Magnificent Mondays

Monday, the beginning of the week. The return to the blessed routines and structures that govern our lives. It brings with it a certain sense of peace and comfort, knowing that reality has settled and you're busy days are once again dictated by the steady tick of the clock. You, my friend, are just along for the ride. I love Mondays. I would love them even more if they fit their wondrous meaning for me. Unfortunately, shift work is a jumble of uncertainty and my "Monday" is often a Saturday or a Wednesday and there are days I feel completely lost. And yet today I find myself experiencing this day to its full extent. Jonathan is off, so for us it is really a Saturday, but he is sleeping. And if there is one thing I am realizing, it is that with children, the routine goes on. Caleb does not just "sleep in" for me on a Saturday. No, he is a like a little bird who chirps his dire needs to me until I am reduced to the state of awareness. Selah does not ignore her instincts to feed in the middle of the night. No, young children make every day a Monday. And those rare times where you take them out of their comfortable environment of routine and structure, the "joy" of your excursion is quickly replaced by anxiety.

Take yesterday for example. Jonathan had a benefit basketball game in Grand Forks. Greatly anticipating getting out of our sleepy little town, I could tell he very much so wanted me to come along. And so it was that I found myself getting up early so that I could get ready. Getting the children ready. Packing snacks. Packing toys. Making sure there were diapers and blankets and coats and hats, and the list went on. Finally ready, we were off. The real fun didn't start until we got there. We were a little bit early, so we walked around, trying to get Caleb to walk off some of his abounding energy. Time? 1pm. At 2, Jonathan got to leave the outrageous responsibility of keeping a 1 year old quiet and contained when there are bouncing balls flying at him... and go to warm up. Leaving me... alone. The routine? Shattered. Selah, having missed her nap, is crying if anyone even dares to look in her emotional direction. Caleb, squealing "daddy daddy daddy" is consistently running out to the court, anxious to be just like his dad. And so, with my daughter strapped to my front, my son kicking at my hip, and toys and food littering the floor, the game began. The commencing hours are really a little bit of a blur to me. I do remember having a thin sheen of sweat on my body the entire time. As I raced after Caleb, stressed over my screaming daughter, trying to keep a semblance of control over my little family... I realized that no other mothers of toddlers had brought their adorable children. Ah, to be home. Half time brought Jonathan into the back room, wondering with disdain and disappointment, why I wasn't out there watching him play. Needless to say, we got through it. I think my blood pressure was a little bit elevated. But during the second half, I simply allowed my exhaustion to show, and I had a number of willing helpers to aide my son in watching the game. Why couldn't that have happened in the beginning? And yet, during all of this upheaval, I heard for the FIRST time!!! My son call my name. Someone had lovingly picked him up before he ran into the middle of the court and he started crying... they said "oh, do you want your mama" and so it was that I heard my son giggle in anticipation as he cried out "mama, mama!" Never has my heart been so full as at that moment. So he does know who I am!!!! Arriving home, with tired kids and an injured husband, I felt satisfied and content. This is what life is all about. Defying the structure that keeps us comfortable and reaching out to accept God's little miracles that lie just outside of our comfort zone.

And so, despite the craziness and wonder of our Sunday, I must say that as I drink my coffee, listen to my kids play happily... I am SOOOOO thankful that it is once again Monday.

Rediscovering the Wonder

As I sit warm and cozy in my home, I gaze out the window to the blustery cold day. Snow drifts down in lazy circles before finding its final resting place on the earth below. My son sits beside me, in awe of the transformation taking place before his very eyes. The brown, dry ground is replaced by a vibrant white layer of snow, and all he can do is stare. And I practically vibrate in anticipation of the next day when I can show him firsthand what snow really is.

