Blizzard!

The last big blizzard around here was in 1978; I was the same age my daughter is now. I wonder what she'll remember of this? I remember my mother didn't want to let me outside because the drifts against the house were much taller than I was. I remember she put milk in the snow on the deck to keep it cold; we'd lost power, but we still had heat and the stove, which were powered by gas, and plumbing, which was hooked up to the town system. In my current house, losing power means losing heat (oil with an electric starter), water (well with an electric pump), and the septic system (a fancy-schmancy required-by-law system that uses electric pumps). I also remember that my father, who'd been traveling on business, was stranded in Canada. My husband is scheduled to fly out on business on Monday. I'm grateful that trip wasn't this week, or this storm didn't come next week.

How much snow? I took this photo first thing this morning.

22 inches. All at once, that is quite a bit of snow. I only managed a narrow path on the walk and up the stairs.

And this...under here somewhere is my husband's car.

It took a ridiculously long time to first, get to it, and second, unbury it.

I had to make sure I waded through the snow to refill the bird feeder, too. It's back behind that cage of snowy branches--branches that were, until yesterday, much higher up. The snow is heavy and wet and weighing down the trees.

Speaking of trees, we have four juniper bushes that go across the edge of the yard. They're under here somewhere.

You can sort of see one all the way to the right. But not really. Just trust me, they're there.

I wanted to share some pictures because I know for some people, this sort of snow is unimaginable! We've had snow-filled winters before, but getting it all at once like this is certainly not the usual--although clearly, it's not a once-in-a-lifetime event, either. I hope the power stays on (after Sandy they shut it off while making repairs elsewhere) and they restore it quickly to the thousands of people who have no heat--a situation that could quickly become dangerous. If you are in the northeast, I hope you're warm, safe, and home with your family.

Grown-Up Projects

I'm guessing if you don't have kids you may never have visited Lori Pickert's Camp Creek Blog. Or maybe you have kids but you're not homeschooling, so you've never landed there. But no--you need to visit. I'm biased, sure. I like Lori a lot, and I like her book, and I'm using her guidelines and practices with my own children. But now she's begun a series of posts for adults, and I think it's such important reading. Lori feels we all deserve to have the sort of life that some of us are trying to create for our children--one where time is spent pursuing interests and passions--a whole life, I would say. And--and I appreciate this very much--she is not writing lovely-sounding things and leaving the reader to send wishes up to the universe. She's got some concrete steps we can all take. I look forward to Monday mornings because that's when she posts her project posts for grown-ups. And she is saying things I already believe in.

How can you learn to use the time you have? (And you do have time.)

What does your space say about you? Do you need to change it so it reflects the kind of work you want to do?

What kind of negative self-talk do you  have going on? Stop it, already.

These things resonate with me. When I'm on my game, I can get quite a lot of my own work accomplished in the nooks and crannies of my day--because otherwise, it won't get done. I don't care if you stay home with kids or have a full-time job out of the house, it takes mountain-moving to get a hour or two chunk of time in which to focus on your own projects. So you squeeze it in. You learn to work in small increments. Every time I see the advice to leave a first draft (writing, or painting, anything, really) and come back to it with fresh eyes I just laugh, because I am always walking away from a work in progress to attend to somebody's needs. I always have fresh eyes. Lucky me, right?

And my house? My house is...cluttered would be a nice way of describing it. This is a picture of my chair, the one that is so clearly marked as my territory that guests rarely try to sit in it.

My knitting is sitting right there waiting for me. If I have a few minutes, I can knit a bit. If I have an embroidery project going, it's usually on the footstool. The binders on the bins to the left are full of printed-out knitting and sewing patterns. Most of my pattern and reference books are downstairs, but the ones I'm using for the current project are piled up next to the chair. My sketchbook is there, too, along with a zippered pouch of sketching pencils. So if I want to sit down in the evening and work out some ideas, I don't have to go far. The basic supplies are right there. It looks pretty messy. But it works for me. (When company comes I've been known to pick up all the piles and just dump them behind a closed bedroom door for a few hours.)

Projects or fabric-in-waiting is often sitting out on the ironing board. Goodness knows I don't use it for anything else when I'm not sewing. (My husband moves my piles when he irons his shirts.)

These two embroidery pieces are waiting for their respective display solutions. I need to get on that.

Downstairs is also where our art area is. Everything I need is within reach. If I--or the kids--wants to start a project, materials are gathered within minutes. We are so well stocked--I feel so fortunate there.

Ahem. That's just some of the storage down there. It's not very...tidy. It's so accessible though!

