The Accidental Pharmacist

Traveling Light

2012-12-20T14:00:00.000-08:00

Back in the fall we did a whirlwind tour of Italy with two kiddos (4 months and 3 years) from mid-September to mid-October. We did it with 3 carry-on bags and 2 car seats. Here's what we did and how you can lighten your travel loads too!

Nothing but carry-on.

Packing tips for travel days:

With only carry-on suitcases we always fit into small rental cars (think Opal Corsa).
Each adult got 3 tops and 3 bottoms. Kids (who pee themselves) got 3 tops and 6 bottoms.
We bought beach towels in Italy at the grocery store for 5 euros.
We brought sandals and walking shoes and wore the walking shoes on the plane.
We packed rain coats in the suitcases to save us room for souvenirs.
We packed 3 days of diapers in the suitcases to also save room for souvenirs.
We brought enough toiletries to get through the first week (cause, you know, Italians like to bathe too which makes it easy to find things like soap and toothpaste).
Every place we stayed had a hair dryer so there was no point bringing one.
If we bought clothes we left something behind (like a stained shirt).
We packed one muslin blanket for the baby which also helped block the sun in the car when we hung it from the window.

The pre-flight lounge was worth the fees as was the carseat toy.

Entertaining travelling kiddos:

Orin got to bring one SMALL stuffed animal. No books. She carried her own backpack.
We bought baby Brynn a carseat toy because it wrapped around luggage handles.
We used the pre-flight lounge. Well worth the $55/family.
We brought a sling for Brynn and an Ergo for Orin (Ergos are good to 40lbs). Italians LOVE kids so this kept the girls close to us and made it easier to introduce them to strangers.
We had a new movie on the iPhone (Up). 'Up' is very quiet and didn't disturb others.
We bought 6 "surprise" activities at the dollar store (total <$10). I rarely needed it.
Orin got treats (candy, pastry, gelato, pizza, pasta) whenever she wanted. Good food is good fun.
Learning Italian was a game and she STILL likes to point out people speaking it at home.
Bedtime was later. It just was.
The more we relaxed and enjoyed ourselves, the more the kids did.

Good food is good fun.

What we learned:

Always have extra kleenexes. Kids pick their noses until they bleed at the worst times.
Don't pack white shirts for anyone. See number 1.
Wet wipes are a gift from the heavens.
If you bring a little soap you can hand wash anything in the sink.
Try to learn some of the language, especially as it relates to kids. People love to talk kids. You'll meet so many people.

Dolce (Dessert)

2012-12-20T13:03:00.002-08:00

This is the final in a series of emails I sent to friends and family while abroad. We did a month long trip to Italy with the girls. And survived. Our theme was eating and beaching. Enjoy! I'll follow-up with a travelogue and tips on traveling with kiddos (with only carry-on!) in the next little bit.

Ah, Roma, the dessert course of our trip and our final email.

In 'Eat, Pray, Love', (otherwise known as the movie where Julia Roberts chortles her way through Rome and some other countries) Elizabeth Gilbert writes of "il dolce far niente". The sweetness of doing nothing.

For anyone who has ever been to Rome or Italy, let's all share a laugh. Ha ha ha.

In Rome, one does not do niente. One has too much eating to bother with niente.

It helps that we found the coolest apartment through AirBnB called Domus Ciancaleoni. We have a quick walk to some of the best gelato in town at Fatamorgana. My fave? Fennel, honey and liquorish. (?!?!) Dave's is mirto and castagna (myrtle and chestnuts) and Orin always gets chocolate. We all share so we taste 5 or 6 flavours each time. Twice daily. Tip: don't try the basil gelato...

Orin being dominated by a plateful of Cacio e Pepe.

Let me break down some regional pasta dishes. As always, pecorino favours heavily (have you bought any yet?). Cacio e pepe is pasta with pecorino and pepper (Orin's fave). Pasta all'amatriciana has a tomato sauce of pancetta (not prosciutto), pecorino, onions, garlic and hot pepper flakes (peperoncino). Rome is also the home of carbonara, which has a sauce of beaten egg, pancetta, pecorino and lots of pepper. The egg can be cooked (cotto) or raw (crudo) for a creamier sauce.

In between meals we've taken in the sights. There are so many (oh my god, so many) tourists, even though it's October. With 2 kids, we can't be bothered with art, history and whatnot on this trip. Instead, we took a whole day to see the coliseum and pantheon. No guide, no info, just Orin exploring old things and old places.

Queen of the ruins.

The next day we hit Villa Borghese, the large heart-shaped park in the city centre. We rented a 4 person bike and took it off-roading. Orin woo-hood as Dave tried to take out fellow tourists. Ever her father's daughter, she rang her bell after each near miss.

Relaxing, motorized family bike style.

The mosquitos are terrible. Really bad. Bad everywhere in Italy, but brutal here. And the best part is that all drugs are guarded by pharma-chistas who give you what they think you need, not what you want. How Italian. In other words, after using up my supply of antihistamines, I can now say in Italian, "thanks for all the hydrocortisone cream but that won't do a fucking thing for the 17 bug bites on my arm so give me the Benadryl or I WILL CUT YOU!" It hasn't worked yet which is why I have a tube of hydrocortisone (fail) and Benadryl cream (fail) and a box of Aerius (fail). I turned down the Reactine (FAIL!!).

