Pink Roses II: Life, with children...

Two days ago, I made a post about the difference a vase of flowers made in my housekeeping. The beautiful pink roses are still standing next to me and making me smile. However, I vowed several times that in this blog I would be honest about the realities of homemaking and motherhood.
Quite often in the past I've visited wonderful homemaking blogs and come out feeling inspired but also hopelessly inadequate and doomed to failure, because I never would be able to get it all together and do all these wonderful projects like those women did. Their children never seemed to throw tantrums, their house never seemed a mess, and there always was a crockpot with something delicious on, so they never... ever... stood frazzled before the freezer and decided that they could get away with pizza this evening. And if they did, it would be homemade, wholesome, whole wheat pizza dough of course, with toppings layed out in a shape that portrayed the liturgical season or their current bible reading or homeschool project.

In the few years that I have been a wife and mother I have learned that life simply does not work that way. These women DO all these wonderful projects and I commend them for it, but often they are of the opinion that when things go wrong... you do not announce it to the world. I can respect that opinion, especially in this tell all generations where people seem to find it necessary to share every little detail about their lives, even the ones we REALLY did not want to know.
For some of us first generation homemakers however, this works discouraging. We have no other rolemodels to look at for full time homemakers than either old television shows (which we at least KNOW to be unrealistic) and the women we get to know through the internet who go before us.

So I made the commitment that while I want to share my inspirations and triumphs and joys, I will also share the ah... less pretty side.
On sunday... my house looked beautiful, the roses beamed at me in approval and I felt satisfied with the world. Three days, two doctors appointments, a husband with a busy time at work and a son with a cold later... these are the changes:

- Miscelanious objects have managed to congregate on my desk. I do not know how or why, because I certainly did not invite me, but from where I sit right here I can see a homeschooling book, a stick of deodorant, two childrens books, an empty box of tissues, a box of dried prunes, a necklace, a box of crayons that should be in the desk not on it, a mug, a can with an energy drink, a pretty tea cup, a childrens cup and a half worked scribbled drawing that my son made while talking with his grandmother on skype, as well as some junk mail. It's a big desk.

- The crystal bowl with the pretty red apples had to be removed because my son kept helping himself. That would not be so bad, after all, fruit is good for you, if he would actually eat one apple, and then go to the next one. Instead he selected one, bit in it. Took it along... left it somewhere and when whim stroke stretched his hand out for the next one. We went through three apples before I caught on and intervened. Two of the apples are now on Joseph's own plastic table to hopefully be finished off by tonight.

- There is one basket of duplo's upended on the carpet, and Joseph's shoes are laying next to them where I put them after I took them off to put him down for his nap. For some reason, my husband's tie is also laying on the carpet.

- The pretty white table cloth is unfortunately no longer pretty and white. Two days ago my son wanted to play with the coin box and help pick up the coins from the table and put them back in the jar. We 'counted' money for literally an hour and a half. Dirty coins leave residue on a white table cloth.

- To finish off the table cloth, came our daily practice of independance and self reliance: the idea that we should allow a child to do things for itsself so that he can become more independant and a greater help to mommy and daddy and he learns to do an effort. It's a great thing to stimulate at the age of two and a half where children actually LOVE to do things by themselves. It's also a sticky thing to stimulate, literally. Because while Joseph is learning how to spread cream cheese or choco spread on his own crackers or bread, the once white table cloth suffers in the two seconds there are between mommy realizing the impending disaster and the moment where she can hand a whipe to her son after having hauled her pregnant body from the chair in an unseemly display of haste, rushed off to the kitchen, found the whipe and offered it while exclaiming "NO Joseph, you're being a good boy... keep your hands up... no... keep it... oh..."



Now after I have finished up this post, I WILL actually put that tablecloth in the washing machine... I will clean up the clutter on my desk and it will probably only take ten minutes. But some days, I am too tired and by now just need a nap. Or some soothing time to knit, and some days it grows from this little bit of disorder to more extravagant proportions. Then I need a bouquet of pretty pink roses or another reminder that even in this season, even with limited time, I can create some order and pretty - ness amidst the choco smears. At least for a few hours.

Where are our real rolemodels?

