There Are No Ordinary Moments

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 07:45:00 +0000

PICTURES

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 06:22:00 +0000

It's been a while...so here's some pictures taken in the last week.

Marital Bliss
Hey! Why did you leave me inside?
He's walking!
Peekaboo!
Morning smiles
The Boy and his Papa
Reflective faces
Thoughtful faces
Sleeping angel
Sleeping in the rain
Funny faces
Kisses
So sad, don't leave me!

And the big news....Corwyn is walking!

25 THINGS

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 06:20:00 +0000

I've been tagged about 5 times for this 25 Things meme, and so I've caved and completed it. It's a sad excuse for a blog update, but it's all your getting for now. I'm not tagging anyone because I don't want to perpetuate the torture, but if you actually like these things, and haven't already been tagged by 27 people on facebook, have at 'er to your hearts content.

If I ever quit my job, the thing I will miss the most is the cafe down the hallway that makes my breakfast every day. When I walk in, everyone knows my name and says hello and when I place my order I just say "the usual" and they know what it is. This makes me happy
I like pop music
I wish I could dance better
My son is the coolest, awesomest, most fun person ever. I can't get enough of him. And he gets awesomer every day
When my husband I were dating, I didn't let him kiss me (even though he tried often) until after he proposed
If I'm cranky, 9 times out of 10, it's because I'm hungry
I love re-reading good books, and have read some of my favourites dozens of times (not exaggerating).
I want to star in a days-gone-by historic period film - preferably one set in the 1800s - because I want to wear fantastically awesome huge dresses and hats for extended periods of time
I'm outrageously incensed at Thyme Maternity for selling their client lists to Nestle so that pregnant women can be sent formula samples and glossy magazines touting the magical scientific wonders of their ~~shit~~ formula
I think placentas are really awesome
Although I loved my son dearly, for the first three months I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life
I believe abortion is wrong, but I am staunchly pro-choice
I forget to eat (see point 6 for repercussions)
I just culled my bloglines list - I'm down to 57 from 103. I think I save myself 20 minutes a day by not reading blogs I don't care about but that showed up in my reader anyways.
I am giving up Facebook for Lent. Depending on how that goes, I'm open to trashing it completely - or at least deleting most of my "friends" - I'm tired of being subjected to a news feed full of information that I don't care about
I love sewing and knitting
I'm learning how to knit Cowichan sweaters
I think American politics are much more interesting that Canadian politics
I really want to go to Russia and Poland
I have no problem breastfeeding in public because if someone says something to me about it, I know that I can charge them with harrasment as per my rights under the BC Charter of Rights & Freedoms
It's embarssing to admit, but I actually like the $1 hot dogs from Ikea
There are three non-functioning fire hydrants on our front lawn, we rescued them from the side of the road where they had been abandoned
I have begun collecting art images of mothers and babies with the intention of having them on the walls of my office/meeting space when my doula business is up and running
I want to be able to take really fantastic photos
Memes annoy me, and this is the first one I've ever done.

BYE BYE BOOB TUBE

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 19:32:00 +0000

I wrote this a while ago and then forgot to post it. I have breast-feeding mush brain.

Transcript of a recent telephone conversation I had:

"Hi. I'd like to cancel my cable TV subscription. "

"Alright ma'am. May I ask why?"

"Because all we do is watch TV, and we have become lazy and we hate it. We want to do cool stuff."

"Watching TV is pretty cool."

"It's not cool at all. We want to do way cooler stuff. We want to go outside. We want to make art, and friends. We don't want our baby watching CSI. We don't want to have cable anymore. It ruins our lives"

"Oh. Alright then. I understand. Did you want to cancel your internet as well?"

"OH MY GOD NO." *

Chris and I have been doing some examination of our life and have found that over the last few months we've turn into boob-tube watching boobies and we hate it. We would talk about watching less TV, but it just didn't happen. The TV controlled us, and we were unable to not turn it on if we knew there was a show on that we liked.

After much discussion, we decided that we had two options.

Get a PVR so that we could record the shows we liked and watch them when it was convenient for us and without commercials. With a PVR we could control our TV watching rather than molding our life around what night the next episode of CSI was on.
Cancel cable and stop watching TV entirely.

We almost bought the PVR. Then we realized that TV adds absolutely nothing good to our lives and it really made no sense to spend MORE money and get MORE channels to watch LESS television.

So, I called Shaw and they sent the man over to turn it off. We had a few nights of withdrawl where we wandered around bereft and talked about the shows we were "missing" and didn't know what to do with ourselves. But now that the shock of it has passed and we are so glad we unplugged the tube.

We listen to music and talk. Our house is cleaner. I've been reading books or sewing in the evenings. Chris spends more time playing with Corwyn. It's been lovely.

The TV Turnoff has been step one in an effort to make our lives more relational, more community focused, more creative and more loving.

*my guilty secret is that I can watch full episodes of Grey's Anatomy and The Office online on the CTV and Global websites, so that is the salve to the burn of the TV turn-off. But I watch them on my laptop, during the day, and I can't flip channels when they're over and watch something else, so it's all good.