Io sonno una professora della pharmacia, MoFos.

Born to be Roman.

But I can't end with a rant, however justified. Instead, today's word: felice (fay-lee-chay). It means happy.

Today's recipe: In Italian homes, the dolce course is often a bowl of fruit placed on the table. Fancier desserts include many pastries, but that requires finishing your carb dinner with carbs. So here's a nice light dessert to try instead. Take a bowl of ricotta, add lemon and honey. Top with figs, sliced in half. Or peaches. Or whatever is good.

Ciao,
Kay-lee, Dah-vee-day, Brrrrr-ynn, and Orrrrrr-een. But Orrrrr-een eez not a name. We call her Paolina instead. Okay?

Cena, contorno (side dish/salad)

2012-12-20T12:49:00.000-08:00

This is the fifth in a series of travel emails I sent to friends and family while abroad. We did a month long trip to Italy with the girls. And survived. Our theme was eating and beaching. Enjoy! I'll follow-up with a travelogue and tips on traveling with kiddos (with only carry-on!) in the next little bit.

An email in honor of the (optional) Italian salad, which comes at the end of a meal as a refresher.

Mountain top truffle tasting.

Today we retired yet another of Dave's traveling shoes on account of the bee that stung him after getting in through the hole that his too-long toenails had cut in the top of his shoes.

I used the same technique to remove the stinger that I have been using on Orin's cactus hand. Long story...

Alas, as we enter the last week of our travels, we are busy with Umbrian adventures. We have an agriturismo apartment and are cooking for ourselves so the whole family is constipated. Turns out a liter a day of olive oil is useful in the absence of fibre (think of one high fiber Italian food...it doesn't exist).

Three nights ago we found a free Capella concert in the basilica of St. Francis of Assisi (imagine the acoustics of two dozen Capella singers but with an orchestra in a massive basilica...incredible). The girls LOVED it (it was amazing) and the nuns and monks loved them. Wins all round.

Two nights ago was a medieval reenactment complete with fancy dress and war drums (now imagine the acoustics of two dozen drums in the old stone city...also incredible).

And today was truffle hunting, a tagliatelle making lesson and a full pranzo with an Italian family, 10 Asian tourists, a mouthy 3 year olds and a baby who just learned to yell (don't imagine the sounds here...just keep thinking about the choir or drums).

Here's Orin getting her first sniff of the elusive truffle.

In other food news, like at home, kids here start solids at 6 months with rice cereal type products. They move on to oil and pasta as toddlers. Even the Italians we're meeting complain about this by way of complimenting Orin's willingness to try anything. "Thees bimba like clams! Brava!" In this, the land of food, it seems that processed foods are hitting it big and kids get what they want so obesity is quickly becoming a talking point.

Brynn, however, is so taken with Italian food that she's started eating a month early. She can't swallow but that doesn't deter her. First food: spaghetti. Second food: lasagna. Third food: tagliatelle con funghi. Fourth food: chocolate. Orin even asks for "cafe" with her "latte" (for real, I wish I was kidding).

A Nonna's tagliatelle lesson.

Today's word: stanco. It means tired in Italian. You can imagine how important this word has become to us.

Today's recipe: If there's one food that has surprised us, it's pecorino cheese. Everywhere we go we eat it. "Pecora" means sheep and the cheese is traditionally made with sheep's milk. We rarely eat parmigiana. Young pecorino has a mild, sweet flavour and the aged cheese (aged a few months to a year) is more pungent and sharp. A quick way to enjoy it is to cook some pasta. Drain. Toss with olive oil, lemon, basil and grated pecorino. Eat. So simple but sooooo good.

Ciao,

Cena, Secondi (Dinner, Second Course)

2012-11-14T07:27:00.000-08:00

This is the fourth in a series of emails I sent to friends and family while abroad. We did a month long trip to Italy with the girls. And survived. Our theme was eating and beaching. Enjoy! I'll follow-up with a travelogue and tips on traveling with kiddos (with only carry-on!) in the next little bit.

Ciao,

Saturday, Orin's third birthday, marked the end of our time in San Gregorio. After some minor chocolate cake drama (but cioccolato eeza not-ah cake-ah, no, please, eetz too much-ah, and we-ah doonotta make-ah our own cakes, you are, how you say, barbarians) we said Ciao! to the incredible hospitality of the Grassi family and headed west.

Orin on some stairs to nowhere.

Alora, it is foraging season in them thar hills so the countryside was alive with wild porcini mushroom pickers and old ladies carrying shirtfulls of fresh apples, hazelnuts and walnuts. We spent the week eating pasta funghi, snacking on fruit and nuts and generally being unplugged. It's amazing how dependent we've gotten on our smartphones over the years. A week without WiFi just about killed us. But we survived and are better for it (in my opinion, Dave's still traumatized).

Sharing some cotto wine with porcini hunters on a morning walk.

