I love were standing with arms reached above their heads forming an arch. As I passed through each pair of women in turn they whispered their truth about their relation to me. "I am the one who..." The power of those whispers to me as I walked under the arches of their arms left me in a puddle of warmth, love and bliss. I never noticed before how much a whisper can resonate through your whole body. I wanted to stand still after each whisper and let the words ripple through me to my toes. Sublime! The ceremony that followed was so rich with the bearing of souls and the softening of all the women in the room. It was sacred. There is almost no other words to describe it. This space where we sat in a circle to weep, laugh and share our love is now a sacred spot in my home. It is now the spot where my birth pool sits inflated and waiting to receive our babe. The ceremony was followed with a feast of epic proportion. Not only do my family and friends have the deepest of hearts but their culinary skill is beyond expectations. YUM! The house was filled with the most delicious smells and the table was bursting with the rich display of food. As we feasted I was treated to a footbath and the most divine foot and leg massage. My belly was hennaed and we even had a slide show of my recent "belly" photo shoot. All this time everyone in attendance wrote or drew in a "blessings" book that my sister made for me. I am so grateful to have that to read and re-read while I recall the power of my blessing. The evening went on for hours and I was thrilled that everyone stayed so long to let the richness of our ceremony sink into their bones. My house is now thoroughly prepared to receive this feisty little soul.

The next afternoon we held a similar ceremony for Meg. We also adorned her with a wreath of flowers, a blue robe and a lapis blue necklace. She walked under the arched arms of Nanny, Auntie Lee, Auntie Kathy, Cindy, David and myself. I hope she will remember the words whispered to her. She nervously sat in the circle as we lit candles and shared our feelings about sisterhood. We read to her and showered her with love and gifts. And she shared with us a "sister birth bundle" that she had gathered as part of her journey to sisterhood. With the exception of Meg and Dave all of us are sisters and have sisters but the words that her daddy whispered to her were some of the most powerful things shared that day. We made her a beautiful sister warrior necklace and then we ended the circle by tying bracelets around our wrists for her. We celebrated with a footbath and massage and did henna on her belly too! She sat like royalty as we massaged her feet and ate heart shaped pieces of strawberries. She only wishes that it could have lasted longer!

This weekend forever changed my perception of the limits of a relationship. Or more accurately the dreams we have about how we need to limit our relationships. Why can't we give and receive in this way more often? I know that I will now. And I have plans to start a regular "Red Tent" gathering at the change of every season in order to celebrate ourselves and our relationships. It is time for celebration to mean more...

I just can't express deeply enough how changed I feel and how profoundly moved I was by the 5 days that I gave to myself last week to receive the gifts of my friends and family. I have left the alter and decorations from the blessing in my birth space to remind me of the love and energy of those dear to me as I struggle through those gates on my way to the underworld. My home feels, looks and smells different to me now. Mission accomplished!

...a fashionista.

Last night I was getting ready to go out to a concert with some friends and I had only assembled the top of my outfit. Meg came into our room and told me now all I needed was some skinny jeans.
Me - "But Meg I don't have skinny jeans that will fit me while I'm pregnant"
Meg - "Too bad because that would create such a nice silhouette"
Me - (aghast that my 5 year old knows what a silhouette is) "Really? Well I will have to settle for my yoga pants"
Meg - "That will work ok. Now let's go and create a nice silhouette for me" (marches out of my room to dig in her closet)

When did this happen? I am so proud!

...reflection.

Wow last weekend was some weekend. I don;t think I have ever been so blissed out! Well that might not be true but I was pretty damn blissed out!
It started with a trip to the airport to greet Cindy with this...

Wow that is some round belly, huh?

I thought I would have time to write about my weekend but I think I need to go to sleep. I wanted to write about it tonight in case I don't get the chance to. I feel that the baby is near... But becasue of this I also need to rest. To gather my resources for the long road ahead. So I will hope that I have another day or so in order to properly reflect on these last few days. In the meantime I will leave you with some photos. I have nothing of my motherblessing yet because my dearest Jamie took those photos. But these are fun.

Meg had a sister blessing on Sunday...

At the end of the ceremonial circle she was painted as a sister warrior.

Then she had a footbath and massage.

Followed by a henna and some heart shaped strawberry slices.

The next evening we did my belly cast.

And we cast Meg's belly button!

