Summertime and the livin' is easy.

I'm so glad that my 7 yr old boy spilled that tumbler full of saturated sugar water in the bottom of my freezer.  What else would I have found to do with that hour and a half of wiping, dripping and mopping?  (The many, many ants which live, uninvited, in our home were especially pleased, I'm sure.  Beats that Borax we've been diligently feeding them.)
     Throughout the homeschooling year I always look forward to summer because logically, if you remove 4 hours of lessons from the day there should be a lot of extra time for those projects you've put off all year.  But there must be some kind of mathematical glitch in that thinking.  I'd love to be sewing for four hours to stock pile "Wooly Mama" stuff for the encroaching Fall markets, but I find myself just pouring more glasses of milk and wiping them up when they spill, refereeing more disagreements between Super Competitive Eldest Boy and his younger brother, Mild Mannered Until You Beat Him and Brag About it for the 63rd Time This Week,  searching for lost flip flops of which there were 8 at the beginning of the season, preparing snacks for the starving child who had lunch 10 minutes ago(the dishes for which are still waiting for me on the counter, which is sticky)  and I can't account for what else fills my time.  But fill it it does. 

I wrote this in about 10 minutes without any brainsearching at all after reading "If You Give A Pig A Pancake" to my daughter, realizing that Laura Numeroff must watch through my windows on certain days: (apologies to FB friends who may have seen this before.)

If you give Anneke a muffin, she'll want you to boil water and dust off the teacups for a tea party.
So you'll put down your laundry and fill the kettle.
While you're waiting for the kettle to boil, Anneke will ask you to go up the stairs to drag down the rubbermaid of duplo.
30 seconds of dumping all the blocks on the floor will reveal that the one inch duplo figure of Dora is missing and you'll be asked where it is.
You'll walk back up stairs and dig for that stray Mexican in the wooden block bin where you'll find a half eaten sandwich left by Ruby 4 months ago.
Seeing the sandwich will remind you that the children are long overdue for a wholesome snack.
You'll go back downstairs, stopping briefly to press the hush button on the fire alarm set off by the burning of whatever was in the stove element you used to boil the water that has all boiled away.
You'll find a cucumber in the back of the fridge that isn't too limp and you'll chop a pile of slices for each child.
Isaac won't eat his and they will roll under the table gathering dust and cheerios until they land in the cold air return.
The dust will remind you that you didn't nag Tobin nearly enough to do his chore of sweeping after lunch.
You'll resume your nagging and be shushed due to an important hockey card transaction being in progress on the living room floor.
Seeing 422 unsorted hockey cards on the carpet will remind you that you need to vacuum before 5:00. You'll descend the basement steps to find the 90 lb upright vac and step on a jewel case for Ed's library CD, due today.
You'll check inside to see if you scratched the CD only to find it missing.
You'll go back upstairs wishing you had never taught the 4 year old to work the CD player as you open and shut all the CD cases until you find the missing Radiohead CD in the Wee Sing-a-long case.
Seeing the pink cupcakes on the cover art will remind you of muffins and Anneke.
It will be very, very quiet.
After a furtive search you will find her and Ruby in the bathroom wrapping up chunks of chocolate muffin in 15 clean diapers. You'll leave them to it and walk outside. Where it will be raining.
  
    If I'm completely honest, this is not true.  There are idle moments between these crazy moments that could be used to write the Great Canadian Novel or other constructive and creative projects but too often these are spent wandering listlessly, assessing damage, and lamenting the fact that if I did sit down to begin something I couldn't count down from 10 before someone urgently needed my help to find the green paperclip that went missing 14 months ago.  And of course, lest I come across as whiny, (dear Lord, no more whining, especially from Mom) there are also many wonderful hours spent swimming in other people's pools, digging gopher holes in the lawn, beaching it, and reading lots of stories and chapters from our favourite books.  I do realize how blessed we are despite the harrowing trials of sticky floors and toddlers who don't clean up after themselves.

So I do love summer but, once again, I must recalibrate my expectations.  i.e.  make them lower.  But I really am going to go take on the boys' closet right now.  Wheeee!

