Yesterday when I put Joseph to bed, I offered him a choice. I would read his Castle book (Yay English heritage foundation!) or give him a 'pretend story' about a castle. Predictably, he chose the pretend story. Unfortunately at that moment, my brain clicked out. So I sat there next to his bed, reaching out into the depths of my brain for a fabulous good night story. I make up stories all the time. And songs. I had a fantastic rendition of "I love my boys" during bath time, followed by "Joseph is my big boy." Really. I should be recording.
Unfortunately at this moment, my mind went blank. Hey, it was almost 10 pm and I had a headcold. So reach out into the recesses of my mind I did and came up with the following opening sentences.
"Long... long ago, long before we can remember there was a castle, which was named.. Gondor" (okay... so we had a theme established. Good. Now what would come next. )
In that castle, lived a little boy (obviously there has to be a little boy. What bedtime story would be complete without a little boy?) whose name was... (was... was) FARAMIR. (Back to the theme! Yay. I am getting there!). Faramir was a little boy who wanted to be a knight. So he practiced a lot with a wooden sword. (thank you once more, English heritage foundation!). Faramir had a big brother named..(well hey, since the theme is set, we really should go with it) BOROMIR.
Now Faramir was very nice and he was working very hard at practicing with his sword, because that was his job. One day, he saw his brother Boromir being mean to another young boy. (poor Boromir, he always get the short end of the stick.) Faramir didn't like that. He was a very kind boy and was not happy when other people were being teased. So he told Boromir to stop. But Boromir was much bigger and stronger. And he didn't stop.
So Faramir thought for a moment, then just .. poked him with his wooden sword (poke little boy in the tummy here, and hear him giggle!). Boromir told him to stop that. But Faramir said: No YOU stop that! And he poked Boromir again with his sword. (poke. giggle.) So Faramir kept poking Boromir with his sword. Then Boromir RAN after Faramir, and Faramir ran outside of the castle. When Boromir ran outside after him, Faramir ran back in and closed the drawbridge. Boromir JUMPED and just managed to hold on to the drawbridge and had to hang on by his hands while the bridge was being closed! But he managed to get in. (pfiew!)
Once he was inside, he RAN after Faramir again. But Faramir turned around and POKED him into the belly with his wooden sword. (poke, poke, poke GIGGLE!). They ran up the stairs. They ran down the stairs. They ran UP the stairs again. And then Faramir JUMPED over the trapdoor. But Boromir was running TOO hard and he fell into the trapdoor! (the Melissa and Doug castle has a trapdoor. Thank you, Melissa and Doug). Oh my...
(Little voice interupts and adds his own part to the story.) Then Faramir went down the stairs and opened the door and saved him. (mother's heart melting. BIG KISS). That is right, sweetie. He went down the stairs, and he told Boromir not to tease the other boy again. Boromir promised, and Faramir opened the door. Little boy voice: and he saved him! Mommy: very right! He saved his brother. Because he was very smart. And very kind. Goodnight, my puddleduck. KISS. Have good sleep.
Morals, literature and giggles. Oh yes, I LOVE a good pretend story.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A wonderful little adventure
It hasn't been the easiest forthnight to us. That is why todays little adventure really brought an extra smile on my face. I was picking up Joseph from preschool and had to stop at a gas station. Had to stop is a pretty literal truth, because the gas light was blinking and I already had heard that 'peep' that warns you that should have filled up a day or so ago.
So I ride in, start filling the car with gas and make faces to entertain the two boys in their car seats when a white truck pulls up as well, across from ours at the other side of the pump.
A man steps out. A somewhat elderly man. Chubby. With white hair. A white beard. A white shirt. And red pants. The spitting image of.. SANTA!! I consider whether or not to say something, but stop myself. After all, the poor man has probably heard it all six thousand times before, right? Filling up the tank, making more faces, and praising them for good behaviour afterwards, I step into my car and close the door, taking the time to put my purse back to rights.
In the mean time, the man had come back out of the little gas station store, and I could not help myself. Gesturing only with my head, I said to Joseph: Look Joseph! See who is there? Does that man remind you of anyone?
