the gift of the hard times

Sometimes, the words come readily. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes there's time and quiet and a refreshed spirit. Sometimes there's not. 

But, all of it. It is all a gift.

Sometimes you miss your own family so bad. And friends. And the freedom to cry and share and know that she will understand you whether it's teething or tantrums or late nights or style quandaries or emotional roller coasters. 

And sometimes? You step out of your comfort zone and accept an invitation to a bonfire even though your husband is out of town and you have to be the parent, the extrovert, and yourself. Sometimes, you push the stroller all the way up the hill and join in celebrating a little friend's birthday. And through the laughter and sugar-induced excitement and the freedom of little children, you feel small roots going down and friendships becoming. 

And it is all a gift. 

p.s. I wrote this last week but never shared it, Jared is away again this week but I have my brother visiting. I'll share more from our adventures later this week. Thanks for being here. 

Musings on a Friday at Gloaming

I've done this bit before. This whole pulling up (however deep they may be) of roots and transplanting.

It's never easy. The re/establishing of everything. Re-defining our normal. Riding the wave of emotions-falling in love one minute and thinking you could live here forever then the next moment you want to be on a plane. Anywhere but here.

And wishing somehow that you could for a little bit, have the best of both worlds. Living in the safety of the chrysalis yet feeling the freedom of wings.

It's not easy stepping out. Everyone's excited for you yet they're not going. Everyone quotes pithy sayings to you from the comfort of their living room with their life the same as it always has been, thankyouverymuch.

You long for the regulars to return yet you don't want the mundane every day. You don't want to lose the spark of discovery, the freshness of a new day when you really don't know what will come around the corner.

Sometimes its tea and chocolate with a little ice cream thrown in.
Happy food. Absolutely.

Shared with the one that you are embarking on this venture with, the one who is the tree when those mood swings come and you do a little Jane of the jungle. The one whom you would live in a tent with because with him is home. The one who sends you out for introvert time because it really has been a long day with the littles and defunct Internet installers and landlords not answering and no one had a nap.

You sit in the grey misting ( one could hardly call it rain), listening to the tip tap of little droplets, at the huge piles of wood that surely serve some purpose then just decor.
And you breathe.

In and Out.

One day at a time.

In and Out.

On Moving and Loving

In less then a week we will be boarding a plane. We'll have checked our bags, stashed our carry-ons, and settled in for the flight. 4 hours later, we'll be on the other side of the country. 

A place called Nova Scotia. A place we'll call home. It's already become home to us. It's the constant answer to my two and half old's questions of where, what and why. 

"In Nova Scotia, darling."

The goodbyes are starting to be said. 'Till next time. 

We've been living out of suitcases for a month and half already. Living with my in-laws, traveling for work and pleasure, tying up loose ends. 

We'll be repacking those suitcases come Monday, making sure it all fits within airline regulations. 

There's no checklist for emotions. No list of feelings one must feel when one moves across the country. It's been a roller coaster ride of excitement, anticipation, nervousness, mingled with a little fear of the unknown. 

Tears have been shed. Laughter has filled the air. I've grabbed moments and held them close, memorizing faces and places. 

It's not always easy. This business of packing oneself up and moving. But the hard stuff isn't to be feared, it's all part of the journey. 

And so I embrace it.

Of Summer Days on The Farm

It's been a little crazy around here. From thunderstorms that wake us up to lightening flickering at night, enough and often to make me think that Mordor is close. The rain has bucketed down making us in the mood for tea, warm apple crisp and British movies. And it has left the outdoors a complete mess. The mud sticks to your shoes when you attempt any sort of outside activity. So when the storms stop and the sun is shining, we take every advantage of outside time. After all, that's kind of the point of summer, right? 

This particular day we set off for a walk. The boys were on their bikes, we girls walked and Khaira rode along in style on my back in the Ergo.  It was beautiful and we soaked up the sunshine. The goat and the dog came along making for much comic relief.