   

Confessions

These are the organic, whole wheat pancakes made with eggs from our own chickens, served with pesticide-free raspberries from our own back yard that we eat every Saturday morning on "Pancake Day".

This is my dear, baby girl drinking Coca-cola from a baby bottle.

   Nobody is righteous all the time.

    It's not just food. 

I wore my babies but I still had an exersaucer.  And a swing.

 I homeschool but some days all we learn is how to measure the extent to which mom will freak over another glass of spilled milk.

 I'm Dutch but I could plant a weed in the filth behind my toilet and it might grow.

 I was an art student but now I craft (kill me now!).

I like animals but last night I went to the circus. 

 I like to support independent artists but sometimes I get the Biebs stuck in my head. 

I appreciate good literature but sometimes a Danielle Steele page turner is nice on vacation(scratch that, that's just reprehensible) 

I use the word "nice".  

I've read "Wind in the Willows" and all of the Little House books with my kids but right now there's a pink and glittery, gawd-awful princess book in our library box. 

 I breast-fed my babies but I have,in the past, bought 2 cans of formula. 

 I use cloth diapers but am currently on a Pampers vacation out of sheer laziness.   

I understand the benefits of positive parenting but I still yell at my kids. 

I don't bake my own bread, I buy it at the store even though I know it's not as healthy.

  

The list goes on and on. 

There's a million reasons to feel guilty.  That's what grace is for.  When food or parenting styles or lifestyle choices become a condemning religion, it's time to eat a kit kat and realize that maybe life is about just a little bit more.  Even Jesus found the religion of "musts and mustn'ts"  really annoying.  Perhaps it's not about me anyway.  Maybe my kid won't plunge into a downward spiral of sugar addiction and illiteracy if we all enjoy a donut and a Disney movie on a Friday night.

Gotta go.  The cat is eating leftover boiled eggs off of the table and I can't allow that.  Good people don't.

    

Compound Livin'

     If I had a nickel for every time someone suggested that I join a commune, I'd have about 25 cents.  Not enough to buy land, sever it and build some kind of intentional community on. ( Intentional community,  that's what the kids are calling them these days.)  I must have that look about me.  Sometimes I let my leg hairs go in the summer (and definitely in the winter)  and I own several wrap-around skirts.  Is that what it takes to thrive in one of these things?
     So, it appears, at least in my circles,  that people are looking for more community than they have.  I know exactly what they are talking about.  I've got great neighbours but I have to be lucky enough to catch them while they dash from house to car, car to house.  Often it's polite "hi" and "bye" and "is it hot 'nough for you" kind of talk, although occasionally more.  I'm part of a great church family and homeschooling network of friends but too often when we talk about getting together we just don't or if we do make the effort we're flipping calendar pages and saying "looks like were getting into next month, how about 38 days from this date at 2:00?"  And it has to be 2 p.m. because morning is no good that day and we've got swimming lessons at 4:00.   Makes you pine for effortless communication over a fence.
     So sign me up for this intentional community thing.  How great would it be to step outside and see all your neighbours sitting on their porches?  We were actually in a neighbourhood like that when my first was a baby.  It was great, old ladies who only talked and never listened (and fed cookies to my baby, my first, my holy child who would never taste chocolate before the age of 2 because that, I was convinced would lead to a lifetime of healthy habits and well-being), Jamaicans who were always "bringin' ova da rotis", the men who were addicted to renovating and giving tours of their walk-in closets, the woman with her cuban musician friends who would spontaneously play in her back yard while the neighbourhood wandered in, and there was us, the young couple with the brand-new baby to pass around.  What a great neighbourhood to begin my time as a stay-at-home mom. 
    Then we moved on up to the west side.  Nobody was out on the street.  Some, but not a lot of interaction with our closest neighbours.  But that neighbourhood had hubs.  I loved those hubs.  If you were ever tired of being inside you just had to walk to the park, or the library and there was always someone you knew well enough to talk to.  Ahhh, adult interaction.  I miss that hood in a lot of ways although it wouldn't be the same going back.  The little kids are in school now and a lot of moms have gone back to work.
     So porches and hubs.  That's what this world needs more of.  If you feel the same, I'll let you know when the next house comes for sale in my hood.  Don't worry, at no point will you be asked to wear gingham jumpers and follow a charismatic leader.  Just be willing to ask me to watch your kids a minute while you run to No Frills for the creamed corn you so need for your dinner.