At the same time, the man looks up. Either he has bat ears, he just saw the children, or he just knows what is happening in this car by experience. He starts talking to us, and I lower my window to hear!"You boys and girls come to visit me at Dutch Square mall, after Thanksgiving now, hear you! I will be looking forward to it. Just bring the camera! I will be there! *big wink*"
I smile brightly, thank him and assure him that we will! Call it a Miracle on 24th street effect, but I will be going to Dutch Square mall. A Santa who will stop, while tanking gas, in november, to grin and make children's day is a Santa worth meeting!Joseph lit up! He had seen Santa! Out for gas. I explained that the reindeer were still at the northpole. All kinds of theories and stories spring up from this small chance encounter. There is magic in a smile, and a chance encounter. And this one really made my day.
So I ride in, start filling the car with gas and make faces to entertain the two boys in their car seats when a white truck pulls up as well, across from ours at the other side of the pump.
A man steps out. A somewhat elderly man. Chubby. With white hair. A white beard. A white shirt. And red pants. The spitting image of.. SANTA!! I consider whether or not to say something, but stop myself. After all, the poor man has probably heard it all six thousand times before, right? Filling up the tank, making more faces, and praising them for good behaviour afterwards, I step into my car and close the door, taking the time to put my purse back to rights.
In the mean time, the man had come back out of the little gas station store, and I could not help myself. Gesturing only with my head, I said to Joseph: Look Joseph! See who is there? Does that man remind you of anyone?
At the same time, the man looks up. Either he has bat ears, he just saw the children, or he just knows what is happening in this car by experience. He starts talking to us, and I lower my window to hear!"You boys and girls come to visit me at Dutch Square mall, after Thanksgiving now, hear you! I will be looking forward to it. Just bring the camera! I will be there! *big wink*"
I smile brightly, thank him and assure him that we will! Call it a Miracle on 24th street effect, but I will be going to Dutch Square mall. A Santa who will stop, while tanking gas, in november, to grin and make children's day is a Santa worth meeting!Joseph lit up! He had seen Santa! Out for gas. I explained that the reindeer were still at the northpole. All kinds of theories and stories spring up from this small chance encounter. There is magic in a smile, and a chance encounter. And this one really made my day.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Come celebrate our maturity
I first noticed it on the entertainment pages of CNN. I keep up with showbizz, because I work with teens, and whether we want to admit it or not, current culture has a huge influence on them. Since we can't lock them up, it's better to teach them to interpret and put things in a context of values. But I was not sure how to approach this. Some rock star was holding a party to celebrate his divorce. With his ex wife. They were divorcing and a number of friends were invited to join in the celebration of how they wished one another well in the next part of their lives and how they would always work together for the good of their children. So many people in the comments were indeed congratulating them, sincerely, on how responsible they were, and how happy they were to see such good examples. I do not remember who that first star was, but then I found it happening again. And again. Divorce parties and amicable split ups with people saying how wonderful their now ex partner is, are in.
And not just with celebrities. I have seen several acquaintances recently who in one sentence announce their divorce or split with the father of their children and in the same breath assure us that everything is wonderful and that they are dealing with this like mature adults who like eachother and want the best for the other and for their children. And children want their parents to be happy of course!
Really? Have you ever tried to finish something, a book, a chore, a bit of work, while your child wants you to refill their juice or read a book for the fiftieth time? Toddlers don't care about your happiness, unless it affects them. They are not supposed to worry about your happiness, but you about theirs. When they grow and become more mature, they are supposed to grow in care for others. Because care and self sacrifice is what they have seen modeled all their lives before them. The problem is that this generation of children has not seen that modeled to them. They learn the lesson early that if something makes you unhappy it is your responsibility to change it, no matter how it affects others.
People who divorce, especially amicably, quite often say that it would be a horrible thing to 'live a lie' in front of their children. The implication of course is that 'pretending that they still love their partner' would be the lie. It sounds so rational. So good. We do not want people to lie. Lying is bad. Your life however would only be a lie if love is only a feeling. Even when you do not feel in love anymore, love can be a decision. You have given your word to love that person. That doesn't mean you will feel deliriously romantic every day. It is hard to feel deliriously romantic, serene and blissfully happy when you have mashed banana in your hair, when your spouse came home late after a hard day while you were counting the minutes, and when he doesn't get the fact that you just threw him a 'look' that should have said everything. You were biting your tongue and he didn't even notice. Or your job takes you each away from home every day, and between getting your child out of daycare, off to music class and soccer practice, you barely had a chance for a conversation and when you have it is ackward because you just don't know what to say to each other anymore. You just.. drifted apart and it is all good. Clearly this wasn't meant to be, so let's celebrate that you are good and responsible adults who do not try to kill each other , and move along. After all, it is better than 'lying' to everyone and pretend that you still are in love.