Every day isn't all happy-happy, filled with walks and trips to the lake and everything else just so. Some days require searching for beauty and good in a mess of emotions and grumpy children. Some days I am blown away by the simple beauty that surrounds me when I choose to see it. 

The simplicity of water droplets on a leaf. The delight little boys have in picking great big stalks of flowers. A simple clover blossom. Life. Health. My girls. The life and dreams I share with my man.

We got home from our walk and I put my floral treasures in a bottle. It sits by my current bathroom mirror as a reminder each day to look for the beauty, enjoy the beauty and make the most of right now. It's all we ever really have. 

 How has your summer being going? =)

\I'm spending this week with my sister, these are some thoughts \I wanted to share. Lots of pictures and moments captured when\ I get back to Alberta. =)

Of Shifting and Changing

Transition.

 n. movement, passage, or change from one position, state, stage, subject, concept, etc., to another;

 

It's not easy this thing called transition. It's that awkward place between here and there, that place of in-between. Of being new before you are old. 

 It's like the shifting of gears, necessary as you hear the engine whine and then settle into a smooth drive at a higher gear. 

 

 Yet it is all needed. 

 

It's a good word for where I am these days. In the in-between, learning to embrace a whole new normal. 

Learning right along with my little girl who asks to go home, to just go home; that home is here. Home is where we are. Mummy, Daddy, Kilmo and Khaira. 

 

Home isn't four walls and all of our stuff. Home isn't an address or a place on a map. Home is an intangible sense of belonging, of knowing that these are my people. It's a safe place colored with memories and dreams. We take up residence within a house but that is never our final home. We never get there, that place where we will never move again, never have any transitions again, never go through anything hard again. 

 

That place of perfect.

 

Perfect wasn't promised us. There's a hope of something more, something beyond whatever four walls we find ourselves living in. The journey of knowing the only Perfect One and letting His ways define our life. 

 

And so here I am. Wanting to learn what is mine to learn from this time, yet shirking from it knowing it may not be easy. Being steady for my girls, reminding them of what home is, and preparing them as I prepare myself for this next big jump. 

 

And, really, there is no other place I would rather be.

 

  

Dancing in June

Life feels really crazy right now. The girls were sick for most of May which is very out of character and I am thankful for the antibiotics that finally seemed to kick their infections. I am so glad to have them laughing again and we are all sleeping better at nights. 

And now we're plunging straight on ahead into packing and moving mode. 

At the end of this month, we'll be all packed up, sorted out, and ready for the next bit of our life in Alberta. We're also getting ready for a big concert also at the end of the month. 

And in between all of that, there's just life stuff. Relationships to keep up, emails to write, questions to ponder and the daily life of being a mom to two busy little girls. 

The introvert in me just wants to run and hide in a shell. 

 I don't always feel ready to dance this dance. 

No one always feels ready to step onto the dance floor, that first step is the hardest. And then the music changes and the steps get faster. 

 But it is all beautiful. 

Sometimes the beauty isn't found in the perfect. It's actually almost always found in the imperfect mess of the everyday life. Where moments happen so fast that you want to breathe it all and just freeze time.Where little girls laugh together, and the floor doesn't seem to stay clean, and dinner is simplicity at it's best. Where you make time for 11 year old birthdays and lunchtime picnics with aunties. 

I'm dancing today. Smiling at the fast-paced music that is making up my life. And choosing to enjoy it, one step at a time. 

What does your life look like right now?

Blue Eyes and Green Grass

We've been spending a lot of time together lately, my little girl-baby and I. All through the night and all through the day. She's at one of her most needy stages and I'm the one who can answer her call. Her needs are small and simple. She just wants me. My love, my arms, my whispers in her ear, the knowledge that Mummy is here and that she doesn't have to be hungry anymore.

We went to church on Sunday, and although she was quite happy with her auntie for some time she fussed for me and then she just fussed. So we went outside. I didn't feel like making more of a big deal in a small building where anything and everything I did with her was very noticeable by everyone else.

