"the picture I didn't take"

The picture I didn't take: looking at myself in the mirrored ceiling of the third elevator of the second airport of the day, traveling alone with my two small boys. Baby in the carrier in front, backpack on my back, one hand on the stroller in which my toddler sits. The caption? LIKE A BOSS.

"tomorrow is the day"

Night has fallen. The bags are packed. Almost all the items have been checked off the list. There is no more planning, no more preparing. Tomorrow is the day: my boys and I will take to the skies, to go spend two weeks with my parents in Montreal, to visit family, to enjoy a true northern summer with grass and rain, not a Texas scorcher. I would be looking forward to it all so much if I wasn't terrified about the two flights alone with the two boys. But I know that fear only lives in the future. Once I step on that plane, I will be breathing that moment, that now. It will no longer be that which I fear but what I am living through, bringing to bear all of my resources of calm and grounding (not to mention all the new toys and snacks.) I'll get to find out whether everyone is right: whether it'll be just fine.


Linking up with Christina Rosalie's Just One Paragraph.

a quiet retreat

The Mr and I spent the weekend alone together in a lovely little cabin in the Texas Hill Country. There was no cell phone or Internet service at the cabin. But there were three full patio doors opening onto a large deck overlooking pastures and trees and hills, and letting in floods of sunlight. And it was quiet. Oh, the quiet.

We drove there Friday by way of Comfort, Texas, so I could visit my favorite yarn shop. I bought two exquisite skeins of yarn, we had lunch at a sweet little cafe, and hit the road towards our ultimate destination, Foxfire Cabins near Lost Maples State Park.

We'd been looking forward to this for months. Our home and our days have been busier and more stressful than usual of late. My parents are visiting from Montreal and have been with us since late January. My mother-in-law came to stay with us just before Christmas, and there have been lots of doctors' visits and major surgery and lots more health concerns and lifestyle questions. Also, I am six months pregnant. Let's just say we feel we have earned this little escape.

One of my favorite aspects of a trip like this is packing, then setting up our temporary home. I love choosing all of the books and foods and mugs and clothes that we'll need and that will nourish and enliven our days. Weeks, even months prior to a trip I start making daydreamy packing lists, imagining what I'll read, what I'll knit, which favorite mug I'll want to drink from.

The unpacking is equally as lovely to me. As a through-and-through nester I love making up little corners and spaces, setting out the French press and salt and pepper shakers, making the bed (I usually bring my own sheets--I'm particular that way.) I set out and happily stack and pat my journal, poetry books in anticipation of all the time I'll get to spend with them. These days the preparation ritual also involves loading up the Kindle with lots of good stuff--especially when we won't have Internet access! Don't want to risk running out of reading material now, do we? (On this trip I read this, and this, and brought these two poetry books.)

Its lack of connection to the outside world was a big selling point for this cabin. And while I enjoyed being unplugged for two whole days, I have to admit it made me a little bit twitchy at first. To tell the truth I missed Instagram most of all, as I wanted to share the lovely images of our cabin as I was shooting them! But we both settled into the rhythm of it quite quickly, forgetting where our phones were and letting them run out of charge. When we popped in to the little general store nearby offering free wi-fi, I was pleasantly surprised how little time I needed to spend on my phone. Just a quick blog browse, and a phone call home to make sure all was well with the bear and grandparents. It was.

The Mr slept way in on Saturday morning, which gave me a nice long morning all to myself--the one thing in the world I relish the most. I made coffee and rosemary sourdough pan-fried toast with strawberry jam. I wrote in my journal. I read. And read. And read. I did a lovely long yoga practice. I do admit to feeling slightly sad, upon first waking up, not to be lifting a little tousled-haired PJ'd little boy out of bed to watch him stomp his little feet gaily into a fresh new day full of cars and trucks. It was a little weird to wonder, is this what our lives were like, all the time, before we had him? It feels so distant as to not even be a memory anymore--more like a faint dream from a previous life. But I settled in happily into two days of not being mama? mama? In truth, it was awesome. I missed him just enough.

