Everybody needs help sometimes.

Yesterday we were driving home and we passed by an elderly couple walking slowly in the heat. The woman was pulling a cart full of groceries and they were both carrying bags. Just as we were beside them I saw the man stumble towards the nearest tree, leaning on it, then collapse. 

I'm ashamed to say I drove 4 blocks away battling myself; I should help them, but I only have room for one person. I would help them, if only my baby wasn't crying in the backseat. And Des said "what's wrong, mama?" Like he read my mind. 

I immediately pulled a u-turn and said "I saw someone that might need help." He was so hungry at the store, he'd eaten all the snacks within minutes of arriving, and I was worried he'd be upset we weren't going home to eat like I'd promised. He said nothing. We pulled up to the couple and immediately Frankie stopped crying. Like she knew. 

"Do you need help?" I called to them.

"If only we could get a ride," the man said from a spot on the ground beside the huge tree, "I nearly fell." 

"I know, I saw. I could give you a ride but I only have room for one. I have two kids in the back." 

At the time I didn't understand the panic in his eyes. He told me he couldn't leave his wife. A neighbour heard from inside and came out with his partner to offer a ride. "You take her, I'll take him." The neighbour said gruffly and started his small car. 

"I'll take your partner, is that okay?" I asked him. She hadn't said a word at this point, distancing herself. 

"My wife!" He cried out sadly. 

"Your wife! Of course," I turned to her. "I will drive you home, is that okay?" 

All she answered was their address. I took the cart from her and loaded up my trunk as quickly as I could. She became friendly and told me how she used to use a similar cart to deliver newspapers in all kinds of weather. Hot weather, she said, was the worst. 

I drove her the five blocks home, with her husband in the neighbour's orange car behind us. Her name was Hazel, with long silver hair in a low ponytail. She was upset that her husband had fallen. She asked about my kids. Desmond said hello, and I turned down Dead Prez for her, even though she didn't ask.

She almost didn't recognize her house but she very excitedly pointed it out when we were beside it. Frankie, who hates the car, remained smiling and cooing in the backseat. You cannot tell me she didn't know. I unloaded the cart and packed it up with their groceries as the neighbour in the orange car dropped off the man and left. I brought the cart up to their house and the man slowly made his way towards the door. He asked his wife a few times to unlock the door. Hazel danced around their front yard unfocused. I tried the door but it was locked. 

"You have to lock the door to keep the sprites and bad spirits out!" She said, wiggling her fingers.

"Yes, of course," I nodded, as she eventually unlocked the door. It finally dawned on me why he couldn't leave his wife.

"I nearly fell," he said again. 

"I know, I saw. I was driving past you. I'm sorry I didn't stop right away." I dragged the cart up their front steps and just inside the doorway.

"I didn't know what to do. I didn't think there were people nice enough in the world to stop."

"We're here. We're all around you." I put my hand on his shoulder and tears glazed his eyes. "Take care of yourself." I said as I returned to my car. 

"Come back to visit!" Hazel danced on the sidewalk, her arms in the air. "Bring the kids!" I laughed and told her I was glad to meet her. 

We drove home without any music on. Frankie still happy in the backseat. Des curious. 

"Why we drive that people?" He asked.

"They looked like they needed help. So I asked them if they needed help. They said yes, so we helped them." 

"Everybody needs help sometimes!" He said, in his 3 year old wisdom. 

People talk poorly about our neighbourhood sometimes, but there is so much goodness here. There are so many folks waiting to show kindness.

 I think we'll bring that couple a meal this weekend and see how they're doing. 

The quick step of a toddler.

There was a time in your childhood that your father played music in a band. He sits with you, in the bathroom while you play in the tub, and plays guitar softly. Or sometimes he plugs his bass guitar into his amp and grooves a bath-time beat for you.

Every now and then I can hear him, stopping to help you keep water in the tub, congratulating you on your latest watery concoction, a bucket full of water and toys.

You are one year and four months old and you are so alive. It is springtime, almost, we can feel it if we breathe in deep at the right time of day. Trees have buds, but are holding their breath. The days tumble by with the quick step of a toddler learning to use his feet and balance. And you love to stomp around, you've only just mastered the vertical existence, and already you see the power and potential in this independence.

Best Buds

You say things like no! And oh oh, mournfully, of course. You use more and again to get what you need. You know how to sign sleep when you are tired, help when you are frustrated, and of course milk, well, anytime, really.  You say car! and point out our low front windows at neighbourhood traffic. You say car! and push around any toy that rolls saying brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbbrr. You build towers out of blocks, not just knock them down. You ask me to turn the music on in the morning and then you dance until nap.

 When you laugh, when you are simply delighted, you throw your head back and exclaim HA! You don't ever want to hold anyone's hand. You are never still enough for a really crisp photograph anymore, unless you're eating or nursing.