So we chilled outside, my baby and I. She played in the grass, feeling its rough texture with her soft baby fingers each indented with an adorable dimple. She closed her eyes when the breeze played with her hair, and smiled in the sun's warmth. She talked about everything that was going on in her life through her little coos and noises. She laughed when I danced with her in the sunshine, feeling liberated by the hope of a dream taking root. I tossed her up into the air, her eyes a match for the bright blue sky that was her backdrop.

I walked with her along the country road, undisturbed and quiet except for a neighboring farmer fixing his roof. She fell asleep. And I smiled. That is one of the sweetest rewards for a mother. For anyone who cares for a child.

I know she'll sleep through the night at some point in her life. I know she will. I do whenever I have the opportunity and I'm sure my parents wondered if I ever would sleep all 8 hours. 
I know she'll sit quietly, and learn the appropriate behavior for different situations. So I try not to worry. I try to not stress that much about it.

I know these days will pass quickly and that is both a gift and a reminder to cherish the days. And I want to live each day with my little ones, knowing that being present with both my girls is one of the best things I can do. 

linking up with Mother Letters, a collection of letters written to mothers from mothers.
If you have not yet downloaded and read your copy, you need too. It is beauty.
www.motherletters.com

A little Soul Nourishment

We took a little time away, my man and I.
 We flew across the mountains to a place by the ocean, where winter's grip has lessened.
 We stepped outside to blue skies and fresh breezes and cheery yellow daffodils swaying in the wind.

 

I couldn't stop smiling. I took huge gulps of the fresh, salt-scented air, hearing the calls of the gulls, the warmth of the sun on my face and letting my spirit become quiet. I.love.the.ocean. It has always been one of my very happy places. I feel at rest inside and everything seems okay when I'm by the water.

We ate. A lot. We had a couple specific restaurants that we were really looking forward to trying as well as re-visiting some favorites. 

We took a lot of pictures, trying in some way to capture the beauty that surrounded us. To freeze those feelings.

We talked. A lot. Life is different when it's just the two of you and a happy, content baby without her spunky, never-sits-still older sister. We slept. We explored new places and got caught in the rain.

 We walked. A lot. Alongside the harbor, past the float planes, amongst the yachts.

We spent time, how much I don't even know, at an old favorite bookstore finding new treasures for our shelves and just soaking up the old book smell and perusing pages of old friends.

 

We spent time with family, talking and laughing and making new memories to add to the treasure box. 

It wasn't everything that I expected it to be, I'll be honest. There was a little detox that needed to happen, a lot of talking things over, and time to just be quiet and let it all sort itself out.

And in the end, it was all refreshing. I felt re-charged and ready to embrace life again with all its uncertainties, all its hopes and dreams, and all the everyday moments.

My Little Mother

She's such a little mother, this little girl of mine. She loves her babies and doesn't sleep without them. She mimics my every move with my Khaira-baby, rushing for a blanket so she can put her baby to sleep when I put mine down for a little nap. 

She mothers everything, making them a baby in her imagination. She rocks the dumbells and tells me that 'baby blue' is sleeping. She covers a water bottle with a makeshift blanket made up of kleenex. 

Her imagination knows no bounds. Her creativity is endless. Her confidence is inspiring. 

I feel the weight of mothering her and her little sister, the responsibility of shaping and guiding these little ones. And I wonder at myself, am I being a good mum? 

I watch her, my little mimic, and see the way she nurtures and loves and cares for all of her many babies. And I know that she feels loved and nurtured and cared for and that everything else will be okay. 

As I publish this, we're getting ready to go away for the weekend, to Vancouver. To re-connect and refresh ourselves. My little girl is spending the time with her aunt and uncle and we're taking the Khaira-baby with us. 

