A Poem About Standing in My Back Yard

just the other day with the sun shining on the tulips
the rose bush starting to bud
a stray cat sleeping on the fence

When I looked up at the blue sky
I lifted my arms to God
I said "Thank You"
because I have everything

this is all I want
three healthy children
a husband who has loved me for 15 years
people who call me friend
and say they are lucky to know me
even though I am luckier to know them

I can imagine myself in any other land
without ever really needing to leave
the place I am in.

Dreaming of the Mountain High

Have you ever had one of those moments when you felt you could do anything that you put your mind to?

I'm not having one of those moments right now.

I just read this passage in a devotional book by Oswald Chambers; "We must bring our commonplace life up to the standard revealed in the high hour. Never allow a feeling which was stirred in you in the high hour to evaporate. don't put your mental feet on the mantelpiece and say- 'What a marvelous state of mind to be in!' Act...

I don't usually take advice from people named Oswald...

but I think he has a point.

I'm dreaming of a Mountain High. Anybody want to go hiking?

Seeds

Last night I dreamed that my mom was going to teach me how to sow seeds. I was very excited to have this lesson passed down to me. When I arrived at her garden, my mother was surrounded by potted perrennials instead of seeds. She was frantically hurrying to get them all planted. I tried to tell her how badly I needed to learn how to plant the seeds myself. She brushed me aside and said "Dig holes Jennifer. We've got to get these planted right now!"

Considering that my mother is a masterful gardener, and that she has also been extremely busy recently, I could assume that this dream is about her. But I know myself. I am far too self-obsessed to dream about anybody else for their own sake (even my mom!). I believe this dream is about me. I believe it is about my need to plant seeds in my life right now. I am at a point in my life when (if I had sown the seeds earlier...) I should be starting to see the harvest.

It would be a lot easier to plant perennials in my life right now. I would see the results a lot sooner... but then wouldn't I always have that nagging feeling that the seeds might have made a better plant? or that I didn't deserve the plant? or that the plant was beautiful but I'd never be able to grow another one?

All this angst! Come on, say it... It was only a dream!

I Invited a Few Friends For Lunch...

...to celebrate the baptism of James, Matthew, Jonathan and Eli. We had more people over for lunch on Sunday than we had at our wedding; over 50 people! This is amazing considering the fact that some of our closest friends are living in faraway cities and could not come. (J, G, S, B, N, and I... you know who you are!). Each person that came over on Sunday holds a very special place in our lives. We did not invite a single person who was just an acquaintance. There are also a few people that we wanted to invite (F, T, H, S and W... to name a few!) and could not because we already had so many people coming over. I am sitting here, days later, feeling awestruck by the amazing way Sunday's celebration unfolded. I do not for one minute want to forget how blessed we are. Our friends and family are the most awesome people. I have so much I want to say about baptism and church membership and how much more monumental these events are than I could ever have imagined. I am trying to write about the flood of feelings that overcame me on Sunday, but it is so hard to verbalize. I told A. the other day that explaining my feelings is like the song that you can sing in perfect tune and harmony in your head but when you try to sing outloud comes out all wrong.

I opened my bible at the end of the day to this verse from Deuteronomy 6:5-7 "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you walk along the road." This verse was such an encouragement to me.

A Quiet Walk around the lake sometimes means taking a wrong turn

I went on a walk this morning pushing Eli in the stroller at Elk/Beaver Lake. I decide not to go all the way around the lake, and instead take a turn onto a trail I haven't been on before. I walk past a picnic bench that is knee deep in the water and I wish Eli was big enough for gumboots and splashing. I know M and J would have pretended that bench was a boat and been entertained for minutes, possibly even hours. I continue walking until I see another trail that appears to head back in the direction of Elk Lake. I walk a fair ways as the trail narrows. There are no footsteps, only horse hooves in the mud. The sun is glistening through the trees. This section of trail is quiet compared to the hustle bustle of the common trail around the lake. As it continues to narrow and get muddier I realize that the trek back to Elk lake is only going to get more difficult. I end up breaking through the bush (with the stroller) into the large field of grass (and muddy potholes) and making my way (with the stroller I remind you) across this muddy potholed field for the half hour it takes me to get back to the common trail. It was an adventurous morning!

(As I pushed the stroller off the muddy field and back onto the common trail I felt my arm muscles tighten and I thought.... this is way more fun than working out at the gym!)

Writer's Block

I have nothing to say
I have been writing and erasing what I've written.
This is evidence to how closely linked my writing is with my life.
There are things I do not want to write about today because they are too personal; plans and ambitions that I am not ready to open myself up to public opinion and scrutiny on.

