all its glory

the simple life

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 08:02:00 +0000

The last several years I have been actively working towards simplifying my life. This process has mostly involved trying to break free from the commercialized, materialistic culture of excess that I find myself immersed in. It is a difficult thing to do, especially when I am bombarded daily by advertisements and marketing slogans trying to sell me happiness in the form of new boots, a new phone or a new toy for my son. It helps to read books such as the one that I am currently reading, Voluntary Simplicity by Duane Elgin, books that point the way towards what really matters in life, things such as family, friends, fresh air and free time.

Reading this book has also made me more aware of the way I spend not only my money, but also my time. I have long been aware of the time-suckage factor of the internet, and in the past I have taken many little mindful mini-breaks from my computer.

It is time for another one. Although this one isn't going to be very mini.

I am putting my blog on hold for an undetermined amount of time. Blogging has been a very enjoyable and enlightening activity for me, but it is time to make room for different activities. I haven't decided whether or not I will ever return to blogging, but for now thanks for reading.

Peace and love,
Candice.

autumn splendour

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 03:56:00 +0000

The last month has been too splendourific for words.

clear skies

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Wed, 06 Oct 2010 06:57:00 +0000

Like the gorgeous, sunny, fall days of late is my current attitude to Bunny's issues at preschool: crisp and clear.

The problem, of course, was not with him, but with my expectations of him. He is who he is and he is completely perfect at being him. May I never forget this simple truth.

School has already started to get better. The teachers need to work with him a lot, and I already got the compassionate but firm warning to stop over-praising him. It seems he doesn't like to work alone and needs constant approval and attention from his teachers, signs of someone who has constantly been told Good Job! for every little thing he did. Even though I was aware of my tendency to over-praise and aware of the consequences of doing it, I still did it, both Gateau and I did. I do not want to raise a child who needs to seek approval and validation from sources outside of himself. Thank goodness I have been practicing mindfulness meditation; it is hard to stop those conditioned words from exiting my lips.

So grateful for the Bunny's teachers for their help and advice.

* * * *

Speaking of gratefulness, Thanksgiving is next week. I spent Monday making turkey finger puppets for Bunny, his cousin and his friend.

Several months ago I bought myself a pile of different coloured felt and some sewing essentials. I have taught myself some basic hand stitches from internet tutorials and found some awesome patterns on-line.

As I was sewing the little gobblers together, Bunny sat at his table threading beads onto a shoestring. And the moment was perfect, like all moments are.

troubles and troubled

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 22:15:00 +0000

Last Monday we received a call from Bunny's school.

You need to come pick him up, he is not doing well.

Every day over the last week I have had to listen to Bunny's teacher explain to me how "rough" he is being with the other kids in his class. He has been hitting, grabbing, scratching, pushing, biting and throwing things at other children. Even though the teachers work hard at treating everyone fairly, I can see he has already been labeled the disruptive one, the trouble-maker, the bully.

At my talk today with the head teacher, she asked to schedule a parent-teacher conference. There has also been talk about bringing a nurse in to observe him. She feels that his behaviour is making the school environment unsafe for the other children. How bad is it, I asked. Are we going to have to pull him out?

It is not completely hopeless, she responded. Yet.

* * * *

This has been going on for some time now, Bunny's violent streak. I have been explaining it away:

He is just tired.
He is just overstimulated.
He is just two.
He is just a boy.
This will pass.

The fact of the matter is, I can't take him anywhere without him attacking other children. I am constantly having to intervene to stop him from running into kids, grabbing their toys, pushing swings at them, hitting them, biting them, grabbing them, pushing them, etc...

For a while, around February/March/April, I stopped taking him to playgroups or playgrounds. I kept him away from other children and kept him close. That seemed to help his behaviour, but I was starting to go stir crazy. I need a social life and human contact, too. I thought things had gotten better with him, and I was in desperate need of other sources of amusement, and so we returned to the world of playgroups, playgrounds and play dates.

Then summer happened, and Gateau started working 10-12 hour days, dealing with an extremely negative upper management situation, and lots of new responsibility. He was barely around, and when he was, he was stressed out and worried about work. And always, there was the constant visits to the hospital, the eye drops and anaesthetics. Bunny's behaviour was becoming more and more unmanageable. He was constantly acting out at home and with other kids. He would yell at us and hit us and kick us. I was alone with him most of the time, so I got the worst of it. I was an exhausted wreck, struggling so hard to stay positive and have fun with him, physically present, but emotionally distant. I found myself emotionally detaching from him more and more; I didn't want to be with him, I didn't know how to handle all of this emotional turmoil, so I withdrew. I am pretty sure Bunny could feel my growing frustration and irritation, my helplessness in the face of his tantrums.

Because we have never hit him or physically punished him, we are still confused as to why he is so violent. But I am starting to suspect that my own fear of his outbursts and my inability to deal with them appropriately have caused much of this escalation.

I can explain it away no longer. Something needs to be done.

* * * *

I look back and I can see that a lot of this behaviour started right around the time he was diagnosed with Coats' and started going to the hospital regularly. As this was also the period when toddlers are wont to show exasperating behaviour, I didn't really connect the two. But I think there is something deeper going on than just toddlerhood.

Bunny is hurting. He is scared and angry and sad and I don't know what else and he is taking it out on everyone around him.

I am grateful for the school and the teachers for helping to point out this troublesome behaviour and for their willingness to work with us to make it better. But I am worried. Really worried.

* * * *

Before his nap today I tried to speak with him about the day.

Bunny, what did you do at school today?

I made some kids cry, he replied quietly.

Oh, I respond gently, what did you do?

This! He reaches out and hits me in the face, grabbing my nose.

Bunny, do you know it hurts when you do that?

Yeah, I like it.

You like hurting other people? I ask, shocked.

Yeah, he says. It's a fun game.

Then he rolls over and I am at a loss for words.

He is sleeping quietly and peacefully now and I am so very scared.

God

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 04:54:00 +0000

Several months ago I started studying and practicing Kundalini Yoga. I found it very enjoyable, even though the physical practice is quite difficult and challenging compared to most other styles of yoga that I have done. I also found one aspect of it quite disconcerting: there was a lot of talk about God.

To me, raised in a culture permeated with Judeo-Christian monotheism, when I hear people talk about God, I picture that bearded, gray-haired, old dude sitting in the sky by his pearly gates passing judgment on everyone. I decided long ago that I was pretty sure that guy didn't exist, and that if there was some sort of Divine power, he wasn't it. And although I know the true meaning of Yoga is union, specifically union with the Divine, I was rather perplexed to be hearing about and reading about God in regards to my yoga practice.

After looking more deeply into this, I realized that the God these Kundalini practitioners were talking about and the God I was thinking of were not at all the same thing. God according to Kundalini Yoga is the divine spirit, or supreme consciousness, that can be found within all of us, and within all of creation. Yoga, in its purest form, is the joining or linking of your soul back to God, or back to the non-dual, divine oneness. God-realization in Kundalini Yoga is similar to enlightenment in Buddhism in that you must experience it for yourself. Both states transcend all words and all mental concepts, and so are very difficult to talk and write about.

In essence, I learned that I could use the word God in a completely different way than I had previously understood it. I can now say that I believe in God, even though I have vehemently denied the existence of God for most of my life.

It's all semantics, really.

* * * *

This summer I started a program of self-study: I am going to read the Great Books of the Western Canon (and a few of the Eastern Classics as well).

I have started a blog to chronicle this journey and will post a link to it here soon. So far I have read Gilgamesh and most of The Egyptian Book of the Dead : The Book of Coming Forth by Day. In the translation of The Egyptian Book of the Dead that I am reading, Dr. Muata A. Ashby outlines three stages of religion: myth, ritual and mystical experience. He argues that the ancient Egyptians understood their myths as just that: stories and parables. He states that they used rituals based on these myths to experience what is (or should be) the true goal of all religions: mystical experience (or a personal experience and understanding of the Divine nature of all creation).