Lately, I have been on my soapbox a bit on this topic. I try not to repeat myself too often, but now and again I see a post out there in blogland that just makes me return to it. I usually try and post a reply on the blog itsself and am always pleased to see that I get a gracious reaction. Recently one of my blogreplies seemed to have turned in a little post by itsself, so I just copied and adapted it slightly here for your delight. *chuckles* I promise I will get off this soapbox soon.

Many of us, young homemakers (I've been married almost three years, have a wonderful young son of 18 months) have no rolemodels for what being a homemaker is. We fall on oldfashioned TV shows or blogs by default because we were not raised to be homemakers and often didn't even expect to be one, until we became convinced of the great value that lies in staying at home and raising our children.

But we really don't know what to expect or where to begin. So then we are going out to look for people to model ourselves after. And looking for encouragement we only find those oldfashioned TV shows or sites and blogs that extoll the virtues of homemaking. Now we come to my little petpeeve. A lot of blogs, especially in the conservative Christian circle that I love, seem to believe they still need to prove their point on how worthwhile and wonderful homemaking is. They also often get the advice not to complain because otherwise 'the others' might tell hem that they are unfulfilled and need to look for a job. And so, they leave out the 'hard stuff'.



So there we come... new homemakers... and we see as our only model before us these seemingly perfect women who do creative projects at home with their children, who show us pretty pictures of the flowers in their garden, the organicly grown vegetables and homemade food that they feed their children and we are still at the beginning of a learning curve with no one to look up at but the seemingly impossible to attain ideal. They seem to be scrapbooking, knitting, quilting, finishing projects and keeping up with the lately published good books as well.

With a child that didn't sleep and refused to be put down until he was nine months old, I was ready to scream in overexhausted pain and frustration at the next person who told me to 'enjoy this time because they are only little such a short time'. I used to have intelligent conversation, but I was so utterly tired that I couldn't even find words anymore to express my thoughts. The simplest words like 'fridge' 'food' 'spoon' 'diaper' escaped from my brain. And I thought it would never end.
Everyone around me (on blogs or sites that encourage homemaking) seemed to be doing homeschooling phonetics, while spinning a laundry basket on one hip, humming classical music for the todlers that adoringly watched or tried to help, rocking a baby cradle with one foot and patiently reading the gospel to a teenage daughter. So it had to be just me, right?



Where were the tales about the screaming baby that I seemed to have? The sleep deprived nights? The fact that it is okay not to enjoy certain things as long as you do them with love? I saw the posts about frugality and lovingly restored cabinets. But where were the stories about the todler who ued the five seconds you needed both of your hands to close the pot of varnish to get in trouble and ruin the finish of the cabinet as well as your skirt?
Where were the stories of the lovingly heartshaped made toast with strawberry jam you made when you finally found the energy to do something that seemed like a creative, pretty project? And the story of how that toast consequently got turned upside down on the carpet, which you halfway expected, but then somehow also was rubbed in there and on you five minutes before your husband came home. And while you just had tidied up the floor, the usually well behaved child that you love more than life itsself used the time that you were scrubbing the carpet to dump all his blocks, get sixteen books out and pull three magazines from the couch, which he consequently started to shred?




I wanted to hear those stories. I needed to hear those stories to know that I was not alone. I was at the verge of just giving up. Clearly some women were not good at mothering, some, horribly pathetic women were not equipped to be a stay at home mom, and I was one of them! Which made me feel both guilty and a failure. I stuck with it, and now I understand that those blogs present a false picture. Yes, homemaking is wonderful, but it IS also frustrating, just like a job. Except that it is more. It is a vocation. But whether you go to library story hour or have to read "Maisy takes a bath" or "Jesus loves the little children" sixteen times... neither of those will be intelectually stimulating every day. You will now and again feel bored. And that IS okay. It doesn't have to be all sunshine and roses everyday, because suffering (even small sufferings like handprints on newly washed windows or not finding five minutes to sit down for a cup of tea) is part of life. Just like the wonder of a little body snuggled up close to you is part of life. And it has it's own value in refining you and making you a better person. But talk about the struggles please as well as the refined part.
There are wonderful days in which everything falls into place. And there are picture perfect moments to write about and enjoy the memories of. But there are also the many, many moments where things seem to fall apart.



