...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...