Guess who's 1!

Our strapping Soul-boy is one-year-old. We celebrated at our home on Saturday with a pancake breakfast. His morning nap is usually 8:30-11:30, but I decided to wake him at 10:00 (halfway through HIS party) so the celebrants could at least see the boy! I suppose it was more for the older siblings, parents and friends anyway:). He seemed to absorb that something special was happening when we all looked at him and broke into song, a cheery one with HIS name in it.

The first 6 months of his life flew by. He SLEPT ALL THE TIME. Seriously. He was our "4-naps- a-day" boy for 6 months. When he was awake, he was nursing or smiling. Then he went to 3 naps and now he takes two long ones: morning 8:30-11:30 and afternoon 1:30-4:30. His daddy is 6 foot 8 inches, so he was doing a whole lot of growing in his first year and needed sleep and food.

And now he is walking, and playing ball, waving "goodbye" and "hello", signing "more" "food" "milk," and fully weaned (2 days before his birthday). He drinks locally collected goat's milk and eats a pureed version of whatever we're eating.

When Alethea was younger, birds and fairies were an emerging theme in her life. They continue to hold symbolism for her, and for us, as we think about her character and personality and about our hopes for her. I will write more on that later.

And for Solomon, it is rocketships. Over the last 3 months, we've been given a lot of "Rocket Ship" stuff: sweatshirt, pajamas, t-shirts, robeez shoes. I started to notice this last month after I had folded and put away a load of laundry. I started thinking about this symbol and have chatted about it with my husband.

Astronaunts are dreamers and visionaries. They have to believe that the moon and the planets exist, that they can walk on the moon, that they can arrive, can survive. They have to be brave and willing to go "where [few] men have gone before." They have to stay calm under alarming circumstances. It's important that they are adaptable within varying environments and unafraid of change. They have to prepare meticulously for a journey into darkness, hoping to find what they are looking for. Astronaunts also carry the hope of those they leave behind as they shoot toward the sky.

Solomon is very calm yet determined. He has a quiet, inquisitive gaze. He seems to set the atmosphere with his strength and peacefulness and doesn't seem to be swayed by unrest or chaos; he remains unruffled by what is happening around him.

We believe he has the heart of an astronaunt. We believe he will have a unique vision in his life, that he will want to pursue at all costs. And we will be right behind him, cheering for him at each step of the way.

It seems a lot to put on a little one-year-old! I suppose to balance these high hopes and prayers we have a lot of simple joy in being his parents and in seeing how he surprises us! We feel immense joy in seeing our children grow and deepen and become who they are meant to be. And we are thankful for this first year in his life.

Simple Goodness

The smallest, toddling man in our family has learned to walked. He took his first step on March 22nd, the day of his Uncle Jack's birthday. His large, cloth-diapered bum waddles back and forth. It seems the momentum is what knocks him down. I've wondered if I should try some light-weight disposables on him for a few days to see if it helps. But the waddle is too cute!

At this time last year, I was extremely pregnant. Twinges of pain were shooting down my legs. I was sleeping very little at night, wanting to sleep all day. I was very eager to go into labour.

We had joined some dear friends for Easter Dinner and I was sure I would go into labour by the end of the evening! But, it dragged on into the next day. And on the evening of April 17th, the day after, I went into labour. Soul-Baby was born just after 2 am on April 18th.

It has been a full year already. A full year of loving this small human who has changed our life. As I see green-stimmed daffodils flinging out their vibrant yellow trumpets, I remember seeing them the morning after giving birth and being amazed at their boldness, at the way they beckon spring.

Last night, we drove to the public library together. My husband shuffled through CD's with Soul-Baby while I helped Alley pick out books and a couple of children's DVD's. For some reason, the combination of simple goodness made my heart literally throb. It felt bursting with love and thankfulness. When we got in the car, I said: "My heart expands near to bursting multiple times a day. I love this time in our life." And we felt thankful and humbled at the simple gifts we've been given, quieted by the fleeting fragility of these days and moments.

It seems appropriate as Easter draws near, to take some moments to give thanks for what has been born in our life, making room for new mercies every morning.

Magical Moments of Make Believe

My daughter is 3 and 1/2 and full of intense energy. She wakes up jabbering about what she will do during the day, asking me what I am doing, looking around for anything that has changed in the house while she slept. Yesterday, I had shifted a chair into a slightly different spot so I could do Yoga. The moment she woke up, she tilted her head and asked "Hey! Why is that chair there?" She notices everything! This also means that she remembers everything I say, and holds me to it. I have to be ultra careful with what I suggest or promise, because to her, it's set in stone and WILL definitely happen, post haste! I have grown to love this as it forces me to say what I mean, and act on what I have promised. Her full name means "truth", and we have discovered how appropriate this is to her discerning, inquisitive and detailed-oriented personality.