Sometimes it strikes me, it physically stops me in my tracks, how magical you are. How fantastic it is to watch you grow and discover. How un-cussing-believable it is that you came from me, that I get to help you build this experience called life. How big and important that makes me in your eyes, how small and tiny and spec-like it makes me feel in my eyes.

Beautiful magical baby.

This time last year I was much more afraid. Everything scared me, everything. I had to shovel myself out the door, shock myself into being human, into showing you the world. This year I am excited. The world is brimming with possibilities and I want to show you how spectacular and brilliant summer-time can be.

I want to show you bugs and water animals, I want to built forts in the urban forests and picnic in their shade. I want to take you camping and show you lake swimming. I want to dance on the green grass with you under the stars and fire-flies.

Squeaky D's Rainbow Birthday of Awesome!

I have been trying to write about Squeaky D's First Birthday for almost four months now. First I nearly lost all of the photos that were taken that day. Very very few photos were taken, but to lose them all in a technical glitch? I don't want to think about it. But I did recover some photos, thankfully, and I've decided to let them mostly speak for themselves. Yes? Yes.

I made the Royal Birthday Baby a quick birthday crown.

I know babies don't really care about their first birthdays. And that is totally cool. But I really wanted to invite over all the people who love him and give everyone a really spectacular day. Since Squeaky D's favourite thing at the time was colours (uh, isn't it every baby's?) I decided to keep it a really simple Rainbow theme and just have fantastic food and a colourful experience for everyone. A big thanks to D's Auntie Kaylin who came over a few hours in advance and helped out big time!

An old parachute hung from the ceiling and a rainbow umbrella.

I was kind of nervous to have a bunch of kids in my house. There, I said it. It scares me! I used to work with kids, so it is strange that I am nervous about it. It isn't because I don't know songs or games to play! There weren't even that many coming, really, it was an adult-heavy event. I decided I would build the children a fort in our second bedroom, fill it with all the toys and a ton of rainbow balloons, and encourage them to make their own good time? It worked. Perfectly.

White and rainbow holiday lights lit the parachute from behind.

The view of the birthday fort from above... several days later!

I kept the grab bags really simple. Every one, even the adults, got a paper bag that I decorated with old scrap-booking leftovers. The children's bags had homemade rainbow playdough, bubbles, a colourful pen, tattoos, and a jar full of rainbow jelly beans, a chocolate, and a disco ball holiday ornament.

Sad goodie bags that were left behind.

Jars full of Jelly Beans for everyone!

 I really didn't get a lot of shots of the food or drinks. I did rainbow fruits and rainbow (as much as possible!) vegetables. I had the usual meat and cheese and hummus and dips and some mini-tacos that went way too fast. I did gluten free and dairy free chocolate cupcakes that were so delicious, iced them with coconut-milk frosting and topped with sprinkles in rainbow colours. Desmond's cupcake was the only one with more than one colour. 

Not a huge fan. He didn't take one bite!

One of each colour. 

I put up a Rainbow Photo wall but only one guest had her photo taken there - and she slept right through it! Squeaky D's good friend Attia brought her Mama, Sarah from A Random Sampling, but was too tuckered out to stay up for photos.

Sarah and Attia

I hand-dyed the orange streamers myself. No joke, a month after Halloween and no orange streamers to be found. And I went to five different stores. So I made my own. Ha!

Our little family is one year old.

At the end of the day, The Squeaker had a fantastic time. He spent most of the day chasing around the other kids and laughing his face off. That's all I really wanted. Oh yeah, and delicious food. 

BIRTHDAY SMOOCHES ZOMG

Happy Birthday, Squeaky D! I love you.

All I need to keep breastfeeding my toddler.

When Desmond was five months old I managed to slip away one afternoon with out him.  I was a new size again, and I wanted to go shopping. I called my best shopping friend and she took me to the mall, the biggest mall, the one that makes me the most lost ever. It was a cold day, but it felt like spring, and we ran through the parking lot with no jackets on.

The reason why I remember this so vividly is because we were talking about breastfeeding. Desmond was almost 6 months and I was proud that I had made it to this milestone. I told her I definitely planned to keep nursing for at least a year ...Maybe even two. She was shocked, but only a little bit. She asked me sincerely, could I handle that kind of responsibility to my child for two ENTIRE years? At the time it seemed overwhelming to me. Five months had felt like forever, already. Could I really make it two years?

At this point I guess I can't answer that question. I'm only 15 and a half months in. But over these past 15 months things have only became easier relative to our rocky start. When I am honest with myself, I realize I have only grown to love it more. Every hurdle we meet we approach with an open mind and then we stride over with such ease that I think maybe we were meant to keep doing this a little while longer.

This past December, Desmond was 13 months old. We were celebrating Christmas with our extended family and, of course, I was nursing him. I am most comfortable nursing away from my family and, of course, no one said anything to me about it. It was almost laughable how I felt it bubble up inside me, the need to justify it to those around me.