Just enough to feel a little lost and sad when, on Sunday afternoon, we arrived home right at the beginning of an epic 3.5 hour nap. I peeked in at my sleeping boy several times before finally waking him up, needing so much to snuggle and love him up. As deeply good and restorative as it was to be away, it was equally sweet to be back home.

Can't wait to do this again in, oh, another two years or so?

open mic night

While I was in Victoria, BC last week, my best dear friend Matthew invited me to an open mic night at Solstice Cafe. He has become quite active in the local slam poetry community and I was eager to see him in action. 

I have quite a history with this place. I have attended numerous shows and readings there. I have read poetry there myself on several occasions. My husband launched his poetry chapbook there. We even held our wedding reception there. Most of that rests squarely in the past: I haven't written poetry in years, and don't think of myself as part of that crowd anymore. 

But a few hours before the show, Matthew started nagging me, asking me if I was gonna read anything. "Dude, I have nothing" I texted. "Liar" he replied.  Back and forth. I felt sure that the young hip slamming poets wouldn't want to hear the rant of a sleep-deprived mom in her mid-thirties. I thought of more and more good reasons why I couldn't read... until I decided to make them into a piece. The following is what I read last week at Solstice Cafe, when I didn't really want to and should've been in bed. Thanks, Matthew, for being persistent. I actually really enjoyed it.

Reasons Why I Can't Read At The Open Mic

Because I am not prepared.

Because I don't have a piece ready to read.

Because reading at open mics hasn't been my thing for years, and I'm afraid you'll notice.

Because I am hungry.

Because 16 months ago a bomb exploded in my life in the shape of a beautiful baby boy.

Because my friends are putting him to bed tonight for the first time.

Because I am crazily, dangerously, sleep deprived.

Because for so much of every day I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of the abyss, and it would only take the merest puff to send me tumbling over the edge.

Because when my son wakes up, again, in the middle of the night I say mean, horrible things to him.

Because the other night, I squeezed him too tight, and shoved him on the bed.

Because I am sorry.

Because I am scared.

Because I have never done anything this hard, and this beautiful.

Because I have gained so much weight I can no longer hide it, not even from myself.

Because I am angry, and sad.

Because so often I feel like a fraud.

Because my husband is such a better writer than I am.

Because I am afraid I'm not that person anymore, that writer person.

Because I am not always sure of who I am.

Because I have a cold.

Because I miss home.

Because I am angry at my mother.

Because I am tired.

Because I am so, so tired.

Because I don't think you want to hear about the neuroses of a new mother.

Because I just don't feel cool anymore.

Because even though I know I know being cool shouldn't be a thing that matters, it still does.

Because I don't belong here anymore.

Because I had my wedding reception here in this space, and I feel I should leave it on that high note.

Because I shouldn't feel like I have anything to prove to you.

Because I feel I have to prove everything.

Because I forgot to put on my fancy earrings.

Because my cool t-shirt is covered in stains.

Because I'm not sure I want to.

So you see, dear people, there are just too good many reasons why I can't read at the open mic. I hope you'll understand, and that you'll forgive me.

Note: I wrote this in the very honest and raw space of a mama who hasn't had a decent night's sleep in a week. Last week was crazy. Feeling much, much better now that we're home and getting some decent shut-eye. Still, it was both illuminating and scary to find out that the dark place of the worst of sleep dep is always only a few bad nights away.

Victoria, part two

Truly, there is no place like home. Home is where our daddy and our stuff is, and so home is where we sleep. While we were away almost-17-months-old Silas reverted to sleeping like a 6-month old: refusing to go to sleep any other way than being nursed into sweet oblivion, and waking up all hours of the night, screaming and demanding attention. It was awful. I was crazed with sleep deprivation, and all members of the household, except for the little one, got sick with a cold. But still there were plenty of wonderful moments: seeing old friends and old places with fresh eyes and an open heart, putting Silas in the stroller and walking everywhere, and peonies, oh the peonies. As that well-worn line goes, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. So as I work on gently re-entering my life at home, finding our rhythms, stocking the fridge that my husband deep-cleaned while we were gone (he missed us that much), here is another helping of some of those best moments.