WHITE CHRISTMAS

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 20:51:00 +0000

One clear, cold night we bundled up and adventured up the street 7 blocks to the Christmas Tree lot...We found a nice little Douglas Fir, complete with miniature cones on some of its branches, and it followed us home. As this was the first year we've had a tree, we didn't have any decorations, so I spent a few cozy hours making them - salt dough hearts, painted red, icicles made of buttons strung on wire, little gold stars cut from a piece of gold leather I've had for ages. The only items I didn't make were the tiny red glass berries wired to the branches. I picked three dozen of those up at Chintz & Co a few years back at their always fabulous Boxing Day sale. They set me back a whole $3. It's a frugal, but lovely tree. It makes me happy to look at it. Corwyn points at it and says "Wowww!" (Christmas Tree pictures by Libby - Thank you Libs)

We've had a massive dump of snow and some really cold weather (-14) all week, so the snow hasn't melted as it usually does here in temperate Vancity. Although the main roads are mostly clear, Chris needed to purchase chains in order to get out of our community, which is snowed in under about 50 cm of snow.

Corwyn hadn't seen snow before, and the first day he stood by the window for half an hour pointing and saying "Wowwww!" Half an hour is an extremely long time for him to stay in one spot. He loves being outside at the best of times, but the snow makes it even more exciting. Although getting bundled up is not his most favourite activity and he quickly learned how to remove his mitt with his teeth while I was putting on the second one.

It's so much fun to watch Corwyn have fun. He's so adventuresome and curious and interested in everything new. My baby grew into a toddler in the blink of an eye. I love this age he's at so much though - the joy, the giggles, the cute little things he does. Every day is better than the one before.

Well, we're all cozy for Christmas, and we hope you are too. Enjoy time with family and friends and make sure to spend lots of time cuddling - we sure will be!

WHERE'S THE SWEAT AND THE PLACENTA?

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 09:03:00 +0000

When I think about Christmas, I think about Mary. I actually think about her more than Jesus – which sounds rather heretical – but I have had my most profound and personal Christmas revelations while reflecting on Mary. The Mary I picture is not the one on your holiday card wearing a splendid blue head-covering with bright eyes and white robe glowing amongst pristine straw and a cheerful, silent, odor-free cow. The Mary I picture is young, humble and strong, having endured stares, whispers, judgment and embarrassment through her pregnancy. She is dirty from the dusty roads of Israel and she is tired from a long trip away from her family. The Mary I picture is, as the Bible succinctly states, “heavy with child”. Her joints ache and she is cranky because all pregnant women tend to get a bit cantankerous at the end of a pregnancy. I’ve never seen this Mary on a Christmas card. There’s no romance in this reality.

In the Catholic church I go to some Sundays, we say “Hail Mary full of Grace…” but I doubt if there was much grace to be found, bouncing on a donkey down a dusty, rocky road with your fiancé on your way to a town you may not have been to for a census that you probably don’t want to take part in. There is very little grace in the ninth month of pregnancy, with your ribs crushed, pelvis aching, limbs swollen and we all know that the ninth-month pregnant waddle is the antithesis of graceful.

Mary, on her way to Bethlehem is without her mother, sister, or best friend. She is traveling away from the village midwife and healing woman she’s known her whole life. She would know that this baby is coming any day, she would know she was going to give birth away from those she trusted and those who cared for her. In a culture where birth was a rite of passage to be walked through surrounded by those sister-friends closest to you, it must have been terrifying to travel further and further from this circle, knowing that you would labour and birth away from those you loved.

We see these pictures of Mary on cards, all glowing and pristine. We see her kneeling, fully dressed and prim and proper with a beautiful baby Jesus. I can’t reconcile these gilded images with what I know about birth. I’m a doula – I have been with women when they birth and I study birth and I have never, ever seen a woman look like this after giving birth.

Birthing is hard work. It is sweaty and loud and intense and physical. Birthing women sway and groan and chant and sing. Birthing women clutch their support people and puke and cry and laugh and shake. Birthing women sweat and sweat and sweat. Birthing is hard work.

I see Mary with her baby – a baby that is a little bloody, covered in vernix and has a cone head from being squeezed down – dare I say – her vagina - and he is screaming and hungry. And Mary, suddenly becoming a mother, has instincts that kick in and she gets naked and she puts him to her breast and she cries out “Oh! My baby! My baby! Look at my baby! Oh hello baby!” Her eyes glow and she is triumphant. She wears a halo of victory.

Someone paint me that picture.
That’s a Christmas card I could send out with conviction.

But even that picture isn’t enough. That picture isn’t the whole picture, that picture is still missing something.

Every Sunday School Christmas Pageant shows us Joseph, desperately trying to find a room in the inn. Certainly, this must have been a stressful situation for him. But once Mary got into active labour and Joseph heard his fiancé get into her labour groove, once he heard her start to vocalize with her labour pains and sway her hips, and close her eyes and go rock and moan - quite simply, Joseph would have shit his pants carpenter pants and went and found a woman. Guys didn’t do birth back then. There were no couple’s prenatal classes, no Bradley Method of Husband-Coached Childbirth. Birth was women’s work. Men waited outside.

If Joseph was desperate to find a room in an inn – imagine his panicked desperation to find a midwife to care for his labouring woman. I am just as sure that Mary did not peacefully lie in the straw without breaking a sweat during labour as I am that Joseph did not calmly deliver a baby by himself.

So, where are the midwives in the holiday card pictures?

As I mentioned, I visit a Catholic church and every Sunday, we say:

Hail Mary,
Full of Grace,
The Lord is with thee.

The word “midwife” simply means “With Woman”. Although it has medical connotations today, its meaning is not strictly medical. With Woman. It means I am here with you as you journey through the most challenging and triumphant event of your life. I won’t leave you alone. I will support you and encourage you and care for you and protect you. I am with you.

Hail Mary,
Full of Grace,
The Lord is with thee.

