Starting My Garden ... Soon, I Hope

The time is again flying by.  Having the in-laws here has kept me more than busy.  It's been a good but ... er, interesting ... vacation.  See, they like to keep busy.  If she's cleaning my house, then he's cleaning my garage.  If she's making treats, then he's making projects.  And then I have to keep up so I won't be "lazy".  And now I'm into such a routine with it over the last few weeks that when they fly out tomorrow I won't know what to do with myself.

I'm already at that stage also because it's snowed almost a foot today.  With more snow forecasted throughout the coming week.  Mother Nature is cruel.  In unrelated news, I plan to take up drinking.

So I have something I'm super-duper excited about... so excited I don't care how dorky "super-duper" sounds.  If you had what I have you wouldn't care either.  It's this: a cold-frame.  Now you see what I mean?  Of course you do!

I'm way too eager to start my garden.  Even though it's still early in the spring, and I live on Santa's doorstep in the Great White North and the Abominable Snowman keeps cr@pping on my yard, I'm still trying to rein myself in.  I've got seeds planted inside and plans for the outside.

Best thing yet, I've got some new raised beds built, thanks to my father-in-law.  They aren't filled with soil yet, but that will come soon enough.  I'm so inspired by them that I may just build another one to add to my "collection", and in that case will have to shift them around a bit for more room, which is easier when they're empty.

My cold-frame:



Note in the background my extra-deep new planting bed?  Super-duper!!!  Yes, that merited extra exclamation marks – I can grow potatoes and carrots and stuff like that in there.  The shorter bed with the cold-frame is still 12 inches deep, so it's deep enough for everything else, including onions and radishes.

Modeling the usage and functionality of my cold-frame, the builder and his grandson:



Why the cold-frame on only half the planting bed?  Because the bed is 8 feet long, and it's a bit awkward to have a long one.  I won't be starting too many plants outside before it's very warm, and I can always build another beside it if I get carried away and plant lots of spinach and lettuce and such before we're done with overnight frosts.

For the warmer part of the year, such as when the danger of frost or snow is over – yes, we have days like that in Alberta – it is removable and can easily be stored out of the way during warm season.  Simply slip the pin out of the hinges in the back, and it comes right off.

This cold-frame cover will extend my growing season so that I can plant earlier and harvest later.  Which, having gone organic and wanting to grow my own food, is going to be fantastic and a real addition to my healthier lifestyle.

Messes And Other Little Things

Hey, look!  It's 2013 already!  HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

The holidays have flown by, along with another month, once again.  Why does each year seem to get shorter and shorter?  It's frightening, really.

We ended one year and started another with a (quiet) bang.



Following our ritualistic abuse of a banana with a Sharpie, we spent much of the past two days just us two.  Daddy is back at work up north, as he is two-thirds of the time, so we're pretty used to Mummy-boy time.  It's good.



No, with all the stuff that's happened in the past year, it's more than good.  It's REALLY GOOD.  Soul-warming, heart-filling good.  Being with each other and connecting in all the lego-star wars-dinky cars-skating-toboganning-monopoly-cards playing-reading to each other ways.

Looking around at the hats and mitts and toys and games and boxes and cups littering what seems to be every square inch of the house, it kind of hit home for me last night leaving my mind to rocket with thoughts and words that needed to fly and my crochet-busy fingers itching to hit the keyboard.

Little things.

It comes down to the little things of which the debris of the moments speak...  Words left unsaid.  Kindnesses undone.  Efforts not made.  Conclusions jumped to.  Feelings not considered.  People left out.  A conversation that really needed to happen.  Time spent.  A helping hand.  The laughter.  Someone listened.  Walls dropped. Forgiveness born.

Friendships left to wither because of the little things.  Relationships nurtured by the little things.  Moments created that live in our memories as long as we have them.

In the end, I look around the endlessly messy rooms (didn't I just clean this up? or am I really this lazy?) and I realize it is nothing more than the setting of this life.  Nothing more or less than the staging for what happens in these walls.  The messes that are left speak of the moments that are meaningful.  In the end, I don't care that I'm not fastidious in my housecleaning.

(Actually, there'd have to be housecleaning happening in order to rate it.  And there isn't.)