P.S.  If I had a nickel for every time someone said "My, you've got your hands full"  I'd be obscenely wealthy and I'd buy me a farm where you could all come and build your own house and we'd have more than two chickens.

Sarah and Kate

     It all started when my oldest wanted a cat.  I was not interested in another member of the family who expected me to clean up their poop so I told him we would mark it on the calendar and see if he still wanted a cat in a year's time.  That August date was coming closer and I knew he wouldn't decide that a fuzzy little friend was not something he wanted after all.  So I decided to tack a few requirements onto getting a new pet.  Things like learning to tie his shoes which was long overdue anyway and by gum he did it so now I was committed.  The day we got the cat, my second son concentrated all afternoon and by the time Daddy arrived home from work he proudly demonstrated his new skill of lace-tying and for this he demanded chickens.  Raise poultry in downtown Hamilton?  Why not?
    Seriously, I don't know what the big issue is about having chickens in the city.  The chickens we got this spring are quieter than the cat.  (We're actually on our second cat now, but that's another blog)  They are easier to keep than rabbits and they lay eggs.  They do poop, however.  But at least more of the humans around here flush their own now.

     Here is my blog-tutorial on how to get started (What fun!  A blog tutorial about a simple thing that you could google, or visit your public library and find more info than you need already.)
     1.   You need a covered hen house.  Raising Poultry the Modern Way (copyright  1975) suggests a floor space of 2.5 square feet per laying hen.  Then build a little outside run space to go with it.  There's a million different designs for this.  Some people use old Little Tykes houses to house chickens. Off to Freecycle you go.
      2.  Get some non-tipping feeders and water troughs.  My dad used to use a hub cap with a big rock.  Our ancestors did too, I think.
      3.  Order your chickens from a local feed store.  We got ours at the Copetown Quickfeed store.
      4.  We bought a prepared laying hen food ration since it had all the minerals and grit and so forth already mixed in.  The chickens looove greens.  They've already scratched and pecked all the grass in their outside run so the kids pick grass, chives, and swiss chard (which we grew more of, for "the ladies" as we call them).  Watch the chickens get all excited as you pick.
     5.  Some people let their chickens run "free-range" in the yard but I'm not that interested in stepping in poop with my bare feet, or in running down the street after a chicken.   We let them out once in a while which is lots of fun.

  My little urban farmers. They check the nesting boxes like some people (not me) check their facebook.   It really is a lot of fun and not rocket science at all.  Just go do it.



   

My Very First Blog Post.

     I spent many years and many thousands of dollars learning to write a decent paper.  And now I'm flipping burgers.  And pancakes for FREE.
      It's not that I want to devalue my role as mother and wife to 4 children and a wonderful husband.  I understand that it is a high and noble calling indeed.  It's just that I want the bloody dishes and laundry to stop reproducing when I'm not looking!!  And that is why I want to blog.  To escape the dishes and do something that I enjoy for just a moment knowing all the while that each stolen minute means one more sticky puddle, one more soiled diaper, one more broken bowl on the driveway to deal with...later.
     I'm not actually much of a blog-reader, myself.  The few that I have followed, on and off, have been written by friends or acquaintances going through harrowing medical dramas or they have been the blogs of women that have apparently been given 30 hours in their day to homeschool the 6 children, pick fresh flowers for the table, attend speaking engagements for monks in other countries, and sew a nine-patch quilt with their six year old during their idle moments between 6 a 7 am.   Mercifully, and mournfully, I am neither of those type of blog-writers.
     In fact, I think the fact that you are reading my words indicates that you may need more to do.  Or maybe, you might see a little of yourself in this space and just maybe that will help you to find something to laugh about when your lap feels suddenly warm while your little moppet snuggles on your lap (in a sodden nappy) to hear about the adventures of Clifford in Hollywood, once again, for the 7th time today.   Yes, the dishes can wait.  But you still have to do them.  There's no getting out of it.