Dr. Ashby believes that people personify God out of ignorance, because they haven't experienced their own true nature as one with God, because they haven't experienced Yoga, the union of their souls with the Divine.

* * * *

So what's with all this theological musing?

After realizing that God could be understood in a completely different way, I have decided to start going to church.

Weird, yes. For me it is really, really strange. I have been going to St. Andrew's-Wesley Church on Sundays for a month now. Being there involves a whole lot of mental gymnastics as I hear talk and preaching about God and try to fit it into my own personal understanding of the concept.

I chose this particular church because I met a few of the congregation through their Parent-Tot program. It is an extremely progressive and inclusive church and the building itself is beautiful and spacious. Currently they are doing an Exploration of World Religions where they invite people from different faiths to the church for lectures, music and more. Last week for the sermon on Hinduism I sat in the pews and chanted OM with 200-300 other people while listening to a woman play the sitar. Today it was bells, Buddhism and mindfulness. In addition to bible study, they also offer regular Kundalini Yoga classes and Buddhist meditation sittings. Seems like an okay place to hang out.

Bunny is attending the Sunday School and learning the stories of Christianity: the mythologies and parables surrounding Jesus. Whether or not he decides to become a Christian will be up to him.

I will also be introducing him to Buddhism, Taoism, Yoga, Vedantic Philosophy and loads of other spiritual teachings. The important thing is that he grows up knowledgable and comfortable with religious mythology and ritual so he can eventually develop his own personal relationship with God, or the Divine Spirit, or the Transcendental Self or the True Nature of Reality or whatever else you want to call it.

Weird, yes. But I am keeping an open mind and heart.

snippets

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Mon, 13 Sep 2010 21:49:00 +0000

I hear echoes of myself in Bunny's language. Phrases I use, my tone of voice and my choice of words are all being absorbed in Bunny's mind, being sopped up like a sponge, collected there, stored for later use.

He enters the living room, sees his cars arranged in a unique formation. Very interesting, he states.

He sits at a table playing play dough with other children. The girl beside him asks if she can have some of his. Of course, he responds.

We are at the park on a cloudless day. The moon is visible. There's the moon! he points. It's sooooo beautiful.

He stands in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom. He is tired and cranky. Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT! he yells at himself, practicing and parroting.

My words, all of them, being reflected back at the world through my son.

* * * *

Then there are the grammatical errors.

Standing on a table, arms outstretched, pleading to his daddy, Jump me down!

Scratching his arm. I have an atch.
An itch? I correct.
Nope, he replies. An atch.

Smiling at me, I can't remember where we are or what we are doing, but the phrase is unforgettable. I am lots of happy!

Me too, my sweet little boy.

* * * *

Toons for Toddlers. Sitting in the Rio Theatre on Broadway, children everywhere, a hush descends as the red curtain opens and the lights go down. I look beside me and my son is sitting on my husband's lap, munching on a bag of popcorn, a huge smile on his face, transfixed as Thomas appears.

Thomas and Friends Misty Island Rescue: Bunny's first cinematic experience. I have not taken him to any concerts or shows up until now. Bunny is not a natural spectator. He does not like to sit still. He is a doer, a participator, an actor, and I encourage this. Too many people are unable to create their own entertainment (here we are now entertain us); too many people are passive viewers.

Bunny has a long life ahead of him, lots of time to passively absorb someone else's vision. Yet, I am thrilled to see him watching this movie, engaging with it. Days later, he is still talking about it. He remembers certain parts vividly, others seem to be already forgotten.

As cautious as I am about pop culture, and despite the fact that I regard most television programs and Hollywood films as garbage, or worse, I concede that the television and film mediums have the ability to affect our emotions in a completely different way than print is able to. The combination of movement, sights and sounds can be magic. In fact, some of the most important life lessons I have learned came from films or television.

I look forward to taking Bunny to more movies.

* * * *

This morning I dropped Bunny off at preschool. Today was harder than any day last week. He wanted to take one of his cars with him, but the school doesn't allow outside toys. He kicked and screamed, but finally I was able to get him downstairs, tears still in his eyes.

He walked through the door of his school nonchalantly. I walked away.

Just as I was about to step past the window, I peeked.

There he was. Standing alone in the middle of the room, gazing wistfully at me. He raised his hand in a wave and I could see the words form on his lips as he broke, once again, into tears:

mommy, mommy, mommy...

I waved, smiled (hopefully bravely) and continued walking.

building a village

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 06:29:00 +0000

I walk through Stanley Park on the weekends and I always see large gatherings of families: grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles and cousins and siblings, all ages, all playing, eating and laughing together. And I look on with a deep, painful yearning, an urge to walk up and say Hi, can we join you? Because my husband works on the weekends, and my parents are touring Alaska, and my brother is in Edmonton, and my in-laws are back East or unavailable and my extended family is scattered to the four winds and my friends are with their families, and it is just me and the Bunny, and he is asking where his friends are, asking me to call his friends and I am hoping there is someone we know at the playground so he has someone to play with.

I know it is not my fault that my family is distant (both physically and emotionally), that most of them bitch about each other behind their backs, or go ages without speaking to each other, or don't have the time or inclination to organize large get-togethers, or that when get-togethers do happen, they are often filled with joyless silence or angry bickering or bitching about those who aren't there.

I know it is not my fault that I was born in the West. That the culture I grew up in doesn't value the importance of extended family, that elders are shut up in homes, and children are told to sit down and shut up. In my secular Western culture, we lack unifying rituals and traditions, coming-of-age celebrations are non-existent, ancestors are not remembered, elders are not respected (nor are children for that matter), kids learn morals and values from their peers, or worse, the television, and the individual is given more importance than the community. When teenagers become adults, rather than being encouraged to stay close, they are told to get lost, to get out of the house as soon as possible.

And everybody is too busy pursuing their own lives as far from each other as possible that no one has time to meet in the park on a regular basis.

* * * *

Today I read an article that was posted on the Vancouver Attachment Parenting facebook page about the consequences of using shame to discipline children. You can read the full article by Beth Macgregor here, but two sentences really made an impact on me and I quote:

"When parents experience excessive strain this is largely due to our adherence to this myth: that it takes just two parents to raise a child. Our society has grossly underestimated the energy required to truly meet children’s needs."

This article maintained the position that one reason parents don't use healthy, respectful ways to discipline their children is because they are too emotionally drained, too frazzled, just too darned tired. I fully agree with this because I have experienced it myself. After endless days spent alone with a temperamental toddler (who is not being bad, just being a toddler), I often find myself resorting to yelling or bribing or pleading or anything to get him to listen.

I also feel like I have received very little sympathy, or empathy, in regards to the challenges of raising my son with only the help of my husband. Although my husband is one of the the most helpful, hands-on dads you will ever meet, he also works long and erratic hours and is getting as physically and emotionally drained as I am. It seems that people think we should be handling this whole parenting thing perfectly fine all by ourselves. As far as I know, both my parents and my husband's parents raised their kids with absolutely no help from any of their family, so they seem to think that it is perfectly normal that we shouldn't be receiving any help in raising the Bunny.

I do realize that there are many more people in way more difficult situations than we are. I know we only have one kid, not four, or eight. We are also relatively free of financial difficulties (meaning no-one is threatening to cut off our power or kick us out in the street). But it seems to me that we are lacking something, that we shouldn't be struggling as much as we are. And I know that the thing that we are lacking is a helpful, supportive, network of close-knit family members.

I was at a friend's place last week and she was mock-complaining about how her mother-in-law won't leave her alone, she is at her door every day with food and advice and an extra pair of hands. This friend has a six-week-old and an almost two-year-old so she can use all the help she can get. We both know that she is much better off with an overbearing mother-in-law than an absent one. Another one of my friends has been able to return to work by juggling child-care duties between her mom, her mother-in-law and her sister-in-law. She has worked out an arrangement where her mom was able to leave her own job because my friend is paying her to watch her grandson. I find it hard to contain my envy when I see how much support these women are getting from their families.