In telling people NOT to complain, there comes an image out there that no one can live up to. And those of us that are new to homemaking and do not have strong personal rolemodels of homemaking in our lives... we start to feel as if it is not for us, as if we can not do this and better just give up.
Now and again, I wish people would just complain about a bad day. People who have an office job complain too, so why would we be afraid to offer a real image of homemaking as a rewarding, sanctifying experience... that isn't always restful or easy or even pretty. I want to hear the bad stuff as well as the good stuff. I understand and admire a certain reticence in 'putting it all out there in all it's glorious misery' and I certainly don't advocate blogs to become a town crier for every little marital discontent or a constant litany of woes. But I want to know that I am not the only one who struggles. That I am not the only one who tries to colour with my little fellow to see him lose interest after two minutes and instead try to eat one of the crayons, or scribble on the tv. (As in my previous post on this subject, I refuse to believe I am the only one who has had that happen! *G*)

Inspiration, another rabbit trail

I am upset with Preppy Cricket. Well... not really upset. But does she not know how dangerous it is first to post such magnificent foto's of childrens bedrooms. And then to mention the new website in which the furniture for these photo's is to be found? Leading me to discover a whole new website with cute and interesting childrens toys and furniture?
I am convinced she is in on a conspiracy! Emma started it with this play kitchen. For a while I had noticed my sons interest in stirring his own pot and so far I had nurtured it by leaving a few cabinets accessible to him so he could get out (unbreakable) pots and pans. I offered him a spoon and that was that. But Emma's playkitchen led to more ambitious plans. My son might like a playkitchen of his own. And I might like the freedom of movement to cook while he cooked alongside with me!

This was the result of my first brainstorm:



Yes, that is a shoebox that makes him a little stove and a big magnet (too big to swallow) as some food, as well as an empty box of macaroni to play with. I remembered the little kitchen in preschool which was stocked mostly with empty boxes and jars from parent's shelves. Then Kelly led me to her new website, full of plans and hopes to 'feather her new nest'. And the planning and decorating bug bit hard. Oh, it had been gnawing for a while now, leading to the earlier reorganising of my desk and the plans for a learning room. But now it truely started buzzing around my head as well with all kinds of possibilities to improve and beautify our house. Small projects here and there. Would that little shoerack that is just holding a box of diapers in the hallway not be better solution for a little stove than a shoebox? Hmmm... it could hold a small pot underneath and a spoon or such on the shelf and then on top he could be cooking... now that would work for now.

Already I had ordered a new Ikea catalog and had been looking at the clearance section of Pottery Barn for Kids and ToysRus furniture.
But now the Preppy Cricket added another website to look at. And guess what they have?



Is that not the cutest little toykitchen imaginable? It's portable which is perfect for our on the move boy. It's not too big, and best of all, it's only 35 dollars at
land of nod.

I think this actually might become the first toy mommy and daddy buy for our little boy. And there are so many cute new ideas and oportunities opening up for new improvements to our home. A learning room. Soon an end to the highchair and hello to booster seats. Crayons and paper and books are slowly replacing rattles and stacking rings. A whole new phase to adjust to and enjoy.

The road to sainthood

As I was trying to buckle Joseph in his carseat on the parking lot at Aldi's, I had a small revelation. Paul had his on the road to Damascus... mine came on a slightly more mundane place. Though to be completely honest, I do not know how mundane the road to Damascus was for him at the time.

I was muttering about the acrobatics of a sixteen month old todler, too big for the buckles in the Aldi shopping cart, pondering about something I wanted to write and wondering why my road to sainthood could not be made by reading and writing beautiful things and singing Gods praises instead of wrestling with an adorable 16 month old who pooped his diaper out during naptime for the second time this week. That would make this whole 'becoming more Holy' thing a whole lot easier. I love my son, and quite frankly I love being a mom. But I am not always certain if I am that good at it.

I am pretty good at teaching. At reading things and explaining them to other people. Even sometimes at writing. I am good at it, and I love it. So why does God chose to refine me through dirty diapers and a mama climbing boy? Because I clearly feel that tending to Joseph has already helped weeding out sins like selfishness, procrastination (you can NOT procrastinate on a dirty diaper or a hungry child) and vanity. I wish I could say that these sins have been plucked right clean out of my heart, but like with weeds, it just doesn't work that way, and I will be weeding my hearts garden until the day I die.

I realised I was confusing two things. Reading, teaching, speaking in public might be my talents, my charisms. They are gifts from God. They come from him and I need to use them in His service. But that does not necessarily mean that they are the things I will need to use most in my quest to become more like Him. They are not the muscles that need the most training.