In our pursuit of a "family experience," and at the hands of Zia Rina (and Loris in Sardinia), Orin has learned to either speak or obey the following:

Grazie (thank you)
Per favore (please)
Posso avere (can I have) uno cioccolato gelato/chocolate ice cream, mela/apple, pesche/peach, pruna/plum, latte/milk, biscotto/cookie
Sedi qui! (sit here)
Mangia! (eat)
Mi dispiace (I'm sorry)
Andiamo! (let's go)
Basta! (enough)
Vini qui! (come here)
Ciao (hi/bye)

A prosciutto slicing lesson from Guido after a day at the beach.

In this, the land of old things and old people, Orin has also why'd the following:

Being dead
Being buried
God/Jesus
One thousand years old
Praying
Nuns
Older ladies yelling because they're deaf
Italians yelling because they're Italian
Older Italian ladies yelling when caressing little kids' faces
Older Italian ladies caressing little kids' faces only until they see piccolinos ("little ones" like Brynn) then totally losing control

Walking with Zia Vittoria and Paolo.

Today's word: mal di testa (means headache, not men's nether regions...don't google it...)

Today's recipe: prosciutto

Get a leg off a pig. Do some stuff with it and then salt it. Hang it in your basement for a long time. When ready, eat with everything. Eat as a snack before dinner on pieces of bread. Add chunks to everything you cook (e.g., pasta, roasted veg, sautéed peppers). Use your own deli-style meat slicer to serve thin slices after eating. Teach small kids to eat small pieces so they don't choke and gradually increase consumption to 1 kilo/day by age 12.

Ciao,

PS to speak Italian, pronounce every letter and add a vowel to the end of each word. E.g., vacation is vay-kay-tsee-oh-neh. You'd be surprised how often this works.

Cena, Primi (Dinner, First Course)

2012-11-14T07:07:00.000-08:00

This is the third in a series of emails I sent to friends and family while abroad. We did a month long trip to Italy with the girls. And survived. Our theme was eating and beaching. Enjoy! I'll follow-up with a travelogue and tips on traveling with kiddos (with only carry-on!) in the next little bit.

Ciao,

We have now left the land of a thousand beaches to practice our Italian with David's family in Le Marche. We're currently unplugged in a tiny mountain village called San Gregorio. The midnight bedtimes of Sardinia had started to wear on the kids so this is the R&R portion of our trip.

Orin and Brynn after a week of midnight bedtimes.

Dave's family lives in nearby Ascoli Piceno and keeps the (very) old family farmhouse as a summer cottage. San Gregorio's summer population is around 50, the winter population is 5 and right now there are a couple families, us and some crazy Strega Nonnas (Grandma Witches for those not into toddler lit). And men wearing camo-style hunting clothes.

Learning how to pick fresh walnuts with Zio Giaccomo

Our iPhone cameras are wholly inadequate.

Within minutes of my first walk, I was assaulted by Cleoniche who cooed at Brynn before (yelling) that she was Dave's grandfather's, mother's, sister's cousin twice removed and only by marriage (or similar...I have no idea). I tried to follow but was distracted by the giant, hairy chin mole and a terrified Brynn.

Not 5 minutes later, another old witch lady walked by with a toddler holding a walking stick (to clarify, the toddler had the stick, not the old lady). She searched my face for hairy moles and, finding none, yelled "capisci Italiano?" I said no, walked on and, within a minute, there was a cry and a dozen sheep ran out of some hidden barn while the old lady screeched "Acka! Acka!" and the kid waved the stick. This is what I mean by my iPhone camera falling short.

Rina's hundred mile pesto...but of course!

We've been happily gorging ourselves on la cucina di Zia Rina. Pasta for the first course at every lunch and dinner, followed by a second course of carne (meat) and bread (for scarpetti) and then homemade prosciutto and local pecorino. Desserts are fresh peaches and figs from the trees in the orchard. In truth, I'm getting sick from so much food (and developing food fear). I am actively lobbying for smaller portions but that's like asking for less happiness in Italy.

You. Would Never.

So, mealtime here, like driving, is a dance.

Today's recipe: I learned to make melanzane parmigiana (eggplant parm). You will die from the amount of oil used. The gist (this Epicurious recipe is pretty similar):

Make sauce: In a sauce pot, add what looks to be 1 cup of oil (!!!), 4 cups puréed tomatoes, garlic, onions, basil and salt. Simmer all afternoon because you are a Nonna.
Fry eggplants: Slice eggplants into 1/4" slices, put in strainer and toss with salt. Let sit an hour then rinse and pat dry. In a bowl, beat eggs with salt and pepper. Beside it, put flour on a baking pan. Heat 2" of olive oil in a frying pan. Dip the rinsed and dried eggplant in the flour then egg and fry in hot oil until golden. Place on paper towel to soak up excess oil.
In a casserole dish, pour in some sauce and then layer eggplant. Pour tomato sauce over top. Cover with mozzarella and parmesan. Bake until cheese is brown.
Savour and then curl up a ball because your North American stomach can't digest so much fat and is looking for a way to expel the products of your gluttony.

Until next time,

Il Pranzo (Lunch)

2012-10-13T07:58:00.001-07:00

This is the second in a series of emails I sent to friends and family while abroad. We did a month long trip to Italy with the girls. And survived. Our theme was eating and beaching. Enjoy! I'll follow-up with a travelogue and tips on traveling with kiddos (with only carry-on!) in the next little bit.