Having friends with children Bunny's age is helpful. I have been, and am still working incredibly hard at, surrounding us with as many kind and caring people as possible. We are never at a loss to find someone to hang out with and Bunny has already started asking to talk to his closest friends on the phone or go over to their houses. We have been going to the same play groups and family drop-in centres for so long now that they feel like our second homes. Rarely can we go for a walk or to one of the local parks without running into someone we know.

What we are at a loss for is finding someone to watch Bunny on a Friday night so we can go on a date. Or for someone to come over and play with him while I do chores or cook dinner. Don't get me wrong, I am not wishing I had family close by just so I could have lots of free babysitting. What I need is someone to help me raise the Bunny, someone to help me with disciplining him, to point out things I might be doing wrong, to show me different ways of approaching the same problem. I want some more people around to help reinforce our values and morals, to be role models, to promote positive behaviour. I need someone else to sit with Bunny as he tries to learn to put on his shoes or his shirt because I get so impatient with him that I just do it myself. I need more people around to love and care for the Bunny, to pick him up and hug him and hold him and talk to him and teach him things that I don't know. I want Bunny to form close relationships with people who will still be around when he is older, who will provide a sense of continuity and security as he grows up, people who will watch him grow and tell him stories about what he was like when he was little, people who will provide him with a sense of his past as well as a sense of a secure future full of strong, life-long relationships. These are the things that family can provide; these are things I am afraid we don't have.

It takes a village to raise a child.

I have thought about this proverb many times since Bunny was born and I realize that family is only one part of a larger whole. I am working as hard as I can to create a strong sense of community for the Bunny, to build a village for my son. I take the few family visits I can get and make the most of them, and I work hard at developing and sustaining the valuable friendships we do have, while constantly searching for other ways to develop Bunny's sense that he belongs to a safe, warm and secure environment where he can grow and thrive.

* * * *

I think that Gâteau and I are doing an amazing job raising the Bunny, even with the limited resources we have. Our marriage is as strong as it has always been, in fact it gets stronger as we work together and solve problems together and help each other out. Bunny is a very happy, healthy and engaging little boy, who already seems to be developing a sense of right from wrong. He is very helpful, compassionate and loving.

However, we are getting tired. And irritable. And weary.

It is very much possible for only two people to raise a child, but it is not ideal. Trying to do anything when you are feeling tired and irritable and weary is so much more difficult than doing it when you are feeling fresh and energetic and enthusiastic. We are doing well, but I feel we could be doing so much better if only we had just a little more time for ourselves, a little more time to rest, a little more help.

Even though our families have not been able to provide us with a lot of emotional support, we are extremely grateful that they have been there to help us out financially. In ten days Bunny is going to preschool, and if it weren't for the financial support of our parents he probably wouldn't be going. He will be attending a private Montessori school that is ridiculously close to our home and is ridiculously fabulous. This school is bright and beautiful, delightful and elegant, clean and orderly and many other adjectives that you wouldn't normally use in regards to a preschool. It also has a great reputation. I know many children who already attend it and their parents rave about both the facility and the teachers (or directors in Montessori lingo). Many of Bunny's little friends will also be going.

I am thrilled, thrilled, THRILLED that he is attending this school. The application process was longer and more difficult than my university admissions process (and the school is almost as expensive), plus the wait list is enormous, but he got in and he is starting next week and I am so freakin' excited I could scream! He will be going five days a week for three hours every morning. I can't even begin to imagine all the things I am going to be able to do with all that free time. I can clean, I can shop, I can cook, I can read, I can do yoga, I can volunteer, I can go to school ! ! ! WOO HOO ! ! !

Would I prefer to be dropping him off at his grandparents place for a few hours a few times a week?

Yep, but I'll take whatever I can get.

WOO HOO ! ! !

the first noble truth

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 03:29:00 +0000

My New Year's resolution this year was to deepen my practice and understanding of yoga. Particularly, I wanted to read and study the Vedic scriptures and do more meditation. A couple months ago I tried Kundalini Yoga for the first time and participated in a Full Moon Meditation at Yoga West. I really enjoyed the meditation and sought to bring my experience back home with me. The problem with trying to do Kundalini Yoga meditation at home is that it involves a lot of chanting. Seeing as how I am only able to meditate when Bunny is sleeping or napping, loud chanting isn't really feasible.

Seeking instruction in quieter methods of meditation, I stumbled upon the Dharma.

Dharma being a multi-faceted word, in this case I am referring to the teachings of the Buddha. It seems my yoga studies have lead me straight to Buddhism. It would be wrong for me to say that I stumbled upon Buddhism because I have been aware of this religion for quite some time now. I visited many Buddhist temples in Southeast Asia and I once wrote a long term paper on the iconography of the Buddha. The Buddha being an eminently wise and humble dude, he did not want people creating and worshiping images of him. Ironic, of course, that images of the Buddha are now omnipresent, decorating not only Buddhist shrines and altars, but situated (in the spirit of red-hatted gnomes) in gardens and plastered on the walls of Asian fast-food restaurants.

It is this inconsistency, and a few other things, that previously caused me to be sceptical of Buddhism. I knew that the Buddha was a man, and therefore, I figured that his teachings must inevitably be infallible (humans being the infallible creatures we are). I also figured that whatever he taught must inevitably have been corrupted with the passage of time, such as what happened with him asking for no images to be made of him. I knew that there were differences in how monks and nuns were treated and ordained, with nuns having a subordinated role to monks. The feminist in me balked at this. I knew the story of Siddhartha Gautama, and I thought that the fact that he abandoned his family, his wife and newly-born son, in pursuit of enlightenment wasn't a very noble deed at all. I witnessed all kinds of prostrations in the Buddhist temples I visited, which were jarring to my agnostic, ego-centric, secular character. Unaccustomed to viewing humble reverence as a virtue, I instead saw meekness, idolization, even debasement.

Despite everything that I thought I knew about Buddhism, I hadn't actually studied or practiced any of the Buddha's teachings. Actually, I take that back. I hadn't actually studied any of the Buddha's teachings, but I have been inadvertently and unknowingly practicing them for some time now.

I was first introduced to lovingkindness years ago through a yoga instructor, who used to guide her classes through a lovingkindness meditation during savasana. I have only recently discovered that this is a Buddhist practice called Metta.

I have been working on cultivating mindfulness for a couple of years now, on trying to keep my attention on the present moment, on living in the now. Similar practices are found in Vipassana meditation techniques.

I have even discovered that some of the exercises recommended to increase emotional intelligence, such as labeling and acknowledging emotions, but not reacting to them or remaining attached to them, are also teachings of the Buddha.

What I have been learning about Buddhism is that it is astonishingly simple, and moreover, amazingly practical and useful.

Who knew?

* * * *

At the core of the Buddha's teachings are the Four Noble Truths.

The first Noble Truth is that life involves suffering. We all experience pain, illness, aging and death. We all suffer.

An acquaintance died yesterday. He was driving his motorcycle to work over the Granville Street Bridge when he crashed and died. I didn't know him well, he used to work with my husband, but every time I met him, he was always cheerful, amiable and quick to laugh. He seemed a light-hearted kind of guy.

I learned today that he was an only child, and that his mother is flying in from Ontario to coordinate the services here. And I felt such sadness, such empathy and compassion for this woman whom I have never met. I felt her grief, her suffering. But such is the nature of life. My son, too, will die. It is part of the agreement he made with the universe when he was born. No one escapes death.

The First Noble Truth seems to me to be self-evident. It is a truth I did not need to be told, but in fact have learned, have experienced, have come to know, through the process of contemplative living. In fact, almost everything I have read so far in the Buddha's teachings has this sense of clarity and rightness to me.