There were women who were with Mary. God’s presence, working through the hands of women. Grace in the labour space, God’s presence in the labour room. Midwives with Mary in her moment of triumph.

Hail Mary,
Full of Grace,
The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit
of thy womb, Jesus.

Christmas is a celebration of the birth of Jesus - but the actual birth gets overlooked. We say “blessed is the fruit of thy womb” but we don’t think about the womb.

When I celebrate the Christmas season, I think about the birth, I think about the womb. I think about the physicality and the power of birth. I think about the power of the midwives, bringing God’s grace into the stable. I think of the triumph of the woman Mary, bringing her baby into the world. There is victory in every birth – but what incredible victory Mary would have felt; knowing that she just birthed the Son of God. As I contemplate the humility of Jesus, God’s son, coming to us in the form of a baby, I am awed and amazed by the miraculous power of birth. A woman birthed Jesus. Messily, physically, intensely birthed.

It is this realness of the birth that enriches my connection with the realness of Jesus. It is the knowledge that the God that I love did what we all do – he was born. I love that in order for Him to come to us – He had to do so by way of a womb, by way of a woman. He did not come in a cloud, or on a boat, or just flash sterilely into existence on the planet. He was real. As I am real, as you are real. As you and I were born, he was born.

Sometimes, I feel that my faith becomes disconnected from reality. It seems complicated and ethereal. But when I picture Mary, triumphant after birth, with her son in a manger, I also see, as the old song says “a cradle in the shadow of a cross”. With this picture, my faith crystallizes – hard and solidly unshakable. I remember that His birth was real and raw and moving because life is real and raw and moving. With an understanding of the realness of His birth I am aware of the realness of His death, the realness of His sacrifice and the realness of His love for me. His sacrifice and His love have transformed my life. They have given me purpose and peace – and that is what Christmas is truly about – the love and sacrifice of a man who was born to us.

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
~ Isaiah 9:6

ADVENT

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Fri, 28 Nov 2008 09:01:00 +0000

Today, being the first day of Advent, inspires me to share a short film clip with you. I hope you take the 2.5 minutes to watch it and I hope it makes you stop and think for a moment, as I did.

Later this week, I'll be sharing a rather long post with you. It's a collection of my thoughts about Mary and what we are actually celebrating when we say we're celebrating the birth of Jesus. So stay tuned!

RANDOM PHOTOS FROM THE LAST FEW WEEKS

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 16:28:00 +0000

My friend Christina and I attended the Regional Assembly of Text's monthly letter writing party. It was very lovely. I wrote some nice letters, drank tea and ate a delicious scone. Oh Remington Typewriter, you are beautiful.

A gratuitous shot of my very adorable child looking extra cute in his present to his grandmother. (Now Ema can have Corwyn over to her house and feed him somewhere other than on the kitchen counter)

This is my Lamaze Teaching Skills Class. We spent three days learning how to teach prenatal classes. It was awesome and Corwyn was the class ~~distraction~~ mascot.

This is 7:45 am on civic election day. Corwyn is knocking on the locked door. We were the first to vote in our riding because I had to hurry out to New West to go to my Lamaze class.

It was way too early and we hadn't had coffee yet. Civic ballots are CRAZY, there are so many people and questions to vote for. My hand got tired colouring in all the little black dots. And our guy lost. We might have been the only people to vote for him, because the other guy really, really, really won, so maybe we should have gotten coffee instead. Anyways, we have three years to say "I didn't vote for him. Remember the other guy? You should have voted for the other guy." when the new mayor screws up.

Chris and I left Corwyn with my parents and went out for night on the town to celebrate my dear friend Libby's birthday. Then we all went and crashed another friend's party down on the The Drive. It was a good night. It was nice to drink red wine and hold hands with my hubby in a bar. But then we missed Corwyn and we went home, because.....

Oh my freaking goodness my child is so cute I want to eat him. Hand-knit caps made with love by Grannie only make the cuteness more overwhelming.

This is Corwyn at the open house for a very cool preschool that now has him on their enrolment waitlist. I know I also said "What the heck?" Preschools have wait lists? I had no idea. Fortunately I found out before it was too late. There were people wandering around wistuflly with their three-year-olds, realizing that they had missed the boat because there were pregnant women there, enrolling their unborn babes. Crazy. The place was magical though, so I understand. I want to go there and play with all their beautiful stuff. Corwyn loved it, and two more years, bub, and then you can go three mornings a week and it will only cost me my arm and leg - this one being cheaper than the really fantastically amazing ones at UBC that cost your firstborn child.

And that's about all for today. Lots of love from us to you!

PARENT'S CREED

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 17:48:00 +0000

I love thrift stores, and there is one close to my house that has a small, but always changing and always interesting selection of books. I usually find something great for less than two dollars. This week I found an old hymnal for sixty-nine cents, and upon reading it at home, I found that it has some really beautiful little prayers and creeds. This one stood out and Chris and I read it together last night as a prayer:

I believe that my children are a gift of God - the hope of a new tomorrow.
I believe that immeasurable possibilities lie slumbering in each son and daughter.
I believe that God has planned a perfect plan for their future, and that His love shall always surround them; and so
I believe that they shall grow up! - first creeping, then toddling, then standing, stretching skyward for a decade and a half-until they reach full stature-a man and a woman!
I believe that they can and will be molded and shaped between infancy and adulthood - as a tree is shaped by the gardener, and the clay vessel in the potter's hand, or the shoreline of the sea under the watery hand of the mighty waves; by home and church; by school and street; through sights and sounds and the touch of my hand on their hand and Christ's spirit on their heart. So,
I believe that they shall mature as only people can - through laughter and tears, through trial and error, byt reward and punishment, through affection and discipline, until they stretch their wings and leave their nest to fly!
O God - I believe in my children. Help me so to live that they always believe in me - and so in Thee. ~ Robert H Schuller

THE BIG SECRET

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 18:57:00 +0000

In the first few days after Corwyn was born, he would cry if you put him down. he needed to be held all the time. I remember trying to stay awake in the hospital, holding him, because the nurses would come into the room and enforce the hospital's strict "No Bed-Sharing" policy. When they would come in I would force my eyes open and tell them I'd just finished feeding him, or was about to, or some such lie so that I didn't have to put him in the bassinet and have him cry.