In the comments of the third post (which is about getting out of your own way) I admitted my personal big negative self-talk hurdle: "If my passion/interest/project isn't earning any income, it's not worth the investment of money or time taken from the family." This is something I deal with as the at-home non-wage-earning parent. It's completely self-generated. I don't hear it from anyone but myself. But always, in the back of my mind, is the constant circular mumble: Is there a way to make money from this but I don't want to figure out an at-home business it would kill my joy I don't have time for that I'm working quite a bit as it is but why take a class just for fun it doesn't benefit anyone but me that's so selfish is there a way to make money from this?

I could probably benefit from the extra brain space I'd free up if I could silence that inner voice completely.

So. No big words of wisdom here. I'm still working this out. I show up on Mondays and read the posts and get reminded that I don't have to have it worked out, that having my own interests, passions, and joys is necessary for a well-lived life, not to mention it sets a good example for my kids. This is how I've always tried to be. I've always had interests and creative pursuits; I've never stopped learning. But there are periods when I don't work at it as hard, often when life is feeling its hardest--which, of course, is when I need these things that feed my soul the most. So this series of posts is serving as an excellent reminder to continue to value what I need, all the time.

Conserving

Morning coffee and knitting

Some years are difficult for obvious reasons. And some years just present one smallish thing after another, like a steady drip of water on a stone; by the end of it, you find yourself worn down just the same. 2012 has been like that here. I began it in a hole, resource-wise, being treated for Lyme, sleeping all the time, in constant pain. The more I talk to others who have had Lyme (and we are everywhere here), the more I realize that for an adult to come out of it unscathed is the exception rather than the rule. My energy isn't back to normal. My hips, I think, will hurt for life, especially when it's damp or cold. My carefully calibrated emotional ship was knocked sideways by the fatigue or the pain or the spirochete or all of it, who knows? And while everything that followed--which I won't discuss, because it doesn't involve just me--was minor in the big scheme of things, it all just wears. And I'm weary.

Given that the next month isn't one I can just check out of, I realized I need to conserve. The list of things I've given up on or failed to even begin is getting pretty long. I'm not going to complete Art Every Day Month--I stopped at Day 21. I'm not making any Christmas gifts this year. Last year just about everyone on the list got something handmade, but last year, oh, last year I felt so good and happy and full of energy! (I miss that feeling.) I feel bad the kids won't be getting something made by Mama, but they're not deprived in that area by any means. I'd rather make cookies with them, and watch holiday specials, and drink hot cocoa, and snuggle under a blanket reading stories. And I think it's a good time to put away the computer as much as possible, so blogging will be spotty to nonexistent for the rest of the year.

I have a countdown calendar to prepare, and a kid to homeschool, and a new gluten-free cookie recipe to try out to see if it will work for our co-op holiday party. I have red mittens to finish knitting, and Santa requests to process. I have a holiday season to pace and enjoy. I hope you enjoy yours as well!

Frost

I went out to fill the bird feeder this morning and frost was everywhere, shining in the sun. This isn't our first frost, but I was out there at the right time for it to catch my eye, so once the bird feeder was filled, I went back inside for my camera.

I'm still using an automatic and lusting after a digital SLR so I can control the focus better.

Mostly, these shots focused the way I wanted them to.

What I would really like is to save up for a digital SLR and buy it with my own money; being a non-income-earning mother is a lovely luxury, of course, but sometimes my utter dependency on someone else's income gets to me.

I don't do well with cold, dark winter. It's good for me to stop and take notice of the small bits of beauty. They are worth going back into the house to get the camera. Stand still and recognize, before the frost melts and the fleeting beauty disappears.

I'm still plodding away on my art every day project, although I don't quite always manage to make art every day. I have more to share, when I get to scanning and posting.

List It Tuesday: I Love Where I Live

This week's theme is "What I love about where I live," and I felt it needed to be a photographic list as much as possible. So here goes.

I love my yard, especially the view off the deck.

I also love the animals that visit our yard or make it their home. The bird feeder is hanging from the tree directly behind the corner of the deck (you can't see it in this photo). A bunny has been lurking around underneath that white pine. We occasionally see deer, although I know they visit overnight when we don't see them, too, and I love when the wild turkeys march through. And I adore the reptiles and amphibians, like this common snake

and, of course, the red-backed salamanders.

I love that we live so close to the ocean. In less than fifteen minutes, I'm at the beach. Just knowing it's so close calms me; if I need to get there, I can (and sometimes I just do).

My kids are growing up with an intimate knowledge of the ocean; I love that. One of our favorite beaches is a barrier beach, with this salt pond behind.

We love it here. It's calm and shallow and we swim next to little fish and sometimes come across crabs and even horseshoe crabs, and I love that my kids (and myself!) have the chance to "know" these creatures in their own habitat, not just behind glass at an aquarium.

It's a slightly farther drive, but we can also easily get to some great tide pools.