Salve,

Come stai? Noi siamo bene. (Extent of my Italian...notice the conjugated verb...).

We are thoroughly enjoying Italy con bimbi. The girls travel well. Their schedules are shot, partly due to jet lag but also 9pm dinners. It seems that kids here don't sleep 7-7 like our kids. Naps are longer and dinner is later. People here were surprised by our schedule at home but noted it may better suit children and cold climates (and digestion). I think I agree.

Long days make for tired kids.

She's delirious

We have been lost everyday on account of there being no way to tell the road you are on. Why? Because the grid is two thousand years old and everyone here knows where they are going. They don't need street signs.

The beaches are amazing. Blue-green water, white sugar-like sand, naked kids, topless women and men in speedos. While Dave hasn't embraced the bikini brief nor I the toplessness, Orin and Brynn are often nude and loving the freedom.

White sand and an even whiter family

Of course, food is at the heart of Italian culture. For our hosts, Kraft Dinner is a Grimm Fairytale - a myth to guide culinary decision making. "Basta! What eez thees Kraft Dinner? But eet eez not food! Ow can eet be? Surely you do not eat such, how you say please, garbage! But I thought you love food! No, you do not. Not if this is food. Please, you hate food."

Before eating baby a baby octopus Orin asked, "is it dead?"

Also, Canadians and Americans don't come to Sardegna (you should! It's gorgeous!). As a result, the locals assume we are German. Most have never heard a child speak English, making Orin a novelty. One kid from Vincenza was so taken with Orin's English that he made up a language to speak with her. Something like, "Abag bogapy toles." She said "Yeah." Then they played with the turtles.

Beautiful beaches all around the island

Finally, on the topic of the bidet, Orin says that you should try it. It feels nice on your bum.

Today's recipe: Peperonata. In Italy, peperonata is a staple comfort food. Made from peperoni (red or green peppers...not the deli meat), it is a vegetable stew made with sauteed tomatoes, onions, peppers and other veggies, depending on your region. In Sicily, for example, I'm told they may add capers, olives and sugar to the red pepper mix. In La Marche, where Dave's family lives, they may use green peppers and onions. In Vincenzo and Bologna in the north, they may use red peppers, eggplant and even potato. Here is a link just in time for pepper season in Canada. Serve with crusty bread or rice. Adapt to your own tastes.

Today's word: "Scarpetta" means little shoes and is used to describe the act of wiping your bowl or plate clean with bread etc. Asked what it was called in English, I could only think "rude". Italians are masters of happy eating. We are not.

A presto,
Kelly, Dave, Orin and Brynn

Colazione (Breakfast)

2012-10-12T08:14:00.001-07:00

What follows is a series of emails I sent to friends and family while abroad. We did a month long trip to Italy with the girls. And survived. Our theme was eating and beaching. Enjoy! I'll follow-up with a travelogue and tips on traveling with kiddos (with only carry-on!) in the next little bit.

Imagine you've just navigated an 8h overnight flight to Rome, a 5h layover in the grungiest airport with a Fendi store, and a 1h flight to Sardinia on an Italian airline. You have a toddler and an infant, 2 carseats strapped to your carry-on suitcases, and a diaper bag.

No stroller.

All night flights make for tired travellers.

Now imagine a sea of baby-loving fellow travelers who would rather kiss or carry your child than watch you suffer.

This is Italy.

After drama-free travels and picking up our Ford Focus (not the Opal Corsa we rented..."too-a piccolo per you-a famiglia!"), we made our way through the city of Cagliari to our agriturismo, 20 minutes out of town. Ten roundabouts, seventy-six swear words and two hours later, we realized three things:

Sardinian foliage has no respect for road signage
Crying babies make for awesome driving
It was all worthwhile just to meet Marco and Loris, the couple who own La Fattoria Delle Tartarughe (The Turtle Farm).

Orin, Brynn and Marco with the parrots at the outdoor breakfast table.

The theme of this month-long trip is eating and beaching. Conveniently, Sardinia is an Italian island between Italy and Africa. The beaches have white sand and green, bathwater-warm water. Agriturismi, or farm stays, are as popular here as in the rest of Italy.

On arriving at this restored, formerly abandoned mansion in the mountains, we were shown to a large room with a queen bed, bunk bed and a crib. We left a sleeping Orin to join our hosts for a four course meal on the veranda. To ensure you understand just how envious you should be (on a scale of 1-10, aim for 20), this was the menu of Chef Loris:

Antipasto: a fresh (raw) "pizza" of tomatoes, olives and capers on a thin, hard Sardinian shepherd's flatbread called pane carasau (like a cracker), drizzled with fresh olive oil and balsamic vinegar

Primi: a small bowl of neapolitan rigatoni (large tubed pasta from Naples) with zucchini, pecorino cheese, lemon zest and mint

Secondi: a plate of smoked ricotta with roasted zucchini, salami, prosciutto and homemade olives

Dessert: fresh figs (picked from the fig tree, of course) and wine-poached peaches in ricotta and drizzled with a syrup made from the water used to wash bee hives

Digestif: mirto, a homemade liqueur made from myrtle

They held Brynn so we could eat. (We love them.)