There are so so so many reasons to justify breastfeeding a toddler. More than any one person could spew in a minute or two just to fill awkward silence. BESIDES, I said too loudly, my doctor told me to go all the way to two years old!* --cue nervous laughter and shifty eyes--

The truth is, I don't need to justify it to friends, family, or strangers. I don't need you to like it. I've done the research and I know it is what's best for my son and best for me, and that is all that I need to keep going.

Four hundred and seventy one days of breastfeeding, and no reason to stop now. 

So cheers to all the moms breastfeeding toddlers right now, are you reading this blog? How old is your nursling?

*My doctor did recommend we breastfeed until "at least" 2 years old, for a multitude of reasons, but mainly THIS.

Monotony and the self.

Just write something, she said. I believe in you, Mama.

But what is there to write when day in and day out is monotony? Granted, the most meaningful monotony of my entire existence, but monotony just the same.

This is my first post in 2012, since November to be clear, and it is, so far, worthless. How do you write about each day when each day looks exactly the same as the last? How do you write about the feelings when the feelings never change, a veritable roller-coaster in grey. Things are sunny, things are dark but ultimately they are all the same. Get up. Milk. Breakfast. Milk. Playtime. Milk. Groceries. Milk. Lunch. Milk. Nap-time. Milk Milk Milk. Clean clean clean. Cook cook cook.

Is he walking yet? Is he talking yet? Is he a super-star rock n' roll basketball hero yet?

I remember when I used to be creative, but not vividly. I remember it like I remember looking at a powerful photograph, not as though I was really there. I remember when I used to feel that my art meant something. To me, mostly, and maybe to other people, too.

What is a blog for, is it for me? A space to be honest about who I am to a world of people who only wish to tear me down silently behind their computer screens? Or is it a space for me to harp about the parenting choices I make, subsequently making other people question their own monotonous existence? If it is meant to be a space to connect, how do I feel so disconnected? Compared to everyone else at all times.


The other day I realised something again, but for the first time. We are nothing, all of us. We are specs of nothing on the grand scheme of nothingness. This is very freeing, as it means I can do anything I want, I can make any choice I'd like to make. I have only me, I can only control myself. No one else is working to make me happy. No one.

I have begun to consciously choose selfishness. But only when the little one is sleeping.

#26. This Moment: Friday Flashback

Squeaky D Flashback: Three Months Old

 {this moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour, and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same

leave your link in the comments 

then go to Soule Mama and do the same.

Who is Mandude?

Who is Mandude?

Well. He isn't my husband. And I'm not his Wife. I'm simply Ms. Square and he is just Mandude, and together we love each other the best way we know how, constantly striving to know how to love each other better and better.

When we first met neither of us gave the other very much of a second glance.

When we second met we could not stop laughing together.  I loved that his laugh revealed his Russian accent and when gushing about him to friends online (livejournal for life) I referred to him as The Russian. As we got to falling in love, moving in together, starting a family... we realized "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" just didn't cut it anymore. Those terms just didn't match our endearment.

So we tried out partner for a while. We still use it a lot to strangers, but it does seem to make people think we are a homosexual couple for some reason. We also tried out the word spouse, which is my favourite word when I'm dealing with the public.

We is serious about Om Noms

And of course there is the ever-popular "Baby Daddy," which is actually a personal favourite of mine but people don't seem to realize that - yeah, we're still together and in love. So darn.

One evening I was on twitter and everyone around me was tweeting about their spouses. Hubby, Wifey. DH, DP, SigOth... none of it seemed to fit us. I thought, who is he to me?

The dude who mans my heart. My Mandude.

So Mandude he became, and he wears the title well.

What is Burning Man about? I'll tell you.

Yes, I have been to Burning Man. And the number one question I hear is, "What is Burning Man about?"

I'll tell you.

No, Burning Man isn't a giant rave in the desert. Despite what you've heard, it isn't really about music. It isn't about sex or drugs or nudity either.

Burning Man 2009 - Open Playa

It is about people. It is about community. It's about coming together and creating a city void of social status, void of judgement, void of consumerism and greed.

A 3-Story woman made from cables.

It is about pushing ourselves to the limits just to see what we can do. It is about respecting our peers and giving them the space to be and do what makes them happiest. It is about realizing your own personal abundance and gifting the excess to everyone and anyone who happens by. It is the realization that everything we do - a hug, a shared story, a smile, a gin and tonic for a friend - is an experience, a gift of its own right. It's about Art. Or the idea that creativity doesn't live within the boundaries of success and failure.

Yes I made this costume myself.

It is about always striving to be a participant and never just a spectator.

And this year I am staying home. I stayed home last year, too, seven months pregnant and no way in hell was I interested in the physical toll that is living in a tent in a dried up dusty desert-hot lake bed. But my Handsome Mandude wasn't going, either, and I was content in taking a year off.

