heeelllloooooo - anybody there?

I'm back - Inspired by a few things, I am feeling an itch in the finger-tips. I feel some stories brewing...let's see if I can get this spark going.

Beauty is Four

What is your favourite part about turning four?
Bridget - my own desk and playdough

Now that you're four how are you different from when you were three?
Bridget - I'm taller

Now that you're four, what would you like to do?
Bridget - Homework

What is a four year old's favourite things?
Bridget - Candy, ice cream, fruit and corn

'pause

"Mama - do chickens pee?"



Happy Birthday - I love you Bridgy xo

reach for it

Tonight, while going through the nightly ritual with Sophie which typically includes some back scratching, some hair twirling and stroking, a book and a list of math questions, I asked Soph why she liked math so much. True to the style of most seven-year-olds, the response was "'cause".

However, after a moment of silence, she said "I really want to do more multiplication and my goal by Tuesday next week is to finish my 100 questions". Wow. Hearing my daughter explain that she had a goal and a timeline to complete it was both amazing and inspiring.

I love learning and being in awe of my children - they are just such wonders.

wherever you go...

We never really knew where Marmalade went. Grandma and I used to always wonder if the orange and white tabby cat that we saw bounding through the field, as we drove away from the farm, past the old drive-in theatre, might have been the farm cat we named together. We never found out, but Grandma used to say "I'm sure that wherever he has gone, he is happy". That was all that she needed to say to put my ridiculously sentimental and sensitive little heart to rest.

So today, April 11th, 2010, the day after my sweet and strong, little grandma passed away, I am thinking about those words that she said to me and believing (in my older but still ridiculously sentimental and sensitive heart) that "wherever she is, she is happy".

I love you Grandma.

Nand xox

BLINK...

and then she was seven

Salt of the Earth

You know what they say about people from the prairies? It's true. You really couldn't find more down-to-earth, hard working, humble and welcoming people than those whose back yards are fields of wheat and whose winters are spent skating on frozen lakes and rivers. I am proud to be the daughter of my prairie hero - my Dad. A retired RCMP, brother, son, Uncle, husband, Granddad and Dad, he is Prairie through-and-through.

I was lucky enough, in October of 2009, to be able to take a couple of days to join my Dad in Saskatchewan for my cousins wedding. Not only was it a beautiful wedding but in the 36 hours I was there, I packed in time with my grandma, visits with cousins, uncles and aunts, a trip to the old farm (that my Grandma and Grandpa had owned and run and I had known as a child) and many good chats with my Dad as we drove the Trans Canada to and from different events.

People who haven't spent time in the prairies often have some kind of idea that they aren't missing anything - they couldn't be more wrong. There is something so incredibly powerful and beautiful about the prairies. Whenever I am there, I yearn for more time - time to explore the little towns that haven't changed in 150 years and "pop" up every 20 miles along the historically rich CPR, time to walk through the fields of my Uncle and Aunts farm, time to explore the abandoned homesteads, time to watch all the wildlife that make the prairies their home.

One day, I promise to take my children to the prairies so that they too can be charmed by the people, the countryside, the smells and the sky that goes on forever. As you can see, I am proud to be a "little bit prairie".

sweetness is a three-year-old ballerina

On Thursday of last week, Bridget enjoyed her first ballet class in her very own, new, ballet outfit and new ballet slippers. Not slippers soft and worn from her big sisters' use and not a slightly pilled ballet outfit, stretched a bit in the bottom because of Sophie's constant wear. Brand new everything.

I have been trying to be very sensitive to the role of "the second child" - especially when the children are of the same sex. It must be very hard to always walk in the shadow of a larger and louder older sibling. Bridget, with the perfect combination of sweet and strong, wants nothing more than to tell stories like sister, dress like sister, read like sister, have the same friends as sister - BE like sister. My heart catches a little bit when I watch the rapture on her face when she is watching Sophie accomplish something or tell a story that everyone finds funny. She just adores her sister.