If you look in the bible, God often calls people to do exactly what they do not seem to be very good at. Moses as a public speaker? David as a Giant slayer and a king? That does not mean they do not use their particular talents in his service, but what he asks of them to give to Him, is not just the best part of themselves. In giving over the smaller parts, the things that maybe are not their greatest talent or fondest occupation, they give themselves more completely. Maybe our talents will be what will be noticed most by others in His service, maybe they will even accomplish the most in His plan for others, but what matters most are the things that refine us unto His will. What refines me most is not just the use of the 'best parts' of me, but exactly the use of those parts of me that need a whole lot of work.

A glorious day

Last Saturday was not my most wonderful day. Yet I am proud of myself for being able to look past the borders of that day, even while it was going on, and look to the better days and even the magical ones.
Today was one of those gold bordered days it seems. And I had actually been dreading it. To avoid a long wait at the doctors I had snagged the second spot of the day, which was at 8.30 am. But since I had to bring my husband to work first (we chose to be a one car family) We needed to leave the house at 7.30 am. Two hours before Joseph's usual wake up time. And I do not like to tamper with his sleeping or nap schedule.

I could have spared myself all the worrying. Joseph behaved perfectly. He played nicely in the waiting room. He charmed all the nurses. And the doctor. Weight and height are in perfect proportion and he is way ahead of his 16 month development. In fact he would be ahead for his 18 month check up in cognitive as well as physical skills, and has a vocabulary triple of what an average sixteen month old has. Aside from that, he cried only for about five minutes when getting his shots and then was back to his sunny self.

He behaved incredibly well the entire day, playing a lot, bringing books and just being very sweet. It was so visible to me what a little sponge he is. And I feel so blessed to be able to spend this much time with him. I saw him select four puzzle pieces that together made up a yellow truck out of a whole box of puzzle pieces. He somehow knew that these pieces went together, even if he can't yet fit them together perfectly all the time. It just amazes me how much he can do already, how much he anderstands and how much every little game of blocks, puzzles and itsy bitsy spider helps him learn more things.
And as the most wonderful bow around the package, he is such a happy, affectionate boy, friendly towards other people, and loving towards his parents.

Ah yes, today is one of those gold border days!

Good mom moments

Yesterday was a good day. One of those days in which you think: wow... I'm doing something important, and I am doing it well! There was not really something special going on, but the house was clean and I managed to keep it up during the day. I decluttered one cabinet, and took plenty of time to play with Joseph. We played with the puzzles and it hit me, wow... I'm doing well.
I am pretty uncertain about my mothering skills due to the difficult first months. These last four months now, there are more and more moments when I just look at him and see what a happy, healthy, loving little boy he is, and I realize that out of the depths of exhaustion, something beautiful must have happened. That by the grace of God, I did well.
Those moments are quite often ordinary, like the quick glimps of success in which I made my fifteen year old todler put all his blocks away before playing with the puzzle and mommy and little boy played a game of who could put the blocks away quicket. When my little boy grabs a book out of the book basket and comes with it to me to wiggle himself on my lap awaiting a story and a cuddle at times it takes my breath away. Of course there are also moments that I just wish I could get on for a few undisturbed moments with the laundry, or an email, but such is life.
When I looked around me yesterday, I felt so content and on top of things. A clean house, a happy husband, and a nice looking healthy meal for our boy. When I brought out the nice little plate with homemade chili with lots of vegetables, lean beef, beans, a little bit of salad on the side and nice strips of wholewheat tortilla, I felt SO good as a mother. I was on top of the world, just because the meal I prepared was healthy and pretty enough to put a picture on my blog.
After such a high comes reality of course in which Joseph dumped his bowl over the carpet next to his little table half an hour later in the thirty seconds it took me to go to the kitchen for a new portion of the chile for myself. After the great mom moment in all it's award show glory, there I was on my knees, scrubbing the carpet before the spots set, telling my todler 'no' in my sternest voice as he tried to smear whatever chili he managed to get on himself on me, while my husband was on the phone with my beloved mother in law.

Ah... mom moments. They come in all shapes and sizes!

Merry Christmas: in retrospect...