Picking figs with Loris.

In the morning, next to a parrot yelling "Basta!" (stop!), Marco served us a typical Italian colazione (breakfast) of caffe latte (coffee with milk), crusty bread with homemade apricot jam (Nutella for Orin) and local fruit. Then he took Orin to feed the parrots, goats, sheep, donkeys, lizards, boas, chickens, peacocks, nenes and geese. Oh, and the turtles of course.

Later, after we visited the medieval city of Cagliari, the neighbors brought their 3yo granddaughter, Beatrice (pronounced Bay-Ah-Tree-Chay), to play with Orin.

I'll leave it there for now. If travel is like a fine wine, let this be your first taste. (FYI: 2L of *delicious* wine is 2 euros... $2.40 CAD).

Trivia: there is no "j, w, x or y" in the Italian alphabet.

Next up: white sand beaches, how Italian driving "eez like a dance" and the importance of teaching a toddler to say "sorry, I'm an a**hole" in Italian.

Brynn, in all her beach going glory. Dave and Orin in the background.

We've Multiplied

2012-08-10T17:18:00.000-07:00

This blog has been neglected. Terribly, horribly, despicably neglected. But I can explain.

I have a new baby! And, on the list of things occupying my time gestation, birth and childrearing have punted all but the most basic of needs from Dr. Maslow's funny little hierarchy, rendering my pyramid a sad puddle of sleep, food, more sleep and more food.

If you had asked me a couple years back, I would have told you that being a gainfully employed child-rearer (who also happens to blog) is an easy-ish task. Like baking-a-basic-chocolate-cake easy. With some skill, patience and time the result is usually delicious.

And, for me, this was true. Having a life whilst having one child was doable.

Alas, my priorities changed the moment I was in real labour and screamed "I should have booked an elective c-section!!!" From the healthy afterglow of a getthisthingoutofme VBAC, I realized that two kids is a much, much (much, much, much) different beast than one.

In reality, trying to do any non-child work while parenting two young children without the benefit of childcare is ~~challenging~~ ~~insane~~ pointless.

But alas, today was a good day. Both children are asleep, the cloth diapers are happily tumbling away in the washer and my kitchen is free of toddler crumbs.

From this quiet corner of my house I say, hey-a! Nice to see you again! It's been far too long! And...we should do this again some time.

Ciao,

There but for the grace of god we go

2011-12-28T16:11:00.000-08:00

After a week of wonderful visits, delicious foods and presents from half the western world, we're in a post-holiday coma.

Unsurprisingly, something I struggled with this year was holiday excess. Not simply the mass-marketing excess of an over-commercialized society. Or the 'be a good citizen and buy' excess of a consumer-buoyed economy. No, this year, I was overwhelmed by all the privileged excess bestowed on a middle class toddler on the Most Wonderful Day of the Year.

It brought me to my knees. This year, in all respects, I assumed the role of the Ungrateful Cow obsessed with the moral upbringing of my child...

No child needs to be so lucky...
No child should given everything they could ever want...
No child needs every amazing age-appropriate toy in existence...
No child should be so spoiled by so many amazing things...
No child needs this much stuff!!!

On reflection, my feelings were precipitated by two recent events: The Santa Visit and The Story of the Mother in Need.

The Santa Visit happened on Waterloo's annual Santa train ride. As we rode the rails to St. Jacob's market, Santa asked The Toddling Pea what she wanted for the holidays. She stated, matter of factly, that she wanted cake.

"Sanna, I whan cake."

And Santa, who was a little taken aback, pushed her to name a toy. Sanna, she told him, I whan a yummy toy. And what toy would that be, sweetheart? Cake, she replied.

All she wanted was cake and I was cool with that. Give the child her cake!

A week later, I heard The Story of the Mother in Need. A woman stopped in to the pharmacy to buy odds and ends for a young mother who had nothing. The mother, the woman told me, had recently escaped an abusive partner with her two young children only to find out she was pregnant again. The family was in a local women's shelter and had nothing.

I thought of my toddler who is totally untraumatized by abuse or instability and who has a warm coat and a huge loving family and a bed and food and a home. And I just felt lucky.

When the holidays came and that same toddler, who already has everything she could ever want, was given so much more I was a little sad. What is enough? How will she know what 'enough' means? I looked at all her beautiful toys, both old and new, and I picked some out for the local shelter. Our local shelter gives stuffed animals to newly displaced children and a present to each child on their birthday. I thought of the family in the shelter and I chose one of the nicest toys given to The Toddling Pea, still wrapped in plastic.

On the one hand, it seems ungrateful to give away a toy that is lovingly picked out for my child by someone who really wants her to have it. On the other hand, a lovingly picked out toy is the perfect toy for a child who has nothing.

As we approach the new year and plan for a new baby, my hope is that when our children are old enough they remember to celebrate the holidays by sharing their excesses with kinder-colleagues who have nothing.

There but for the grace of God...

Photo by Dead Air.

Tis the Season of Stuff

2011-12-05T09:36:00.000-08:00

How do you celebrate the holidays in your home? Having lived so many years in a small apartment we're attached to not being attached to stuff. We bought a small home so we wouldn't have room for stuff (or have need of stuff) and our purchases thus far have been essentials for seating and eating.