Thinking back on my life, I realize that winter was never one of my favorite seasons. In fact, I remember being only 6 or 7 years old and when all my brothers and sisters would be itching to go outside, I would have much rathered sit inside with a book to read. Even last year, my motivation to venture out-of-doors was greatly diminished with a four-month-old son. I didn't want him to get too cold, it was too much work to get him dressed up, it was too difficult to push the stroller through the snowbanks... the excuses were seemingly endless. And so it was that I spent much of my time warm and cozy within the confines of my comfortable little home. This year, everything has changed. My son is no longer the content little boy he once was. Instead he is vibrant and full of life. Every morning he begs me with a look of hopeful eagerness in his eyes, "ousi???" (that is outside for those of you who do not understand the great and wonderful speech of a child). And all of a sudden, I feel a tingle of that same anticipation. There is so much to show Caleb! So much he hasn't seen. All of a sudden, my little baby has grown into an exploring toddler, my little sponge ready to absorp all I am willing to teach him. And as we stoop down to examine a leaf, or some grass, or this new fresh landscape of snow, I am beginning to 'rediscover the wonder' of this incredible world around me. How many times have I walked past the bugs on the sidewalk, or ignored the birds flying overhead???? Not anymore, my son makes sure I don't miss these little miracles that happen everyday. Everything is new, everything is interesting, and it drives me out of my comfortable "nest" and into the cold, blustery world where there are countless things to discover together. And so it is, that Selah, too young to notice or care, is bundled up each and every day and taken out with her brother. She sits bound to my chest as she stares in awe at the world around her. She gasps and blinks with the gusting wind, she squints at the glowing sun, and I know that she too is learning about this marvellous world around her.

And so, despite my inbred desire to curl up on the couch and read a book, my kids give me the motivation and desire that all have failed to instill within me... and I am finally able to defy that inner instinct in favor of the "wonder" of the world outside my four walls. Happy discovering!

Kids, kids everywhere

"We want more kids" says Angelina Jolie, mother of 6. "a big family is the best gift you could ever ask for or imagine" says some unknown famous family with 7 children (read in a magazine somewhere). And all I can think of as I read these ridiculous excerpts is: "well sure you love having tons of kids, you have a nanny! All you have to do is take them to the park and see their smiles and then pass them off when they are bothering you. Not too shabby indeed." Having all those children on your own... that is another issue. I sit here, drinking my coffee in one of the VERY few moments of peace and quiet I have in my day. Add some more kidlets and those moments will be virtually non-existent! My life with two under two is crazy enough as it is!

And yet, as I was in Walmart not too long ago, I saw a mother with 8 children, all under 10 (ahhh!). The 6 year old was holding onto the 3 year old. The 8 year old was holding the one year old. They were waiting so patiently in line with a cart heaped to enourmous and unbelievable heights. And I thought to myself... I could see myself with that many kids. That is not to say we are going to have eight children, but it sparked a flame somewhere inside that cannot be quenched, I want a big family. Every morning the kids wake up, I am exhausted and a little bit grumpy, but as soon as I see their smiling faces at the sight of me, it brightens my day. Selah cooes and laughs and talks to me, Caleb gives me a big kiss and I think to myself, 'What better way to spend my time and energy than investing in these incredible kids' lives???' And so, despite the fact that I am living off sleepless nights and harried mornings, I force myself to stop, sit down, and thank God for these incredible little blessings he has placed in my life. I would not trade a minute of my craziness for someone else's calm.

Well, my moment of silence has officially ended. My daughter is crying, my son is adoring her with his pokes and loving 'whacks' and my house is a nightmare. So until my next peaceful 'time out' I bid you farewell!

Surviving Sunday

Church. A simple word, and yet one that strikes fear into the heart of most mothers with toddlers. Can't relate? Allow me to expand on this topic...

The morning was cold and gray, the sun not yet up, and yet it was that my son decided to begin his morning "scream fest" at 6:30am. Mentally gathering the strength to survive "Sunday at the Spooners" I rolled out of bed to begin our daily rituals. Having read about the routine of the day in my previous posts, I will spare you the gory details. However, let it be known that doing even menial tasks in the early morning seems nearly impossibly. I try to fit in a shower, dress the kids, feed the kids, change the kids, all in a timely manner. And before we know it, it is 9:30 and time to begin our trek. Getting Caleb dressed and ready to go, I shoo him out to the porch so that I can get Selah strapped up in peace. So far so good. Gathering our many armloads of baby gear, we finally trek out the door, ready for whatever the day throws at us. It was then that I discovered that all of our shoes, I mean ALL of them, had been eloquently thrown off the porch by my adoring son. Sighing, with Selah in the carrier, I try akwardly to bend down and retrieve the mess before the neighbors start "talking" about the appalling state of our front lawn. Getting this task over with, we began the tedious walk to church. Of course, with Caleb's new found walking capabilities, it took us nearly half an hour of investigating every blade of grass, pebble, etc. and of course, stopping to announce that we had heard a car or seen a bird. Sigh... patience anyone? Finally arriving at our destination, we manage to find a way into the building and are bombarded with the welcoming joy of our little church. Feeling the effects of the morning, we find a place to sit and out comes the food to keep caleb relatively quiet...