This year I am not pregnant. I am a Mama. And my Handsome Mandude is venturing down into the desert without me. And he is bringing two of my closest friends.

Yours truly, FireHooping before we lit up The Man

It's true that I could probably go. Other Mamas with babies as young as mine (or younger) find a solid babysitter and make the trip. I'm, personally, not ready to be away from Squeaky D for that long. And I'm breastfeeding and that relationship is more important to me.

And maybe it is possible to bring a baby to Burning Man. But I wouldn't, and I would advise anyone thinking about it not to do it. I'm just not sure it is fair to bring a little person into a world so dusty, hot, overstimulating, borderline dangerous, and overwhelming with no real means of escape. At least not until they can communicate to you about it.


I guess I'm just feeling nostalgic about the whole thing. About the freedom of it all, to be myself and to be fearless about it.  Nostalgic about the people that I've met there, the friendships I have made. The incredible art that people work so hard to drag into the desert for me to climb on, experience, and enjoy.

This Cape used to be a tablecloth.

The ability to wear whatever I want; a tutu, a fur bikini, a bad-ass road warrior leather ensemble, or a giant red cape made from my friend's old silk tablecloth. I'm remembering the cool desert evenings filled with rushing to eat, clean, dress, be ready for the chill and excitement of the dark dark night. The laughter and spontaneity of riding our blinky glowing art bikes through dunes of playa dust, veering from structure to structure, covering miles of rock hard earth just to seek out a little bit of adventure and exhilaration. I'm wistful over that feeling at the end of the week, covered in a dust so fine that no amount of washing seems to take it off, bursting with desire to create, create, PARTICIPATE, climbing the highest art piece and shouting my poetry into the dust storms. Seeing The Man explode with fire, the culmination of all our excitement and experience, until he dwindles down to nothing but embers, ashes, nuts, and bolts.


I'm feeling nostalgic about The Temple, the most quiet and sacred space at Burning Man, built carefully with intricate details, then flooded with emotion literally stapled, written on, and pinned to its wooden walls. Then on the last day, fifty thousand people gather silently - absolutely silently - and solomnly watch it burn down. Let me just say, there is something beyond magical about being one of fifty thousand quietly contemplating all that it means to see the week end and the temple burn to the ground.

Temple in Daylight

Temple at Night

I was going to write a post about how experiencing Burning Man - how being a Burner - has made me into a better parent. But instead I was feeling nostalgic and wrote this. So, in the spirit of art and community and sharing, I will leave you with a poem that I wrote after my first year at Burning Man, a poem that will be pinned up to this year's Temple which, eventually, will burn down to the ground. Simply because it must. And I'll talk about parenting another day.

=================

Handsome Mandude and I

there were good things and magnificent things 

and bad things and horrific things and i saw them all, 

i experienced them all, and they made me different. 

i blocked the sun and i made it shine, 

i helped and hindered time 

and allowed this mass to hurtle onwards. 

i rolled my eyes and rolled my tires 

over dunes of pure dust, through walls of it, 

rolled in it, slept in it, basked in it. 

i climbed on creation and filled my eyes 

and my hands, my mouth. 

my heart. 

i was part of an awe-filled silent crowd 

and i joined gangs of animals 

surging out loud. 

it seethed and was frigid, 

it was comforting, chilling. 

i swung and was flung, 

and we laughed, we wove stories, 

we shimmied, we shared, and we cried. 

we created community and we burned it all to the fucking ground
just to see if we can do it again next year.

xox

Farren Square

#18. This Moment: Cuddlin' with Great-Grandpa

Cuddlin' with Great-Grandpa on Father's Day.

{this moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour, and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same

leave your link in the comments 

then go to Soule Mama and do the same.

#12. This Moment: Hammock Chillin'

Hammock Chillin' with Grandpa

{this moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour, and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same

leave your link in the comments 

then go to Soule Mama and do the same.

A Letter to Des: My Most Favourite Person

To Desmond, my most favourite person,

You are five months old today. All day I thought of writing you a letter to celebrate how incredible you are and all day I just marveled at you instead.

Sitting On Your Own

I can't believe it has been five months since I held you in my arms for the first time. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around how small you really are because to me you are everything, you are my world. And you seem so big, you seem like you have grown so much already. It is difficult for me to imagine all the places you'll go, all the thoughts you'll have - they are mysteries to me, a great secret to be discovered.

I don't want to miss a second of it. 

These days you are sitting on the floor - wobbly but independent. You think your feet are hilarious, and you giggle hysterically when I kiss them or blow raspberries on the soles. You clutch them and bring them to your mouth, but if I congratulate you your focus is lost and the feet disappear. This, however, doesn't slow you down. You are so big now that you've outgrown the baby tub and Papa juggles you, all slippery, in the big kid bathtub while you desperately try to put everything in your mouth. Two months ago you were just noticing your hands, exploring them for the first time. Now you masterfully grab and handle anything placed within your reach and cover it with your slippery mouth.