All in all it was a pretty exciting weekend for all of us. My home will never be the same and I do intend to write all about that.... But for now I thought these pictures would suffice.

...a blessing.

One more sleep. Meg reminded me this morning that there was only one more sleep until Cindy arrives. I don't think I can express what it means to me... to us. For me to be nurtured by my handmaiden and for her to feel so honored to do so. I know that we will laugh a lot, cry as much and bask in the joy of my everyday life.

And then on Saturday she and my family have called to gather all of the women in my life that I hold dear. I see them flooding my home with the energy that I will need to sustain me until the day I will meet my baby, through my labour and into my new self as I am born a mother of two. They will also build a solid yet yielding dike for my psyche. The framework I will need to feel safe and secure to flow, gush and maybe even flood a little as I give over to my wild nature, my divine feminine.

I am giddy with the excitement of this weekend of being nurtured and surrounded by the love of people so important to me. People that will witness this journey and care for me as I unfold after this baby's birth. Each of them so special to me in the gifts they bring to my life. Sublime.

...my genius of a husband.

Lately Dave and I have been struggling to find time to spend together. He is in the throws of the final weeks of his work for the year, he has been sick and I have been hitting the sack at the same time as Meg every night. We barely have time to discuss the very basics of our daily lives. Last Thursday evening I regrettably had to miss Yoga to go to our one and only prenatal class. It was just a little "preparing for your homebirth" session with our midwife. But I left that class feeling like we had been away for a weekend retreat! The 15 minute ride home in the car was bliss and I can't tell you why. It just was.

Last night we lay in bed together and talked about this whole"baby" thing. We are having a baby... Holy crap. I have got past that phase of "what the hell were we thinking" but I haven't completely gone beyond my anxiety about how this one singular event will change our family forever. Right now I am loving our Meg, even when she is whining and not cooperating. She is spectacularly cool right now and the way that she nurtures me is heart-swelling. I just worry about what direction things will turn in when our family grows by one. What I hadn't considered was something that Dave pointed out to me. Meg is who she is today because of this change in our lives. We have no idea who she would be if she wasn't growing into the role of big sister. She has become nurturing to me as a result of my needing it. She has matured in the last 8 months as a result of our circumstances. I am falling more deeply in love with her because we are both feeling the need to securely tether those heartstrings before we know their strength could be tested.

Isn't my husband a genius?

...an R.S.V.P.

When Dave and I were planning our wedding 15 years ago we sent invitations to a lot of people we knew would not attend. We were planning an outdoor, white tent, casual reception to celebrate our marriage that had begun in January of that year at a very intimate ceremony. It would take place at my parents acreage in Canada, while the vast majority of David's friends and family were in Scotland. He had only decided to stay here a few months prior when I swept him off his feet...but that's another story. In response to our invitation most of the guests from Scotland went out and bought RSVP cards to mail back to us. One special person in particular sent us a card to express her dismay at not being able to attend.

Winnie Huggins lived across the street from David in Aberdeen. She had been there as long as they had lived on Craigton Road (since David was three). She was a spinster and didn't have family living near. So David and his parents did what they could to help her out. Fetching groceries, taking her to appointments and David's job was to fill her coal bucket from the bin outside. She wasn't a demure and sweet old lady. She had feist. When David told me about her I knew she would be a kindred spirit. Cranky, spirited, mischievous and with a touch of soft and gooey on the inside. She had a string of cats, all named Fluffy and all as cranky as her! She lived in a large old house on a piece of land that was owned by the city council and when they approached her to give notice of eviction so that they could build a seniors residence she fought them tooth and nail. In the end they agreed to build her a new residence on the property and consider her under their care. She suffered from diabetes and had a lot of trouble with her legs. She'd had multiple surgeries and treatments but healing was slow or non existent and she was unable to get around very well. Dave went over to check on her one afternoon and she didn't answer the door. Of course it was locked and he was forced to break in a window to make sure she was ok. She had fallen and as procedure dictated he notified her caregivers who in turn called an ambulance. When they arrived she was quite dismayed with all of the hubbub. Not only did she insist that the paramedics get the hell off her property but they should have David arrested for breaking into her home. I couldn't wait to meet her.