I do have something to say.
I am beginning to realize how important my role is as a mother and a wife.
Right now these roles are at the forefront of my existence. There was a time when I was desperate to prove that I was more than just a... ;
more than just a mother, more than just a friend, more than just a wife.
I no longer feel that this is something I must prove.

It is impossible to be just a mother, for motherhood encompasses all of me. There is no Jennifer the writer that can exist seperately from Jennifer the mother or Jennifer the friend. This is a revelation.

My friend Jess says...

that if you want to make something big of your life you have to have big goals...

that if you want to suceed you have to focus on one thing you're good at, and not be distracted by all the other things you could be doing...

that I'm beautiful and talented...

that she loves her mom... (and I love my mom too!)

that we've got the best husbands in the world...

that she hates talking on the phone but she'll talk to me anyways....

that when she's back in Victoria she'll take lots of pictures of my cute baby...

(and if you want to know if her advice is worth listening to click here. You'll see just how lucky I am to have such a talented friend)

take an idea and make it into something real

Last month James and I were talking about the family movie night that we used to go to at the UVic Grad Centre. We used to sit at the back chatting with other parents while our kids sat cute and cross legged on the floor in front of the big screen tv.

I said "Wouldn't it be neat if we had a movie night like that here in our housing co-op?"
and then I met with our co-op social director and told her what I would like to do. She thought it was a great idea.

A week later the co-op newsletter came out, movie night advertised in bold on the front page. And that is how easy it is to take an idea and make it into something real. A suggestion. Words typed on a page. It becomes an event. People write it into their calendars. They show up. It all starts with a conversation "wouldn't it be fun to..." "wouldn't it be neat if we..."

If you were to ask me what I want to do with my life, that would be it. I want to be a person that takes ideas and turn them into something tangible. It's really not that hard to do.

I am being given a pep talk from a four month old baby

I was planning to fly to Toronto tomorrow on Jetsgo. Newspaper headlines all over the country advise of thousands of stranded passengers as the discount airline pulls the plug on operations. eli and I are both pretty sad. We were a bit scared of flying but we were alot looking forward to seeing our good friends in ontario.

right now eli is sitting beside me holding his stuffed puppy and telling me a story.

he's saying " iiii ooaaayyy aaaah ooohh: it's okay mommy we'll figure out a way for you to see your friend."

he's saying " oooooaayyy aahhh: your friend is sad"

and I say "yes eli, she is sad and so is mommy"

and he says " ooooeeaaa aahhhyy: do you want to hug my puppy? puppy will make you happy"

and I say "yes eli, puppy will make me happy. But I will still miss my friend"

and Eli gets a little sad and says "oooohhh oohhh oohhh: mommy, you promised you'd build me a snowpuppy"

and I say "I will build you a snow puppy sweetie, except we'll have to use our big imaginations and make it out of sand"

and he says "oohuuuaaaayyyy: and mommy, you and your friend can use your big imaginations to give eachother hugs."

Advice from my mother as I prepare to fly to Ontario

Be careful on the plane
Be careful with your baby
Don't talk to anybody
ok, maybe you can talk to doting little old ladies
but if you do have to talk to doting little old ladies
don't say "Can you hold my baby, I have to go to the bathroom"

Next month Jonathan is going to Vancouver with his Ukulele troupe. I can't go with him. I know exactly how she feels.

"You look so good" and other lies people tell you

For the past week I have had a burgeoning head cold. Yesterday it burgeoned. But regardless of how I was feeling, and in spite of the Giant Zit in the middle of my forehead I had to go out...

I had atleast a dozen conversations last night at Jonathan's grade five science fair, where people told me how good I looked. Now I am not looking for an outpouring of compliments and sympathy when I say that I know for an absolute fact that I did not look good last night. There have been times, and even recently, where I have looked fabulous; After a run when I look in the mirror at my cheeks all rosy with health, or the rare occassion when I'm all dressed up for an evening out. More often I am looking and feeling good on luxuriously lazy days spent comfortable in jeans and a tshirt, feeling invigorated by motherhood and friendship.

But last night I know with absolute certainty that I looked like crap. So why did all these people feel compelled to tell me how good I looked? Was it merely words to fill an otherwise uncomfortable silence, or did they really mean something else? I like to think that they are mostly referring to Elijah. Sporting a baby can be something akin to a new outfit. No matter how bad you feel, people don't really notice you. They notice the new baby tucked snugly into your arms like a prada purse. And I absolutely agree. Elijah looked fabulous last night.

Painting Lesson: Rule #1 DO NOT WATER PAINTED FLOWERS!