I believe I need to learn more.

summertime

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 05:33:00 +0000


Daddy's birthday dinner.

Playing with food is allowed sometimes.

Watching the worms in our vermicomposter.

The beach.

Watching the waves.

Our new favourite place: Van Dusen Gardens.

Stanley Park Miniature Train.

Fireworks.

Bard on the Beach.

Pool party!

Taking a juice break.

chipped tooth

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 06:15:00 +0000

Bunny's behaviour has been much better lately. He seems to go through phases, or cycles, from obnoxious to outstanding.

Right now he is being super fabulous outstanding. He is using his words to tell us what he wants, he is playing nicely with his friends, he is starting to share willingly and he is using the toilet more often than not. One thing I am really enjoying is his large vocabulary and his chattiness. He talks and talks and talks all day long. If he isn't talking, he is singing.

One behaviour trait remains constant, though: whether he is in a good mood or a bad mood, he is always super high-energy. He is always on the go. Running in circles, running backwards, running up hills, rolling down hills, jumping, wrestling, twirling, tumbling, dancing, doing acrobatics, climbing, sliding, building, splashing and playing, playing, playing.

All this activity would be fine and dandy if not for the fact that Bunny has a tendency to be slightly reckless and accident-prone. I suspect some of his clumsiness is due to the fact that he can only see from one eye and therefore lacks depth perception. Or it could just be because he is a total spaz. Probably the latter.

Whatever the reason, Bunny is a klutz. Today at the playground he was jumping up and down before he went down the slide and he banged his face on a bar, then tumbled down the slide, crying. He gave himself a fat lip and got a chipped tooth. Actually, it is more like a broken tooth. Almost half of his left lateral incisor is missing.

We took him for an emergency dental visit because he was complaining that his tooth hurt. The dentist discovered that none of the nerve is exposed, thankfully, but he will have sensitivity for the next couple of weeks. There should be no permanent damage, and no reason to cap the tooth or do anything else to it.

Now he has a broken tooth to go with the permanently skinned knees and bruised shins.

Such a little boy.

ahimsa

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 22:41:00 +0000

In Patanjali's Eight-Limbed system of yoga, Ahimsa (non-violence), is one of the Yamas, or abstentions, of the first limb. Ahimsa implies, of course, non-killing, but it also means completely restraining from causing any pain or harm whatsoever to any living creature, either by thought, word, or deed. Ahimsa requires a harmless mind, mouth, and hand. If you believe, as I do, that divinity is immanent, that we are all manifestations of one God(dess), that we are all one, then to injure another is to injure your own self.

However, Ahimsa is not the mere absence of violence, it is the presence or cultivation of love. Pure cosmic love. When you practice Ahimsa you develop the power of heart. Ahimsa is sublime virtue, the ultimate act of bravery, fearlessness and compassion; it is the noblest and best of traits.

In my opinion, Ahimsa is the most important of all the Yamas.

* * * *

Bunny has a bad case of the "twos". I have deliberately left out the alliterative adjectives that often precede this label because none of them completely define everything he is going through right now. His current behaviour is both terrible and terrific, trying and tranquil, appalling and amazing, wearisome and wonderful, exhausting and exhilarating and everything in between.

The best part of who he is now is the depth of affection he can show for people, especially me. He tells me many times a day, in various words, phrases and gestures, how much he loves me.

The worst part of who he is now is the degree of violence he can exhibit towards people, especially me. He tells me many times a day, in various words, phrases and gestures, how angry he is.

He kicks and screams and hits and punches and throws himself against the wall, or the floor, or whatever. Sometimes, when I am trying to figure out what brought on an outburst, I will ask him what he wants. He looks at me and screams ME WANT TO HIT!!!

His violence terrifies me. And makes me so very, very sad. When angry, he embodies beastial cruelty, that basal, animal nature within us all. And I feel almost helpless in the face of it. I am only just developing power over my own violent nature, learning to control my own intense, sometimes ferocious, emotions. How am I to help this poor, little being develop the self-control that it took me half a lifetime to master?

And yet I try. I tell him the words for what he is feeling, he screams nonsense back at me. I try to hug him, he hits me. I model patience, then I fail and lose my patience. Then I practice forgiveness, for him and myself. I admit to making mistakes. I apologize when I yell. I hate myself when I yell. Then I try to forgive myself. Again. Sometimes I just walk away.

What I never do is hit him.

I am pretty sure that hitting, or spanking (a euphemism I despise), children is against the law in Canada. Regardless of whether it is or not, it most definitely is against my own moral code.

As a child I was hit by my parents as a form of discipline. They too, were hit by their own parents as a form of discipline. I am not sure how many of my ancestors experienced violence at the hands of their parents as a method of achieving desirable behavior, but the violence stops here, with me.

I know only too well the fear, confusion, anger and helplessness that result from being physically hurt as a young child by your own parents. Regardless of how out of control Bunny is or how angry I am at him, I never, ever hit him. He is so small and so vulnerable, my heart and mind recoil at the idea. It is my duty to protect him from harm; how could I possibly cause him harm?

* * * *

And yet, there is more to practicing non-violence in parenting than just refraining from hitting. I know that I raise my voice too loudly, too quickly, when I am frustrated. I know that I glare at Bunny when I am angry at him. I know that I get angry at him too easily.

I know that he feels my anger and frustration. I know that my loud voice and furious glares pierce his heart. Even though I don't hit him, I know that I hurt him in other ways.

It has been said that the pure realization of Ahimsa is impossible. Every breath we take harms billions of micro-organisms; just by the act of living we are constantly harming other beings. The key is motivation. Develop a mental attitude in which hatred is replaced by love, never retaliate even under extreme provocation, do not harbour anger, strive for non-violence, and even though you falter, keep the ideal before you.

There are many other areas of my life in which I am striving for non-violence. I try to drive feelings of self-hatred or self-doubt out of my mind before they can take hold and destroy me. I push feelings of hatred and revenge away and try to replace them with feelings of compassion and forgiveness, even if I have been hurt or betrayed. I avoid malicious gossip and try to speak only kind words about people, even if I know they speak unkindly about me behind my back. I try to avoid harming other creatures by eating a vegetarian diet.

I don't always succeed, of course, but I am constantly striving towards the ideal. That is all I can do. That is all anyone can do, I suppose.

Namaste.

50 things I love about my husband

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 15:00:00 +0000

1. He is teh cake.
2. His goatee is extremely fetching.
3. His sense of style is unique. He dresses like he doesn't care what anyone else thinks. Which he doesn't. But he always manages to look great. Which is probably because...
4. He has great taste. In everything. Including women. Also...
5. We have similar tastes. We always seem to like the same books, movies, clothes, furniture, art, music, people, food, etc... With a few notable exceptions. Like bacon. Ew. This is probably why...
6. We rarely fight. We always seem to agree about everything. Except bacon.
7. He is a great cook, and...
8. He never complains about my requests for vegetarian, vegan, raw, sugar-free, gluten-free or whatever other type of food I am currently into. He will happily cook whatever I want.
9. He is kind.
10. He is generous.
11. He is thoughtful.
12. He is dependable.
13. He is hardworking.
14. He is silly. This is important because I can often be quite somber. His silliness cuts through my melancholy with lightness and ease, making me giggle, school-girlish.
15. He is tall. This is important because it means he can lift me off my feet when he gives me a hug.
16. He is strong. Again, all about lifting me off my feet during hugs.
17. He is more naturally zen than anyone I know. Without even trying.
18. His presence calms me.
19. He is a great conversationalist. He can talk with anyone about anything. We can talk for hours and hours. Yet...
20. He understands my occasional need for silence. In fact...
21. He understands me better than anyone else ever has.
22. He knows all my faults. And yet...
23. He loves me better than anyone else ever has.
24. He likes to read.
25. He likes to do yoga.
26. He likes to take long walks by the beach.
27. He will try anything.
28. He is an easygoing travel partner.
29. We always have a blast exploring new places together.
30. He speaks French fluently.
31. He studied medieval history.
32. He has a wide variety of interests.
33. He is interesting.
34. He can lie on the grass staring at clouds for hours.
35. He rarely complains.
36. He is trustworthy.
37. He is trusting.
38. He is never jealous...
39. ... or envious...
40. ... or bitter.
41. He often dances around the house singing silly songs.
42. He is cuddly.
43. He likes to wrestle with our son.
44. He likes to read with our son.
45. He likes to build train tracks (I think he does this more for his own enjoyment than for the Bunny's).
46. He loves the Bunny as much as I do.
47. He makes me feel safe and happy.
48. He makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
49. He is an amazing father.
50. He is an amazing husband.