There, we can find hermit crabs and snails and sea stars (although not this year), again, in their own habitat, where we are careful and grateful visitors.

I also love that in almost any direction we drive from home, we pass horses or cows.

And every time I go into town, I drive by a pond that is gorgeous in all weather. This photograph was taken on a very grey day last fall.

We are surrounded by all of this, yet we're only about 40 minutes from Mystic, CT, 45 minutes from Providence, RI, and 90 minutes from Boston.

I realized when I was thinking about this list that it doesn't include any particular stores or communities of people. Back before I had to cut out gluten, I'd have told you I loved a certain coffee shop, and the pizza place in town, and how we used to pick up our CSA share at the co-op, order a pizza for dinner, and then browse in the used book store. But the used book store closed, the CSA stopped letting kids on the farm so I couldn't work off half our share anymore, and most of us can't eat regular pizza. My love of this place is very much centered on the landscape. Whenever we idly talk of moving I always say I don't want to be any farther from the coast than I am now, and since it's about four miles "as the crow flies," that limits our options a bit!

What do you love about where you live? Is it the landscape, the community, or both?

I Got Nothin'

So, last week? Crazy times. And not in a good way. I did not finish my Ravellenic Games lace scarf (last seen here). I was trying to do one repeat per day (64 stitches times 24 rows), and I was on pace up until three days to go, so I guess that would be Thursday. At that point I weighed what was left of the skein of yarn and realized I had enough for six repeats, and since my real goal was to finish the scarf by using all the yarn I had, I knew I wasn't going to make it. But I still thought I could finish out the Games with 17 repeats. But, like Tom Daley, I got distracted--not by the flashbulbs of adoring home-country fans, but by the way my week exploded, not in a good-busy-doing-fun-things way, but in a solo parenting-all-heck-broke-loose way. Unlike Tom Daley, I'm not going to petition for a re-do because, y'know, it's just knitting.

So anyway, I got nothing to show you, except this seagull mug shot.

He and his gang were trying to thieve our lunch at the salt pond today. I think he's a new initiate; he looks like a juvenile to me. But there you go--this week is already better than last week, because we spent the day at the beach. I would say, Geez, how could it not be? but I'm afraid to curse myself.

How about you? August treating you a little better so far--I hope?!

Squam Stories: Into the Woods

There is a me inside of me,
inside
the outside me
you see.

--Karla Kuskin

Back in January, I wrote that I was worried, after more than a decade of nearly constant company, that I may have forgotten how to be alone: "Somewhere buried within the organized, capable Mother is still the girl who would leave her apartment with nothing but some cash, lip balm, and a blank book; who landed in Paris without knowing a soul there; who was happy to spend hours just sitting and people watching with a notebook. Who felt that anything was possible and adventures definitely were for her. I want to take that girl to the woods of New Hampshire in June. I want to let her loose." 

I am so thrilled to report back that I am still completely comfortable by myself. It's such a good, life-saving quality, I think--the ability to be content with only your own company. Saturday afternoon I packed my backpack with some art supplies, my camera, and my water bottle, and I set out towards Longhouse, where my class had been that morning. I'd noticed the color of the water right there and wanted to get back to it.

I would have liked to try to catch that color green in watercolors, but it was so breezy I didn't think I'd be successful with the paper and paints, so I settled with trying to capture it with my camera, for later.

I'd brought a map of the camp with me and noticed there was a trail that followed the edge of the lake, so that's what I attempted to find. I took notice of whatever caught my eye. Interesting shadows--

Interesting textures--

I sat down on a bench with a dock and pulled out my sketchbook and colored pencils.

It's not a terribly good rendering of my view, but no matter. The words say, "It is strange to be around water that is not influenced by the tides."

Along the way, I took this rather goofy self-portrait.

That's me, perfectly happy, by myself in the woods.

And that's my final, most important story. I was able, over the course of those five days, to spend lots of uninterrupted time with the me inside of me. I affirmed that yes, I am just as interesting of a person, to myself, as I was before having children. I suspected this was true, of course, but it was important to me to prove it; I can't begin to explain why.

Thank you for coming along for these stories, which are just my unique way of sharing this experience. This is the last Squam story I'll be sharing in this space, although I have some projects inspired by my time there (and more to come, I'm sure). You can read many more Squam stories by many other attendees by checking out the list here.

Squam Stories: Into The Lake

This is the story of Saturday afternoon--part of it, that is--and how I fell into the lake. But that's not really the point of the story...

Every cabin has its own dock. This is mine. It doesn't really play a part in this story, but it's a pretty picture.