A Mattter of Perspective

It hit me the other day just how much our perspective on life changes how we live our lives. Let me elaborate.  I read a number of blogs, I have a decent amount of friends on facebook, and I follow a good many people on Pinterest. It's so easy to become disenchanted with the life I have because it doesn't seem as good as someone else's happy status. The reality of this came to me a couple weekends ago. We were sitting in the sun, eating hotdogs from a sidewalk stand and watching all the people walk by. The stroller held fresh veggies and flour from the farmer's market. Life was good. I could have posted a status about it all but I didn't. I just soaked it all up and cherished the 'perfect' moment. We ran some errands, came home and the girls napped. So did Jared. I took advantage of the quiet and read on the couch, marveling at the afternoon sun. My littlest girl woke up and played happily while I read. 

The rest of the day proceeded as normal- dishes, meals, planning for the week ahead, busy little family. And I stopped and realized just how lovely it all was. Yes, the living room was cluttered by the evidences of life. Yes, there were dishes in the draining rack and more dirty dishes to be done. There was probably a diaper or two on the floor in the girls' room. And I'm fairly certain the dirty laundry was piled high. 

I read an email earlier that day, one of those emails that no one wants to read, from a friend who is walking down a difficult path with health struggles. Life isn't always happy. Or easy. Or good. But there are always beautiful moments when we choose to see them.  

And I chose to see the beauty in the chaos that day. My husband and I don't always agree, in fact, just that morning before our idealistic market excursion we had had a major disagreement. We weren't that happy couple. I let my flesh rule me and I got mad. Past the slightly cute Irish temper mad. I am grateful for grace and forgiveness and for the convicting comments my little toddler makes about Mummy being happy again. 

It's so easy to want more then what I have but I'm choosing to water my grass to make it greener. To live right here in my imperfect, dishes-need-to-be-done house and love my little family.

What moments are you embracing?

If I Just Have Today

I snuggled her a little closer, savoring the way her body still fit in my arms. I rocked and I sang, watching her little chest breathe. In and out. Her breathing slowed, she sighed. Contentment. Peace. I kissed her little cheek, so soft and round, whispered in her ear, 'I love you, my little Khaira Tatiana Monique'. She stirred just a bit as I laid her down in the cradle made of wood, made with love by her Grandpa. 

Moments earlier I had covered her older sister up, all cozy with blankets and dolls, whispered 'I love you' as I closed the door. 

 

 I want to remember these moments. These ones that everyone tells me go so fast. I don't want to blink and miss it all. 

If I just have today, I want to hold my baby and just drink her all of the little details about her. She's almost 7 months, where did that time go? If I just have today, I want to tickle my toddler and watch her as she giggles, mouth wide open, eyes all crinkled. I want to hear her say ' 'ix it, Mummy' when I still can, when all that is broken is a little toy easily put together again. I won't always be able to fix it, I won't be able to always just kiss away all her owies and right her little world again. 

There are no guarantees.

Children hoped for but still the cradle sits empty and the heart aches with grief and questions. Death, sudden and totally unexpected. He was so young, my brother's age, living a life full of possibility and now, he's gone. A grandma, called a queen by all those who knew her, tall and stately has said goodbye to her husband, leaving him to walk alone with his memories of a lifelong love.

We hope for fullness of life, we wish it for others, we sometimes take it too much for granted.

I watched parents cuddle their little son earlier this week, laughing together in the way parents do until their laughter was interrupted by the doctor. And the reality that they live with every day hit me. I heard the gentle rocking and whispering of a mother soothing her little one and was amazed to see all the tubes hooked up to such a little body. I watched two sisters chatting with each other, sharing another one of life's moments and deepening their friendship. The older leaning on the younger for support. I saw a beautiful girl just on the brink of womanhood, eyes still hopeful and bright but with a battle ahead of her as her body fights and her soul trusts. 

And so I take time. I lie on the floor, making direct eye contact with my baby and ignore the fact that the carpet desperately needs vacuuming. We make funny faces and take pictures. Our laughter fills the room. All that they say about having floor time with your toddler is true, it really is one of the most important things to do each day. 

I feel the fear subside. I breathe. Asking for peace for myself and for others. 

It comes. 

Heartache doesn't vanish overnight. 

Gut-wrenching grief isn't just wiped away. 

But there's a promise of peace in the valley, a light in the darkness, and God's presence to hold onto in the rocky storm.