When I told Bridget, after Christmas, that she might like to think about doing a class if some kind - she looked at me and said "just like Sophie taking ballet and gymnastics and soccer?". "Yes, you can choose anything you like and we will take you and be proud of you and take pictures of you and come to your recitals and final matches and closing presentations". All she did was flash me one of her incredible smiles and say "thank you, Mamma. I like you a lot."

Ballet was the choice. This was said with complete certainty and without hesitation. Two days before her first class, I made a special trip to two locations and bought a little pink ballet outfit and perfect little pink ballet slippers. When I picked Bridgy up from pre-school, I told her that there was something special in the car for her. She scrambled into the car and held out her little hands and closed her eyes. I put the package in her hands and told her to open it. Just as though she knew it was a moment that I needed to savour, she opened the paper wrapped around her new outfit very carefully and slowly (especially for a three year old) and then announced "thank you Mama, it is what I always wanted - but why isn't it from Sophie?"

I was a bit confused thinking that she meant "why didn't Sophie give this gift to me?" not realizing that what she actually meant, the sweet second child, was "it didn't belong to Sophie before me".

I promise, to both my first and my second - I will continue to try to make each of your lives uniquely your own and to nurture the love of such wonderful sisters.

New Year's Revolutions

This is what Bridget thought I said - funny

BRIDGET
- Stay here with you, Mama

DADDY
-Exercise More
-Play soccer this year

SOPHIE
Make new friends
Go to the beach and swim
Stay home with Mama
Finish Math Challenge
Family trip to Vancouver Island
Make new food - cook new things
Have a nice birthday for Bridget and Me
Make Bridget 100 birthday cards
Read more chapter books


MUMMY
Teach Sophie to read really well
Read more books to the girls
Have more dinner parties
Plant a really amazing garden
Exercise more
Run the Sun Run
Find my new "calling"

Those bad things in your head

Tonight at dinner, while each of us talked in our typical overlapping-everyone-talking-at-once style, I mentioned that I had not seen the notice that the school said they sent home about road safety around Sophie's School. Sophie quickly responded (at a pitch that I am convinced our good friends in West Van can hear) that the school probably didn't send the note home with the younger kids and only with the older ones who had "those bad things starting in their heads". Huh??? There was a pause in the action while everyone tried to figure out what Soph had just said. "Soph, what do you mean the older kids with the bad things in their heads? "you know Mama, the bad things that teenagers get in their heads - the things you told me about"....hummm...stumped on this one and clearly irritating Sophie by not remembering what I had told her.

"Maaa-maaa, the things that make teenagers crazy and make them do crazy things and not like their mummies and daddies"...OH, I remember now. "Soph, are you talking about hormones?". "Yes, that is what it is. You told me about those bad things that teenagers get in their heads that make them act crazy". "I did, you're right. But what does that have to do with you not getting a certain note from school about road safety?"

Logically - "Well, the school probably only gives the note to the older kids who are just starting to get their hormones and just starting to do bad and crazy things. You know, they would be the kids who need to know about road safety because they probably can't think about that with all the hormones taking up all the room in their heads. The little kids like me know all about road safety so we don't need the note. That's why I didn't get it I guess." Right. Of course. Its all about the hormones.

32 and a half

That is how many more work days I have left in my 9 month contract - but I'm not really counting.

The end is in sight with my current position and though I would be the first to admit that it is not the right fit for me and it has been a rather challenging 6 months so far, I do know that I have learned plenty. All the better to take to my next "gig" - whatever that may be (I am hoping that with hands placed in front of me, in the shape of a bowl, "direction" will promptly be poured into them).

Here is some of what I have learned:

Commuting bites.
Skytrain travel smells.
Finding a new "business outfit" five days a week is hard.
Hand sanitizer is my best friend.
An effective and smart HR team is crucial and very beneficial.
People surprise me on a daily basis.
I am not 27 anymore.
Coffee after 12 noon makes me wiggy.
In-Design rules.
Databases are evil.
Gastown has great restuarants and stores.
Sephora is the best way to spend lunch when you take it.
Creativity and design are an essential part of my future career direction

ahh...not bad for the "contract girl"

HOME

Today, Thanksgiving Day, was exhausting. It is drawing to an end for me as I know that I can't keep my eyes propped open much longer than it is going to take to write this post. It was a good day but a tiring one. The girls were at each other most of the day - arguing, fighting, yelling, crying - the works. At this point you might be asking " Where is she going with this? (psstt...she must be really out of practice writing these posts! She hasn't done it in a while!). Well the direction I am going and the intention I have for this post is to talk about one of the things that I am and will always be very thankful for. I am thankful for HOME. There really isn't a word to me that is more enveloping. More comforting.