But love is not an emotion. It is a decision. A choice. Divorce is the lie. You make a lie out of the vows you have made and you tell your children that nothing anybody says can ever be trusted. After all, if even words said as solemn as we can say anything, with money spend even to make the occasion as memorable as it could, with people to witness them and photographs to keep the moment saved for eternity, if even those words can not be trusted, what can? If lives can be uprooted, not because of horrible situations, but because people have 'grown apart' or 'are no longer in love' and are 'no longer happy', then what can we not sacrifice for our own happiness?
Divorce, even divorce of people who were never formally wed but bound themselves to each other through children, teaches everyone around us that there is nothing that we can hold on to, and nothing that is more important than how we feel. We, and our own feelings, are the center of the universe. We are victims of our feelings. We can not help them, train them, or put them in their place. Which means that if I am angry, I have the right to lash out, to become violent, because that is how I feel. If someone does something, I have the right to laugh at him, and make him feel stupid, or to be rude to them. Because I feel he is stupid and to pretend otherwise would be a lie. In laying off the restraint that generations have put on feelings, not to suppress them as unworthy, but to channel them into something better, we become in contrast of the maturity that is proclaimed, as immature as the toddler who did not want to let us finish anything, until his own happiness was secured, by way of a refilled juice or a book, or whatever he desired at that point.
In divorce, without the grounds of adultery or abuse, we have reduced our maturity to the immaturity of a child, and we reduce the chance of our children to grow up with the knowledge that maturity is a matter of growing in happiness, not by the immediate gratification of our wishes, but by the channeling of our feelings into becoming better human beings.
And not just with celebrities. I have seen several acquaintances recently who in one sentence announce their divorce or split with the father of their children and in the same breath assure us that everything is wonderful and that they are dealing with this like mature adults who like eachother and want the best for the other and for their children. And children want their parents to be happy of course!
Really? Have you ever tried to finish something, a book, a chore, a bit of work, while your child wants you to refill their juice or read a book for the fiftieth time? Toddlers don't care about your happiness, unless it affects them. They are not supposed to worry about your happiness, but you about theirs. When they grow and become more mature, they are supposed to grow in care for others. Because care and self sacrifice is what they have seen modeled all their lives before them. The problem is that this generation of children has not seen that modeled to them. They learn the lesson early that if something makes you unhappy it is your responsibility to change it, no matter how it affects others.
People who divorce, especially amicably, quite often say that it would be a horrible thing to 'live a lie' in front of their children. The implication of course is that 'pretending that they still love their partner' would be the lie. It sounds so rational. So good. We do not want people to lie. Lying is bad. Your life however would only be a lie if love is only a feeling. Even when you do not feel in love anymore, love can be a decision. You have given your word to love that person. That doesn't mean you will feel deliriously romantic every day. It is hard to feel deliriously romantic, serene and blissfully happy when you have mashed banana in your hair, when your spouse came home late after a hard day while you were counting the minutes, and when he doesn't get the fact that you just threw him a 'look' that should have said everything. You were biting your tongue and he didn't even notice. Or your job takes you each away from home every day, and between getting your child out of daycare, off to music class and soccer practice, you barely had a chance for a conversation and when you have it is ackward because you just don't know what to say to each other anymore. You just.. drifted apart and it is all good. Clearly this wasn't meant to be, so let's celebrate that you are good and responsible adults who do not try to kill each other , and move along. After all, it is better than 'lying' to everyone and pretend that you still are in love.
But love is not an emotion. It is a decision. A choice. Divorce is the lie. You make a lie out of the vows you have made and you tell your children that nothing anybody says can ever be trusted. After all, if even words said as solemn as we can say anything, with money spend even to make the occasion as memorable as it could, with people to witness them and photographs to keep the moment saved for eternity, if even those words can not be trusted, what can? If lives can be uprooted, not because of horrible situations, but because people have 'grown apart' or 'are no longer in love' and are 'no longer happy', then what can we not sacrifice for our own happiness?