Jumping in all Your New Easter Gear

Your grandma and grandpa got you a Jolly Jumper for Easter and it is so strange to see you upright, standing there like the little person that you are. I love to watch you jump industriously, so much work to be done! You always look back at me and smile, checking to make sure I think this is as hilarious as you do. I do.

It's true that you don't like to let us get much sleep at night. Even though it gets hard and sometimes I feel completely spent, the cuddling, the kisses, the chubby little smiles make it all worthwhile. The other day you said Mamama and Papapa and we celebrated like you actually knew our names. Like you actually knew who we were and that we love you more than anything.


We do, you just don't know it yet. We do. And someday soon you will know it with all your heart.


A millionty kisses,
Mommy

The Bad Mommy versus The Perfect Mommy

When I announced my pregnancy to my large group of -mostly childless- friends, several people told me that I would make a good mom.

That sentence scared me like nothing else in pregnancy ever had. What does it even mean, to be a good mother? How does one qualify what a good mother looks like, sounds like? And if some mothers are good mothers, that means there are bad mothers - and what if I was secretly one of them? What if I was selfish sometimes and wanted to go to the bathroom without my kid in there with me, what if I wanted to leave my baby with his daddy and escape to the coffee shop sometimes, does that make me a bad mommy?

Is this what a bad Mommy looks like?

What if I put my sleeping baby down in a swing, does that make me a bad mommy? What if cloth diapers just don't work for us overnight - now am I a bad mommy?

It's all just too much to think about, defining who is and who isn't a bad mommy. I can only focus on what I choose to do because it feels right to me.

It feels right to put my sleeping baby in a swing, where he will be rocked and loved while I breathe and sip the cold coffee I made for myself hours earlier. It feels right to put him in a disposable diaper so that neither of us are waking every hour for a diaper change. It feels right to take time to re-charge every so often, to remind myself that I am just "I" - not always a "We."

It feels right to breastfeed my baby, but if that didn't work for us the way it has so far, it would feel right to make sure my baby was fed and happy - no matter what I had to do to accomplish that task.

In 2008 I had the chance to be a part of a community where nobody is judged for any choice that they happen to make, as long as it is respectful to others. I felt absolutely freed from the world's negativity. I vowed that I would return to my life and work harder than ever before to make sure nobody I ever encountered felt judged for any choice they make (as long as it was respectful towards others). I've slipped up more than once, but I still continue forward with this mission, especially now that becoming a mommy has opened up a gorgeously diverse group of women for me.

But as I get to know these mothers, as I move forward as a mother myself... I'm realising that I never stopped judging myself. I never stopped and allowed myself to simply make the best choices that I can. I haven't let myself believe that it's okay not to be an absolutely perfect mother.

Or that maybe I get to be the one who decides what perfect means for my family. I think it is time to move forward, to let go. I think it's time for freedom.

#6. This Moment: Teething

Mmm, Icy Cloth

{this moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour, and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same

leave your link in the comments 

then go to Soule Mama and do the same.

#5. This Moment: Story time

Story Time

 

{this moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour, and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same

leave your link in the comments 

then go to Soule Mama and do the same.

#4. This Moment: Climbing on Papa

Climbing on Papa

{this moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

If you're inspired to do the same, leave your link in the comments, then go to Soule Mama.

A Letter to Des: I am Blown Away by your Everything.

 Desmond,

I can't believe how much you've grown in the last three and a half months. When you arrived on the scene I was blown away by your everything. The tiniest muscle twitch from you became my moment's obsession; I never wanted to look away.

Rolling Over

I am thrilled to be a witness of these monumental and tiny feats. I am honoured to watch your growing awareness of your body as you discover your power and potential. Three weeks ago you looked at your hands for the first time. You pulled them out of your mouth and stared at them with focused intensity. Slowly you unclasped your fingers, reclasped them gently and placed them back into your mouth with a self-satisfied giggle. What a tiny moment, I thought, and yet - everyone in the world has one moment in their lives where they noticed their hands for the first time. Every human had to struggle through the lack of dexterity of babydom, these tiny firsts are a worldwide phenomenon. You remind me that all of humanity is vulnerable and amazing.

Three days ago you completely rolled over the first time. Then three more times. You scare me with your mobility, it is happening faster than I ever imagined. I'm both excited and petrified to watch you grow into a little independent human, moving your own way and making your own choices. Recently you found your tongue inside your mouth and you baaabble on and on to me, especially in the mornings. I nod at you over my first cup of coffee and we chat about our dreams at night. If I had to say, I'd guess you have pretty funny dreams the way you laugh and giggle, your voice echoing through the kitchen. And you are such a sturdy little housebeast now, you hold your own head and look where you want to look - you kick and squirm with power and strength. I am amazed at how quickly it starts.