I love that people will use "home" to describe the physical building in which they live - or the town they grew up in - or, even the country that they came from. Home means everything. It is how many of us qualify ourselves. Define ourselves. Account for our style, our accent, our beliefs.

Last weekend, I made a last minute trip to my Dad's "home". By this, I mean the town in which he grew up. The town where my grandma, cousins, aunts and uncles still live. Their home.

I loved the threads, though long and almost invisible, that still connect my Dad to his home. The beautiful prairie fields of wheat. The groves of trees all red and gold. The prairie sky that is a blue like nowhere else. Being with my Dad, sharing his memories of home made me feel that warmth of knowing that I am fortunate enough to also have a home.

Our home, filled with chaos and noise and laundry and dishes and yelling and laughing and goofiness couldn't be anything more. It is a sanctuary - the place that protects and keeps the people I love the most safe and warm and contained. Tonight, when I told the girls that they were going to have a special picnic dinner for Thanksgiving with a special movie, they were overjoyed (this special treat is purely selfish as it allows me to sit and eat a meal with my family in peace!) - however, Sophie said to me "Mama, are we going to hold hands before dinner and pray for Thanksgiving? Because I don't want to miss that part". I, of course, said that I thought that this was a great idea and why didn't she and her sister have a prayer with the grown-ups and then head downstairs to watch their special show. This was agreeable. So, as we all sat down to a feast of food and wine, we all held hands and offered up what each of us was thankful for. As we went around the circle, and each person shared their thanks, what ran through my head over and over again was "I am so thankful to be home, surrounded by my family". Home. We should all be so fortunate.

smells funny

Today - Sophie's first day of "big girl school" (grade 1) - went off without a hitch. Thank you, thank you, thank you...

After the challenges we faced last year with Kindergarten, we were, admittedly, a little worried about how this day would unfold. Sophie appeared to feel quite comfortable with the idea of a new school, new friends and new teachers. I had been asking her for about 5 or 6 days if she was worried about anything and her answer was continually "no, mamma, I feel fine about school". Last night, the final night before the big day, as I was lying beside her, I asked her again "Soph, how are you feeling about tomorrow?".

Her answer was decidedly different this time. Her response was (and I quote) "I'm worried. I'm worried about the smell".

I had to think about this and I paused before responding. The smell? The smell of what? of whom? I could not imagine what she could be thinking about in her incredibly interesting brain. "Soph, what smell are you talking about?" - "The one you you said there was by the office.".

Ahh...of course. The smell by the office. Knowing Sophie and knowing that she does not miss ANYTHING, I tried to remember talking about her new school to someone and rather quickly remembered talking with her grandma about my visit to the school to register Sophie. I had been describing the smell as I entered the school and stood in the lobby. I am sure that Sophie heard me talking about "the smell" and that is what she remembered. What she didn't remember was that I went on talk about how the smell of the school reminded me of all the good things about school. It is that old school smell of old wooden floors, cleaners, chalk, books and children.

I finally responded to Sophie and said "Soph, are you thinking about what mummy was saying to grandma?" "Yes" she replied. "well, lovey, what I was telling grandma is that the smell is a wonderful, good smell and not a bad one". "Oh, really? that's good mamma because I wouldn't want to go there if there was a bad smell".

This is from the same child that didn't want to go to Sunday school when the room at the church was newly painted because she didn't like the new paint colour. It made her feel sick.

Ahhh....I love you Soph and I know you are going to shine in your new school with all of energy!