We made it through one toddler birthday relatively unscathed (thank heavens for clothing and hand-me-down toy gifts!) Now, as we face our first holiday season as people-with-more-than-one-bedroom, there's an impending claustrophobia. There's a Grinch-like pile of stuff is teetering on the top of Mount Crumpet, waiting to crash into our lives and spill out of our toy boxes.

I wasn't always so obsessed with stuff but the more I lived without, the better I felt. The less I had, the more I enjoyed the few things I actually purchased. With a toddler who burns through activities and clothes faster than a bag of goldfish crackers, it's gotten harder and harder to manage the serenity of a minimalist life.

In search of a holiday lifeline, we stumbled on some good ideas for minimal holidays that aren't too stark or Scrooge-y. Here's what we're trying out to see if we can manage the mess.

We are borrowing holiday books from the local library for FREE. Our favourites have been Merry Christmas Strega Nona by Tomie dePaola, a book about an old Italian witch who has to make a Natale feast for the village, and Three French Hens by Margie Palatini, which follows three french chickens from Paris as they befriend a poor fox in the Bronx.
This year we'll be following advice from the lovely Design Mom for Santa to bring something to wear, something to read and something to play with. And no extra gifts from mom and dad.
We're doing instead of buying. The Husband is big on holiday memories so we'll be cutting our own tree, baking our own cookies and dancing to our own christmas musical stylings on the piano.

I'm not sure if this will all work out as planned but my hopes are high. I would love it if you would leave a comment sharing your holiday traditions and ideas for cutting the stuff out of the holidays.

Photo from FeDe.

Dancing for a Cure

2011-09-25T09:42:00.001-07:00

I love, love, love this video by researchers at the Rosalind and Morris Goodman Cancer Research Centre at McGill University in Montreal.

Motivations and Inspirations for Canning

2011-09-11T17:43:00.000-07:00

Canning is a very nostalgic act for me. I grew up watching my family can jams, peaches, pears and salsa. My favourite was the raspberry jam and the little wedges of preserved fruit we mixed into puddings in January. My grandma, who had her own full pantry, also canned a mean Saskatoon berry sauce for waffles. This winter we've already stocked away dozens of cans of peaches, peach jam, apple sauce and salsa verde. When my mom visited in August she added raspberry jam to the mix.

Each year as I pull out my own jars, I'm struck by how intimidating canning is for people who didn't grow up in a Family Who Cans. I know a few people who make freezer jams but I can count my fellow canners on one hand.

If you've ever thought of canning but are intimidated by what seems like a complicated process, rest assured that it's far easier than it looks. All you need is a cookbook, which can be found at the library or your local bookstore. Now is the season to start canning applesauce, apple butters and salsa. Check out the quick how-to video below from Ball (as in Ball Blue canning jars) to get an idea of the process. I bought a kit similar to the one they are advertising at my local Canadian Tire. If you're looking for inspiration, Bernardin (as in Bernardin canning jars) has loads of recipes on their website. Another great source for ideas is the Well Preserved blog which just covered tomato sauce canning.

Happy canning!

Photo by tamaraott10

Unplugging

2011-09-08T12:55:00.000-07:00

An interesting thing has happened to me since moving to Kitchener-Waterloo. I've unplugged. Or I've been unplugged, I'm not sure which.

When we first arrived we rented a sabbatical home with no cable. Instead of a television, the family home had a stereo wired around the main floor. Every night after a long day at work, we would come home and listen to CBC radio over our dinner and throughout the evening. Whether it was the news on CBC1, the classical stylings on CBC2 or indie hits on CBC3, we really started to enjoy the peace. A piece of quiet in our long day.

When we bought our own home we decided to forgo cable. We had really started to enjoy the calm. We had also realized we could watch most shows online and the radio sufficed as a news outlet. We no longer obsessed over world disasters, crumbling economies, abducted children or near constant danger. We started to read more. I went back to playing the piano. We talked. We walked. We escaped.

As a side effect we also started to unplug from social media. Without the mindless hours in front of a television, my iPhone became less interesting. I didn't have the time to flip through Twitter or blog my innermost thoughts and feelings. I kept up with Facebook only because unplugging meant more time for keeping in touch with friends and family.

Now that the summer has ended, the crisp fall breeze is rolling in and we're in flux. We're preparing to cozy up in the cool nights and can't decide about cable. I think this also means that we can't decide about social media. Social media is an avenue to connect but it is also a means to escape. But by escaping the stresses of a media-dominated life we don't need the other escapes anymore.

So, as the fall rolls in I'm not sure if you'll find much of me here or on Twitter. In fact, if you're looking for me you may have better luck at the park around the corner from my house or in the reading nook with my toddler or sitting behind the piano knocking out some Bach or Mozart. Better yet, if you do find me, you may also find a giant smile on my face and 50% fewer lines and wrinkles.

Summer Camps

2011-08-19T07:29:00.000-07:00

This summer has been a whirlwind of writing, networking, researching and thinking up The Next Big Idea. Adding to the chaos, The Husband and I have also been neck deep in potty training and the terrible twos.