I ate dinner on that dock one night, and lunch the next day, sitting in the sun and reading my library book, which (oops) almost fell into the lake once. I knit on that dock with cabin mates. But Saturday afternoon, returning from a solitary (and perfectly great) tromp through the woods, I saw one of my cabin mates lying down on the dock. I wasn't sure if she was awake; she'd had a migraine earlier. I didn't want to disturb her. My cabin seemed otherwise deserted. The cabin next door, though--I could hear shrieks of laughter coming from their dock. It sounded like fun over there. I'd met one of the residents earlier, as I was setting out on my woods tromp. We talked for a bit. She was friendly. I'm friendly.

But groups...groups intimidate me. There, I admitted it. I didn't want to intrude. Maybe they wouldn't want company from the next cabin over. I turned back towards my own dock, but my cabin mate was still lying down, facing away; I really didn't want to disturb her. And it sounded like so much fun next door, too. So I went against all my normal instincts and walked over. Their dock was full of women, but they made room for me, too. Since I'd been hiking, I had no knitting, so I just sat with my water bottle, feet in the water, and enjoyed the sunshine and the company. I was still a little out of my comfort zone, but what the hey, I'd been out of my comfort zone since I'd left my own driveway, really. Soon another woman joined us, a very pregnant woman, and we joked about the dock handling all the weight. There had to be close to a dozen of us. About five minutes later....CRACK! Splash!

The dock collapsed. I went in up to mid thigh (I had to peel my jeans off later). We all got wet. Since nobody got hurt (and the pregnant woman was fine), it's a really funny story. Don't believe me? Look at this dock.

All the knitting was saved, and the embroidery projects with Sulky Solvy, too (yarn will dry; Sulky Solvy just...disappears). When I got home Sunday afternoon, it was fun to just drop into conversation, "I really need to shower, I haven't showered since yesterday after I fell into the lake." But the real story is that I was there at all, that I shut up that little voice that was saying, It will be easier just to go back to your cabin alone and instead listened to the one that said, But it sounds so fun over there.

It was. It was fun over there.

And that's the story of how I came to be on the dock that collapsed and plunged a bunch of women into the lake on Saturday afternoon.

Weekend Links

I've really been enjoying Feeling Stitchy's new series on Portuguese embroidery. I'm one-quarter Portuguese--my paternal grandfather was born in the Azores. But I don't have a sense of Portuguese heritage, like I do with Italian (which comprises my other 75%). I never even heard my grandfather speak the language until right before he died. To learn more about the country and its traditions through a craft that I personally love is making me very happy.

Quinn shares some thoughts about what gets in the way and how we react to it.

My daughter just loves this version of Feist's song.

I like this poem, A Prayer for the Capable, so much that I printed out a copy and taped it to my kitchen wall so I can read it whenever necessary.

Sew Mama Sew's Giveaway Day is May 21--that's this upcoming Monday! I'm not participating this year because hello, I've got enough going on in May for two months, but if you have time to blog hop next week, you might find something wonderful!

Springing

The calendar says five more days of winter, but the weather has been all about spring this week. Monday my daughter and I spent all day at the zoo. Yesterday morning it was rainy, but we still fit in a walk in the afternoon. I've been continuing to try to walk at least two to three times per week, usually turning around at the mile point for a two-mile walk. Two weeks (or so?) ago we walked all the way to the end of that road, for about a 2 1/2-mile walk, and I felt pretty awful afterwards. (In October, pre-Lyme, that walk was fine.) So anyway, I've been consistently walking two miles and it's been good.

Along the way, wherever swampy freshwater wetland borders the road close enough so we can see it, we look for skunk cabbage. This is what it looks like at this time of year, late winter/early spring, just starting to poke up. It can create its own heat to melt ice and frozen ground as it blooms (not that that's necessary this year). I showed my daughter what to look for, and once she recognized it, she was able to spot it everywhere, even far back where I don't notice. Now when I put her in the stroller, she says, "Let's look for skunk cabbage!" Skunk cabbage is a wetland indicator species in Rhode Island. In other words, if you see skunk cabbage, it's a freshwater wetland (and subject to regulations--leave that swamp alone!).

Yesterday, we thought we heard frogs. On this morning's walk--all the way to the end of the road with no ill effects!!--we were sure of it. We heard a riot of frogs, squawking loudly. They sounded goose-like. There are wetlands all along that particular road, bits of swampiness hidden behind upland trees, which will probably be bone dry in August, but right now they are literally hopping. We didn't see any, even at the pool closest to the road, but boy did we hear them.

After lunch we headed to a local park that has a playground. It also has a very small pond with a beach area. Apparently it's popular in the summertime, especially for families with small children, but I've never been; we always go to the ocean beach. But today I suggested we walk down and look at the water.

She started like this, throwing sand into the water.

Then she progressed to this--and look at that glorious springtime light!