Departure

Sitting outside yesterday, eating my lunch and soaking in the surroundings of my busy, downtown work spot, I watched a young woman, in her mid-20's come rambling up the steps towards all the "corporate lunchers" and start yelling "please, someone, give me some money or give me some food". She was clearly unstable and likely homeless and addicted but I was uncomfortable and uneasy as I nibbled on my salad that suddenly didn't taste very good.

How do we decide who is deserving of our "help" and those that will just be ignored or passed by? In a city fraught with homeless people, binners, addicts, junkies etc, I know that many of us have become immune to the pleading and the begging and the intimidating that we face when walking through the city. I am sad that I too have become one of those people, dressed in my corporate gear, taking some time at lunch to wander up to Sephora, who has mastered the expression that tells the person crying for help that I cannot hear them and am not going to engage. How utterly horrible is that? When I write that I feel terrible. That I could be one of those people who ignore the person begging for help and tell myself "someone else will help them out".

I read in the paper this morning that a homeless man, who lay on a park bench for 5 hours in the heat, started having convulsions and was ignored by people walking by. By the time someone did help (by calling emergency services) it was too late. The man, unnamed, died. What would I have done, if I had seen this stranger, in his dirty clothes shaking uncontrollably?

It is my goal to be more aware of how I treat these people; think of these people; react to these people. My husband who generally won't hand out money but will buy a person food and a drink, once took a homeless man into MacDonalds, bought both himself and the man a meal and then sat at a table with the man to eat. Nothing was said. No one spoke, but two guys from two different worlds shared a meal. I would bet that sitting at a table, with another person, eating a meal was worth more to that man that we will ever know.

Tomorrow, inevitably, I will walk at lunch and will be approached by two or even three people who will ask for money. The challenge for me will be to see what gesture I can do to make a difference. Even a little.

Summer Love

When the weather couldn't be better and everyone is walking around looking like they have just overdosed on Vitamin "D", I can't help but think about everything that I personally love about the summer and then this leads me to make the very sincere pact that "I, Andrea Rathborne, do so solemnly swear, that I will never work, full-time through another summer". There. Written for all (three of you) to see and therefore set in stone.

Now, on to what I love about summer. In no particular order:

1) The smell of my children at the end of a good, sunny, hot day when their hair is warm and their skin is damp and their eyes are half-closed. They smell like the most delicious, baked coconut and sunshine bread.

2) The sound of the fan in the night when I wake up

3) The smell of a summer rain on the hot pavement

4) The crunchy grass under my bare, brown and earthy looking feet

5) The taste of berries right off the vine, plant, bush, tree...in all forms (in salads, sauces, galletes, jams, with cheese. I can't get enough berries.

6) The sounds of the crickets at night

7) The sound of waves outside a rustling tent that my whole family is asleep in

8) The sounds of gatherings. Friends, together, laughing, talking, sharing a story...

9) The warmth of my cat, Shirley, when she lies sleeping in a sunny spot

10) The squeals of my children as they run along the beach, collecting shells and splashing in the water

11) The satisfaction of filling a bowl with all kinds of veggies, grown in my very own garden

12) The anticipation and excitement as another weekend comes closer and our plans for another adventure start to fall into place


I could write endlessly on what I love about summer. Maybe I will just start here and then post again when I need a little reminder about how fortunate I am to live in this beautiful place.

Brass

Quick and to the point.

By this time each summer, my summer hair (which may have to be styled liked my very dear friend...you know who you are!) looks like a polished trombone. That's right. I have Brassy hair. I can admit it. The question is, what can I do about it that won't cost me a fortune. Well, I believe I have the answer and I am going to share.

In a bottle of your favourite shampoo (it should be neutral in colour) add a few drops of both red and blue food-colouring and mix. Add the right amount of each to make the shampoo turn into a brilliant shade of violet.

Wash your hair as you normally would but leave the shampoo on for a little bit longer before rinsing. Voila (no, not violet) brass is gone. really.

now and then

On Saturday night, almost a week ago, 14 thousand people gathered to listen to music, sing, yell and sway together for the Coldplay concert. Although I have always been a music fan I have always been a bit reserved when it comes to live concerts. So often I have gone to a concert with all the hype and fanfare only to feel some amount of disappointment - the band was too small to see because of where our seats were or the sound in the venue was terrible and everything sounded like a karaoke night gone bad or the band, despite their CD's sounding amazing, just really couldn't sing at all in real life.