When we got home, we planned that Corwyn would sleep in the Arm's Reach Co-sleeper that we purchased before he was born. (pictured at right) The three-sided bassinet handily scooted up to the side of our bed and I could easily scoop Corwyn out when it was time to feed. We used it, and it was handy, but it was obvious to us that Corwyn preferred to sleep closer to us, and once I figured out the whole breastfeeding while lying down thing, baby pretty much stayed in our bed all the time for the convenience of barely having to wake up to feed him. Once he got semi-mobile he'd find my breast and latch on by himself. I'd wake up with a little mouth sucking me dry. It was beautiful.

Once he started crawling, the co-sleeper wasn't an option, as he could crawl out of it, and it wasn't safe. We tried putting him in it while it was on the lower setting, but he would always wake up an he hated it. So we scrapped that, and he was just sleeping with us.

But I felt guilty. People ask the question all the time "Does he sleep through the night?" (No.) "That must make you really tired, getting up that often" (It doesn't really. I don't really get up, he just gets some milk himself, we have a kiss and a cuddle and we go back to sleep) "Oh, he sleeps in your bed?" (Yes) Then one of two things happen: they don't say anything, which I insecurely interpret as disapproval or they make some comment along the lines of "You must want to break him of that habit".

My doula friends all co-sleep with their babies. They wear their babies in slings like we do, they breastfeed into the toddler years like I plan to. They are unapologetic and confident. But I don't see them that often, and the majority of families that I am surrounded by have babies that sleep in cribs in separate rooms, they carry their babies in car seats and only breastfeed for six or twelve months, if they breastfeed at all. This week, a woman I trust and admire made extremely negative comments about a woman she had observed breastfeeding her three-year-old in public. When I responded that this practice was in line with the World Health Organization's recommendations, she said "yes, that's for the world, breastfeed the starving Africans for that long, but we don't need to do that here." People laughed. I left.

I realized, as I left after that encounter, that my feelings about bed-sharing with my baby were a reflection of the attitudes of disapproval that I get from people that surround me. I actually like bed-sharing with my baby. My husband absolutely loves it. He doesn't like it when Corwyn is sleeping in the co-sleeper. he likes him to be between us, so that he can look at him and touch and him and sleep nose to nose with him. While I have the whole day of cuddles and connections with Corwyn, Chris gets significantly less time with his son, and at night Corwyn reaches for him and pats his shoulder and buries his head in Chris's chest. When Corwyn is sleeping, he will often throw his arms out so that he has a hand on each of us. These small acts of affection are priceless to Chris. Having Corwyn sleep in another bed would mean that he would miss out on these treasured moments of connection. Corwyn wakes up to breastfeed two or three times a night, and it is so, so easy for me to roll over, give him milk and a kiss and then roll back over to sleep. Bed-sharing works for us. It not only works, it is enjoyable.

So, the secret is out: we have a family bed. We love it. It works for us. We will not apologize for our choices. I will no longer gloss over this fact in order to avoid judgement from people who oppose it. I don't judge them for putting their baby to sleep in a crib in a separate room becaus this is what works for them. As families, we have to find what works for us and then do those things with confidence. We have chosen to have a Family Bed and we are choosing to be confident with that decision.

Our cat approves the Family Bed. (NOT a safe co-sleeping arraignment, but so cute I had to take a picture before shooing the cat away!)

RECENT ADVENTURES

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 07:27:00 +0000

We love the Autumn sunshine & leaf collecting

We love playing at Babyeats

We are unsure about climbing through tunnels

This is Corwyn at 4 am. He wanted to party. We finally went for a walk in the rain to help him go to sleep. Daddy did not want to party, as you can see below.

We love the Seabus

We had a pirate Halloween with the grandparents.

We like squash from the UBC farm

We like playing with Daddy

We like exploring outside

We like growing

We like listening to stories at book launches

SNIP SNIP SNIP

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 03:35:00 +0000

Time for a new look. 12 inches donated here.

MY SON, MY TEACHER

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 06:31:00 +0000

Before Corwyn was born, I was told by someone in my community that my son would be my teacher. This has proven to be very true and lately I have had several very profound experiences with my son. Corwyn makes friends everywhere he goes. Considering the fact that his name means "friend of the heart" this is not surprising.

We take transit frequently, and Corwyn attracts a lot of attention. Everyone likes babies. Babies bring smiles. Corwyn is quite generous in returning the smiles of these strangers, but I have observed that he shares his widest, most dazzling smiles for the individuals that the rest of society tends to work hard to avoid even eye contact with. When the grizzled binner reeking of stale alcohol, roll-your-own tobacco and musty dampness gets on the bus and everyone's eyes flit up and then dart awkwardly away, and the women pull their purses closer and shift uncomfortably in their seats when he sits near them, my son's face lights up and he smiles his widest smile and waves his arms in the air and babbles.