I just wanted to wish everyone a merry christmas.
Christmas with children is a whole other experience. As you can read here, I found that out for the first time last year in a fog of over exhaustion and dissapointment. Life with Joseph did not become much easier after that for nearly half a year more. Now, while we still have challenges, I feel like I am slowly returning to be a human being, which makes it much easier to be a mom. THe fact that Joseph is a wonderful, happy boy though, reassures me that I was a mom to him also when it was not easy.

This christmas so far has had it's own challenges. I will not even bring up the disaster of a journey that we had to Belgium or the annoying (though praise God not serious) ilnesses that we seem to go through each time we come here.
But there are things that are simply different when celebrating Christmas with a child. Traditions must change.. expectations be altered and the whole experience is a lot less cerebral and serene.


There are so many changes. We ended up not having a christmas tree inside at all this year. It was too much of a hassle to put one up in our own home when we were going to Belgium anyway on the 17th, and come back only after new year. And here at my mothers house, she -wisely- decided it would be much safer and simpler to put the tree outside. That also means... no ornaments in it as the ones we have are not suited for outside. That means no traditional decorating of the tree on the tones of Toon Hermans' Christmas skit and remarks about the little birdy that has graced the tree as long as I remember or 'my angels' the plastic, silver coloured angels of which one has a wing missing.

I did manage to put up a nativity scene in our house in the US, high up on the mantle since it is a beautiful, woodcarved scene that isn't intended for little childs hands. To compensate that, we bought a nice plastic nativity as well to put in the reach of little hands. Which lead to such wonderful exclamations as "Joseph, on't eat the baby Jesus!" But also to such tender scenes as Joseph giving little baby Jesus a kiss.
Unable to resist, we bought a second nativity for Joseph when we discovered the above duck nativity. With his duck obsession, it was a must. Fond memories include Joseph removing one of the three kings and adding a fireman duckie. New traditions are made. I think every nativity from now on will have to have fireman duckie somehwere nearby.

A bit more poignant is that we did not go to midnight mass for the first time in say... twenty five years. But with a todler finally on a semi decent sleep schedule waking him up at ten before midnight is just not an option. Instead we went to the noon mass today. A better choice. Despite it's lack of bells and whistles we were able to celebrate the birth of Our Lord with a happy toddler who even consented to remain in his stroller the entire time. When I went up for communion, my prayer was the same as last year: Lord, help me become a good wife, mother and above all a good Christian. I miss midnight mass, but as I have come to accept, this is a seaon in life where some things have to give way for other things. If I wish to celebrate a Child born unto us, I should not be grumbling and grudging about the things I need to change in my own beloved routines and traditions because of my sweet son.
Now more than ever, we are a new family, with new traditions in the making. Maybe I did not have a christmas tree with an angel that has a broken wing. But I had a duckie nativity, with one of the three wiseman replaced by a fireman. Life is good, Christ is born!

Feminine Friday

I gladly participate in feminine friday again this week and am taking my cue from the Barefoot mama. Her wonderful entry goes in search for the missing cute little girl dresses of yesterday. Now I am giving the subject a twist though. In my childhood, dresses were out. One of my biggest laments of being a child in Belgium in the late seventies and into the eighties is the lack of beautiful dresses. I was a girly girl. I loved dresses and would have kept them nice and clean too! For my confirmation, I ended up with a white pantsuit combination because it was impossible to find a nice white dress for the occasion. I am glad that as an adult I can find all the nice dresses and skirts that I have missed all these years.

Now that I am mother of a cute, wonderful 14 month old boy, my biggest frustration is the absence of cute, wonderful clothes for him! Where are the little sailor outfits? The tiny suits? The pants with white shirts and little ties. I am all too aware that dressing up has long gone out of the window for anything but weddings and funerals -and even there you can find yourself out of luck- I want to dress my little boy nicely. After all 'gentlemen' are one half of 'ladies and gentlemen'.

I can understand that in any given children's store, 70 percent or more of the clothes are intended for girls. After all, who does not fall in love with the cute little cardigans or sweet little dresses that the fashion industry allows those under the age of six. (After that age, mothers of girls run into a whole new set of problems.) But from the age of one, it seems boys are supposed to fall into one of the following three categories: basketball players, camo-wearing soldiers, or foul mouthed rappers.
Even if the slogan or picture is not offensive, the colours are loud and the style is ultra casual. Only now, around Christmas, you can find some cute little suits and shirts. Simply finding a real shirt with buttons is a challenge throughout the rest of the year.