We speak a common language, you and I, without sharing any words. It's like I was born when you were born, this new version of myself so open to learning all about you. We've grown together these last sixteen weeks and we mostly understand each other - finally. I'm enjoying listening to you explain who you are as you figure it out for yourself. I can't wait to show you the world.

xox
Mommy

Rookie Cooking: That Vegan Chickpea Dish

I'm a total rookie cook. That is, when it comes to cooking I have no idea what I'm doing. Sometimes I will be talking with a friend about what they like to make and I'll gasp inwardly: "You can DO that?"

Assistant Chef

So, as my fledgling family makes a start in this world, I am forcing myself to learn to cook. And then I'm going to blog about it. Even the mistakes. Hopefully there won't be too many mistakes... anymore. You are more than welcome to join me on my cooking journey! And of course, share your experiences and improvements on any recipe.

Right now I am personally gluten-sensitive which means that everything will be entirely gluten-free. I won't be using wheat or wheat flour, rye, barley, malt, or any of the other plethora of items with secret gluten, and I'll note which gluten-free brands I'm using. I'm also completely egg, peanut, and dairy free while I'm breastfeeding my son because he has shown to be sensitive.

My first meal was a success! I've made this recipe several times before but this was the most delicious version. Something we like to call

That Chickpea Dish (you know, the vegan one?)
I used:

• olive oil
• veggies:
• 6-7 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
•  a hunk of ginger the size of your thumb, finely finely chopped
• 1 small onion, chopped
• 2 cups sugar snap peas with tips cut off
• 2 medium-large carrots sliced
• 1 medium red pepper, chopped
• 1/2 head of cauliflower, broken into small pieces
• 2-3 leaves of kale
• spices (each to taste):
• cumin
• coriander
• oregano
• freshly ground black pepper
• mrs. dash (yeah, that's right, I'm admitting it)
• One can organic chickpeas (organic is highly recommended, but whatever)

 What I did:
Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan and drop in the ginger, half the garlic, and onions. You can use less garlic than I did, but why would you want to? I immediately sprinkle cumin to cover the onions and garlic and add a dash of coriander. I let it be until the onions start looking like they might want to start getting soft.

Add the carrots, red pepper, snap peas. Stir it up so everything gets all glossy with olive oil. This is when I added the majority of spice - more cumin (I probably used about a tablespoon of cumin all together), a tiny bit more coriander, the ground pepper, the oregano, and the mrs. dash. I then added the cauliflower, kale, and the rest of the garlic. Adding more garlic later in cooking gives the dish a stronger garlic taste. Again, stir and mix until there is a light coating of olive oil on everything.

Mmm. Vegetables.

Rinse and drain the chickpeas (sometimes called Garbanzo beans), I usually rinse and drain twice and leave about 1/4 of the can in liquid **I only  recommend this if you are using organic chickpeas because that juice at the bottom? It's just chickpea juice and salt. But if you are using otherwise... well, I would rinse a lot more. Dump in the chickpeas and the extra water - just enough to cover the bottom of the frying pan - and add in little torn up pieces of kale. The kale and the chickpeas need barely any time to cook, so stir everything and watch closely. Once the kale is dark green and soft, remove the frying pan from heat and serve.

There you have it. A gluten-free, vegan meal that is delicious enough to stand on its own. I  have served this with rice, but honestly I love it best as-is. And my first meal on this journey towards super mega chefdom! Or something like that, hopefully.

Hanging with Grandpa

 

{this moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

If you're inspired to do the same, go to Soule Mama.

TED Tuesday: Tony Porter's A Call To Men

If you are someone who doesn't understand what feminism is or why anyone would ever claim to be a feminist, this TED Tuesday is for you. This TED video, from the perspective of a man and father, changed how I approach the issue, especially now as a mother.

During pregnancy, I often wondered how mothering would fit into my feminist viewpoint. Or how feminism would fit into my mothering viewpoint. I had become a feminist breeder and was curious about what kind of impact this would have on how I felt about certain issues.

I knew just how to handle myself if we had a girl. All the things I would say, the opportunities I would offer her.

But oh, no. We had a boy. A beautiful boy, but in regards to my feminism... seriously outside my realm of experience. It might seem strange, but amongst all the soul-searching questions I asked myself, one that appears and re-appears often is - "How will I raise my boy to be a respectful feminist?"

To be honest, simply avoiding gender stereotypes has been hard enough. And then to add this notion of raising a respectful young person who grows up to be conscientious and respectful to all genders, while remaining knowledgeable about hurtful preconceived ideas... Well, it will be a journey we will explore together to say the least.