Happy Birthday Gâteau!

Je t'aime.
Je t'adore.

in the kitchen

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 22:26:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago I found an on-line tutorial for homemade butter. After telling Gâteau about it, we agreed that we absolutely had to try it.

First I purchased some organic whipping cream.
Then I rummaged around in boxes for a couple of marbles.
We put the marbles in a mason jar with the cream, shook it up for 20 minutes or so and voila:

Homemade butter!

For the batch pictured above I added herbs from our garden: oregano, chives and parsley.

I really have no idea how or why this works, but it sure is fun (and oddly quaint) to make butter at home. It is also quite economical; it ends up being almost half the price of a block of organic butter from the supermarket. Plus you are left with some yummy buttermilk which is perfect for corn muffins, pancakes and the like.

The butter also tastes delicious on fresh homemade bread, something we have a plethora of now that my mom and dad bought Gâteau a bread maker. My folks were down for a visit last weekend to take Bunny up to Squamish for a day out with Thomas, and they brought an early birthday present for their beloved son-in-law. So far Gâteau has made a couple whole-wheat honey loafs, a nut and seed loaf and an asiago and thyme loaf. He is totally smitten with the machine.

I have been keeping up with the green smoothies since the Green Smoothie Challenge last month. Since the challenge I have only gone two or three days without them. However, Bunny got tired of them rather quickly so I devised a new way to get greens into his diet: green popsicles!

I have been making a variety of different popsicles for the Bunny. They are as easy to make as smoothies. Just throw a bunch of fruit and veggies in the blender with some milk or juice and pour them into molds. I use our juicer to make fresh juices so many of these recipes are 100% raw. Here are some of our favourite recipes (amounts are approximate; most of these make 6 - 8 popsicles):

The Green Popsicle:

one banana
one peeled and cored apple
juice from two pears
cup of spinach

The Orange Popsicle:

one mango
one banana
juice from 2-3 carrots
juice from 2 celery stalks

The Pink Popsicle:

6 or so strawberries
one banana
3/4 cup of milk (I use almond or rice milk or organic cow's milk)

And for the all-time decadent treat:
The Sugar-Free Vegan Fudgesicle!

one banana
two medjool dates
splash of agave nectar
one tablespoon of ground flax
one tablespoon of virgin coconut oil
one tablespoon of organic cocoa powder
3/4 cup of non-dairy milk (almond seems to work best for this)

You could also make this recipe raw if you used raw almond milk and cacoa nibs instead of cocoa powder.

I usually add some ground flax and/or virgin coconut oil to most of Bunny's popsicles for an added fatty acid kick. I am thinking of trying avocado in a few recipes as well. I also juiced up some watermelon one day and that made for a nice simple flavour. Bunny eats two or more popsicles a day. They make him happy and it makes me happy to give him such delicious, nutritious food.

everything that's beautiful

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Sat, 22 May 2010 05:06:00 +0000

Picnics, cupcakes, corn-on-the cob, asparagus, watermelon, popsicles, lemonade, sunshine, flowers, forests, sand, seashells, family, friends, face painting, hockey, opera, dancing, dreaming, creating and play. Always lots of play.

Tomorrow Bunny is two and a half. He is my little bunny boy!

i breathe yoga

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Sun, 09 May 2010 05:10:00 +0000

I remember someone asking me once how many times a week I did yoga.

I didn't know how to answer.

You see, I am always doing yoga. I live and breathe yoga. I have dedicated more of my time and energy to yoga than I have to any other thing in my life. My interests are varied, but often fleeting; I skim the surface of so many things, touching down lightly here or there, but never staying long. Except for yoga. With yoga I dove right in, I plunged down so deep and immersed myself so long I ran out of breath. Then I learned how to breathe again.

Yoga is always with me, always available. When we are late and Bunny won't put on his clothes, I concentrate on my breath. I take a breath. I notice my breath for one instant and I remember where my center is, I can find it instantly. When a barista is rude to me, I look at where my breath is and I am reminded of my essence, my energy, my chi. I remember that the barista is made from the same stars as me, and I understand, I forgive. When, like tonight, I am sitting at the computer aimlessly, feeling unfocused, my thoughts blurry, I inhale. And I move. I move my body through space, through the space in my living room, lie down on the floor and breathe. And I move. In a flowing, unscripted sequence. I stop when it feels good and, Yin-like, hold it, move into the pose, relax my brain and my heart and concentrate on my breath. When I am done with that pose I move out of it, move my body until I feel another area that needs some attention. I breathe and breathe and breathe.

And then I am done. I rise. I am reminded why I practice yoga, why I love yoga, why I live yoga.

waffles

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Tue, 04 May 2010 21:26:00 +0000

For breakfast this morning I had apple cinnamon walnut waffles.

green smoothie challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 00:09:00 +0000

Last week I started a two-week Green Smoothie Challenge run by the lovely and inspiring Suzanne of Enchanted Chameleon.

I wrote a post about it here.

Check it out if you are not thoroughly tired of reading about my food adventures.

bunny tidbits

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Sun, 25 Apr 2010 01:14:00 +0000

The endless questioning has started. Currently the big question is What are you doing?

Mommy, what are you doing? while I am putting together a train track with him.

Mommy, what are you doing? while I am getting him his water bottle that he just asked for.

Mommy, what are you doing? even though I just told him that I am making lunch.

Mommy, what are you doing? while I am reading him a book.

Mommy, what are you doing? while I am taking a mental break and staring out the window.

Mommy, what are you doing? while we are on the boat over to Granville Island.

It doesn't matter where we are, what time of day it is, who we are with or what I am doing, Bunny will ask me what I am doing. Constantly. All day long.

I have started retorting What does it look like I am doing?

The first Why? has not yet arrived, but this is sufficient practice for when that day comes.

* * * *

One of the most delightful things about Bunny right now is his tendency to break into song whenever he feels like it. Which is a lot.

His song repertoire is growing. The first song he learned was his ABC's. Currently he also sings:

1. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
2. Baa Baa Black Sheep
3. Jingle Bells
4. Frère Jacques
5. Row Row Row Your Boat
6. Old MacDonald Had a Farm
7. The "Thomas" song

We are planning on teaching him many more.

Bunny has the most beautiful, sweet little voice I have ever heard. I love hearing him sing.

* * * *

Manners are important to us. From the day he was born, we have been teaching Bunny how to show respect and consideration to other people through words and actions. It is starting to sink in. More and more we are hearing unprompted sorrys, pleases, thank yous, excuse mes and your welcomes, in appropriate contexts even.

The other day as Bunny was playing with his trains, talking to himself and for the trains, one of the engines knocked another engine off the track. This conversation ensued:

Oh, sorry. Excuse me, Percy.

Percy gets picked up.

Thank you!

Your welcome.

Even his play is polite!

* * * *

For a while Bunny was washing his hands and face and brushing his teeth whenever we would ask him to. Perfunctorily, yes. But it would get done.

Now he screams whenever I suggest washing his face or hands or come near him with a cloth. He throws his toothbrush against the wall as soon as I hand it to him.

NO NO NO NO NO NO!!! ALL DONE!!! ALL DONE!!!