Of course I am not sending my son dressed in a 3 piece suit to play in the sandpit, just as mothers of girls know that there is a time for a bit of lace trim, and a time for T shirts and knits. But when we go to church on sunday, or on a visit to grandma, I want him to look dressed up. After all, I am raising the next generation of gentlemen. If I want girls in 20 years to find men who know how to wear something else aside from track suits and jeans, I need to teach him now, or the idea of wearing a tie will be foreign and ackward to him at age 16.
Real men, know how to dress. And it is up to us mothers, to teach them.

One of those days

Today was one of 'those' days that all mothers seem to know. And I am writing this when it is only 11 am. Who knows what it still has in store for me?
It started with a bad night of sleep. Then with Joseph waking up at 6.30, after days and weeks of solid sleep till 7.30 and lately even 8.30 am. But no... he was awake, awake, awake and wanted out of the bed.
Okay.. without even much of a grumble (good mommy!) I took him downstairs. He wanted out of the sleepsack so I helped him and then went to make him a cup of milk. Somehow, someway... someWHY... in the few seconds that I had my back turned, he managed to take his diaper off. I had spotted it and immediately resolved to put a new one on as soon as I had put the milk in the fridge. By the time I had done so, Joseph had celebrated his accomplishment by peeing on the floor. And sitting contently in the midst of it.
Thank goodness for hardwood!

So, several paper towels, a dishcloth and a new diaper later, morning was back on track. Until my son saw me put on my computer and insisted that he gets to see duck. Since he does usually see him in the morning, I put him on my lap to go to youtube. He immediately slammed his skull into my face, crushing my lip against my teeth. Luckily no blood, but definitely swollen. After duck and after dadda had left for work, he tried to gauge out my eyeball during a session of 'let's climb mommy'. He failed, but was sincerely dissapointed that he was not allowed to push his finger into my eyesockets. Ah... the hardships of todler life. I am telling him often how he has such a cruel, cruel mommy.

The last incident so far was a new one on me. Joseph has been drinking out of a cup with a straw for months now. He is very proficient at it and while there has been an occasional few drops spilled, there have been no major accidents.
Today however, he decided, while I took my eyes off him for a second, that the lid needed to be pried off the cup while it was still half full of milk.
Once more I say... Thank goodness for hardwood.
Thank goodness for washing machines.

It is now 11.20 am... Thank goodness for naps.

Addendum: my beloved husband reminded me that he was the one who actually carried our little boy downstairs while I was shrugging into a robe. See... despite the fact that he has been weaned for nearly two months now, occasionally when he is hungry in the morning, Joseph just looks at mommy and thinks: FOOD! My not being too grumbling happened after I came downstairs and had Joseph on my lap. I did explain though that 6.30 am is way too early to be up.

Duck... duck... duck... duck... duck.... duck.....GOOSE

I was out of inspiration when I started this post. I always have such great ideas to blog about when I am in the car, when I am folding laundry, when I am singing the alphabet song. But when I here, sometimes I just get a whole head full of... blank. So I look around me for inspiration. And what do I see at a foot distance on my desk? A small rubber duckie with a flower necklace around his neck. Looking a bit further on the floor, I see a rubber duckie with a crown and a purse. On the hearth there is a duckie nativity. And I am sure that if I took the effort to just stand up from this chair I wouldn't even need to move more than a few steps away to see more ducks littering my living room.

Lest you think this obsession with duckies is mine: the blame for ducks scattered around belong to my fourteen month old son. He is fond of duckies. He is VERY fond of duckies. Okay... he is obsessed with duckies. How that happened, I do not know. One day, after a bath, he didn't want to let go of his rubber duckie. Probably he thought it was something fun to chew on.



Well, that one duckie turned into three duckies. Then there were duckies on his birthday cake.... and from there on a whole ducky empire started to build. My fourteen month old son who never wanted anything to do with any of the stuffed animals that were bought for him, went to bed with a stuffed duck today.
We noticed that his fondness for ducks started to become larger than life when in every single book he could spot a duck from a mile away. In Maisy takes a bath, the duck drifting in the bathtub became Joseph's main character. He even fills out the sentence: "Maisy takes a bath with .... 'duh'.
Things really got out of hand though when mommy remembered a cartoon character from the Netherlands and decided to show it to Joseph. By now I know the begin tune of "Alfred Jodocus Kwak" in three languages and am blackmailed into showing it three times a day on the computer. During our thanksgiving trip, Joseph rushed through every person in the airport that had a laptop to call out excitedly: "Duh, Duh" in the hope that they would show him the video. Even computerised cash registers are seen as potential duck - deliverers. And I would have never in my life thought that I would have occasion to invent a word like 'duck deliverers".