And it wasn't long before my girl, who hates wearing socks, even with winter boots, went all the way to this:

Low 60s--perfect toe-dipping weather, no?! Meanwhile, I sat down on the sand, sunglasses on, sun warm on my face, bliss.

Happiness Vessel

A little story about me... at various times in my life, I've had issues with depression. I believe, but may be wrong here, that I was only ever officially diagnosed with depression in childhood, and that ever after--those times I bothered to see someone, that is--it was always called something else, like adjustment disorder or something like that. Regardless, I was given absolutely no coping strategies as a child, no tools of self-awareness so that I wasn't caught broadside later on, nothing helpful at all. (Whatever issues I still have with THAT whole experience, we'll leave out.) But that's not the story I'm telling you. This story takes place in my very early 20s, beginning with my senior year of college.

I was living a 45-minute drive away from my university and commuting each day. My job--one of them--was almost as long a drive in the opposite direction, which means my job--one of them--and my classes were nearly as far apart from each other as you can get in this, the smallest state. I was living by myself in a really cute apartment--I'll give it that--but before that, I'd been living with a boyfriend, and the not-living-together had not been my choice. My apartment, which admittedly was really very cute, was in an old, old house, and when the winter winds blew they moved my curtains, because the windows were drafty and the house had no insulation. My heating bill was about $150 per month (in the early 90s!) and that was just to stay alive, not be warm or anything. Gas was cheap then, so I'd get into my car and drive around just to run the heat. It's good gas was cheap, because I was spending an awful lot of time driving: back and forth to work, or other work, or, for a time, other work--for a stretch there I had three jobs--and back and forth to school, where I was carrying full-time credits while, at times, working 30 hours per week.

I was sad. I was cold. I was exhausted. Sometimes, driving back to the city from class, I'd approach the infamous (around here) Thurbers Avenue curve and think, If I just got into a little accident, I'd get to rest for a little bit, and the hospital would be warm, and they'd feed me. Okay, I thought this more than "sometimes." And lack of coping strategies or not, I knew this wasn't a good thing. So I decided I would notice at least one thing each day that made me happy and write it down. It could be a small thing, but I had to notice it, and I had to write it down. I wrote down things like "had a dollar to get coffee between work and school" and "buds on the trees" and "the snow is melting" and "got a letter from a friend today." (Remember when decent coffee cost a dollar? Remember when letters came in the mail?)

This was almost two decades ago (lordy, I'm getting old). Before the Internet blew up, before self-help books everywhere, before Dr. Phil Bobby Oz Joe Smith was on every talk show. I don't know where this idea came from. I think the universe took pity on me and stuck it in my head, and luckily, I listened. Writing down happy things is not a substitution for high-powered tools against depression; I'm not saying that at all. But it got me looking up and out, out at the world around me rather than down and in, trudging through the same up early, to work, to school, to work again, cold, tired, to bed, start all over again rhythm of my days.

You know what? I graduated from college and got a job...waitressing full time. I was still cold in the winter, I was still tired, I still got sick a lot, I had no sick days, and a run of bad winter weather on weekends could blow up my budget. I still felt it necessary to write down my happy things.

After a while the habit became so ingrained that I didn't have to write them down anymore, although I periodically returned to it when I felt the need. I do, I do, I do notice the small things. The small things are the happy-making things. The things right in front of your face. Oh, big things make me happy too. I am, daily, grateful for this life, this normal, regular life, with a husband and three kids and money for coffee whenever I want, plus books and yarn and art supplies and fun extras for the children. Imagine! For years I couldn't imagine any of that. I am deeply thankful. But I believe noticing the small things leads to contentment.

True: One day, with my third baby strapped to my chest (because she wasn't happy and wouldn't sleep anywhere else), I achingly, carefully knelt down to fold another basket of laundry. I am grateful we have a working washer and dryer, I thought. I'm thankful I'm not worrying about how to pay for new clothes when my kids outgrow these.

Do I sound like Pollyanna? I'm not. I'm cynical and sarcastic and yell too much and I'm tired all the time, still. I read that book as a kid. I wanted to be that good. I'm not. But I try to take notice. If the small things don't create happiness, you know, the big things won't either, because nothing will ever be big enough. That's my guess, anyway. And some days (like yesterday), the first happy thought that comes to mind is "I'm glad this day is over."

Yes, I'm writing down my happy thoughts again...because the Squam store offered these beautiful gratitude journals and I couldn't resist.

And even though I'm in the habit of noticing throughout my day, I like the idea of writing it down again, so I can look back at all my happy-making moments.

And that is my story of learning the habit of noticing the small moments that create a contented life.

How about you? Do you have a similar habit?

Monday's Energy

That's right! I'm going.