Needing a respite and Serenity Now, we've been lucky enough to stumble on the University of Waterloo's Engineering Science Quest Camp. ESQ is a not-for-profit summer program that "operates with operates with the goal of exposing children in the Kitchener-Waterloo region and beyond, to the worlds of Engineers, Science and Technology through a variety of fun engaging hands on activities."

Back in the spring, faculty members at the university were asked to volunteer with the camp. Having attended a similar camp in high school, I jumped at the opportunity (with The Husband happily on board). I vividly remembered making Vic's Vaporub in the pharmacy lab of the University of Alberta. While I'm not certain the experience pushed me into pharmacy, it certainly helped. To this day, that tiny little tub of Vic's sits in my parent's bathroom, complete with a hand-typed label from the early 90s.

The kids that we've been working with are in grades 1 and 2. Once a week we visit their summer camp and make hand cream, a simple project that could also be done at home with kids of almost all ages. Here's how you do it:

Making hand cream with kiddos

You'll need:
1 ointment jar or pill vial (ask your local pharmacist)
1 stir stick (popsicle sticks work well)
1 bottle of your favourite essential oil (e.g., lavender, orange, eucalyptus, peppermint)
1 jar of a basic unscented, hypoallergenic cream (e.g., Glaxal Base, Eucerin cream)
Food colouring

Directions: Spoon cream into the jar until it is half full. Add 2-5 drops of your favourite essential oil. Add 1-2 drops of food colouring for a light tint. Stir. Label. Done!

In our experience, the kiddos LOVE, LOVE, LOVE orange and peppermint. Each week, when they sniff the bottle of essential oil, it's guaranteed that a few will close their eyes and 'mmmmm' with delight. Lavender and eucalyptus have a stronger scent, making them a harder sell, but some kids love the novelty of the different scents. All in all, this project has been a fantastic experience, one we're sure to repeat next year.

Enjoy.

Balance

2011-06-20T11:26:00.000-07:00

In preparing to facilitate a class on mindfulness and addictions I did the Canadian Mental Health Association's quiz on work/life balance. I scored a 5 on a scale of 0-15 with 0 being total chaos and 15 being perfect serenity. My life is out of balance. In truth, I'm probably closer to being completely, totally, and absolutely off-kilter as I carry the demands of a new job, a new house, a new life and a toddler in a brand new, more-demanding-than-ever-before stage of life (mommymommymommy).

And so, today, as I prepare to review a report, a paper, a lecture, debate the merits of tile vs. hardwood and choose custom blinds, I will leave you with an observation on work/life balance by Dr. Paula Caproni. Dr Caproni is a business and management professor at the University of Michigan who is not all that convinced that we should be striving for this elusive balance anyways:

My concern is that a strategic, goal-oriented approach to life assumes that people have a great deal of choice and control over their lives despite the fact that life is rich with unpredictability, problems are often too big to control, and we are sometimes incapable of and not interested in doing more and better. Furthermore, life is dynamic rather than static, so our best-laid plans are often out of date long before they are implemented. Joys and sorrows we never predicted enter our lives without warning, and the blessings we have today may be gone tomorrow. Such turns of events do not lend themselves to planning. A strategic orientation to life underestimates the degree to which life is, and probably should be, deeply emotional, haphazard, and uncontrollable. Balance, perhaps thankfully, may be beyond our reach.

Here's to letting go of balance in the search for perfect serenity.

Photo by hickoree

Good Moms

2011-06-06T14:23:00.000-07:00

From London Momma's tumblr.

I'm so glad I found this. I saw it after walking across a sticky floor textured with hardened cereal crumbs and dried milk. Life with a toddler and a part-time stay-at-home-papa means that I've had to let certain things go. And those certain things have not been time with my family. They have been cleanliness and orderliness.

We are a mess.

Our temporary move-to-Ontario, get-a-new-job, have-too-much-on-the-go, and buy-a-new-house life is not a Martha Stewartian life. It is a chaotic, crumbs on the floor life. But a happy one.

And so, yes. I totally agree. Good moms have dirty floors, sticky ovens and happy kids. Because, as I'm learning, we have to choose what we neglect in life. And a rambunctious toddler is far cuter than a dirty oven.

happy weekend

2011-06-03T18:36:00.000-07:00

Here's some love from our life. Have a lovely summery weekend.

Get out of my head

2011-06-02T18:33:00.000-07:00

I came across this today when looking for images for my teaching slides. It's something from Beck in the song Missing. I'm curious how you would interpret this in your own life, dear reader.

Image by miss vu.

Diversity and Homogeneity

2011-05-25T09:39:00.000-07:00

For us, part of the incentive to move to Ontario was the allure of buying our Very Own House. A house where we wouldn't share walls, noises, smells and spaces with unknown and generally strange people.

We rarely minded our Vancouver neighbours. Fishbowl living can be great--you are seen as much as you see. You can watch a fairly random sample of people (people who you wouldn't otherwise meet) go through the motions of daily living.