Her RSVP to our wedding invitation read "It would give me great pleasure to see you both thoroughly engaged in matrimony" but naturally she would have to decline. Those words "thoroughly engaged in matrimony" became emblazoned in my memory. I was completely smitten by this woman and the depth in which she could describe our union. She seemed truly delighted that David had found matrimonially bliss. In fact there was almost a cheekiness to her response. As if she was taunting us. I loved it! Winnie passed away two years later, only months before my first trip to Scotland. I never got to meet her.

6 years ago we were anticipating the birth of our daughter. We didn't know she would be a "she" so we had lists of names to consider of both gender. On our list of girl names we included Winnie. It had been on the list for years to be truthful. In the end we settled on Meg (the name of another dear old friend in Scotland). We had tried to work Winnie into the name but somehow it just didn't fit. We have a new list of names (of both genders) as we await the arrival of this baby. I have revisited many of the names we considered 6 years ago. And when thinking about Winnie I was reminded of that RSVP. "...thoroughly engaged in matrimony..." It made me think about this ritual of marriage. This need to be honoured and seen as you make the tranformative journey from bride to wife, from groom to husnband. To have all of the people that have helped to shape you come together to bare witness to this shift in your life's path. As if not having them there would leave them behind in your old life and not give them the frame of reference to journey forth with you and your spouse as you forge ahead in partnership. As a society our reverence for this ritual has wained. I wish we honoured it more "thoroughly" on a soul level.

The next rite of passage for most couples after marriage is the journey to becoming parents. This incredible time of tranformation, unfolding and growth is now most often marked by medical-like notations in a baby book and a baby shower to play silly games and place wagers on the sex and weight of the new arrival. Most times leaving the father completely out of the picture. I am craving something different. I am wanting to connect with everyone that has seen me unfold as a mother over the last 6 years. I am hungry to have people dear to me bare witness to me as I am "thoruoghly engaged" in gestation. I want all of the people I love to admire my ripening body and see that at 36 I have found the youth and innocence of a maiden once again. I want to connect to this energy and ensure that I bring these people forward with me as I journey onwards from here.

...a gemini.

At yoga this week we had a discussion about our babies astrological signs and how that may affect the way we are feeling or behaving as we gestate these babies. I had not really considered what sign this baby was likely to be. I had only really thought about the fact that this baby had only a chance of being a cancer. I am a cancer, Meg is a cancer and I love the qualities of this sign. Of course I do... I am one. I feel like water courses through my veins sometimes. Although I love to get away and seek adventure, I equally love to come home. And Meg and I fit together so perfectly in this way. Our hearts are in our home and family. I know Meg in a way that I had not considered before and perhaps that is part of why I felt in such deep connection with her while she grew in my belly. In fact as I was nearing the end of my 42nd week of pregnancy and the changing of the astrological signs I feared I may have a Leo and it worried me. I don't know why but I felt that baby needed to be a cancer. Strangely I don't even think about astrology all that much normally.

This baby could not have been conceived any closer in date to when we conceived Meg. But this time I am just as likely to have a Gemini as I am a cancer. Our solstice baby could be born on either side of the cusp. My gut has been telling me all along that this baby is more likely to be early and I have come to terms with the fact that I will may not have another cancer to add to my brood. That is where I stopped thinking about it. Until Thursday night... When my yogini asked us what signs our babies would be I was not even sure what came before cancer. We figured it to be Gemini and it was like a lightbulb went off in my head. Now it all made sense. It was clear why I had felt so many conflicting things in any given moment, such duality... the feeling that I want things to hurry up and slow down all at once... maybe even why it felt like this baby had eight limbs. I have been gestating twins! Even from the start of my pregnancy I had a small nagging thought that I was carrying twins. I had no idea that this was what that all meant. And now I am eager to see what this will mean as we get to know this Gemini baby and see how this piece of our family puzzle will fit.

Now I feel even more certain that this baby will not wait for the solstice to arrive. It just all seems to make so much sense that I can't imagine it will go any other way. It sounds in some ways like I have some sort of hope or agenda for this babies time to join our family. But I really don't. Without looking at a calendar I am feeling myself shifting into that birthing zone. Knowing that soon I will be in that window of anticipation when any day holds the potential to be my baby's birthday. That one day I will wake to the last day with this view from here. And each of those days holds such wonder and psyche building energy. Just when will I come to that edge, close my eyes, hold my nose and leap...