I take the bus down East Hastings every week and I see all sorts of salty people and while Corwyn will smile nicely at the old ladies who play peekaboo, he has a special affection that he will share only with the crustiest homeless man on the bus.

I am not making this up. It has happened too many times to be mere coincidence.

My husband worked for five years at the Swiss Chalet on West Broadway. When we walk in that neighbourhood now, he knows every pan handler and every binner by name. He is friends with the people who I have difficulty making eye contact with when I exit the drug store. I don't know what to say to them. They make me feel uncomfortable. My husband and my son just see people. I'm learning to see this too.

I had another appointment after my Mother's Unfolding group today, and I didn't take my usual bus home. When I got on a bus heading west, I asked if it stopped somewhere I could catch the Fraser bus. The very helpful driver informed me that yes, this would not be a problem and he'd tell me where to get off. He did too. And deposited me squarely amidst the colourful tide of humanity on Vancouver's most notorious street corner - Main and Hastings.

I crossed the street to the bus stop, which is right in front of Carnagie Centre which overflows with all the types of people you would not typically want anywhere near your baby. The air is thick with the smell of urine, unwashed bodies and marijuana. I look down and wonder how long it will be before the bus comes. 15 seconds passes and I hear "FRANK! Look at the BABY!!!" I look around, just in case it isn't about my baby. It is.

An obviously high woman stands in front of the stroller. She is resplendent in neon pink track suit jacket and a bleached blond mullet. She is waving a hair brush and has a bag over her shoulder which is overflowing with various clothing and personal items. A bra strap trails down the side. Her lipstick matches her track suit. Let's call her Angela.

Corwyn pulls out his best grin. He waves his little jingle bells and laughs. She starts playing peekaboo with him. He starts shrieking with laughter. Frank asks how old Corwyn is and if he's crawling yet. He tells me a really horrifying story of his friend's kid that almost (but didn't) fall off a balcony. "Do you have a balcony?" He's glad that I don't. Angela suddenly starts yelling at the people beside us. "DON'T SWEAR IN FRONT OF THE BABY!" She lectures them about their inappropriate language. I am impressed that someone can talk so fast and still be understood. She never stops moving. The swearers apologize and move on.

Angela seemed to decide that she was going to stick around as long as I was waiting for the bus and began maintaining a perimeter of space around me and the stroller. She did this very subtly, gently moving people with a wave of her arm, or placing herself in their path so they would walk around us. She never stopped smiling and interacting with Corwyn. Corwyn put on his best show. He smiled, he laughed, he blew bubbles and chattered away at her.

While peekabooing with Corwyn, she told me about her four sons. The oldest one she had when she was 15. She doesn't have custody of any of them. But they are in a good home. She tells me about their foster parents. And then she suddenly ran away. By this time, I expected anything from her, but I was sad she didn't say goodbye. A minute later, she reappeared as quickly as she had disappeared. She had made a group of crack smokers re-locate down the block. "They can't do that in front of the baby" she explained. "You have to protect your son from stuff like that. I don't have my sons. You're lucky to have your son." She brandished her hairbrush. "You gotta make sure he doesn't see stuff like that."

Angela continued to chat with Corwyn and keep anyone from bumping into us, and Frank kept telling me stories. Then my bus came and Angela made sure I boarded first and told me to take care and before I could ask her name or say goodbye she was gone. I pulled Corwyn out of the stroller and we looked out the window so we could wave at Angela when we passed her. As we drove away, we saw her.

She was squatting down with the group she'd made move down the block and away from Corwyn and she still had her hairbrush in one hand. In the other hand she was holding a crack pipe. The bus braked and Corwyn and I watched as she put the pipe to her lips and leaned toward her friend with the lighter.

Today, a drug addict whose name I don't know made me feel comfortable in a place that was far outside my comfort zone. She made my son laugh and told me her heartbreaking story in a matter of a few minutes. As we stood at the bus stop, she was the giver and I was the recipient. This is humbling. I have a house and job and support and comforts and she was the one taking care of me and my son. All because my baby makes dazzling eye contact with people that society lables "less fortunate."

Corwyn helps me see people not labels. I want my son to treat people of all shapes, sizes, economics, orientations and colours with respect and dignity. He's teaching me this today, so I can model it to him later. I gave him a name that means "friend of the heart" I love that even now, at 8 months, he can look past the grime of addiction and poverty and see a heart , a beautiful heart, and that makes him smile. I want to be just like him.

My son, my teacher.

Angela, wherever you are tonight, I hope you are warm and safe. And I hope that I see you again, so that I can thank you and learn your name.

VAGINAS YESTERDAY, BOOBIES TODAY

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 16:36:00 +0000

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

I really like this campaign's encouragement to "get in touch with what is normal for your body". I think that we often do not take the time to get to know our bodies and we let them remain a mystery. Having a good knowledge of what your breasts feel like, or how many days your cycle lasts for are important pieces of your life. Make sure you don't forget about them.

Highly recommended reading for EVERY woman: Taking Charge of Your Fertility by Toni Weschler. While the tagline may promote the book as a reading for women wanting to achieve or avoid pregnancy, this book gave me such a new and through understanding of my body and how it works that I think it should mandatory reading for every woman. Go! Get it out of the library and read it today! You'll be glad you did.

AT YOUR CERVIX

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 23:19:00 +0000

Because you know I love making my friends watch movies with vaginas in them (although usually there's a baby coming out of the vagina) here's the trailer for the next film I'm going to drag you to. Hey! Don't make that face, because you're going to love it.