While the best example was watching a family of 2 grow to a family of 4 (a family I never knew but for the size of the baby clothes hanging on the line outside), years of living beside a revolving door has its downside too. The year that two alcoholics moved across from us stands out as a year we heard a lot of fighting. That same year, a young family also moved next door as they struggled with employment, mental illness and custody. That year we learned that alcoholics and children are both loud when they scream for attention. That year we almost moved. The most trying year, however, was the one when we neighboured an elderly recovering heroine addict who relapsed and later died. No one knew he had passed until we smelled his body.

And we found that all this anger and sadness and tragedy can accumulate in a place, regardless of the other wonderful people around. Year after year, the grass gets a little greener on the other side. After 7 years of diverse neighbours, many in serious transition, we left behind an open, multicultural, gay neighbourhood for the lush lawns of the whitest, straightest place I've inhabited since kickin' it in rural Alberta. I guess we realized that the price of vibrancy and diversity was vibrancy and diversity. The good, bad and the ugly.

And so, in the end, what helped to sell us on our move out here was homogeneity and stability. When we were looking at the house we would later buy, the moment our elderly neighbour called herself 'new to the neighbourhood' because she'd moved there in 1988 were sold. We sold out.

So, as I shop around Kitchener for appliances and furniture and things to fill our Very Own House, I can't help but feel just like everyone else. And I can't help but question what I'll gain, but more importantly, what we'll lose.

But I haven't changed that much. I still hate strollers.

Photo by mogsterb.

Healthy Child

2011-05-18T06:37:00.000-07:00

A Wake-Up Story from Healthy Child Healthy World on Vimeo.

Here's a beautiful video for your Wednesday on the non-toxic home. It was inspired by a little one lost to cancer.

Enjoy.

Size Matters

2011-05-17T09:35:00.000-07:00

It's been almost five months since we moved to waterless Waterloo from the Wet Coast and we've only just bought our first home.

We are apartment dwellers. Snotty, uptight, high-density neighbourhood urbanites who are swimming in the sea of space out here in southwestern Ontario. In these past months, we've been renting a lovely if creaky old home near downtown Kitchener (and I'm happy to report that Waterloo's sister city is a bit of a dark horse). With a hundred year history, backyard, porch swing and the best neighbours that I've ever neighboured, this home is hard to beat.

The only downside, and for us it has been a gigantic, insurmountable downside, is that the place is Huge. Massive. Colossal. Compared to our 700 sq foot apartment, the 3 levels (not counting the basement), nooks, crannies, rooms, yard and immense pockets of air have all consumed us. Space everywhere. Enough space to get lost in most days. Too much space to clean. Too much space to maintain.

What we have here is a high quality problem.

And so, as we spent months searching all the central areas of both Kitchener and Waterloo for a home to own, we remembered what we want is a Small. What we need is Small. We remembered our minimalist roots. Where we can clean everything in 20 minutes and be out the door. Where we have only a handful of toys and they all live in one box. Where the kitchen is the heart of our home and the living room our nest.

But there was a catch. To live central we could only afford Big. Large. Three towering stories with a chance of old piping and knob and tube wiring. So, on a whim, one day we cast our net a little wider. Two kilometers was all it took.

We found it. Our home.

This June we will move into our 1100sq ft bunglow. Instead of walking the 10 minutes to work we will walk 30 minutes. Instead of walking to a grocery store, we will bike to the store. Instead of being near a favourite cafe or restaurant we will have a dozen 100 year old pine trees to visit.

We had to make a big trade-off for space. Less space. And happily, that was what we did. In the end, it turned out that our waterloo was not location but space. It only took looking for the wrong thing for us to find what we wanted all along.

How I Feel as a Mother

2011-05-05T09:56:00.000-07:00

I've seen this book popping up everywhere and it's exactly how I feel lately. Mama is tired, child. So tired. ;)

Via Cup of Jo and a million other places...

TEDxWaterloo and Vicki Keith

2011-04-16T08:00:00.001-07:00

I was lucky enough to attend TEDxWaterloo earlier this year. Of all the speakers (including Roberta Bondar and many other extrememly intelligent and innovative individuals), Vicki Keith was the most memorable. Watch and absorb her wisdom.

And here's to overcoming adversity and blowing everyone else out of the water. Enjoy.

The Internets

2011-04-15T07:49:00.000-07:00

Douglas Adams on the Internets (1999):

Everything that’s already in the world when you’re born is just normal;
Anything that gets invented between then and before you turn thirty is incredibly exciting and creative and with any luck you can make a career out of it;
Anything that gets invented after you’re thirty is against the natural order of things and the beginning of the end of civilisation as we know it until it’s been around for about ten years when it gradually turns out to be alright really.

Enjoy your weekend!

Photo from MorgueFile.com

Something to make your blood boil...or not

2011-04-13T11:04:00.000-07:00

Here's an ad from this weekend's London Free Press newspaper - it likens used cars to used women. (Hat tip to my MIL for pointing me to it).

Shocked?

Be sure to check out the supportive commentary on the Dale Wurfel dealership Facebook page. Turns out a few fans think it's a great ad and not the least bit sexual. Right...I mean, who doesn't love a used woman? Not too used though. Women are only good if they're a little bit used. Any signs of overuse or wear and tear should be a deal breaker. Or at least get you a discount. Unless you can afford better, that is...

Image via BS Free Marketing.