It didn't take long for his "joyous singing" to cause us to leave to go to the nursery. And here I stayed throughout the rest of the service. Being right in the midst of nap time, I desperately try to keep two screaming kids happy in the tiny room at the back, counting down the minutes until we can leave again. Sound familiar? Finally, we hear the last song being sung, and I packed up the kids, rushing to the door before it got too crowded and I couldn't make it through. And that, my friends, is my weekly church experience. Each week I am left wondering why I braved it to go out at all. I don't hear the sermon, I don't get to participate in fellowship, the only plus side is that it gets us out of the house and the kids sleep better for me in the afternoon. Kind of sad isn't it???? Despite my lack of participation in the service however, I can't help but feel a little bit refreshed. Did I say refreshed???? After that fiasco? Yes, I come home feeling a little bit of the presence of God. And lately I feel as though he has been telling me that he will honor my committment to come each week. And even if I don't feel like it is worth it, God blesses me anyways. So there it is, my reason for going each week. God is so good to us and the few weeks I feel that "it isn't worth it" are the weeks that I feel depressed and lonely sitting in my little house as I watch the smiling faces walking to church.

So, we will go. Braving weather, thrown shoes, and screaming kids... if only for a taste of the presence of God we will go. And one day, when my kids are a bit older, or we go to a church where there is a nursery... I will have the opportunity to worship alongside a congregation of believers once again.

Victorious Parenting... does it exist?

I am beginning to wonder if there is such thing as retribution, you know, what goes around comes around????? All of Caleb's early life was like a ride in the park. He didn't cry, he slept through the night when he was only 12 weeks old (12 hour stretches even), he would wake up cheerful and play in his crib for sometimes a full hour before he wanted to be picked up, and all was well. Other parents would demand to know how I managed to maintain such an easy-going boy when they were battling their little ones for every little thing. I knew it was by nothing I did or didn't do, Caleb just fit the mold of the "perfect little baby". Last night Selah slept through the night for one of the first times in her young life... and hows this for irony???? Caleb got up at least 4 times screaming at the top of his lungs. He no longer sleeps in until 8, even though he is exhausted and not getting near enough sleep, he is battling me on every front he possibly can. He wakes up screaming as though the sky is falling instead of smiling and happy. I suppose this is a normal age and stage in a toddlers young life with teething and simply being contrary to the best of his/her ability. But it doesn't change the fact that I am exhausted and frustrated.

Which brings me to another interesting point, victorious parenting. I use this label for those milestones (sleeping through the night, self-soothing, weaning, potty training, etc.) we all try so hard to help our babies achieve. If there is one thing I have noticed, it is that these little guys are too smart for their own good. My theory? They succumb to your will only until you think that you have won, then they daze and confuse you until you think that you are the one who is in control, when really they are now holding the remote. Take sleeping through the night for example. You finally get this down and they seem to follow along for a week or so, then they rebel. And instead of thinking the worst of your precious baby, you think the worst of yourself. Maybe they are growing and hungry? Maybe they are thirsty? What if they are teething? What if they had a bad dream? and on and on it goes, the second guessing, the guilt... and once again your "little angel" has won. Then there is weaning... what a roller coaster that is. I have been trying to wean Caleb off the bottle for a month now, we used to give it to him at night, then he started waking up in the middle of the night for his "fix" and we would constantly cave thinking he needed it. Realize our stupidity, we cut him off (which was actually easier than we thought). However, every now and then, usually when teething season is in full bloom, in exhaustion and desperation that he is going to wake up his sister, I find myself plodding to the kitchen at 2 in the morning, fixing another bottle. When does it end? It would be really great if they had some sort of electronic monitoring that could tell you what (if anything) was wrong with your child so you knew if you needed to act or if they were just pulling your leg... I am sure one day that device will exist. But until then, I suppose I am stuck with the old fashioned way... one guess after another.

Happy Guessing!