A scene from Crumsby's Cafe, where I found a long morning's respite while Silas played with the toys and kiddos. (Coffeeshop owners take note: this kid-friendly approach works, and we mamas will spend all our money in your establishment if you provide us the means to drink coffee and write in peace while our kids are happily playing with your toys.)

Christ Church Cathedral, the mid-point of our walks to and from downtown.

Bubby Rose's, waiting for a cinnamon bun and a mocha.

Fave new scarf and trusty Birks.

Teeny Silas among the trees.

A lily in our friends' diminutive fish pond.

My old trails: Panama Hill. Be still my heart.

PEONIES!

Last coffee in the pottery mug in my bestie's kitchen.

Low tide at Clover Point. (Friend Michael holding Silas.)

Last pit-stop before the airport: Habit Coffee.

the space between & the right stuff

I'm in a state of transition right now. Mother's Day Out has ended for summer vacation, and in a few days Silas and I are going on a trip. The old routine is no more, but haven't been able to find my summer groove yet because of our impending travels. My mother was staying with us for a few weeks, and just left yesterday. The days have been odd: I'm missing my regular touchpoints, my practice is all out of whack, there has been a conspicuous absence of blogging. And now Silas is transitioning to a new sleep schedule, one that will be better for everyone--well, for the parents anyway--but the ride is a little bumpy. Feels like everything is in flux. All in all, good things are happening, but it isn't the smoothest of rides getting used to the new normal.

This coming trip looms large. I couldn't be happier to be taking Silas to Victoria, British Columbia, where I lived from 2000 to 2007, and where many of the people nearest and dearest to my heart live. Not to mention one of my very favorite cities in the whole world. I haven't been since 2008, and I miss it terribly--the kind of missing that you can't really allow yourself to think about because if you did, you would start crying no matter where you are and what you're doing. So this trip is a joyful, joyful thing. But this joyful thing is also on the other end of a ten-hour, three-flight journey to another country, which I'll be navigating solo with my 16-month old. Hello stress! I've flown alone with him before, when he was 5 months and 11 months, and each trip had its harrowing moments but was overall just fine. But it's like traveling with a brand new baby each time since he grows and changes so much. This time, he's a fast and busy walker, and while he's also endlessly fascinated by the my iPhone and Kindle Fire, I'm worried that these won't hold his attention enough, that he'll want to get off my lap and cruise around, and that he'll shriek when I deny him this. Then I'll be that mom on the plane, the one everyone glares at. I'm terrified of being that mom.

So I'm pouring all my anxiety into packing. Packing for any sort of trip or outing is my superpower. I'll always think of everything, and pack it all super conveniently and cleverly. You should totally go on a picnic with me--I rock picnics. But I'm also very neurotic about finding the right thing: the right shoes (similar to these), the right bag (this one), the right book* to take on any given trip, and this neurosis is reaching new heights this time around. It's as if by choosing the right shoes, bag, snacks, I can preemptively smooth out any potential hurdle that may present itself during the journey. Like the right accessory will magically conjure a kind and helpful TSA agent, or a partially empty flight so we can have two seats to ourselves. Which I know is silly. I'm trying to talk myself into a space where I know that, no matter what decision I make regarding my luggage or travel outfit, things will work out fine. But having what I perceive as the right stuff helps me immensely to feel prepared. To know that, no matter what comes my way, I have enough baby wipes, hand sanitizer, and Chex Mix to handle it. All the same--wish us luck. It can't hurt.

I expect blogging will be light here while we are away. I'll line up a few more content-heavy posts, and likely put up lots of photos while I'm away (this would be a great time to check out my Instagram feed!) And while I'm super excited about this trip, about all the people we'll see, places we'll visit, foods we'll eat, I might be looking forward to being back just as much. I'm a homebody and a routine-loving girl. Looking forward to finding our summer groove in a couple of weeks!


*Seriously, I'm going crazy getting book samples on my Kindle, and I simply don't know what to go with. This one? This? This? Do you have any suggestions?