This will eventually pass, of that I have no doubt. But it drives me batty to see his hands and face all grubby.

I hope it passes soon.

* * * *

The first day that Bunny's Grandmother from Ottawa was here was a glorious, sunny day. We went down to the beach and took a walk in the park. On the way home Gâteau and Bunny stopped to play a few rounds of airplane. You know, that game where you hold both your child's hands and spin them around while their feet fly off the ground.

Bunny crash landed.

On that beautiful Saturday afternoon we had to go to Children's to get x-rays where it was revealed that Bunny had broke his arm. Going to the hospital is so routine for us, it barely registered. We packed our bag of toys and books and snacks and hung out in emergency for a few hours.

The cast comes off next Friday.

shaking things up a bit

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 03:28:00 +0000

If you know me well, you know that I am on a continuous quest for self-improvement. I am constantly reinventing myself, trying something new. Nothing is so good that it can't get better. Learn, change, grow...

Introducing a new title and a new template.

Do things look a little different around here?

spring

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 05:26:00 +0000

A few months ago, actually a long time ago, we stopped calling the Fève, Fève. As it sometimes happens, his nickname changed, morphed organically into something different. In our lives Fève has been the Bunny for a while now and it feels strange to refer to him as the Fève in this blog. In honour of this post about spring and all the little bunnies everywhere, I have decided to start using the Fève's new nickname: Bunny.

Sorry for any confusion.

* * * *

It has been a lovely Spring this year. After the January full of unhappy hospital visits and the February full of frenetic hosting-the-world-in-our-city action, the year has been relatively calm and peaceful.

In February we experienced a strange warm spell which opened up all of the cherry blossoms on the trees and caused my small bulb garden to spring to life uncommonly early (as well as triggering my seasonal allergies in a bad way ACHOO!). Bunny and I spent a lot of time in the West End/Stanley Park area during this period, both because it is a beautiful place to spend a late Winter's day and because it was blessedly free of tourists. I love that the beach and the park are only a short walk away and we can spend so many of our days just digging sand, watching ducks or throwing stones into the ocean. From the day he was born, Bunny has spent a lot of time outdoors, whether being carried close to me through busy city streets, crawling around on the beach, or running through trails. Children are born with an innate reverence for and delight in the natural world, and I do my best to cultivate both traits in my son. In fact, hugging trees is one of his favourite activities.

The past couple of months we have had the enjoyable responsibility of watching one of my friend's sons on a regular basis. He is a charming little boy and Bunny is extremely fond of him. He helped us do some spring cleaning on our patio one day.

We recently visited the animals at Maplewood Farm. Bunny had a chat with a rabbit.

We also got to experience Bunny's third trip by airplane and second visit back to my hometown. Bunny had a blast hanging out with his Grandma and Grandpa and exploring the land around their home. It was odd for me being back there, but it always is. The place seemed filled with ghosts and fading memories.

One gray day back in Vancouver we picked some purple hyacinths and bright yellow daffodils from our patio garden. Bunny spent a long time absorbed in his explorations of the flowers before lining them up on the window. We constantly stop to admire the many flowers around our home. Cultivated and landscaped, the flowers and foliage of the city differ greatly from the wildflowers and forests of my youth, but there is still so much beauty to be found. I name the ones that I can and always stop to smell them. I teach the eager little hands and active feet of my boy not to pick or trample them. Instead, he now exclaims so pretty whenever he sees a flower.

St. Patrick's Day was bright and sunny this year, so we drank our Guinness out on a patio by the seawall.

Gâteau is Irish through and through, which makes Bunny half-Irish. I love watching them together. Lately, Bunny has being acting more and more like his father, imitating him, repeating him: so incredible!

For Easter we attended a brunch and egg hunt at a local community centre. To the delight of the Bunny, the in-laws joined us. Bunny loves his family and always gives everyone a big hug and kiss and enthusiastic HI when he sees them. He especially loves seeing his little cousin. They always have important conversations whenever they get together.

Fun was had by all...

... even though Bunny only found one egg.

Last year I bought Bunny a gorgeous hand-woven basket for Easter, which will act as a receptacle for toys and chocolate while the Bunny grows up then become a decorative item in the house when he outgrows the tradition. As always I struggle with trying to maintain a simple, non-consumerist approach to the holidays; there are just so many darn beautiful things out there. My rules for gifts and toys are: nothing plastic, nothing licensed, nothing that requires batteries. I do break the rules occasionally; Bunny does have a rather large collection of wooden Thomas The Tank Engine and Friends trains, but I try to keep most other cartoon characters out of the house. I actually find the Thomas stories, books and characters quite sweet, and the trains and wooden track are easily the most played-with toys in our home, inspiring hours of imaginative play.

This year in Bunny's Easter basket:

- an organic chocolate bunny

- candied almonds

- dark chocolate covered raisins

- a beautifully illustrated book about two bunnies who find friendship

- a harmonica

- a wooden slide whistle

- glitter glue

- a few other small trinkets and treats

Tonight we took the Canada Line out to the Airport to welcome Bunny's Grandmother Woods to town. She made an extra special trip out here just to see the Bunny, and was greeted with Bunny's customary good cheer. Gâteau has a small vacation next week and we have many fun things planned.

Happy Spring!

birthday girl

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 03:47:00 +0000

Tomorrow I turn 35.

Tomorrow I am waking up to a brunch made by my husband and son. Then I am going for a massage at my favourite spa, followed by an intimate dinner with my lovely husband at Lumiere, while the boy stays home with a sitter.

Today I went for a pedicure, followed by an afternoon of shopping. My parents gave me some money for my birthday and I vowed not to spend it on anything as mundane as groceries or bills or stuff for the boy.

My first stop was the Karma outlet in Yaletown. I purchased a long bamboo tank top with a built in bra in seagull gray for half off the retail price. This top is sure to become a staple in my wardrobe; designed for a yoga class, it is soft, stretchy and oh-so-comfy. It will most certainly be worn many times outside the studio.

After a brief peek in a few shops on Granville St., I found myself inside Winners. I love Winners because I hate paying retail.

A large selection of dresses was on display, and even though I already had a birthday outfit picked out, I couldn't resist trying some on. I fell in love with a gorgeous, fitted, simple black sheath with a skinny belt. It was beautifully tailored with a small amount of ruching at the bodice. Very sedate, and not usually my taste, it nevertheless fit me perfectly.

As I was putting the dress on, I overheard two teenage girls chatting outside my dressing stall. They were critiquing each other's outfits. Girl #1 exclaimed how much she loved the dress that Girl #2 was wearing. Girl #2 responded that it was nice, but it made her look old.

When I stepped out of the stall to admire my own dress in the 3-way mirror, I could not help but notice that Girl #2 was wearing the exact same dress as me. And, indeed, it did make her look old. It was not the type of dress that most teenagers these days would wear. With a knee-length pencil skirt and a high back with a modest neckline, the dress seemed slightly awkward and out of place on her youthful frame.

On me, however, the dress was stunning.

* * * *

I am happy to be turning 35 tomorrow. I am pleased with how I finally feel like I have grown into my womanhood, grown into my self. Gladly, I leave the self-conscious insecurities of my girlhood behind me. Year after year I grow older and the sum of my experience grows larger and I welcome the maturity that is an inevitable part of the aging process.

I look back now at my self when I was 25, when I was 15, when I was a child, and I feel compassion and sympathy for the girl who I was. I want to be able to go back in time, not to change anything, but to assure that often-sad and always-confused girl-who-was-me that everything is going to be okay, just relax and enjoy the journey because you are going to be thrilled at how everything turns out. You are going to be amazed at the strong, powerful and self-assured woman you are destined to be. And don't worry, you are also going to find peace, truth, beauty, freedom and most of all, love. Love like you've never known before. And it is the love that will change you, that will finally help you to grow up, to open up. The love that you will feel for your future husband and son will nourish you and comfort you and fill you with joy. I know it may not seem like it right now, but your life is heading in exactly the right direction, every choice you make is the right one and you are on the path you need to be.