Tony Porter's A Call to Men TED speech came at me out of left field. As he tells powerful and moving stories from his own life, he is honest and vulnerable - he allows himself to say what I have rarely heard men say before: Don't "act like a man." The cliche to "act like a man" alone is so telling about our social climate where young boys are told that if they don't demonstrate power and control (especially over women), then they aren't really a man - and if they aren't a man, they are worthless. As worthless as what?  A woman?

Enjoy this video, and let me know what you think.



xox
Farren

A Letter to Des: Your birth story.

Desmond Anatoli was born on November 25th at 4:55am at 8lbs and 9 oz. He is pretty much the cutest thing I have ever laid eyes on in my entire life, I love him to bits. This is my first letter written to him - his birth story:


I had been feeling contractions all Monday night but most of them were light enough to sleep through. By Tuesday morning I was having really light contractions every 10 or 15 minutes and stronger contractions about once an hour. I was 41 weeks pregnant and I asked your dad to drive me to my doctor's appointment because I just didn't want to be driving through the snow if a contraction hit hard. At the appointment, we listened to your heartbeat and the doctor checked my cervix. She could feel your little head in there, I was already 4cm dilated and you were very low, just like you had been for the last five weeks! The doctor scheduled me for an induction, and I was getting disappointed. I wanted you to choose to come naturally on your own time, even though I was incredibly anxious to meet you!

We went home and took the bumpiest roads we could find. I ate an entire pineapple, and your daddy and I tried to get those prostaglandins moving in our own special way. Contractions kept coming, but they were irregular and I was getting sad. Kristin came by after work and brought me to the mall so we could walk you out. We walked around that mall for nearly four hours and I was soo grumpy, embarrassed to have to stop and gasp at how a few contractions seemed to be getting more and more intense. I wouldn't let my hopes get too high, but I was begging, pleading, praying that you were finally on your way! I went to bed at midnight and woke up at 2:00am, restless. I bounced around on my birth ball, showered, and cleaned up the kitchen while timing contractions that were getting closer and closer! Most of them were between 5 to 7 minutes apart, and some of them really hurt! I tried to rest, but only slept about 3 hours before I just couldn't sleep through them anymore. I woke Dimitri and we putzed around the house while I timed my contractions at 4-5 minutes apart. It was 10:30 and since the hospital was about an hour away, we decided to make our way there.

They turned us away! When they checked me out and I was still only 4cm dilated. My contractions were coming regularly, but the nurses said all the beds were full and they didn't think it was the real thing quite yet. I was pretty sure, however, that it was! We turned around and started driving home and already I regretted it. The contractions were getting as close as two and three minutes apart and they were too much for me to talk through. At home, I had two contractions and then felt my forewaters break. We got back in the car and were back at the hospital by 12:45. They finally admitted me.

At 1:00pm on Wednesday, things became very intense! The nurses who were admitting me read my birth plan and immediately began telling me all the things that simply would not happen, which was exactly what I didn't need to hear. Eventually they did accommodate me to some extent. They took my blood pressure and it was exceptionally high, so they called my Doctor to see what she had to say. One of the nurses had such a thick accent, I could barely understand her, but it became apparent that they wanted me to have an epidural and they wanted me to have it now. It was that or morphine, they said. I flat out refused, and one nurse spent a long time trying to convince me that the epidural wouldn't affect my baby - but I didn't believe her. So they brought out laughing gas and I tried it, but I just became confused and told them no. I wanted out of bed, I didn't want to be on my back. They brought me a birth ball and then magically it was shift exchange and I received a new nurse. Her name was Alex, and she told me she had read my birth plan and that she was going to come in only to check the baby's heartbeat unless we called her. She was wonderful. She showed me how to use the sitz bath and let Dimitri and I share the birth together. At this point the contractions were very serious to me. It was overwhelming how such a power came from inside me and took over my body so consistently. Dimitri was wonderful, he never left my side and helped me breathe and focus through every contraction. I knew it was hard for him to see me in such pain, but he was so supportive - constantly telling me he loved me, that I was doing so well and he was proud of me. I was constantly moving from the birth ball to the sitz bath and occasionally even on the toilet, but the toilet made the contractions unbearable. I focused on his eyes as he stared into mine and coached me on taking deep breaths and moaning low through the peaks of contractions. Both your grandma and grandpa and your babushka and dedushka visited us that evening, but I was busy with contractions and could barely say hello. They saw that we were concentrating, and wished us well before they left. They were just so excited to meet you!

I asked Alex to check me late that night (we covered up the clock, so I'm not sure what time it was!) and I was only 5cm dilated. She encouraged me that my cervix was fully effaced and that was a good sign. She told me to keep moving around and told me I was doing great, that she thought I could go the whole way without an epidural. I soaked up every bit of encouragement I could get at that point, I was getting very tired. Soon afterward, we were back in the sitz bath and I was crying. I told Dimitri I was getting tired and I was worried that I would be in labour forever. I was scared that I might need to have an epidural after all. He reminded me of all the reasons why I didn't want to have one and asked me to wait and see. Between contractions I would lay my head back and actually fell asleep for brief moments at a time. I would jolt awake at every wave of tightness that hit me and immediately Dimitri would wake and help me through it only to have us both doze again immediately afterward. Again I asked Alex to check me and I was only 7cm dilated. It felt like this was taking forever!