This was not the case on Saturday. In fact, I am still walking around, humming Coldplay tunes and remembering how it felt to be with so many people who were all completely committed to the event. There was a special, electrical feeling to the evening that I can't quite put my finger on. Was it the warmth of the summer evening? Was it the gathering of old friends? Was it the music? the singing? the intimate setting despite the huge crowd?

Whatever it was, has left me feeling nostalgic. Thinking about my six or seven tapes and records that I played over and over again as a kid (Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge over Trouble Water, Blondie - Heart of Glass, Barbara Streisand and Barry Gibb - Guilty, Bee-Gees, ABBA and some Moody Blues). The black and white stereo system that my parents bought for me with the record player (with the bent arm that started the record up high and dropped it down to the turn-table) along with the eight-track player was the best $75 my parents ever spent. Thanks guys.

I was reading today about how our sense of smell is the sense that creates the strongest memories or connections to the past. I totally agree with this but would also imagine that our hearing and our memories connected to sounds or songs are also incredibly strong.

Ratty and I often play this game where we will rattle off what a song reminds us of. It is amazing the memories that will "pop" up when we hear a song from 25 years ago. We were in a store the other day and all of a sudden Ratty said "grade seven. rollerskating" because he had heard the cords of a song playing in Shoppers Drugmart (Eye of the Tiger). Both of us ALWAYS say, almost in unison "elementary school dance, slow song, shuffling side-to-side" when we hear any classic Air Supply song.

Twenty-five years from now, when I hear "and I will try, to fix you..." coming from some random music source, I am sure I will remember in amazing detail that night, June 19th 2009 when a bunch of old friends headed downtown on a warm and breezy summer night to watch, sing along and dance with Coldplay.

a list

I think I have posted lists before. I am a list girl. love lists. This list is a "quicky". I just got home from a long walk and am in desperate need for a shower.

SUMMER LIST

• get my yard, front and back, weed-free
• eat as much as possible from our garden OR freeze, make jam or pickle the things we can't consume
• take the girls strawberry picking and make homemade jam with them
• create a fairy garden with the girls
• make bridget's room into a "real" bedroom OR move the girls into the same room - upstairs
• take an overnight trip to Seattle
• get through my whole book list
• finish my module 1 course at the Justice Institute ON TIME
• paint the front porch
• have a girls weekend(with my grown-up girl friends)
• visit with friends from out-of-town
• spend lots of time with my Mum
• spend more time with my Sister-in Law and get ready for a new niece or nephew!
  
• write a story for Bridget and for Sophie
• take each of the girls on a "date" day
• make a decision about what my life is going to look like as of January 1st (when my current job ends)
• get accepted as a pager-person for the New West Police

Phew. Writing that made me sweat.

simplicity

On a stinking hot, packed and slightly funky smelling skytrain ride home yesterday, I read this article (http://www.straight.com/node/223383) about this 30-something couple living the urban lifestyle who decided to move themselves from the hustle and bustle of the city to a half acre plot north of Pemberton to grow vegetables and live off the land. Nice. That was all I could think. I was completely mesmerized by the story.

The quote from the article " Urbanization is over, she told the Georgia Straight in a phone interview from Pemberton. At 32 and 35, the couple represent Canada’s ruralization pioneers: an economically and environmentally driven movement away from big urban centres" sent me into a fuzzy daydream about life beyond the city.

Not only have I always been secretly obsessed with people who leave everything behind to live with little, I have always had an idea that part of me really is a country mamma who would love to live a much simpler life. Growing up, I watched and read anything I could find about families who left their city life behind to build their own home, grow their own food and enjoy the company of their loved ones with gusto. My favourite books and movies (as a youngster) included Wilderness Family, Swiss Family Robinson, Born Free, Grizzly Adams all the Little House on the Praire books and a number of others that I cannot recall titles for (Disney did a lot of films in the late 70's early 80's around family units changing their lives by coming together and moving to rural settings). The theme that was consistent with all of these books and films was enjoying and being fuelled by ones surroundings, nature and simple pleasures.