The people who would judge me on that, or any other thing, are not the people who matter.

The people who judge me on what I eat or (more importantly) don't eat, don't matter.  Or on the amount of alcohol I choose to NOT have.  Or on the makeup of my family.  Or the activities we do or don't do.

Who knew a small town could be so judge-y?  (Keep your groans to yourself.)

This year has been a year of peeling back layers.  Exploring and rediscovering what lies under the preconceptions and misjudgements.  Yes, I make them too.  Finding out yet again who I am, and that it is US that matters.  WE do.  The person I am and the people that make up my family.  We are here in this every day... supporting each other, tearing each other down, building each other up, encouraging each other, and sometimes even standing back and letting someone fail or win on their own.  Life is dirty and painful and unpleasant at times.  We are only as good at it as we allow ourselves to be.

And in the end, it takes relaxing, looking around at the little things that make up our lives; the messes and laundry and toys not put away, and they all testify to moments lived hard and good.  

In the end, we forget the messes and remember the moments.

Sunday Morning Ease

Contemplating the day

This boy was made for dancing

Lazy snuggle

Mean Eyes

We made gingerbread cookies.

You-know-who wanted to decorate some.

Hmmmm....

... the "mean" face...

Should I be worried?

People Watching At The Zoo

... because that's just what I do.

It's fun.

It's obtrusive.

It's annoying.

It's satisfying on so many levels.

And what's a post without the boy?

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My Boy Rocks... In Case You Didn't Know

In case I haven't mentioned it before, my boy is a rock star.

He is everything that shines and lights up my life. (Even when he is a putz. But this isn't about that... for once.)

Moving away from extended family with whom he's spent a lot of time (maybe too much) would be at the very least, I thought, interesting... if not downright crazy and dangerous. Yes, I worried about just him and me -- new place, no friends (yet), no car (again, yet), and no idea what to expect or do here. He and I, who haven't had as much time together lately as I would have wanted due to the move and the chaos surrounding it. I worried that he would be upset, bored, anxious, angry, fearful, sad... you name it, I worried. I worried that I couldn't keep him happy and secure and content. Because it seemed that way so much in the past. (There's a lot to do with certain people in our lives and circumstances which should have been in my control but I just couldn't seem to take control, and then this opportunity for the move came up, and guess what: it was me taking control. For once.) Bottom line: I was worried that things wouldn't go well here.

I couldn't have been any more wrong.

Sure, he's talked about how he's missed friends and his cousins. He's asked when he can visit. But he hasn't been overly fearful or anxious. And while he has his fussiness and occasional tantrums (hey, it wouldn't be normal if he didn't), he has been himself.

And there's more I worried about. See, he's my Mini-Me: he's stubborn and contrary and curious and unrelenting and bull-headed and independent and argumentative and bossy. (I sound like a real treat here, don't I?) And yes, we make a great pair; often butting heads and squaring off for the squall of the century. But we love each other and we know how it all works together.

Then yesterday, he showed me a side of him that surprised me. He wanted to play a game. Of course he couldn't explain it outright, and it sort of morphed into being during the process, but it was an amazing insight into this amazingly wonderful boy. He wanted to play Daddy and Son. Guess who was Daddy? Him. So that left... yep, that's right: me being the son. (Yeah, we're freaks.) So what was this unique role-playing game about?

My rambunctiously aggressive boy as "Daddy" read to me, did the bed-time routine, and generally "took care of his son." In the most caring, nurturing, patient way I've ever seen. Did he play his daddy? Well, actually, seeing as WackyMummy is the person who does all of the above (even when daddy is around), I'd have to say not. He played "mommy" (but he kept it "gender-correct"). Let me tell you, it's a kick in the seat of the pants to see yourself through your child's eyes. I was both humbled and awed about his modeling the care-giving role. I'm proud to be his Mummy, and so glad and overwhelmed that he is as well-adjusted as he is.

And just a super kid.

* For the record, I hammed it up and played his own fussiness to the max back for him. He handled it very well, and I suppose I could learn about patience from him.

The Tummy Kiss -- Captured

The theme of the week for You Capture is Kiss.