Divorce, even divorce of people who were never formally wed but bound themselves to each other through children, teaches everyone around us that there is nothing that we can hold on to, and nothing that is more important than how we feel. We, and our own feelings, are the center of the universe. We are victims of our feelings. We can not help them, train them, or put them in their place. Which means that if I am angry, I have the right to lash out, to become violent, because that is how I feel. If someone does something, I have the right to laugh at him, and make him feel stupid, or to be rude to them. Because I feel he is stupid and to pretend otherwise would be a lie. In laying off the restraint that generations have put on feelings, not to suppress them as unworthy, but to channel them into something better, we become in contrast of the maturity that is proclaimed, as immature as the toddler who did not want to let us finish anything, until his own happiness was secured, by way of a refilled juice or a book, or whatever he desired at that point.
In divorce, without the grounds of adultery or abuse, we have reduced our maturity to the immaturity of a child, and we reduce the chance of our children to grow up with the knowledge that maturity is a matter of growing in happiness, not by the immediate gratification of our wishes, but by the channeling of our feelings into becoming better human beings.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Anatomy of a work out
The last two/ three months has seen me in the remarkable endeavour of actually building up a work out routine. While I love yoga, and other work outs, I found out that they just don't fit in our day to day routine. Not even the dvd version at home. My husband works out as well, and since he works out after the children go to bed, it would be nearly 11 pm before I could start. And that is not going to happen. Or I should get up earlier. Which is also not going to happen.All of a sudden I remembered that we have a treadmill upstairs that I used quite a bit before I got pregnant with Michael, and we found that while the children watched television in the evening, it was a perfect time for me to go upstairs and let dada watch the boys.
When I decided to start using the treadmill, I am not sure who thought I would hang in there. I am better at starting up routines than in sticking to them. I didn't have much faith in myself to be honest, so I decided not to buy anything for the work out (like those fancy new work out clothes that you always buy to motivate you and that then hang in your closet mocking you when you don't keep up three weeks later.). My only pair of running shoes/ sneakers however was so small it pinched my toes whenever I tried to wear them. So I spend the first three weeks running on the treadmill in a pair of target bedroom slippers. Like ballet slippers, but just with cloth instead of that leather sole. Not ideal, but after I had literally ran a hole in those slippers and could not run anymore due to treadmill burn on the bottom of my feet, I actually bought a pair of running shoes.
With a few breaks due to illnes or injury, I have kept it up, first adding to the incline until that was at maximum level, and now adding to speed. While I would definitely not think of myself as a runner, I love the way I can compete with the numbers on the treadmill, plus it is a chance to catch up on some television. I bribe myself: you can either sit here and watch the same episode of Barney with the children for the 300th time, or you can go upstairs and watch Inspctor Lewis. Or the Mentalist. So I go upstairs, put the television on. Put the treadmill on and start. And then my Inner Voice (IV) takes over.
IV: I don't feel that great, so I will just do 15 minutes.
IV after 7 minutes: I hate this. Seriously, I did 500 calories yesterday, I could take an evening off.
IV after 15 minutes: Oh, look, I am almost at the one mile mark, just add a few more minutes then I did one mile.
IV at 17 minutes: hey, I am at 223 calories, let's see if I can make it to 250.
IV at 20 minutes: hmm... I think the base speed is working pretty well. Lets's see if I can do some running, just for a bit, then I will stop after that.
IV after running: Hey, that brought me close to a mile and a half.. let's go for it.
IV at 25 minutes: oh, it would be silly to stop now. I'm at 370 calories. A little bit further and I can get to close to 450. 450 is a decent work out.
IV at 29 minutes: Oh.. *pant, pant* I am not sure I can do this. But loo... look... I am over 460. Seriously.. you know what would be really cool? If I can make it to 500 calories.
IV at 33 minutes: *pant.. pant* come on. You can do this. You can get past your previous numbers. Just a bit more.
IV at 35: Oh help.. it's past 9 pm. Time to help Bill take the children to bed. Cool down.
IV at 37 minutes: wow, I did 517 calories in 37 minutes. This is great. Can't wait to try again tomorrow.
When I decided to start using the treadmill, I am not sure who thought I would hang in there. I am better at starting up routines than in sticking to them. I didn't have much faith in myself to be honest, so I decided not to buy anything for the work out (like those fancy new work out clothes that you always buy to motivate you and that then hang in your closet mocking you when you don't keep up three weeks later.). My only pair of running shoes/ sneakers however was so small it pinched my toes whenever I tried to wear them. So I spend the first three weeks running on the treadmill in a pair of target bedroom slippers. Like ballet slippers, but just with cloth instead of that leather sole. Not ideal, but after I had literally ran a hole in those slippers and could not run anymore due to treadmill burn on the bottom of my feet, I actually bought a pair of running shoes.