MOTHER MOMENTS

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 17:36:00 +0000

sleeping babe
nipple searching
mouth open closed open closed
neck craning
for mother's milk
I smile at my little bird
as he sighs with complete contentedness
and milk runs down his chin

*****

my lips pressed to burning forehead
fevered body lies hot and tired in my arms
this temperature feels right to me
although it is 102 and rising
he is always so ALIVE
I expect him to burst into flame
and fade to ashes
too good to be true

*****

blink
and I disappear
from his universe and he cries
cries utter desolation and abandonment
mother has left me
I return from the kitchen
to see tears pouring and eyes full of despair
it was only 12 seconds
I could never leave this one
to "cry it out"
his love for me is
too overwhelming

LOVING LIFE AS A MAMA

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 02:31:00 +0000

I've joined a mother's group called "Mother's Unfolding". We met for the first time yesterday. We meet in the sunny foyer of a midwifery clinic, and sit on cushions in a circle on the floor with our babies on our laps and we talk about real things. As we listen to each other talk, we realize we are not alone. We realize we are not the only mothers to have those thoughts, those fears, those struggles, those tears. We share openly because although we are incredibly diverse, we are all on the same page. We are each walking the labyrinth of new motherhood and so we share with a realness that I am certain will forge friendships that will last a lifetime.

We talked about the things that surprised us about motherhood. I've been surprised by the way motherhood changes every single aspect of your life. There isn't one area that is unaffected. Everyone with children told me this, but some how it translated in my head into "almost everything, but a few things will probably stay the same." Those people that said "everything" meant "everything" and they were right.

I was also surprised by an identity crisis. Because of the totality of change that a baby causes, who I was before baby has been completely shattered, and I've been picking up the pieces and trying to put them back together again, but I'm a different shape than I was before, so they don't fit the same way, and it's been a struggle. I had the same type of identity re-working when I became a wife, except at that point in my life, I had the time to sit on the grass for hours, sip a Starbucks, and ruminate and journal and work it all out. That is a luxury I no longer have, and so the re-working of who I am has been much more difficult, much slower, and significantly more painful.

In my mother's group, we were asked to write a birth announcement...for ourselves, for our birth as a mother. It is common to publicly recognize the birth of our babies by sending out pictures of our babies with the "important" info, time of birth, weight and length, but culturally, we don't recognize that with the birth of the baby, there is also the birth of a mother. Initially, I approached the writing of my mother-birth announcement flippantly, and wrote a funny little jingle, but I've realized that this has potential to be a profound excersie for me, so I scrapped my first draft and will be going back to the drawing board to write my truly important information, to announce to the world my birth of a mother, to summarize the essence of this new woman that I am and am becoming.

Part of my process of finding me again, of finding peace amidst the chaos of this new life I have has been a concerted effort to carve out time to do the things I love. I've almost finished getting my art room organized and functional and I've been doing a lot of reading, somehow, in bits and bites and late at night. I've read a couple of fantastic novels: Peace Like A River by Leif Enger. (read a great review here) and Babycatcher: Chronicals of a Modern Midwife by Peggy Vincent. I've also been reading some fantastic non-fiction: The Creative Family: How to Encourage Imagination and Nurture Family Connections by Amanda Blake Soule. Chris and I are reading a really fantastic (as in if you have kids go out and buy it today it's so good) parenting book called Connection Parenting by Pam Leo.

I currently have a terrible cold, and Chris has taken Corwyn for the evening, leaving me with a bowl of chicken soup and some quiet time to myself. I should nap, but the chance to blog un-interrupted is rare, so I have capitalized. I'm off to make some tea and take some vitamin C.

SUMMER SUMMARY

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 02:16:00 +0000

In no particular order...here is a whole bunch of pictures from our summer adventures.

We went swimming and he loved being in the water. He actually liked being out of his floaty better than being in it, but I was pretty afraid of drowning him, so most of the time he was in the floaty.

We went to Camp Artaban, where Corwyn became the coolest accessory around, and everybody wanted to wear him.

Even the boys!

We climbed a mountain. (A small one, but with Corwyn on my back in the Babyhawk, it felt like Everest)

This is Corwyn's first introduction to solid foods. More went onto his face, than into, but this is typical of the first try. That is pureed organic brown rice smeared all over him. He eats lots of food now, but if given the choice will still take Mama's milk over anything, even banana (his favorite food so far)

I got to see Dr. Harvey Karp do his thing, in real life at the DONA conference. He is so cool.

I also go to meet Suzanne Arms at the same conference. She's the sweetest lady ever, which sort of surprised me, after reading "Immaculate Deception" I thought she'd be a little more militant and...taller. Before she let me have this picture taken, she stood on her tippy tippy toes and made me bend at the knees.

Corwyn made friends with the neighbour baby and we exploited their cuteness.

Corwyn spent lots of time in the Hawk with Daddy.

Look what's growing at our house!

Corwyn went skimboarding for the very first time. He wasn't very impressed.

We loved the beach.

And the sunshine.

We were Lactivists at H&M.

I made delicious jam.

We foisted ourselves upon the Fiest concert via paddle boat.

This is Bethany giving me the stink eye for taking her picture. Beautiful Bethany and her baby girl moved in with us in July. Corwyn loves having a little friend to play with. He gives Ava lots of kisses. Lots and lots of kisses. She doesn't mind.

Corwyn loves Lola.