Although I am not about to pick up my family and move them into a hand built homestead without electricity, running water or plumbing (don't worry Mum and whomever else may read this!), I do know that it feels important to me to have experiences that remind us of what it is like to live simply. Growing our vegetable garden has been a huge pleasure for me and since the girls are getting a bit older it is becoming more important to me to show them what we are cabable of growing and how good things taste when they come from the ground in our back yard. I get such pleasure in the summer months when I can gather everything we need for a gourmet dinner from our yard and garden including both fruits and vegetables. I get gidddy over my thriving and lush herb garden!

Being invited (how thankful are we!) to our friends island cabin to enjoy the rustic setting and the work that goes into daily activities like meal preparation, bathtime (in the kitchen sink for the children) or bedtime with light thrown from the gas lanterns in the sleeping cabins is always a treat. There is something so empowering about "hunting and gathering" even if it is not quite as rudimentary as it would have been years ago. When the boys row out in their little boat with their crab traps, those of us on shore, watch and feel a sense of anticipation for what we may be eating later that evening. Nothing tastes better than fresh caught crab. OR maybe it is just because we caught it. We did the work. We prepared it. Maybe.

In the end, I just know that reading about a return to a simple, rural lifestyle gives me a little wave of yearning, and a little space in my "bucket" that I will continue to try to fill in my own simple ways.

Worlds Colliding

Two sisters with many similarities and many, many differences saw their worlds collide last night with a resulting lost front tooth. Granted, the said tooth WAS starting to get a bit wiggly, but as Sophie cried, holding her little tooth in the palm of her bloody hand she said "I feel like I have lost a friend". She clearly wasn't ready for the loss.

At a lovely family gathering and birthday celebration with a BBQ on the deck, Sophie and Bridget decided that the long, yellow slide in the back yard should be used in two completely different ways (of course). Bridget had decided that one should use a slide in the conventional manner (from top to bottom) and Sophie had decided that convention is overrated and she would crawl up the slide. The collision happened mid-slide. Bridget's head and Sophie's front teeth had a rude introduction and the result was two crying children, snot, blood, and a missing tooth.

The drama continued with Sophie not wanting anyone to see her and not wanting anyone to talk to her and the demand that she be taken home "Right now!" meant that we made a very hasty departure. Once we got home and got Sophies face cleaned up, Bridget in bed and the tooth in a small zip-lock baggie, we began the long process of convincing Sophie that her world was not SO different (even though I too felt that our world had changed and crying might feel pretty good).

In the span of 4 months my little girl had changed. A lot. Gone were her baby blond locks, replaced with a little, brown, Beatles-Do. Gone were her soft, round baby cheeks, replaced with a little narrow pixie face and finally, gone were her two, little, pearly white, front teeth, replaced with one wiggly solitary tooth and a gaping hole.

Lying next to Sophie in her bed last night, stroking her head and talking to her quietly as she poked her finger over and over again into the hole that had been the home of her tooth, I remembered very clearly when I had lost my front tooth and what it had felt like. I remembered being a bit scared and a bit excited all at the same time. I asked Sophie, very quietly "Soph, are you scared?". She knew what I meant and replied "I look like and idiot with only one tooth and I can't talk right. I sound funny".

"I know" I said "but it won't last forever and I think you are beautiful no matter what".

She closed her eyes, sighed and went to sleep. I sighed and watched her, thinking about my "little Soph" and how much I love her.

Courtesy

This week I watched:

2 20-somethings give up their seats on the skytrain for older people
1 man hold an older womans arm so that she wouldn't tumble while standing on the moving (jarring) skytrain
1 man pry open the skytrain doors so that a young Mum and her toddler could get onto the train
1 couple move out of their seats for an older pair of people (who were clearly tourists)
1 lady pick up a pair of sunglasses that another lady had dropped (and hadn't noticed that she had dropped them).


All in all I witnessed 6 courteous acts during my commute this week. Nice.

Very nice.