A January Monday in New England has a lot stacked against it, as far as good, positive energy goes. Monday. January. Bleah. But yesterday I began the day by bringing my Squam registration to my local post office--it's the closest, even though it's not the one in my town, because once you go over the river you're in a tiny little jut from the neighboring town, until you cross the river again--that's what was explained to me when I tried to puzzle out why I was in a different zip code. It's a small place in an old building near the river and the Amtrak tracks, and it's just about always the same woman working when I go in. There is never a line, and she always gives me her full attention and answers my questions about things like international shipping and the best way to track an envelope as it travels 30 miles north. She wasn't there when I mailed off a (late, obviously) package between Christmas and New Year's, so yesterday I asked if she'd enjoyed her time off, and she had, except for the very end, when an expected but still sad event finally occurred. It's her story, not mine, so I'll leave it at that, except to say that she clearly wanted to talk about it, and I'm glad I couldn't wait to mail my envelope and so went early instead of fitting the post office in on the way to my doctor's appointment, because that meant I had time to stand, and listen, and talk, about the sad thing and other things as well. A nice break in her day, she said, and I like that I know the person who mails my important things, and I hope being able to talk to someone removed from the sad but willing to listen helped.

And then I went to the doctor's for a follow-up on my Lyme, and he said that since I'd taken almost all the 30 days of doxycycline and it was making me feel so, so awful, I could stop. O happy day.

And then throughout the day I received lovely supportive comment after comment on my post about Squam (and I have tried to get back to everyone I can or visit blogs if I can and if I haven't managed to, please know that I was happy to read each one and touched, too), and was amazed to see the post linked to from the Squam blog, and I hadn't realized I was feeling and writing what so many others have felt, in one way or another. And throughout the day I'd check into the Ravelry Squam group and participate in the excitement there, and boy, there's no antidote for New England January like registering for an amazing event in June. Spring will come, that's for sure.

And when I picked my boys up from school I told them I'd mailed off registration for a creative summer camp for adults, and I was so excited, and my 7yo said, You won't even come home at night? And my 10yo said, Whose car are you taking? (Because he loves when all three kids get driven around in his dad's car, because he gets to ride in the front seat) and Will you show us what you make when you get home? My 3yo had already assumed she got to go, too, but we'll work on that. The kids were happy for me, is the point, and periodically throughout the day I'd think about that envelope in the mail and say, I'm just so happy, and my 3yo would say, Good, Mama. Good.

And if that all wasn't enough, I also began Stephanie Levy's Creative Courage e-course yesterday, in hopes of gaining some clarification on what (if any) creative goals I may have. Maybe I'm destined to always be a dabbler and a putterer. Or maybe not. Maybe this will help me figure that out.

And finally, I finished a quick-deadline gift knit last night, so now I can finally make something else. The second one (yes, it was in two parts!) is blocking, and I will post it (here) and then post it (through my friendly local-but-not-in-my-town post office) on its way, soon.

Oh, I hope your Monday was a good one, too.

Featured: Create With Me

Create With Me, Winter 2012

With my kids in the studio hat on, I was interviewed by Amber Demien, the editor of Stampington's newish magazine Create With Me, about our family's summer trip to the deCordova Sculpture Park and Museum (which I described on my other blog here). The piece is featured in the Winter 2012 issue, now in stores. It's really exciting (for the kids, too!) to see our trip written up and displayed so beautifully. The opportunity to be a part of the magazine was unexpected but quite welcome--so flattering!

If you're unfamiliar with the magazine, it's filled with ideas for adult-child artistic collaboration. I'm fairly passionate about providing my kids with opportunities for process-oriented art, so it's pretty exciting to flip through an entire magazine of ideas. The other night I was looking at it before bed and was actually surprised for a second when I flipped to the pages pictured above, even though, of course, I knew they were there. Oh! That's us. How cool!

And if you are anywhere near Lincoln, Massachusetts, take a day to visit the deCordova. It's a really great place for families.

Looking Ahead

About a month ago, my oldest child turned ten, which means that I've been a mother for a decade (although if you add up the ages of my kids, I have more than 20 contact-years, and I'm pretty sure some of those years count at least double). Here I am about ten years ago, holding my rather new firstborn and looking way younger (but very tired).