We took Corwyn to his first ever concert...George Canyon. It was outdoors, pouring rain and Corwyn fell asleep, snug as a bug in his stroller.

Corwyn Loves Ema.

We were good parents and helped Corwyn learn to drink from a sippy cup.

We were bad parents and got the camera before removing the contraband, which shouldn't have been in his reach in the first place.

We visited the great-grandparents.

Corwyn and Ava went on many adventures. They let Bethany and I come along. We had to chaperone. All those kisses could get them into trouble.

Corwyn loves Gran!

Chris fell in love with fish. Living on the Reserve gave us a steady salmon hook-up and so we had a lot of fish this summer. And lots of fish guts in our front yard. And lots of flies on the fish guts. I didn't take pictures of those though. You don't want to see them.

Chris learned to gut fish. One night he cleaned 80 fish for the neighbour. That's a lot of fish guts.

Yuck. But Chris loves it. He really, really does.

We had a lot of barbecues. Mostly salmon, but sometimes other stuff too, as seen in this picture. I should note that we have a freezer full of salmon, so we'll be barbecuing salmon all year long. Yummers!

Corwyn went to the fireworks and loved them. (This is us at the beach before it got dark) Corwyn also loves the beach. And Corwyn's mama guiltily loves hot dogs.

Corwyn learned to crawl. The next day he learned how to pull himself up on furniture. I do a lot of chasing and gently removing Corwyn, or items out of harm's way. I am busy.

As you can see, we've had a really fun summer. The greatest part of the summer however, was how cute, and magical and marvelously wonderful Corwyn is.

Corwyn is a gift, a joy and a blessing. We love him with all our hearts. Every day is an adventure with him, and we are loving every single minute of life with him.

BEST OF?

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 00:28:00 +0000

I posted an ad on Craigslist last week. I knew it was funny...but I didn't expect over 50 emails from strangers telling me how funny it was. So maybe you'd like to read it too. And if you do, perhaps you'd like to flag it for "Best of Craigslist" if you think it's worthy.

Check it out here.

LIFE IS

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 22:05:00 +0000

Life is full. Full to overflowing.

The easy excuse for my silence here is that I've been busy being a mom to a very amazing baby boy. However, I've always been honest here, so giving only part of the nitty gritty truth feels wrong, so here goes.

About two months ago I crashed into a very dark place and it's taken me a while to get out of it. I had been sliding down a slippery slope for a while, but managing to hold my own, but in July a series of unrelated events sort of pushed me over the edge and I'm only just getting my feet back under me.

Joy, summed it up nicely the other day by saying: "Is it depression, or just life sucking right now?" My conclusion (and Joy's as well) is that it doesn't really matter which is/was because in either case it's really horrible to be there and you need help getting out.

Asking for help, is well, not exactly something I'm good at when it comes to my personal life. So I just truck along miserably, telling everyone that I am fine.

When things were darkest for us, we met with our friends Greg & Debbie. They have four children, they pastor a church, they have several students living with them and a revolving door of guests. They are experienced in a life that is overwhelming. Chris and I realized, with the help of these wise people, that our expectations for life were stuck in pre-Corwyn. I was expecting to do all the things I did before Corwyn, at the same pace, at the same level of intensity. Chris was expecting our house to have the same - or better, because I am home all the time - level of orderliness. We expected our marriage to function the same way. We expected things to be very different than they were.

I did not expect to have a major identity crisis, to have my faith shaken, to have hopelessness overwhelm me like a tsunami. Chris did not expect to come home to an emotional, angry wife and a disastrous house.

I'm learning, together with Chris, how to find peace amidst the chaos. I'm learning to try to do everything I need to do, but when I don't get to everything, I am choosing to say "good is good enough" and not run myself to the bone or be burdened with guilt for the things left undone.

With our off-kilter paradigm of life, it was difficult to enjoy the space we were in. We were missing out on the joy our son brings to us every day as he learns and grows and discovers and loves. He is a beautiful gift.

So, I am on the up and up. There is sunshine in my days again. I am no longer hopeless. When you have hope, you can have faith, and with faith, life is good. So, that's the down and dirty. I'm back, you'll find me here more regularly. And I'll post pictures of my boy who is the cutest baby ever.

I REMEMBER BY GRIFFIN HOUSE

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 01:03:00 +0000

GUEST BLOG

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 21:50:00 +0000

My friend Anneli, posted a brilliant piece on her blog, Off The Coast of Kansas, the other day, and with her permission I'm re-posting it here. I hope it resounds with you as much as it did with me. Enjoy!

Recently I finished a Pulitzer Prize winning novel, Unless, by Canadian author Carol Shields.

The book is written in a first person narrative, a story told by Reta (Ree-tah) Winters. She is a mother to three nearly grown daughters, life-partner of Tom Winters, translator for a French feminist, and writer of a few comic light novels. And while Reta has a good life it starts to fall apart when her oldest daughter Norah drops out of school and turns up on a Toronto street corner, begging, and wearing a cardboard sign around her neck with GOODNESS written across it. Reta is trying to figure out what happened to her daughter, what should she do, and how to cope with life when it begins to fall back into the pre-Norah-disaster-routine.

Shields is an insightful writer. Being a native Brit, she is considered one of the top ten female English writers of all time. Guess who else in on that list? Yup, Jane Austen herself. One reviewer describes how Shields believes writing can be a redemptive force, and she is most concerned with writing in a way that can be redemptive to women.