Highly appropriate for us as we're coming to the end of a visit with Evan's daddy. You see, Evan's daddy works approximately 5,000 kms away, and can only come to visit once in a while--up to 3 months away at a time. This is hard for the little guy as he misses his daddy. And then he has to fit in all the snuggles and cuddles and kisses he can in such a short time.

In three days Evan will be without his daddy. Yes, it's rough. We're already feeling sad and forlorn. To an almost-four year old, it's going to be "forever" before he sees his daddy again. And that makes him sad.

The snuggles begin.

Too much love to hold in... the tummy kiss!

Just being together.

The snuggles and kisses help for now. And that's what he has to cling to:

His daddy and his kisses.

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Swimming In the Deep End of the Family Gene Pool

Foreword: So, this is what I do: I analyze things. And analyze and analyze, and then I over-analyze. But, you see, it's part of a process. I look back and analyze the past in order to focus on the present and future--make things better, figure out what went wrong, what I did wrong, and figure out how to not do it again. It's all good. Trust me.

As I lay in the relaxing hot bath this morning, savoring dark chocolate, I started thinking about family. (Because that's what stay-at-home mummy bloggers do in the 11.4 minutes of the day they have to themselves. The hot bath and chocolate gorging thing, not the thinking about family thing. Puh-lease! This is my down-time! Seriously. I think about family the other 1428.6 minutes of the day. Yes, even when I'm sleeping. I dream about family stuff. Very seriously. I just don't get a break from the thinking, hence the luxurious (though rapid) lounging and gorging.)

What was I saying? Oh yeah. Family.

Family. The holidays are always rife with family stuff. Especially when I peek in through the windows of other families from out in the darkened cold, and see heart-warming togetherness and Special Moments played out, as though on display. (The peeking or peeping is purely metaphorical. Unless you live near me. Then it is completely literal. Seriously. Close your curtains at night, dudes; don't you know what kind of freaks are out there?! Okay, now you do. Read on.)

I admit: I'm jealous.

Memories from my childhood show a family life that was dramatically diametrical. It went from suffocating control to ... nothing. Abandoned is too harsh of a word, but I've learned over the years that there are some historical events that were indeed harsh, and the harshness I might be feeling is only because I'm looking at it in a new way.

Dad was the glue that held us together. When he died, it all fell apart. It seemed like there was no more family. Skip forward to the present: Now I'm trying to make a family of me and my boy. I'm surrounded by relatives (literally hundreds, many of whom I've not met) because I come from a group of people who either were breeding farmhands or were Catholic, or both. That's a lotta people. And I don't know most of them, I'm sorry to say. I have met a few, cherished relatives; I've created a sense of family with a few, and I thank God for them. (This is not to say I don't love the relatives. I do. In my own way.)

I'm also thankful for my friends, who because of the lack of family togetherness I tended to create my own "families" out of my friends. They were wonderful, being a part of my life. Are a part of my life. Sharing celebrations and holidays. I have to say my most treasured Christmas memories were of friends. Not "family". (The family Christmases were memorable in an entirely different way. I still treasure those family memories too, but also in a different way.)

See, here's where the problem comes in. People you hang with are like diseases. Friends are like the swine flu (I'm using this metaphor because statistically fewer people died from H1N1 than from the regular seasonal influenza, and I don't want to focus on death--that's not what this is about): it impacts you a lot, and stays with you for a while, but you recover and move on. Relatives are like herpes: they come at you with a vengeance once in a while, regardless of what you do, make your life hell for a while, and then recede. But THEY NEVER ENTIRELY GO AWAY.

Just to clarify--again the diseases are a metaphor, nothing I've had personal experience with. Really. I don't joke about that, being a borderline hypochondriac and all.

I love my friends, and they're the icing on the cake. And I can't do without them. But it's the family I want to, HAVE to, create with my son. It doesn't just happen. It takes effort and planning and thought and more effort. And even a little sweat and tears. I'll be the one person who will be there for him always. Letting him try his legs and wings a little bit at a time, giving him the freedom to experience and become. And I'll be the one he comes running back to with scraped knees and bruises to kiss and cuddle. And he'll know I'm his family and I'll love him. Because I'll never really go that far away.

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Tomorrow: Memories of the Memorable Christmases Past (I swear.)