At some point in 2001 after I got pregnant, I had the thought, The next ten years are all about the babies. And I was very, very right, although I don't think I had any idea at the time how right I'd be. I've spent most of the past ten years pregnant, nursing, or, for about five silly months in 2003-2004, both. I nursed all my children into toddler-hood, I was too lazy to bother with pumping and bottles, and I ignored the baby books and let my kids nurse to sleep. When the first one wouldn't nap alone, I lay next to him, reading a book. When the third wouldn't, I strapped her on (because I had two older kids to take care of). I had no "nap time" to call my own; I had very little time at all to call my own. Whenever somebody suggested I let that baby cry himself to sleep or Shouldn't you get out more? or Do you ever put that baby down? I reminded myself that I didn't expect to be on my deathbed saying, Gee, I wish I'd held my babies less. And also, that it wouldn't always be like this. I'm not advocating this way--or any way, for that matter--as the best way to approach babies and motherhood. I made the choices that felt right to me and good for the babies, but I've no doubt I most often made the choice that resulted in things being as hard as possible on me.

Not, mind you, that I'm out of the motherhood trenches. My youngest is only three. But there is an opening, more space, more time, more creative energy to spend on myself. Periodically someone will ask me if I'll be going back to work when my youngest goes to kindergarten (which is still three years away! what long thinkers!). My first reaction is always, Who will do the job I do now? And my second is, Who on earth would hire me, and for what? I was working from home as a copy editor for a medical website when my oldest was born; it was a great job. I was laid off when he was about nine months old, and while I often can't help but edit, even when unasked, I was happy to be able to focus all my attention in one place instead of trying to split myself. But really, what am I going to be hired to do, at this point, anyway?

And...what would I want to do?

That's the question. Because if this past decade was all about the babies, this next one will have more space, I think. It's not that my kids will need me less as they get older, but they need me in different ways. I'm not actively seeking any one goal right now--my life hasn't shifted enough yet to start something big, or even something medium, to be honest. But I think this year is about figuring out what the goals might be, of trying to bring more into focus. If I get a chance to choose, what do I choose?

So that's not really a resolution for 2012. It's more like a...mission statement, maybe? This is the year I work on figuring out what comes next...being open to hearing it and seeing it. Oh, that sounds pretty mystical for practical Virgo me. But there you go.

Happy 2012. What do you hope it has in store for you?

Gluten Interlude

This is a warm loaf of poison to me.

This isn’t a gluten-free or celiac-focused blog, but occasionally the disease inserts itself into my life, so I guess it’s only fair it sometimes finds its way onto my blog, too. For a week now I’ve been dealing with symptoms, having accidentally glutened myself somehow last weekend. The best we can figure is that a product we’ve used safely in the past, that has no gluten-containing ingredients and is listed as gluten free on the brand website, was cross-contaminated in this batch enough to make me sick. The increase in people who are giving up wheat or gluten because they feel better off it—and my homeopath reckons just about everybody would feel better eating less wheat—helps in that there is a corresponding increase in the number of “gluten-free” products available, but not all of these are tested or certified or safe for someone with celiac, not just a dietary preference. (Really, I can’t wait for the FDA to get its act together and define “gluten free” in a meaningful way.)

So anyway, the week began with some stomach upset—not a usual symptom for me, actually, so I assumed I had a little bug or something had just disagreed with me. Then the mouth sores appeared—quite painful, as they are with a bad glutening, and they’ll stick around for a couple of weeks. Then the exhaustion, the kind of fatigue that sent me to bed two afternoons, trying to keep an ear on my three-year-old because I had no other choice but to lie down. It was like early pregnancy exhaustion; I couldn’t fight it in the least. Then the depression and irritability. I can’t explain how an invisible protein can affect my mood and stability and brain like it does, but I know I’m not the only one.

Even as one part of my brain was saying, You know this is just the gluten, it wasn’t making much headway against the part that felt—well, depressed. No need to go into details there. And although I can apologize to my kids for my Friday afternoon meltdown and tell them it was the gluten talking, that’s no excuse, no excuse at all. “Irritability” doesn’t even cover it. It makes me feel like a cross between a porcupine and a pit viper; it’s like there is no connection between my head and my tongue, for starters. I knew the best thing to do was hole up by myself until I felt better, but there’s no way to do that in my life, and my kids got the brunt of my gluten-altered mood.

The worst of it—besides the guilt for being a terrible mother for an afternoon—is worrying about what unknown damage this latest gluten poisoning has wrought. Celiac is an auto-immune disease; that means that my body attacks itself in response to gluten. The initial bloodwork tested my body’s antibody response to gluten and its antibody response to itself. All three numbers were sky high—double to triple the normal level. When the tests were run 15 months after I stopped eating gluten, the anti-self antibodies were still very high—heading downwards, but still high. I have three kids. The idea that my body is attacking itself scares me more than I can say, and every time I accidentally poison myself, I’m making it worse.

This happens periodically, no matter how careful I am. It all makes me a bit crazy. Invisible stuff that transfers easily and makes me sick, eating food that ought to be fine and getting sick anyway—of course it makes me crazy. I have (more or less) cheerfully altered my diet to keep myself healthy and whole, and it’s so frustrating to stumble this way.