* * * *

I didn't buy the little black dress.

Instead, I walked out of the store with a pair of skin-tight distressed denim, a flowy, flowered top and a pair of sneakers. I may not feel like a teenager, but I sure do like to dress like one.

Happy Birthday to me!

satya

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 02:09:00 +0000

I did something wrong the other day, something that makes me feel extremely guilty, something that I can't stop thinking about.

I lied to my son.

* * * *

In Patanjali's Eight-Limbed system of yoga, Satya (non-lying or truthfulness) is one of the Yamas, or abstentions, of the first limb. I have been actively practicing Satya for many years now, with a large degree of success. My conscience is clearer, my mind is more at ease and I feel more peaceful when I practice truthfulness in all aspects of my life, when I abstain from falsehoods.

It is my belief that everyone knows when they are being lied to, even if it is only a subtle whispering in their subconsciousness. It may seem easy to hide behind a veil of false words, but even though many of us have lost our ability to read body language or to rely on our intuition, a sense of wrongness, a slight stench of dishonesty can always be detected when we are confronted with a lie.

It is also my belief that children can sniff out a lie better than anyone else.

Respect for my son, the intent to model proper behaviour/noble values and to keep my conscience unsullied are a few of the reasons I have chosen to try to always be truthful with the Fève, and why I encourage my husband to follow suit.

Gâteau has a tendency to lie to the Fève when it makes his job as a parent easier. For example, when Fève asks for more of some snack, such as crackers or cookies, that we believe he has had enough of, Gâteau will sometimes say sorry, there's none left when in actual fact, there are some left, we just don't want him to have any more.

I will always correct him when he does this, tell Fève that daddy was lying, there are more crackers/cookies/whatever left, but he can't have any more because eating too much junk food can make him sick.

I think Fève can handle the truth. We often underestimate our children's preference for and desire for the truth. Children don't want to think that mommy and daddy are liars, and to them, a little lie like there's no more ice cream, when there is more ice cream can cause them to lose confidence in their parents. Too many little lies like this can add up, eventually causing extreme mistrust. Lying is also modelling bad behaviour; children learn by example and we need to be mindful of the examples we set.

When I was a child, I remember being told by my parents that there were "sugar bugs" in sugar that would eat my teeth. I had a tendency to climb up on the cupboard to eat sugar by the spoonful out of the sugar jar and believing that little white bugs were crawling around in the jar made me think twice about doing it. However, while that tactic might have curbed my behaviour in the short term, it only served to make me angry and confused when I discovered that "sugar bugs" didn't exist. This example stands out for me because I remember vividly how stupid and humiliated I felt when I became aware of my own gullibility. I never want the Fève to feel that way.

My non-lying also extends to Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. If you want your kids to believe in these mythical creatures then keep them away from mine because Fève will know the truth.

* * * *

Although practicing Satya in my life has been very rewarding, it hasn't been without its difficulties. It is sometimes hard to find balance. In the past, I may have hurt some people's feelings by being too blunt, too truthful. Hurting others tramples on one of the other Yamas: Ahimsa (non-violence). I am now seeking to temper my honesty with compassion, to not be too bothered by my own white lies or lies of omission.

For example, if a friend of mine were to say something hurtful or malicious about a mutual friend of ours behind that other person's back (and this unfortunately happens all the time), relaying the negative sentiment to the victim of the maliciousness would hurt both parties involved; it would betray the trust of the person who confided in me, as well as cause hurt to the victim, along with possibly jeopardizing their relationship. In this instance, I believe it is more compassionate to keep the hurtful words to myself, even though doing so could be considered a lie of omission.

Another example of a time when not being totally truthful seemed to be more compassionate happened only yesterday. I was at a play group talking to a fellow mom about the Olympics. This woman mentioned being quite sad that the Olympics were over, that all of the action and the positive energy in our neighbourhood was gone. Her sadness seemed to almost reach the point of grief. It just didn't seem like an appropriate time to mention that I was glad it was over, that I never wanted them here in the first place. Instead I validated her feelings and agreed that, yes, it sure is a lot quieter now that the Olympics are over.

Compassion is good.

Now back to my lie that doesn't feel so good, the one that didn't feel right.

* * * *

Last week Gâteau and I were in the West End for back-to-back dentist appointments. We were rushed in the morning and forgot to bring any toys for Fève. While Gâteau was getting his teeth cleaned, I stopped in a nearby thrift shop to see if I could find anything to amuse the Fève with. It was a seniors second hand shop, so there wasn't a large selection of stuff for children. The only thing I could find was a Disney book, A Bugs Life. I flipped through it quickly and noticed the illustrations were bright and colourful. Perfect. A dollar later and the book was ours.

I had only gotten halfway through reading it to Fève when it was my turn to see the dentist. Therefore, I didn't realize that the book had a big scary bird in it who tried to eat the bugs and then three other bugs were murdered. Bug murders, yes, but when the bugs are anthropomorphized it may as well be people murders, especially in the mind of a two-year-old.

Stupid me to trust so blindly in Disney to provide non-violent literature to children.

When Gâteau read the book to Fève, he did his best to make the bird seem non-scary and changed the story so the murdered bugs just "went away", but the damage was done. Fève is now totally freaked out by birds. However, for whatever weird, twisted reason, he grew to totally love that book and wanted to read it all the time, even though he always pointed to the "caw caw" with a scared expression on his face.

A couple days later, he asked for the book, whereby I told him that I had returned it to the library, even though it wasn't a library book and in actual fact it was sitting on a shelf in the bedroom out of sight and out of reach.

In other words, I lied.

The Fève gave me a devasted look and cried No no no! MY book! MY bug book! Instantly horrified with myself for lying to him, I still continued with the lie, explaining that I had actually given the book to the library, donated it so other children could read it too. He cried for a little bit more then we read another book.

I still feel like crap about it, though. Especially because, not only did I lie, I also acted like a hypocrite. All those times I told Gâteau not to lie about the availability of junky snacks, and here I am wimping out and not telling Fève the truth: A Bugs Life is junky children's literature and it isn't good for two-year-old's brains.

The book is still on the shelf and I am still unsure what to do about this whole situation. A large part of me wants to 'fess up to my lie, to show Fève the book, apologize for lying to him, ask him to forgive me and then tell him that he still can't have the book, because it sucks.

But I will probably just donate the book to the library (See! It wasn't really a lie! I can predict the future!) and use this situation as a lesson, as a reminder of how much it pains me to lie to my own son and how guilty it makes me feel.

Fève, I am sorry I lied to you. I promise I will try harder never to do it again. Please don't lose your trust in me. Please forgive me. I am only human.

Om Satya Satya Satya

(un)welcome

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 23:00:00 +0000

I remember watching a race on TV a few years ago. I don't remember the name of the athlete or the country he came from or even where or when the race took place.

The man ran his race, won, and kept on running. Right into the arms of his beaming, screaming, proud mother and gave her a big hug.

I was touched, moved even, by this little moment, this big moment.

It was, of course, an Olympic run, a gold medal run.

* * * *

To all you sycophants and hangers-on, you wanna-bes and money-grubbers, you unimportant people (and aren't we all unimportant, really?) walking around like you own the city, with your identical snowsuits unsuitably fitted for Winter in Vancouver, your green and aqua lanyards hanging around your neck loudly proclaiming your non-participation in any event aside from sycophantic, hanging-on, wanna-be money-grubbing:

Go away.

Your greed reeks and your self-importance stinks. I know you will make money in the next two weeks and I know that is all you care about and I just want you to

go away.