Being at home with Eli I have a bit too much time during the day to ruminate, cogitate, ponder, consider, contemplate, muse, reflect and mull over all aspects of my life...

This is not healthy.

In an effort to avoid expensive therapy I have decided to try my hand at painting. This evening I became increasingly agitated while trying to paint what should have been a tulip. I thought it was going to be a lot easier! By the time I was finished my frustration had not subsided. The therapy just wasn't working!

So I took my painting outside and watered it down with the garden hose. (Now that felt good!)

Later I realized that this painting was probably the best I could do. That it wasn't so bad after all. Okay, maybe it did look a bit like chickenscratch and Okay, maybe Jonathan did tell me that it would never fetch more than twenty bucks on the fine art market...

I started ruminating over the use of colour, I began to cogitate the potential of art to transform lives. I pondered how every great artist must get his/her start with a scratchy tulip like thing. I considered how this painting might have been the beginning of a series. I contemplated what I would do for a gift (for my friend who now will not receive a tulip painting). I mused over the subjectivity of art. I reflected on my own inner artist. I mused over possible future paintings and...

...and that is why you should not water painted flowers!

Did you kiss my door...

...and if you did, were you saying goodbye or hello?

We have had various people come to visit over the past few weeks and only yesterday discovered that somebody (with a very nice shade of lipstick) has kissed our door. I know that I really should wash it off but I think it's kind of cute.

It reminds me of the notes we would pass around in highschool (when we were supposed to be listening to mr. so-and-so's lecture on Roman Civilizations) signed with a kiss and an xoxo.

I wonder if people will arrive at our front door, see the lipstick mark, smile, and know that we are loved?

(Or will they just think that we have run out of windex?)

Let's do the Log Driver's Waltz Baby...

When I was younger I watched a lot of TV. In fact for a little while I even had a TV in my room (until my first grade teacher told my mom that I was watching The Barney Miller Show. and staying up past 11 on school nights)
The funny thing is that even though I cancelled my cable subscription years ago I get all sentimental when I remember some of the old shows I used to watch...
In between shows the CBC would sometimes slip in humorous cartoons by various Canadian animators. Recently, in a fit of nostalgia, I ordered one of those animations; The Log Driver's Waltz from the National Film Board of Canada. It is part of an anthology of short animations that includes The Cat Came Back and The Sweater. It is so neat to own this video. I have watched it with my husband, my kids, my mother, my stepfather... I have even printed sheet music off the internet because (even though I am tone deaf and can't play an instrument) I am going to learn it so that I can play the song around the campfire this summer.

I am a Potted-Plant-Girl!

There are people who are rooted into the soil they stand on. Commitments to work, school, friends and family hold them to the ground. Like a tree that will not be uprooted in fierce winds these people hold fast to their homes. Their needles fall, turn to seed. New trees are born from the same soil. The land is fertile and a forest springs forth from the ground; a forest of familiar faces and familiar commitments. We have lived in this forest for a long time, but have not planted ourselves in it.

I am potted plant girl but I am ready to be a tree.

Is this ironic considering the changes that are taking place in our lives, or is it natural for a potted plant girl to find that somehow there are roots that have inadvertantly escaped from the pot and embedded themselves in the soil? To find out that she is not a potted plant girl after all?

My mom's cheesecake always turns out... and there's a reason for that!

Sunday. 6pm.
I am in the kitchen with the makings of a cheesecake spread across the counter, but need some advice from an expert.

"bring-a-ling-a-ling... bring-a-ling-a-ling"
"Hi Mom... I need some help with this cheesecake I'm making"
"OK Sure." she says, and knowing how my mother likes to have everything in place before she starts a new week I imagine that she is just settling down from a busy Sunday afternoon of cooking and cleaning. "What are you making cheesecake for?"
"We're getting together with our household group from church tonight"
I hear an abrupt intake of breath "You're making it for tonight and you're calling me now!" I can hear the frustration in her voice. "What time do you have to be there?"
"7:30" I say with confidence, "but Mom there's lots of time! It only takes an hour to bake." I am familiar with her exasperation but feel quite sure that my cheesecake will turn out wonderfully.
"Oh, Jennifer" she sighs, "you do things so different from me. I would have made it first thing this morning. Now it will never be done on time!"
"Mom, it sounds like you're getting mad!"
"No" she says, "but yes... it drives me crazy how you are always late. I'm not even going to be eating it and it frustrates me. I want you to bring a nice cheesecake when you go out. I want you to be on time!"
"I am not always late" I say, defensive.