I debated about posting this here. I've set the parameters--this is a craft-focused blog, a happy and (hopefully) fun place--and this topic doesn't fit. But I decided to go ahead and do it anyway because it sounds so crazy, that eating the wrong thing could not only affect me physically but mentally and emotionally too. It's hard to maintain happy and fun when my brain starts misfiring, and I don't think there's much (any?) awareness in general of how this disease can affect mood and stability, nor of how wide-ranging the symptoms can be. So here's my little interlude; happy, fun, crafty posting as usual will return with the next post.

Sunday Photos: Autumn Beach Walk

Beautiful beach

Collecting

The waves come in, full of rocks and shells

More collecting--we can't help ourselves!

Family, Food, Football: Happy Thanksgiving!

And beautiful autumn flowers from our dinner guests!

We had a great afternoon with my husband's family, I didn't ruin the turkey (even though it cooked way faster than expected), and although I've seen just about no football yet today, I'm looking forward to sitting in one spot and watching the night game while I knit. (I hope I can stay awake!)

I am thankful for so, so much, including a husband who does dishes.

I hope your Thanksgiving (those in the US) was full of whatever you like best. Thank you for being a part of this little blog.

Sunday Photo: At the Fair

{Petting a bunny at a local school's holiday fair.}

Cookie Break

I had one or more sick kids home all last week. (One went to school today, but my weak-lunged kid has a free pass for another couple of days. The doctor reckons he's not contagious but his horrible-sounding cough would get him sent home anyway.) I cheerfully and patiently made lemon-honey "tea," fetched juice, fluffed pillows, disposed of tissues, set up art projects, read aloud, buttered toast, and warmed soup. I leapt up several times a night to attend to a coughing child, then began my day by 5:30 am when the one healthy child woke up full of sparkle and gab. I rocked as a nursemaid, I tell you.

But Sunday afternoon, when I decided to try a new peanut butter cookie recipe, it was on the condition that nobody "helped" me. In fact, I didn't even want anyone in the kitchen. If the room had doors, I'd have closed them. You get it, right? And since they all wanted cookies, they agreed to my terms.

These are Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies, from the December issue of Real Simple magazine. (I can't find the exact recipe on their website--this is close, but the recipe I used called for a cup of each sugar and no vanilla. Pity. I like vanilla.) Because I have celiac and we keep a mainly gluten-free kitchen, usually the baking recipes in mainstream magazines are Not For Us. But this recipe is gluten free as written; no substitutions or special ingredients needed. And we all liked them.

This afternoon after we picked up the one child who went to school today, I melted some chocolate chips and we drizzled chocolate on top. My teeth ached, but it's been that sort of day: peanut butter alone wasn't quite enough. Chocolate was required.

(My daily posting goal may yet be derailed by the sick child/lack of sleep combo, but I'm trying to hang on!)

What's On My {Fiction} Bookshelf

Earlier in the school year my oldest came home with the Scholastic Book order form, excited to tell me that the new Rick Riordan book was available for pre-order. Not only that, but he spent his own money to buy it. He was even more excited the day the order arrived and he got to bring The Son of Neptune home, where he promptly fell into it, not resurfacing until he was done. At that point, he brought it to me... and when I caught up on the library books I was reading, I read it too.

The Son of Neptune is the second book in the second series of books featuring Percy Jackson, who is a demigod (one immortal parent, one mortal parent) and the son of Poseidon. The first series focuses on Greek gods and demigods. This second series brings in the Roman aspect. It's fun, there's a lot of mythology, it's completely unrealistic, there's a lot of slaying monsters and improbable heroics in battle by a bunch of teenagers, and did I mention it's fun? My son loves the books and they spark his imagination, and I like that there are books that he reads that I enjoy reading too, because then we can talk about them. My husband is next in line to read it, when he's done with one of my son's library books from another series that they both enjoy (but I've never read; not my style).

A family of readers...oh, it's so much fun.

Also this week, I've been reading The Chronicles of Prydain out loud for the nth time. My younger son chose the series as his bedtime books (when we read to him) when he finished with the Bone series. The set of books we have dates to my own childhood. I think I requested them for Christmas one year. They're starting to fall apart, actually. I've read them out loud several times, beginning with my oldest--they are wonderful read-aloud books. I've had sick kids all week, so I've spent a lot of time reading aloud to my 7yo while he rested on the couch. My older son would put his own book down to listen to the familiar stories, and my daughter would snuggle next to me, and we all listened as another set of heroes, in a very different time and setting than Percy Jackson and his friends, fought against their own foes.

So far, I've managed to stay healthy...which means, of course, that I have plenty of voice to read aloud. So that's what's on my {fiction} bookshelf this week...what's on yours?