* * * *

To all you dreamers and goal-setters, you stars and heroes, you athletes:

I am sorry you may have had to sell a part of your soul to achieve your dream, accept money to wear some colours that clash with your values, rub shoulders with people who use you for your name and your fame to achieve their own goals. I am sorry if Winter in Vancouver is not what you expected and there is mostly rain and sun and little snow and some people may not act too happy to see you. I am sorry for those people who do act too happy to see you, who don't see the real you, who weren't there during the training and the pain, during the long, hard, unglamorous hours of sweating and swearing, who want to be a part of your glamour and glory, but are not really a part of your story.

I am sorry if you lose. I am sorry if you spent your entire life preparing for this moment and it turns out to be nothing like you dreamed it would be.

To you I say:

Welcome.

And good luck.

If I could, I would give you all gold medals. You deserve it.

progress report

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 03:24:00 +0000

We have our son back.

Our cheerful, joyful, curious and enthusiastic son has returned.

Six hospital visits in less than a month is way too many for a two-year-old. But we did it and we survived. The good news is no more hospital for a couple of months. The bad news is that the six hospital visits were pretty much for naught. Fève's retina has already started to detach again. His last surgery on February 1st was a laser treatment to address the Coats', but our new doctor, the retina specialist Dr. Patrick Ma (who is just as amazing as Dr. Paton, if not more so) was not able to laser as many of the blood vessels as he had hoped, due to the already detaching retina.

Plus, Fève is starting to develop glaucoma in his Coats' eye. That means a new specialist and more surgery.

Oh well.

Did I mention my son is happy again?

* * * *

I am a bad patient. I have a history of non-compliance when it comes to doing what doctors tell me to do. In fact, I generally dislike doctors (and hospitals for that matter), so the irony of me having a son who is doomed to regular hospital visits and a variety of doctors is not lost on me.

But back to that bad patient thing. Fève was given three different types of eye drops after his retinal reattachment surgery: one to be administered four times a day, one to be administered twice a day and one to be administered once a day. All of them to be administered by reluctant parents on a screaming toddler.

After days of fighting and screaming and crying I finally decided to scrap the eye drops all together. Gâteau was hesitant to do this, unsure of my decision, more apt to just do what the doctor said, but finally conceded to my choice.

After one day of no eye drops, Fève was already showing signs of getting better, physically and emotionally. After three days we went to visit Dr. Ma for a regular check up and he commented on how much better Fève was looking, how he was opening his eye more, how much more relaxed we all seemed.

Then I told him we stopped giving him his prescribed drops.

With a furrowed brow he warned of eye infections and exclaimed how much better the drops would make his eye feel and heal and started lecturing me about compliance and yadda yadda yadda...

Steadfast, I told him I had made an executive decision to stop the drops. They were stressing us out way too much, all of us, and I refused to give him any more, especially after I learned that they were all actually quite unnecessary. You see, that is the thing with Western medical doctors: they think medicine is magic and will over-prescribe it with little or no regard to the consequences, the side effects (which in our case was a toddler who started to lose all trust in his parents who were brutally restraining him and hurting him).

Finally, Dr. Ma, a father himself, nodded gravely and said that Fève was looking much better, our family was looking much better, and he understood my decision.

Fève is healing just fine. With no medicine, but lots of love.

* * * *

I know you are, but what am I?

noreply@blogger.com (Candice) — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 00:09:00 +0000

There is a trend in the media now: calling anti-Olympic protesters whiners. Or complainers.

This is an unfair accusation, of course. Nobody ever calls anti-war protesters whiners. Or complainers. Hey, quit yer bellyaching. The war is going to happen so you may as well go out and enjoy it!

This accusation is unfair because it attacks the character of the protesters, while completely ignoring the possible validity of their argument. It is an effective rhetorical tactic, though: attacking a person's character to try to weaken their argument. It worked for George Bush. He called anyone who didn't support the war in Iraq anti-American and many people bought into that.

I do not, and will not, support the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver. Call me a complainer, a whiner, a belly-acher, if you must, but name-calling does not change the fact that I believe:

a) my (and possibly your) tax dollars have been spent irresponsibly during the entire Olympic process.

b)VANOC is infringing on my (and possibly your) civil rights and liberties to free speech and privacy (ie. free speech 'zones' and surveillance cameras)

c) what should be an event celebrating feats of athleticism seems suspiciously like an event celebrating consumer culture (have you seen the big Coca-Cola can in David Lam park, have you bought your official Olympic gear/souvenirs yet?)

d) offering free McDonald's food to Olympic athletes (which is what they are doing in the Olympic Village) is just absurd. Totally absurd. I sure as hell don't want my kid thinking that eating McDonald's or drinking Coca-Cola is going to turn him in to an Olympian.

e) trying to convince people that positive advances in infra-structure such as the Canada Line or the improvements to the Sea to Sky highway could not have happened without the Olympics is false and misleading. Plans for rapid transit to YVR were in place before the Olympics. People have been dieing needlessly on that highway for too many years now. These improvements, and others, would have happened without the Olympics.

f) the Olympics are a pain in the ass (ie. my local park and playground have been shut down for months and my local community centres and play groups are all closed during the Olympics).

These are just a few of the arguments I have against the olympics. Calling me names will not change the fact that I think these are valid arguments.

Why don't I go out and do something, rather than arguing my points on my blog?

I have, and I will:

a) I voted against the Olympics in the 2002 referendum.

b) I have not given any of my money (aside from my ill-spent tax dollars) to the Olympics; I have not purchased any Olympic paraphernalia or tickets.

c) I have quietly and reasonably stated my arguments against the Olympics via this blog and to anyone I have spoken to. If I have caused one person to think a little more critically about the Olympic propaganda machine or even sparked a small flicker of doubt in a pro-Olympic mind then I have done my job.

d) I will join in a silent protest during the Olympics, by carrying a blank placard when I visit free Olympic venues (see excerpt at end of blog).

The world needs people who will stand up and fight for what they believe in, despite being sneered at, verbally attacked and/or shunned. Activists, protesters, rebels and people who continually question the status quo play a necessary role in our society, and deserve our respect and recognition for their time and effort, for their passion.

I will continue to not support the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. I will stand my ground and continue to state, quietly and clearly:

Fuck 2010.

* * * *

Olympic Activists Fight Silencing with Silence

A growing faction of Olympic activists plan to converge at various events throughout the Vancouver 2010 Olympics with a strong, yet silent message: “No Comment!”

In total compliance with the City of Vancouver’s controversial 2010 bylaws, the decentralized group will raise signs and banners that will in no way conflict with the interests of the Vancouver Organizing Committee (VANOC), or those of the games’ corporate sponsors. Their placards will be blank. They will remain silent on all fronts. Their message will be ambiguous, and at best hard to interpret.

While organizers of the action expect no difficulty in moving beyond “free-speech” areas and penetrating security perimeters, mass confusion is expected amongst media, police, and Olympic officials when their message is received. Is this a protest or a celebration? Do they gather in defiance or support, or both? Such questions, the group expects, will issue from their coordinated action, and may forever remain unanswered.

From the get go, the 2010 Olympics has had a mixed reception. Various Native, environmental and community groups throughout Canada feel that the two week event will prove more devastating than it is worth – benefiting only a minor elite while displacing and taxing most for years into the future. The current torch relay has been disrupted by protests across the country. Security measures have thus far succeeded in keeping the protests mostly off camera and under-reported, but sources suggest that the tactics of these silent activists may foil attempts to keep protestors out and supporters of the Olympics in the international reportage.

The unnamed group encourages anybody—those in favour of the games who plan to attend as well as those against who plan to protest—to carry with them a blank sheet of paper to raise in solidarity when the spontaneously coordinated moment strikes.

It is expected that this silent tactic will appeal as a method of simple action to the majority of the Vancouver public who feel indifferent or even apathetic towards the games themselves, inconvenienced by their infrastructure, and unduly taxed by the invariable financial fallout.

The tactic will provide a language for those who would otherwise do nothing in which to make their voices heard.

From http://davideby.blogspot.com/2010/01/interesting-olympic-action-proposal.html