At some point there was another shift exchange and our new nurse introduced herself as Barb. I asked her to check me right away and I was only at 8cm. I was crestfallen. It seemed to be taking forever to get anywhere and I was having a hard time keeping my strength up. We kept on working through contractions and I worked so hard to stay positive. Sometimes I would give in and say that I couldn't do it anymore, but I also tried to say things like "Open!" and "I can do this! I am doing this!" Saying things positively really helped the contractions seem less powerful. I asked Barb to check me often. I suddenly needed to know what my body was doing at all times. Finally I was 9cm dilated, only one centimeter left to go. I laboured for a while longer and had her check. Still 9. I laboured for another hour and had her check again. Still 9. I wanted to scream! They told me that there was a small lip of cervix that just didn't seem to want to dilate. She encouraged me to labour through contractions on my side and flip after each one to encourage that lip to go away, but it didn't. She tried to encourage the lip to dilate with her hands during one of my contractions, which was so painful, but it didn't really help much.

I was feeling so much pressure down low, and I wanted to push. They told me if I pushed too early I could cause my cervix to swell and that would hold things up even further. It was impossible not to push, my body was doing it all on its own. All during labour I was encouraging my body to give in to the waves and stay relaxed, and here I was being told not to listen to my body, to reign it in. I moaned and screamed and Dimitri stared into my eyes coaching me to breathe. I guess I said some pretty terrible things, but I really don't remember anything but how green Dimitri's eyes were and how badly I wanted to push through the pain. At some point my doctor arrived and I became aware of how late it was getting.  Finally they encouraged me to try a little laughing gas to see if it could relax my body and allow that last cm to dilate. I was so worried that the laughing gas would affect you, something I desperately wanted to avoid, but they told me it was safe and you wouldn't feel anything.

As soon as I did, I was calmer. People were talking to me and I couldn't hear them. I was labouring on my side and found the contractions were just as painful, but the experience seemed removed. It was only minutes before I put it down and I was fully dilated. They told me I could finally listen to my body and let myself push. It was 3:20 in the morning and I had been in active labour for over 12 hours, including early labour it had been 24 hours or more. I was so ready to meet you.

Pushing was incredible, it felt so natural and yet hurt so badly. I reached down and touched your head a couple times between pushes. The nurse and Dimitri held my legs and let me brace against them as I held my breath to bear down. Sometimes the pain between pushes was so bad I would start to hyperventilate, your poor dad was at a loss for the first time. I think he just couldn't take his eyes off the itty bit of your head that he could see materialize. I remember grabbing him by his shirt and commanding 'HELP ME BREATHE!' because I just couldn't slow my breathing on my own. While it was all so intense at the same time, I could actually feel the progress. Each push made me feel infinitely closer to holding you and I wanted to get through it so badly. I pushed for over an hour and a half. Nobody told me how close I was getting, I still thought I had a couple more to go when suddenly I felt the strangest thing in the entire world. You were out! I pushed out your head and shoulders so quickly, the rest of you was so easy.

Suddenly, nurses were flying everywhere. You dad did a double take and announced to the world- It's a boy! Immediately, I called out, "Desmond!" Your cord was short so I had to wait for your dad to cut it. I remember being so confused but reaching down and asking to hold you. A nurse whisked you away and told the doctor your temperature was low. I asked to hold you, I wanted to see you and hold you so badly. Things were hazy, but I remember my doctor telling the nurse that skin to skin contact was just as good if not better than the warming station and suddenly you were wrapped up and in my arms. Though there were many small things that didn't go exactly as I had envisioned them (it's funny what they can talk you into during Transition!) I was just so ecstatic to see you, it washed away any pain or negativity and I was just beaming with love for you. I immediately unswaddled you and put you on my chest.  I held you and kissed you and stroked your little (huge!) head. You were so perfectly grumpy straight from the beginning, but you didn't cry once you were on my chest, you just squeaked around and started looking for my nipple. It took you a while to open your eyes but when you did I knew I wanted to look at them forever! I breastfed you right away and you latched on so well even the nurses were surprised. Your daddy held you, too, and he was just as deep in love as I was. I thanked him for being so good to me through the birth, that I had never felt more loved or supported in all my life. Even some of the nurses were saying that he was better than some doulas they had seen! Your birth was definitely the hardest, most intense, and most empowering thing I have ever done. As we snuggled as a family, I knew we were just never going to let you go, even later when everything died down and I could finally rest, I rescued you from your little bassinet and snuggled you all morning in my bed, it was perfect. I love you, Desmond, and I always will.