Anyhow, to allow you all to share in the duck enduced madness, here is the English version of Alfred Jodocus Kwak, aka, my sons obsession.

December sixth is Saint Nicholas day in many countries around the world (december fifth in the Netherlands). In the US the tradition is only observed by some people, mostly Catholics. Finding the Saint Nicholas cookie cutters too late on a website to have them delivered, I decided to shape some homemade speculaas dough by hand. With a bit of imagination, you can recognise a bearded man, with a miter, bishopsrobes, and a staff in his hand.

On the evening of December fifth everyone puts their shoes in front of the fireplace and in the morning, the good Saint leaves candy and small gifts. Joseph received a little nativity scene and a pair of boots to use in Belgium at Christmas, mommy a knitting book and daddy a calender and a few cans of imported nalu.



We were extremely lucky to have a REAL Saint Nicholas near us. The local Orthodox Church has a yearly festival for this advent Saint. With the blessing of the local bishop The Reverend Father Thomas Moore is Saint Nicholas for one day. In memory of the Saints generosity, the children get one gold Chocolate coin, and on my request, Father blessed our Joseph. Unfortunately the only picture I managed to snap had Joseph looking the other way.
If you are ever near Columbia around this time of the year, come and visit. The festival is small, but wonderful!

Motherhood

Two days before our trip to Washington, our first little get away as a couple, with grandma and grandpa taking care of our little boy for a weekend. and of course Joseph decided that now it was his turn to have a cold. So in between trying to get my cough down, get suits and dresses clean, I am trying to apply suction to a little nose attached to the most wriggly boy this side of the moon. Who is currently very unhappy with me for some reason. He wants to go outside to play, but it is way too cold to do so until the afternoon. So he is just a cranky little fellow today, his chin dripping with saliva and his nose running like a faucet. And I feel my heart tug at the idea of leaving him behind. Ahhh... motherhood. It's not for the faint of heart.

Such a perfect day...

It's rare to realise in the moment how perfect and precious these moments are. Yesterday in the afternoon though, I could not help to notice what a perfect day I was having.
The sky was this magnificent deep blue without a cloud in sight. It was november. And I was sitting in a chair in the garden, in a thin cotton sweater looking at my son running around and enjoying himself to the hilt. He poked into leaves, crouched down thousands of times to pick up the most interesting things like acorns, leaves, little branches. He ran around like a little wild man and he enjoyed every single moment of it. Despite my urge to be at his side the whole time to keep him safe, I kept sitting in my chair, knitting and just keeping my eye on him to stop him from putting unsafe things in his mouth or falling into the pool.

I could hear the birds singing, I could see them playing a few feet away from me. I could hear acorns falling, I strongly believe tossed down by either birds or squirrels. The air was filled with the scent of fall and flowers at the same time. And I realised: this is one of those perfect moments. I wish I could have just halted time, but blogging about it is the next best thing.

The day itsself had been a wonderful one. My second night of uninterrupted sleep in two weeks, getting up early to have time to pray and time to work. Being able to greet my little man with a smile on my face instead of my grumpy morning mood. Two loads of laundery done and dried and the kitchen tidied. I felt like I had accomplished something. And now there was this wonderful interlude of blue skye, knitting and a wonderfully healthy, happy little boy running around as if someone had just handed him the keys to a new and enchanted kingdom.
Who would have thought that the weather would be beautiful enough mid november for just such a day.

When we came back in, Joseph was dirty, he had a red welt over his face from a branch and a thorn in his arm from the roses, but he hadn't even noticed, nor had I until I started cleaning him up. Most of all... he was exhilerated at all the freedom. My baby is becoming such a big boy.
And me... I had been running around all day in a long skirt, with my apron over it most of the time (our foremothers knew what they were doing in wearing one all day, I'm telling you!!) and I had enjoyed every moment of my housewifery!