Life as a Mountie's Wife

The alarm clock (being my adorable little one year old) sounds off like a siren. Time to get up. I roll over and grunt, hoping that my adoring husband will take the hint and take care of our early-morning riser. Unfortunately, instead of feet rushing to do as I wish, I hear the unmistakable sound of the blanket shuffle as he turns his back to me in defiance of my simple request. Beginning my morning with a grudge of frustration, I sigh as loudly as I can as I throw the blankets aside and rise to fulfill my role as wife and mother. The feminist inside of me screams to be heard and as I listen to her Wiley whispers of injustice, I resent my "role" all the more. Growing up in a feminist world with feminist views and a cultural shift to "fairness" and "equality", I constantly find my perspective shifting towards the world in which I was raised. However, I have been reading a book lately called "Created to be His Help-Meet" by Michael and Debbie Pearle that wars with this ingrained viewpoint. As the wife of an RCMP officer, I find that this theory is tested at every angle, and I cannot say that I am yet at peace with what my role represents.

The reality, I am not like other wives, and my husband is not like other husbands. It is not an easy thing for most people to understand. We talk to other couples and hear how the dads help out with bedtime routine and bath time and feeding, etc. etc. etc. In our house, there is no schedule that Jonathan can be a part of. He works some days, and some nights, he is called out, he is sleeping. There is no method to the madness in our house, and there are days that it drives me nearly crazy!!!!! Don't get me wrong, he helps out when he can, but I feel like that is a rare occurrence when he is constantly "on the clock". And worse than my own frustrations, is the misunderstanding of our families and friends. "What, he doesn't help you do baths??? He doesn't know Caleb's intricate schedule?" etc. etc. etc. No, no he doesn't. He isn't around enough to know how things work in this house. And it is frustrating, yes, but it is our lives and we adjust and work around it. I am a relatively self-sufficient woman. I don't necessarily need Jonathan every waking minute to help me with the day-to-day running of the family and household. Why? How can it be???? Because I have never had him there for me to miss.

I know it won't be like this forever, and I know that there is a definite upside to this career that my husband has chosen. He works so hard for us. And despite the fact that I am left to do a bit more than the "typical family" I get stability in return. Does this stop me from occasionally resenting the load I feel like I carry? No. But it only takes a hot cup of coffee, my sons adoring smile, and a couple hours of reflection to put things back into perspective.

Hollow Halloween

Halloween, harmless fun or open door to something far more dangerous? Never before have I felt as conflicted about this holiday. I suppose never before has it been much of an issue without kids. This year, Jonathan and I both stated that we didn't really want our family to celebrate halloween. However, without making a concrete decision on this matter, I couldn't resist dressing Caleb up a little and letting him help me hand out the candy to all the little kids. Squealing in delight each time someone new came and staring in wonder at their crazy get-ups, I knew that it was time for us to make a firm decision and stick with it. So I did a little research on this much-loved holiday and what it represents.

Defined on the internet, Halloween (or all Hallows Eve) is when the spiritual world and the natural world become one. It has its origins as an ancient celtic festival (Samhain) in which the dead would threaten the living. The people would throw the bones of slaughtered animals on their bonfires and wear masks and costumes to mimic the evil spirits and appease them. The jack-o-lantern, another common and seemingly harmless tradition of this holiday, also has a dark representation. Believing that the head was the most powerful part of the body, containing your spirit, the Celts used the head of the vegetable to ward off evil spirits. "The name jack-o'-lantern can be traced back to the Irish legend of Stingy Jack,^[9] a greedy, gambling, hard-drinking old farmer. He tricked the devil into climbing a tree and trapped him by carving a cross into the tree trunk. In revenge, the devil placed a curse on Jack, condemning him to forever wander the earth at night with the only light he had: a candle inside of a hollowed turnip." (see website http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halloween for more information.)

Needless to say, as I watched dozens of innocent little children walking around dressed as witches and goblins and ghosts, I couldn't help but feel a little hollow myself. I want to make it very clear that I do not judge anyone who chooses to celebrate this holiday or take their kids trick-or-treating. I have done it myself and completely understand. However, after reading these details, hearing about all the satan-worship and animal sacrifices that occur every halloween across this county, I cannot bring myself to participate in any way in the future. Perhaps I will carry on the tradition my parents instilled in me and hide out in our basement with a couple other families doing our own evening of family fun. Or maybe we will do nothing at all. Nevertheless, from here on forward I have finally come to a conclusion regarding our stand as a family, and I am sure that we will be no worse for it (although I must admit I will miss the excuse to pig out on candy).