7:30 pm. I arrive at my friends house. So far the cheesecake looks pretty good. I feel smug. Wait til I tell my mom how wrong she was!
8pm. I cut the cheesecake. It falls apart in the spatula. My friends are gracious. We call it cheesecake custard. We laugh and feel grateful that it tastes so much better than it looks.

The next day. Early Evening. My mom phones. She phones for the sole purpose of finding out how my cheesecake turned out. I consider lying. I can't lie. I admit sheepishly...
"Yes mom, once again... you were right."

The Boy in the Mirror

The other day when I brought Eli to the mirror, he smiled broadly at the little boy reflecting back at him. The little boy smiled back, and Eli cooed. The little boy made the same face, mouth open in a coo-a-goo and Eli and the boy in the mirror both bobbed their heads and laughed at the exact same time.

Do You ever get used to such a place?

I just started reading Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence which I'm sure I read years ago, yet it all seems brand new. Perhaps when I read it I was too young and immature to understand it. Now, as you all know, I am old and wise. The breadth of my comprehension is unfathomable. Ha Ha Ha. I seriously hope you know I am joking when I say that. Of course I am still young and immature, just with perhaps a bit more knowledge than I had the day before and the day before...

Anyways, I just read this passage, where an elderly Hagar Shipley is in a retirement home that her son and daughter in law are hoping to convince her to move into. She has just met one of the residents of the retirement home:

"Do you--" I hesitate. "Do you ever get used to such a place?"

She laughs then, a short bitter laugh I recognize and comprehend at once.

"Do you get used to life?" She says. "Can you answer me that? It all comes as a surprise. You get your first period, and you're amazed --I can have babies now--such a thing! When the children come, you think --Is it mine? Did it come out of me? Who could believe it? When you can't have them anymore, what a shock --It's finished --so soon?"

This passage really struck me. Perhaps it is the passage of time that I am being hit with, how quickly we move from adolescense to womanhood. How so often we rush ourselves through these stages in our lives. We are so anxious to see the next sequence of our life unfold that we don't stop often enough to cherish today. And no, I have not gotten used to any of it. It seems that just as you start to comprehend one stage of your life you have already moved onto the next, which is perhaps one of the reasons I am cherishing Eli so much. It is a chance for me to embrace motherhood without being overcome by the newness of it.

A Dream ------------This------------ Big!

For the past few years I have talked more about writing than I have actually written. I have read every YA book I could get my hands on, trying to figure out what I can about this elusive craft. I have attended meetings sporadically, looking for and finding inspiration. But I have not been able to find the uninterrupted stretch of time necessary to focus on writing. Now Eli has reached the blessed stage of afternoon naps and I find myself with a few beautiful uninterupted hours of mommy-time. I can't not write. I have been dreaming about this opportunity for too long to let it slip by; to let my life slip into easy mediocricy. But when people ask me what I am writing about I get all squirmy and skittish. It still feels so personal, so fragile.
Last night I went to the Children's Literature Roundtable, where Sheree Fitch was the featured speaker. She was so inspiring. She talked about each persons need to find a safe place to express themselves. Many people who want to write, don't. Not because they don't have time (although that is often the excuse) What really stops people is fear of failure, having a dream of something ---------------------this big--------------------, and not being able to live up to that high expectation. I realized listening to her how true her words were. I have a very big dream for my writing, but I have to start with a little dream and build on it. I wish I had tape recorded her talk, or in the very least brought a pen to write notes. (Read this 1999 interview to be inspired by Sheree Fitch) A lot of what Sheree Fitch said last night echoed the advice of my friend Jessica, a succesful artist. I wished Jessica had been there with me, to nudge me at key moments and with a look of true friendship say with her eyes "See, isn't that what I've been telling you..." And I could have looked back at Jess, and without saying anything she would know that I do know what she means.

Confession: I am the Messy Desk Girl

There is paper and bills and boxes and lists and photos strewn all over my desk. I was sitting at this mess of a desk yesterday afternoon after having coffee with a friend. I was determined to start writing. I have been on maternity leave for three months now. That means I have only nine months left (and less if James decides to take a few months of paternity leave himself) to write the book that I am hoping will launch my career. I tried to shut out all distractions and focus on putting the story to the page. I couldn't do it. I can not work at a messy desk and I can not clean my desk without looking at each item stacked beside me and determining it's usefulness in my life.
In my work at the University bookstore (pre-maternity leave) some of my colleagues would tease me about my colour coded pens, how I had to keep everything in order. I'm sure they assumed that the same order would permeate my life. I'm sure they would never imagine me to be the messy desk girl that I am. I am giving myself a deadline. I have a week to clean off this desk and develop a writing routine. I am just hoping that my new writing routine doesn't hurt as much as the pilates workout I attempted last night!