With a few breaks due to illnes or injury, I have kept it up, first adding to the incline until that was at maximum level, and now adding to speed. While I would definitely not think of myself as a runner, I love the way I can compete with the numbers on the treadmill, plus it is a chance to catch up on some television. I bribe myself: you can either sit here and watch the same episode of Barney with the children for the 300th time, or you can go upstairs and watch Inspctor Lewis. Or the Mentalist. So I go upstairs, put the television on. Put the treadmill on and start. And then my Inner Voice (IV) takes over.
IV: I don't feel that great, so I will just do 15 minutes.
IV after 7 minutes: I hate this. Seriously, I did 500 calories yesterday, I could take an evening off.
IV after 15 minutes: Oh, look, I am almost at the one mile mark, just add a few more minutes then I did one mile.
IV at 17 minutes: hey, I am at 223 calories, let's see if I can make it to 250.
IV at 20 minutes: hmm... I think the base speed is working pretty well. Lets's see if I can do some running, just for a bit, then I will stop after that.
IV after running: Hey, that brought me close to a mile and a half.. let's go for it.
IV at 25 minutes: oh, it would be silly to stop now. I'm at 370 calories. A little bit further and I can get to close to 450. 450 is a decent work out.
IV at 29 minutes: Oh.. *pant, pant* I am not sure I can do this. But loo... look... I am over 460. Seriously.. you know what would be really cool? If I can make it to 500 calories.
IV at 33 minutes: *pant.. pant* come on. You can do this. You can get past your previous numbers. Just a bit more.
IV at 35: Oh help.. it's past 9 pm. Time to help Bill take the children to bed. Cool down.
IV at 37 minutes: wow, I did 517 calories in 37 minutes. This is great. Can't wait to try again tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Creativity
Years ago, I participated frequently on a large Christian message board, mostly in the Catholic section. One of the things I loved was the C.C.C. (pun intended): the club of creative Catholics.
We shared our attempts, finishes and ideas for craft, sewing, knitting, embroidery and other creative projects and encouraged each other. While many people appreciate a nicely made handmade object, few who do not craft know the work and love that goes in them.
One of the hardest things when my children are small is that I have to completely abandon all creative pursuits in exchange for bare survival. In my favorite embroidery magazine, I regularly read features of women who embroidered complete baptismal gowns or large projects just after their children are born. I wonder if these are magical super women or if they have been blessed with easy children. Breastfeeding, putting a semi healthy meal together and making sure we are not smothered by the mess in the house is the only thing I can manage those first 6 months to a year. It's therefor always a joy when finally I can start my needlework again and make beauty.
Here are two recent finishes, each different from the other:
Saint Michael: A saint softie to be send to my Godchild:
I made this one based on this cute little angel doll. I would love to send you to the blog where I found the original pattern, which actually is a blog I follow regularly, but my brain has clicked out and I just can't find it. I will attribute correctly later.
A wedding handkerchief for a dear friend of mine:
We shared our attempts, finishes and ideas for craft, sewing, knitting, embroidery and other creative projects and encouraged each other. While many people appreciate a nicely made handmade object, few who do not craft know the work and love that goes in them.
One of the hardest things when my children are small is that I have to completely abandon all creative pursuits in exchange for bare survival. In my favorite embroidery magazine, I regularly read features of women who embroidered complete baptismal gowns or large projects just after their children are born. I wonder if these are magical super women or if they have been blessed with easy children. Breastfeeding, putting a semi healthy meal together and making sure we are not smothered by the mess in the house is the only thing I can manage those first 6 months to a year. It's therefor always a joy when finally I can start my needlework again and make beauty.
Here are two recent finishes, each different from the other:
Saint Michael: A saint softie to be send to my Godchild:
I made this one based on this cute little angel doll. I would love to send you to the blog where I found the original pattern, which actually is a blog I follow regularly, but my brain has clicked out and I just can't find it. I will attribute correctly later.
A wedding handkerchief for a dear friend of mine:
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Oh joyous day!
I have been looking forward to this moment from before the day my children were born. And today it was here. Joseph read his first book! Hurray! A little phonics book about Thomas the tank engine was my son's gateway into reading. The words are simple and of course few. Jam. Stop. Happy. Thomas. And. Very simple, very easy. But it is his first book! The first time he actually read something. I wish now we had taken a picture.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)