We have decided to help her funnel her intensity into creative play as much as we can. In many ways, she develops her own play and it naturally overflows from the changes in her age-appropriate development, ideas from friends, and the expansion of her fertile mind. But I make a point to carve out specific time each morning for adventurous, creative play.

From the beginning, my husband and I decided to have no more toys than would fit into a medium-sized Tupperware Tote. We have gone beyond that somewhat with larger items like Alley's small, wooden highchair for her doll, a rocking horse, and one of those bead maze things with loopy pieces that you slide the bead over. And beyond the toy box, we have a Costume box and a Puppet box.

I find the greatest costumes at the MCC thrift store in our town and Value Village in an adjoining town. So far, we have a monkey, lion, tiger, ladybug, princess, caterpiller, angel, fairy, hawaiian hoola girl (grass skirt and funky floral dress) , doctor bag, and various little scarves and purses and high-heeled shoes. I have so much fun watching her merge into character, and I play along. She often wants me to call her "dentist", or "ballerina", "doctor" for an hour or so as she glides around the house and listens to my elbow or stomach with the stethoscope. Actually, after a recent trip to the doctor, she now listens in all the right places.

We've gotten into the habit of going to the library once a week to pick out new books together. This week, I picked out one called Wishes for You by Tobi Tobias. It is a heartwarming reflection of a parent's hopes for her child. And beyond a deep yearning that my children know and love God above anyone and anything, these reflections hae become almost a prayer for me:

*I hope you will have moments when you're so happy, you'll feel the sun is shining from inside you.

*I hope you will have the strength and spirit to deal with bad things when they come your way.

*I hope you will be lucky.

*I hope you will always be curious.

*I hope you will never forget how to be silly.

* I hope you and I will have adventures together--just the two of us.

* I hope you will love to read.

* I hope you will learn to make things with your own hands.

* I hope you will want to make your body strong and quick and beautiful--and enjoy the way that feels.

*I hope you will love one special person more than anyone of anything in the whole world.

* I hope that, one day when you're grown up, you will have a child--different from you, but just as wonderful.

* I hope you will love being alone sometimes.

*I hope you will know what you think and feel and not let other people tell you.

* I hope you will be able to tell your favorite people the secrets of your heart.

* I hope you will always be part of a family.

* I hope you will always remember me and know how much I love you.


Sometimes after the kids are in bed, I tiptoe into their room and say over them the things I hope they will have and will experience in their lives. Remembering specific hopes like the ones above, gives me strength for each day I have as guardian of these precious large-souled children.

(photo: www.flickr.com)

Beloved Dust

And You As Well Must Die, Beloved Dust

And you as well must die, beloved dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell,—this wonder fled.
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how beloved above all else that dies.

Edna St. Vincent Millay-- Second April 1921

On January 16th, my Grandmother passed away quietly in the early hours of morning. My uncle had spoken with her just before 5 and when he returned at 7, she was gone. Her body was still warm.

The morning she passed away, my young son awoke at 5 to nurse. He normally sleeps until just past 7, but that morning, he awoke early. I was mostly awake, drifting between sleep and wakefulness between the hours of 5 and 7 and my grandmother was heavy on my mind. I knew she was very ill, as I had heard her diagnosis of lung cancer was terminal. But I thought we had more time, that she would fight it the same way she fought everything in her life. The reality of an inoperable tumour and a possible spot on her kidney became a battle she could not fight.

She lived 86 full years of life. She was a southern "belle" with a southern drawl. She cooked a feast every meal, drank fine wine, sweet tea, black coffee and eggnog with rum and bourbon. She loved opera, cross word puzzles, jeopordy, Christmas, and read two books a week, even up to the time of her death. She truly was the matriach of the family and filled a room, even a building at times with her voice and her presence. Her opinionated stance on politics and history was fear-inducing and I always felt I needed to have my notes ready anytime I decided to debate her. In my uncle's words "we were all terrified of her", especially of her intelligence.

I flew to Arizona the morning of the 18th to be with my family and to help with funeral preparations. It was a heavy and sorrow-filled few days with deep layers of grief. Crisis magnifies what is already present in a family. In certain arenas, deep love and bondedness grew and expanded with the loss. And in others, cold isolation and disconnectedness became more evident than before. While new levels of relationship formed, new hurts were inflicted, further complicating the complexity of our human relations, of our family dynamics between drastically different individuals.