Reading this book left me much to mull over. I don't want to spoil the story, but I need to give a brief overview in order to frame the thoughts that will follow. A key character in the story is Danielle Westerman, a (fictional) titan among the significant French feminists. Dr. Westerman believes that women at some point in their lives realize that they are truly powerless in a male dominated society and either deal with it or disintegrate. She believes that Norah has realized her powerlessness and has fallen into despair. Reta wonders if this is true, and it is a genuine fear she has for her other two teenage daughters. But why does Norah's sign say GOODNESS?

Reta decides to write a new novel, another beach read, and while her editor loves the goodness found in her lead female character he tells her that it is her lead male character that the book should revolve around. The editor wants the book rewritten. The editor says goodness is not enough, that the strong male on a strong search for identity is much more compelling to the market he wants to target. Tom, Norah's father, is the one who eventually discovers that a catastrophic event is what sent his daughter to a street corner. And I won't give that away, but it has nothing to do with powerlessness in a male dominated society.

But it has everything to do with evil, with tragedy, with - sin.

I have read many books about feminism, social structures, a bit of feminist theology, and will be reading more this summer. And while I freely admit that anger grants us incredible power, it can lead to destructive actions. I am wary of any worldview, any theology, any mission sourced in, above all, anger - therefore I am wary of angry feminism because I have dabbled in it myself.

Part of the phenomenal success of the show "Sex in the City" is that the lead female characters behaved just like a stereotypical cave-man males: having promiscuous sex, no desire to commit, totally self-centered, living like a career is more important than relationships or family - etc. A recent issue of Maclean's has the excellent article that catalyzed some of these thoughts (The Curse of Sex in the City). To even out the playing field women started acting like men. How - misogynistic Lindsey Lohan is quoted in the article saying that watching "Sex in the City" totally shaped how she views sex because the characters had sex with "whoever". And the whole terrible backlash of women-behaving-like-men-behaving-badly has backfired on women. Earlier this year I was reading Wendy Shalit's A Return to Modesty who writes that violence against women has not decreased at all with women declaring the right to essentially be a man, and are still entrenched in cycles of abuse, denigration and - wait for it - misogyny. Somebody needs to help poor Lindsey Lohan. And Brittney Spears. And...

Am I thankful for those early 1920's feminists, and even their 1960's sisters? Yes I am. I am very glad to be a woman in 2008 rather than in 1808, even though we sentimentalize the past because we grew up with the lovely novels of Montgomery, Alcott and Carol Ryrie Brink. However, liberation found in a false source isn't true liberation. I hate that women think the way to be a woman is to be a man. I hate that women think modesty, in spirit and apparel, is weak. I hate that there are women who can only make a living by selling their bodies. I hate that women think that marriage, family, and childbirth are a form of slavery and disgusting.

Women who believe these things are blind to the GOODNESS of being a woman.

Christianity is a strange faith, a strange worldview/religion because it speaks of weakness. Jesus is a strange savior. He allowed himself to be crucified, to suffer, to be humiliated, to die. And yet his suffering and death is exactly what raises him to a position of authority and honor in heaven. In Revelation we read that Jesus, pictured as a lamb, is the only one found worthy to judge and to open the book of life. Somehow his humility makes him powerful. Somehow his diminished glory (Philippines 2) reveals his love and his goodness. Jesus doesn't seize power, he gives it up. Jesus does not become a new Caesar, he embodies a suffering servant who washes feet and heals the wounds of his attackers.

How bizarre. And captivating. And good.

Of course this does not mean we condone injustice or abuse. But it does challenge a culture that says if you have been at a disadvantage you run to The State and demand equality. The State can not restore what has been broken by sin.

As Christians, as citizens, as men and women, as Americans, Canadians, Chinese - how do we model the servant nature of Christ and yet advocate for justice and truth? Perhaps one of the first things we do is speak of Goodness and Hope; to remember that it is Christ and not a government that can restore what has been robbed from us, and to never ever build our beliefs solely out of anger...no matter how much of a right to that anger we have.

THIS IS BLISS

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 07:47:00 +0000

I sat in my living room today and surveyed the mess. I was holding my son, and he was sleeping with his head burrowed into my arm-pit and his hand was resting on my chest. I could have put him down in his crib so I could do my chores, but I loved holding him so much in that moment, that I couldn't bear to do it.

So I held him for his entire nap, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I am very aware of how short this baby time is. I already feel it flying by. Corwyn is growing and learning so fast. In ten years, I won't remember the messy living room, but I will remember the times spent cuddling my son when he was small enough to sleep in my arms.

I seriously have the greatest job in the world. There are occupational hazards however. We have Thrush. Again. Shit. (Sorry for the language Mom.)

IN THE GARDEN

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 17:54:00 +0000

On Sunday, we skipped church and spent some time getting our hands dirty in God's good earth. We planted peas, carrots, pumkins, squash, cucumbers and many sunflowers. We'll be planting lettuce, tomatoes and other veggies from seedlings. It was a glorious day.

My husband has a passion for finding free stuff. His obsession has mainly focused on firewood, but recently, as we've been gardening, it's also been directed towards good dirt. He scored on Monday, and I woke up to see this:

That, folks, is what 10 yards of dirt looks like in a dump truck. So, if you need a little dirt for your garden, we can help you out. Alternately, if you'd like a dump truck to deliver a full load of dirt to your own driveway, let me know. We now have the hook up.

LOVELY THINGS

noreply@blogger.com (MamaVee) — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 05:07:00 +0000

Very first shoulder rides:

Spending time with Great-Grampie:

Boys in plaid:

Happy faces in the sunshine: