White

 

How’s the weather where you are?

Christmas

It was bliss.

 

Plenty to eat, much of it from our own farm, time to play, time to rest.  We’ve really been enjoying our family time, even managing to squeeze in some quiet hours for Mummy and Daddy while the children play.  Tomorrow the snow is coming in and I have a special project in mind;  another day of just being together with no special plans.  What could be better.

Merry Christmas and a peaceful holiday to you wherever you are.

Winter Solstice 2012

We started the day with bacon sandwiches (our home grown bacon), watching the snow falling heavily outside.  It has continued to fall through the day, the edges of the world becoming plump and round and the thick flakes snuggle on top of one another.  The day is slipping by in pleasant normality, not an apocalypse in sight.  This is our second December living here, but to me it feels like the first.

On days like this I’m grateful for many things, here are a few:

– A chap who knows how to clear driveways and a new and improved slightly ancient tractor;

– Silly dogs who make me laugh;

– Children being able to spend the day making a ‘snow wall’ outside, life skills at work;

– A truly beautiful bouquet of flowers, sent from my Dad, that are perfuming the kitchen as I sit here writing.

I haven’t ventured out much, a little walk around to check on the chickens (they are resolutely NOT coming out of their cosy coop) and then some supervising as Stephen tries out our ‘on loan’ snow blower (the snow is too wet it would seem).  I’m glad to have a warm house to cosy up in and nowhere that I have to be.

The boys are in the bath (actually now I think of it they’ve been there for about an hour now I come to think of it…), Stephen is ploughing the drive and I’m taking the chance for a sneaky and actually hot cup of tea at the kitchen counter.  We have nothing major planned for today, just being together feels like a wonderful celebration all on it’s own.  It’s been quite a year here at the farm, a year of discovery and challenge and lots of work.  I’m looking forward to another one…after a little bit of a rest that is.  Tea anyone?

Gentle

The last few days we’ve been at home with a poorly little boy who needed lots of love and attention.  We’ve been up and down these last three nights, sometimes hourly, tending to him as he fights off a bit of a virus.  Though I can’t claim to enjoy waking up 10 times a night or having a poorly child, I have, in my heart, simply felt lucky to have the opportunity to hold him close.

I’m seeing life through a different lens this week.

These last few days I’ve been so conscious of my good fortune in having those I love close to hand.  I’ve enjoyed just being with them, hanging out on the sofa watching whatever shows the poorly one requested.  Today we’re starting to see the back of the sickness but I’m still inclined to keep this mood going.

I’ve spent a lot of time in thought these last days, as I know so many have, reflecting on all sorts of things.  The main realisation I’ve had is that I really enjoy being with my boys each day.  That probably sounds obvious, but recently I’ve been feeling a bit weary and ready for a break.  Now I see that the break isn’t from my family, from my life, but from the wider world.

So today has just been a gentle day of early baths, tidying, laundry, eating meals.  Nothing earth shattering and yet it seems like the warmest kind of bliss.  I made up a big batch of ‘snow’ for the boys to play with and sat in the kitchen listening too their crazy giggles, knowing they were ignoring my ‘don’t get it everywhere’ rule and not caring a jot.

I know truly and with sincerity of heart, that this is all I could ever dream of in life.  These people, every day, finding our way.  I’m grateful, so intensely grateful, for the chance.

No Words

I have no words that can make sense of the madness that happened yesterday, no one does.  I feel, like everyone does, shocked, horrified, saddened and angry.  I feel like I was in some kind of accident and my nerve endings are still buzzing with the shock, my mind is a little numb, a little slow.

I find myself having to step away from it a little, I am grateful that I can.  When I think like that I feel tears for those who cannot step away, for whom reality has been forever changed.  There is no silver lining, no good side, this is one of those things that can never be turned around.

So, like everyone else on the fringes of this tragedy, I’m focusing my mind on how lucky I am.  I’m holding my boys a little tighter, a little longer, I’m giving in to a few more requests for cookies, I’m pulling them into inexplicable hugs at inexplicable moments.  I’m thanking all the gods that exist that they are here with me, that I can hold them, smell them, love them.  I’m trying not to let them see the sadness that we are all carrying around like a cloud.

 

I don’t think the sadness will every really be gone, I don’t think we’ll ever forget what has happened.  I really don’t think any of us should.

Radical…moi?

I’ve been re-reading the excellent book Radical Homemakers by Shannon Hayes recently, I’ve read it before but that was prior to us moving here and doing some more of the activities she talks about in her book.  Reading it with fresh eyes (and with the perspective of new experiences) gave the book a much sharper resonance for me and has brought up questions that I have no real answers to but still can’t shake off thinking about.

One of the things I come back to over and over is, are we really so radical?  Ok, yes, I know not everyone raises their own animals for meat or has the space for a largish flock of chickens, but not all of the people that Shannon Hayes interviews and discusses in her book do either.  Each person or family that she looks at has a unique approach to their lives but with one common thread that connects them all, produce rather than consume.

This core idea is one that I grew up with, so it doesn’t seem alien to me.  My Mum knit and sewed for us, made stuffed animals and clothing, she learned to make jewellery, made teddy bears, iced cakes and a million other little decorative touches around the home, that just seemed a part of her.  My Dad was always busy, he participated in lots of sports, gardened, took us on mammoth bike rides, grew flowers, tomatoes, whatever took his fancy.  If jobs needed doing Dad generally did it, painting, hanging wallpaper, redecorating old bikes to make them new.  People (or at least all the people we knew) didn’t have much money for extras so they did things themselves.

When I met Stephen he was at the end of an Mechanical Engineering degree, so it’s safe to say he’s a pretty handy chap.  As well as being able to turn his hand to computer shenanigans, he could also garden, redecorate, put up shelves, cook, assemble ikea furniture and generally make himself useful around the place.  When I met his parents I found that his Dad was a genius carpenter who could make furniture, do plumbing, electrics and actually built his own house; his Mum is an accomplished knitter, used to sew clothing to sell and makes a cupcake to fight over.

When I look around at the people I know they can all ‘do’ something, they all create and produce something for themselves.  My sister cooks, sews, quilts and still manages to hold down a sensible job, my friends are all creative people making a vast array of wonderful things; I wonder to myself, isn’t everyone like this?  How can it be called ‘radical’ when everyone is doing it already?

But then I realised that I needed to stick my head a little outside of my bubble.  I know that I do live in a bit of a world of my own making.  My family are all great, my friends are lovely, caring individuals, I live in a place I love and spend my time online reading the blogs of other people with similar interests; it is easy for me to think this is the whole world.  But when I accidentally slip out of my bubble and onto the hard pavement of reality I see a very different world.

Recently we had the misfortune of needing to be at the children’s hospital for a good few hours, the tv’s there run ‘children’s’ tv the whole time and I became morbidly fascinated.  Was this really what young people were watching?  These glossy people who seem to do nothing but gossip, get into silly conundrums and unkind badinage?  I restrict my kids to certain selections from netflix and prechosen documentaries and movies so we’re not used to the barrage of advertising that comes with mainstream media, after 5 minutes my brain hurt.  After several hours my heart did too.

It seems there is always something to buy, something else you need, another smell, another car another…something.  It’s ok to say ‘stupid’ a lot, being mean to other people is funny and casual cruelty and bullying are to be expected.  No one makes anything, loves anything, which is in direct contradiction with the people, young and old, that I know.  The world depicted by the media is shiny, glossy, terrifying and…empty.

I know this is nothing new, this is common knowledge, but it makes me realise why the title of Shannon Haye’s book is so appropriate.  It is, in our culture at this time, a radical statement to say ‘no I won’t buy it, I’ll make it’.  To take control of one’s consumption, to decide what items are not ok, to eliminate the cultural elements that we don’t like.  Instead of being dictated to by the mystical forces of advertising and the media, we can instead turn inwards and find our own journey, our own voice.

I don’t think that making bread, or yoghurt, or jam is an earth shattering thing; I don’t think that staying at home to raise my children is a radical decision.  From being a teenager I have considered myself to be a feminist and always believed that position simply meant, valuing the female mind as unique and worth listening to.  I didn’t think it meant only one type of path, one view of what I could be, quite the opposite in fact.  So when I decided to step away from a career outside the home and instead pursue a life within it, it just seemed like another decision.  It was the same decision my Mum made when I was born, it seemed a pretty natural way to live to me.

Yet when I look around outside of my bubble, I don’t see stay at home Mums being represented in a positive or realistic way.  Mum’s are either 1) filmy, beautiful creatures who’ve been no nearer a real child than I have to Jupiter or 2) terminally pissed off.  Now I have my moments of frustration for sure but I do want to be at home with my children, a decision that seems at odds with how I’m ‘supposed’ to see myself.  I’m getting pretty tired of seeing female characters in films and on tv shows making the same predictable ‘I don’t cook’ remarks when they are being depicted as strong and clever.  Apparently to be strong and clever you must reject anything associated with a kitchen and in fact reject a certain amount of independence.

Because that is what happens when you learn these skills.  When you cook instead of heating up something inside a plastic package, when you make some jam instead of relying upon the frankly unreliable labeling of superstore foods, when you even grow something yourself on a plot of land or in a small pot on a window ledge.  Each act of do-it-yourself leads to a feeling of independence and confidence, it leads to a sense of self reliance and, perhaps, a greater willingness to perceive the flaws in the status quo.  When you are less reliant on a system it becomes easier and less frightening to see it’s limitations and dangers.

Perhaps that is what makes it radical to turn one’s attention inwards, to develop skills and spend time on projects not purchases.  To be sure we buy things, more than we would like at times, but most of those things are tools so that we can make something else.  Fencing for animals, canning supplies, a big silver tarp.  We are still ‘plugged in’ to the economy but we are taking control of our home at the most basic level.  We control much of our food, we control our exposure to the culture outside our door, we set our values and try to pursue them in our everyday life.

Shannon Hayes talks in her book about the increasing feeling of distance that can occur when people step off the ‘mainstream’ and start beating a path of their own.

“Those who choose to align their lives with their values typically experience a sense of isolation from anyone else whose outlook is defined by conventional cultural codes.  David Korten explains that people who transition may even occasionally feel like creatures from outer space.”  p 243, Radical Homemakers

For me that isn’t about distance from my nearest and dearest (unless you count the physical distance which is profound) but just about a sense of distance from the culture around me.  I see messages spinning past me, things I know I’m supposed to care about or be engaged with that I’m just not.  In fact I am beginning to view the more ‘mainstream’ culture as alien, while I feel more and more rooted in my own sense of truth.

If it is radical to close my door to the eternal noise and chatter of the world then I suppose I am, if it is radical to want to cook, make and spend time with my family then I definitely am.  This is not the only path I could have taken, nor is it the only ‘moral’ or ‘good’ road, I think we get into seriously tricky territory when we start making those kinds of definitions.  But what I notice, and respect, in lives that I admire, is a commitment to a goal, a choice that is being made.  If instead we allow ourselves to be buffeted and defined by the shifting winds of ‘society’, if we never make choices for ourselves, always assuming that because something is ubiquitous is must therefore be benign, then can we be surprised when eventually and inevitably, we end up ship wrecked?

Rush Rush Stop

This week has been a funny one, it seems to have been a split of relaxing and being slow with rushing and being busy!  Some of it is great busy like our lovely  science club, some of it is necessary busy with dentist appointments, hair cuts and errands. Overall, though, I feel that we are generally winding down towards Christmas.  There is less ‘work’ on our calendar and more events, a christmas craft day with friends, an outing to a heritage estate for traditional christmas fun; connecting with friends before and during the holidays, all good stuff.

In between all that I’m trying to be a bit more present with the boys at home, to shed guilt and worry about ‘doing enough’ and just spend a bit of silly time with them.

 

When I think back to my own special memories of Christmas they are of little, silly moments with my Mum and sister, when we were on holidays and just hanging around together.  She’d always do a big clean before the holiday and would have War of the Worlds blasting out, I don’t know how old I was when I finally told her it scared the pants off me!  Even when I was little I didn’t want to spoil her energy and enjoyment, as it turned out she just laughed, we laughed together.

I remember distinctly putting up the tree when I was about Huwyl’s age, I was jumping around the house in a net curtain making my Mum and sister laugh.  The joy of the freedom of it all is what made that memory sharp and immediate for me, all these years later.  The smell of my Dad walking through the door at night, the scent of fresh air clinging to his big air force duffel coat, showing him the tree we had decorated.

Those are the kinds of memories I want the boys to have.  Silly times with us all smooshed on the sofa eating popcorn and watching truly terrible Christmas movies!  To my adult brain these hours seem a little purposeless, but I know in my heart these are the times they enjoy the most, these are the memories they’ll treasure.

And these are the moments to treasure because, well, they are growing up right in front of my eyes.  My teeny baby is becoming a young man, all rangy limbs and bouncy thoughts; and my teeniest one is catching him up pretty fast too, no longer a little toddling thing but a person with thoughts to share.  It’s all going by so fast.

 

I have all my lovely Christmas school resources lined up, but I know in my heart we’ll be working on them after the festive season is over; a nice way to stretch this season out.  For now is the time of days that drift into one another, gentle hours of just being a normal family, punctuated by the busyness that we wouldn’t want to be without.  I know there are things we could be learning about right now but I’m satisfied just watching them, soaking them up.  These years will be gone in the blink of an eye and I really don’t want to miss them.

 

 

 

Old Fashioned Christmas

On Thursday night I was out and about, picking up a gift that I’d found on kijiji (such a great resource for me this year!) when I decided to buy a bath mat.  A simple enough thing to do one might think.  And there was a shop called Bed, Bath and Beyond nearby so I stopped in.  About 15 minutes later I left, with a bath mat, but in the throes of a panic attack.

Now I’ve never been a massive lover of crowds or closed in spaces but I was really surprised by my reaction.  I was shaking, my breathing was restricted and I felt overwhelmed and upset.  It seems a bit over the top (to me anyway) but there was just too much for my brain and nervous system to process.  There were ‘goods’ everywhere, piled as high as the ceiling and many items that seems to have no definable purpose for being in the world.  Among the very pleasing practical items such as towels and kitchenware were all sorts of strange gadgets and…well…stuff.  

The fact that I was surrounded by things that I couldn’t identify, that seemed to have no real worth (despite the price tag) got me feeling upset and, honestly, angry.  I know there has to be stuff in the world, I enjoy partaking of it myself, but in that shop alone there seemed to be enough redundant junk to fill a landfill on it’s own.  I can’t claim to live a life filled only with what is necessary but compared to the profligacy of that one store we live in a convent.

The perfect antidote to all this came just the next morning in the form of a homeschool trip to Cumberland Heritage Museum, about 1/2 an hour east of us.  It is a village set in the 1930’s and right now they are celebrating the festive season!  We enjoyed a wagon ride around the town singing christmas songs, a trip to Santa’s workshop to make  wooden toys and a visit with the big man himself.  He could be found in an armchair in a cosy little house, friendly and welcoming to all the children.

The boys absolutely loved it all, making the toys, meeting Father Christmas and sharing time with their friends.  The atmosphere was welcoming and friendly but we didn’t feel rushed or too busy.  The children all packed into the giant wooden sleigh, pulled by giant wooden reindeer, as excited as any child would have been 90 years ago when these houses were first built.

I had several other mums comment to me how much they enjoyed Huwyl’s enthusiasm and joy throughout the day.  He was, at 7 years, one of the older children, yet he suffers from none of the ennui that so many children are already displaying at his age.  He sang with gusto, threw himself into each activity and watched Father Christmas with as much wonder and excitement as any of the younger ones.  I feel so proud of his gentle soul.

As Father Christmas spoke to the children a little voice piped up, “I’ve got something for you!”  Neirin had brought some coins from home and gave them to the big man in red, the hearts of all the mamas (especially this one) melted.

Despite the cold the children ran and played with gusto.  We all sat around an outdoor fire drinking hot chocolate and listening to a christmas story, told without props but with great skill by one of the museum staff.  Even though our official visit was over some of us stayed by that fire, talking and catching up while the children played with whatever they could find.  Mostly they populated their world with their imaginations, running themselves ragged with the joy of just being able to play

The homes in the village are simple but so welcoming it is hard to remember that no one lives in them anymore.  I had the urge to settle down in an armchair and share a cup of tea or read quietly.  It reminded me that a few simple touches are all it takes to make a home feel festive.  After all, it isn’t the decorations or even the gifts that make Christmas, but the time we spend together, enjoying the company of our family and friends.

i-viking

The vikings, it seems, were not really called vikings.  The term i-viking, meant going off raiding and generally causing a bit of a fuss in boats and furry coats.  This is the kind of thing you get to learn when you study vikings for about a month!

I always knew that this would be one of my favourite bits of  Story Of The World 2 and we have really enjoyed exploring these naughty norse folk.  There are some links to activities and documentaries on my homeschool history pinterest board for anyone who is looking for inspiration.  We’ve also had fun using the book World Book Encyclopedia: Vikings  that I borrowed from the library.  It has lots of fun crafts that are just right for boys of 3 & 7 (and their Mummy) that can be executed with what we have already in a reasonable time frame.

As we’ve progressed through learning about different aspects of Viking life, from the battles to the wonderful myths and stories, I’ve been really inspired by how much the boys have enjoyed and embraced the topic.  Huwyl has been particularly motivated, bringing ideas to me from the craft book we are using and being much more proactive about the project than ever before.

Being a little perfectionist (don’t know where he got that from *cough*Stephen*cough*) he has needed my help getting some of the details just right but I’ve tried to inspire him to give it a go too.  He simply can’t bear a project going south because of a little mistake, so things like tricky cutting out or lacing have had Mummy help.  I’ve had to reign in my own perfectionist tendencies (not always successfully) and tried not to take over, I hope we’ve struck a balance.  Certainly the projects were child led/demanded!

I’ve loved the diversity of the crafts and activities and the fact that both of the boys seem really engaged and interested within their own capacities.  Neirin has dipped in and out while Huwyl has been much more focused.  True to form Neirin most enjoyed having his own axe and decorating the Viking warrior, he placed the clothes on just so, his dexterous little fingers working to position them perfectly.

Today he did a bit of painting and then created what appeared to be a mini art installation!  Really it doesn’t matter so much to me the specific outcome of each project, or even the focus, it is simply that each child is motivated and keen to learn and create.

I don’t know what it is, but he does.

Festive Deficiency Disorder

Right I’m going to admit something that may make the general populous curl their lips at me in scorn, but it is the bare truth.  I don’t feel Christmassy.  December has arrived and I’ve got nothing.  I’m buying gifts (cool previously loved ones that will rock my kinder’s world), I’ve got christmas themed school for the boys, we have activities to attend this festive season and I’m starting to get my act together re gift giving.

But the truth is I am a hollow shell, the vibe just isn’t there.  The kids have started to nag me about decorating, Stephen mentioned (very gently) that last year was a bit spartan and that we could probably do a bit more bling this year, my friend’s houses are as festive as a festive thing.  I’ve got nothing.  No creative juices flowing, no bursting desire to craft home made advent calendars and hand made wreaths made from beautiful paper (my sister actually did this, she’s awesome), I have no Christmas mojo.

Maybe it’s my general level of disgust as things like Black Friday and the ravenous consumerism that surrounds the holiday season.  Maybe it’s the fact that November basically kicked our family bottom with one illness or crisis after another.  Maybe it’s the rainy weather and cloudy skies that have washed away the snow and left sludge in it’s place.

Maybe.

Reading this post by Erin Goodman today shed a bit of light onto my dilemma. In this season of noise, rush and buy, buy, buy it is easy to get overwhelmed.  Even easier for me than most it would seem (I ticked 23 out of 25 on the highly sensitive test) and my reaction to that is to stop, shut down and block it all out.  It’s not that I don’t want to be a festive machine it’s just that I really can’t.  My brain is looking for a way out and a dark cupboard to lie down in, away from crafts, fun and neon related frolics.

As I look around at the internet and the real world, all decorated and ready for festivities I know there’s only one strategy.  Fake it.  I may not be feeling festive but the kids are so decorate we will, advent calendars will be purchased and gobbled, gifts will be planned and bought.  But I’m a fan of Erin’s suggestion to go easy and to cut myself some slack if I’m not exactly full of zippety do da.   It’s ok to be quiet, steady and gentle with it all; which is sort of ironic because I’m guessing those aren’t really words that anyone who knows me would immediately attach me with.

I am ready for a festive season of genuine sharing and closeness.  I’m happy to go crazy with the glitter and tinsel the house to within and inch of it’s life, as long as we are doing it because we really want to, not just because the world says it has to be.  So I’m going to make peace with the fact that my body clock always seems to be running on go slow around Christmas, that I will never have a house full of hand made gifts and decorations that I crafted myself from woven stalks of white chocolate hay.  And, as they like to say these days, that’s ok.

I think I just prefer the bits of Christmas that reflect a genuine celebration of the season.  Making gifts for friends, unearthing decorations we’ve had since long before the boys were born, making treats in the kitchen while the fire roars.  Those are the bits I love.  And I have to admit, as I listen to the excited Christmas chat from the boys and contemplate making up a big batch of peppermint bark to eat in front of the fire while reading all the festive books I snagged at the library, I feel my festive juices beginning to flow, the first tingle of a tinsel laden vibe.

Perhaps, as is so often the case, I just need to admit my feelings in order to make a change.  By being honest about my lack of festive feeling I can open the door to this season of celebration, but I also need to be truthful about what brings me the most joy at this time of year.   I may be a chatterbox of the highest order, but when it comes to Christmas my heart lies with the traditional and gentle celebrations of years past.  It may not be neon, or bling, but it’s what I love.