I carry within me vivid experiences from those few short days. Losing a Grandparent is not only the end of a person's life, but the end of a generation. And I felt a poignant sadness that I still struggle to put my finger on. I still hunger to hear her voice share stories from her experiences but I have to put that desire to rest and be content with anecdotal snippets from others.

Edna St. Vincent Millay was my Grandmother's favorite poet. So, it felt appropriate to read this poem as part of the funeral ceremony. I was amazed to make it through without faltering. I have never been one who is able to continue speaking once I begin to cry. I was thankful for the chance to be there and to carry these words in my heart.

Afterglow

The bustling feverishness of preparation is over. And I am resting here, in my living room with the tree still lit, the candles flickering, coffee with a hint of eggnog. Christmas day itself has passed, but the spirit and warmth of love-tinged memories lingers in my home and heart today.

We felt blessed to have so much family near this Christmas. My husband's parents and brothers live in our town (his parents just across the street and one brother in our suite) and his Grandmother (from California) and Aunt ( From Florida) flew up to spend the week.

Old traditions were honoured and new traditions were made. Our Tomale Feast and church pageant on Christmas Eve, early morning present-opening, brunch, more present-opening, hearty meal on Christmas Day and a cuddly family viewing of "It's a Wonderful Life."

We learned a lesson this year: make every effort to STILL have our 3 year old nap, even on Christmas! We decided to let her live it up and skip a nap and we paid royally for this mistake when evening hit!

Besides the deafening protests of a preschooler who thinks she should stay up even though she's stumbling and going cross-eyed from tiredness, it was a peaceful day.

And we are thankful for many things. Thankful to have family nearby. Thankful to be together and to enjoy the light and innocence of our children's enjoyment. Thankful for the chance to celebrate Advent, to welcome the Light of Christ once again.

Homemade Christmas

Villagers all, this
frosty tide,
Let your doors
swing open wide,
Though wind
may follow, and
snow beside,
Yet draw us in
by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours
in the morning.

(Kenneth Grahame)

We are trying to make most of our Christmas gifts this year. In the past, we have given a mix of homemade and thriftily bought gifts, and in someways that is what we are doing again, with the balance tipped slightly more toward the "homemade" side. We are seeking to simplify our life and stretch our financial resources, and we see this (carving out time to make instead of buy) as a step toward choosing a parred-down lifestyle. It is also an opportunity to walk more slowly and to allow time to imagine and create. I have realized that it takes more time and planning to make homemade gifts; it's not just a matter of scurrying to the store and slapping money on a counter. It is a struggle to balance my time between projects and focused interaction with my children. I try to include my Pre-schooler in what I am doing, which is why I ended up with sparkly glue and purple stamped snowflakes on my dining room table yesterday. Yes, clean-up takes a little longer when she is involved...

I finally made an Advent wreath this year. We have mostly focused on Sunday readings with a few special prayers sprinkled in. It has been significant for our daughter to have the consistency of lighting each purple candle as we draw nearer to lighting the pink and white ones. The cycle of Liturgical tradition has always been a great solace to me. My faith has felt uplifted and carried along with the rhythm of the church calendar. When I don't have my own words or expressions, I can rest in what spiritual men and women I admire have prayed and written, and I can settle into the truth until it seeps more completely into my internal landscape. And this year, the candle lightings and Advent readings have been an element of this "seeping" for me.

This past Sunday, the third in Advent, I went to an open house at The Mark Centre, an urban retreat centre that invites individuals or groups to come aside from the busyness of life to enjoy solitude in a beautiful setting. The couple who envisioned and created it have become a blessing in my life and it was a joy for me to see them again and celebrate Advent at their table.

With the help of a passionate group of leaders, musicians and artists, they transformed the 4-story chalet into various "stations" with each room crafted into a palette for creative spiritual experience. For example, each room has a symbolic name: extravagance, abundance, and solitude, to name a few. We were encouraged to walk slowly and in silence through each room.

Extravagance had a gorgeous nativity set up, small white candles flickering, richly-coloured artwork on the walls and a woman sitting in a chair reading the Christmas story aloud.

Abundance was warmly lit with different-sized candles. A sheepskin-covered kneeling pillow rested in front of a small table that held a framed poem and portion of scripture .

Each room created a different atmosphere in which to reflect on aspects of God's character, enfleshed in the Christ of the Nativity. After I walked through each room, I ended at the Rooftop Chapel and listened to Cathy Hardy and Karin Dart play songs from their Taize CD called "Rest".
I was comforted by the care with which homemade Chai, Christmas cookies, hazelnut cake and spiced cider were given with ease and sincerity. It was exactly what I needed to open my awareness of Advent as I cling to the wonder of the Christchild. I am grateful for the gift of that night.