Encouraging Kids to be on Mother Nature's Team As Part of The Whole Family Happiness Project

Grady is very into "teamwork" these days. Our family is a team. It's his job to be kind and loving to Poppy and follow our family rules. His kindergarten class is a team. It's his job to follow his teachers' instructions and be nice to his classmates. When we're facing a challenge with Grady, we approach it as teamwork. With the days getting longer as summer draws closer, we're making bedtime all about teamwork. It's my responsibility to brush Grady's sugar bugs and it's Grady's job to pick out a bedtime story. It's up to us as parents to make sure Grady gets enough sleep and it's Grady's job to go to bed when we tell him it's bedtime. It's amazing how excited and accepting he becomes when we frame it in a way he understands. Teamwork makes sense to him. He wants to contribute to his team.

So when we noticed that Grady was becoming less connected to the great outdoors, choosing instead to spend most of his time inside, we decided to "team up" with Mother Nature. He's always been interested in gardening but balks at doing yard work. Instead of asking him to weed the garden beds or water the lawn (booooring), we gave him his own pots and let him choose what to plant in them to build his own little garden. It's his job to water his flowers, it's his flowers' job to grow. He's not overwhelmed by a large garden or hours of yard work, but he does need to check in on his pots every day to make sure they're doing okay. It's a small part of his day but it's becoming a habit. Soon it will be second nature.

FullSizeRender.jpg

As part of his garden, we helped him build a bee bath. Despite never being stung, Grady is terrified of bees. We've come across worms, slugs, beetles, ladybugs, and many more creepy crawlies in our gardening adventures and it doesn't faze him. Add a solitary bee to the equation? Grady is out. Gardening session over. The plants are on their own, hopefully it will rain so they get a drink of water, he's heading inside where there are no bees. Bees get a bad rap with the kindergarten crowd and we wanted to boost Grady's comfort level and view bees as a necessary part of our garden. It was shockingly easy to get him on Team Bee when we explained that without bees to pollinate our flowers, there would be no strawberries (his favourite local delicacy) and without strawberries, there can be no strawberry ice cream (the horror!). It takes ten seconds to say "don't be afraid of bees" but it only takes a few seconds more to explain why bees exist and how we can help them, and how helping them boosts our own happiness (because who can be unhappy with a bowl of strawberry ice cream in front of them? Monsters, that's who.). 

FullSizeRender.jpg

I treasure our time together in the garden. We're not distracted by screens or piles of dirty dishes or "just let me throw a load of towels in the washer." We're hanging out, digging in the dirt, talking about bugs, filling watering cans, working together to make our space beautiful. We're not experienced gardeners by any stretch of the imagination (I probably have as much gardening knowledge as Grady does) but that doesn't matter. What matters is that I feel happier and less anxious when I'm connected to Mama Earth and I want to pass that on to my children. It's my job to introduce my kids to the pleasure of planting something, tending to it, caring for it, and watching it grow. It's their job to bloom. 

FullSizeRender.jpg

This post is part of The Whole Family Happiness Project. Opinions expressed are my own. For more information, or to share your Whole Family Happiness story, visit Whole Family Happiness on Facebook.

How To Get Your Body Back

I am newly postpartum, not quite awake, standing in the checkout line at the grocery store, shush-shushing a 4-litre jug of milk and rocking it back and forth, soothingly, the same way I've been rocking a screamy baby for what feels like a week straight. Through bleary eyes, I read the headlines jumping out at me from the glossy magazine covers featuring impossibly beautiful women.

"How to Get Your Body Back!" Like I've disappeared so far into motherhood that I am no longer here. My body grew a tiny, furious human. It laboured for two days and birthed nine and a half pounds of gumption and tenacity. But now, as my belly is no longer satisfyingly rotund but instead soft and sagging, I have ceased to exist. How to Get Your Body Back. How to Erase the Parts of You We Don't Want to See. How to Look More Visually Appealing so We'll Acknowledge Your Existence. 

I'm in the shower. The temperature of the water is one degree below skin melting but still my bones feel cold. It's as though my body is so tired from lack of sleep and operating at Threat Level Eleven for so long, it lacks the ability to warm itself. Itself, not myself, because who am I and how did I end up in this vessel? I bend over to shave my legs (in some sort of bizarre act of defiance like "you can take my freedom, but you'll never take my smooth legs") and my deflated midsection droops forward. Without the pucker of my belly button, I think my middle may actually pool around my knees and the thought makes me laugh until I'm crying, laugh/sobbing mirthlessly while I scoop up handfuls of skin and attempt to mold it back in place. 

I'm introduced to a new group of parents. I'm not Hillary, I'm "Grady's mom and this is Poppy, how old is she now, is she walking yet?" I go out for an afternoon and when I'm reunited with the baby she hugs me close and I melt as I think "she really missed me!" And then she sticks her hands down my shirt while saying "num num num" as she searches for her prize. I remember to slather the baby twice a day with two different lotions to try to combat her eczema, I remember to sign permission slips and send a dollar to school for the frozen treat fundraiser and can recite the names and alter-egos of all the characters in the Marvel Universe, but I cannot remember to refill the prescription of the pill I take every day to literally keep me alive. I am reminded daily of the many different ways I've disappeared. 

I can count calories and do squats and give up sugar completely and probably, maybe, society would view me as having my body back. I could do all that if it mattered to me, I mean. I could erase the evidence that my body grew actual human beings and then delivered them into the world, full of rage and possibility. But I don't want to. My pendulous breasts and flaccid flank and hips that have been admired by more than one medical professional as "birthing hips" are my mementos, my babies my ultimate prize. To wish away the proof of how they came to be feels treacherous. 

I don't want to get my body back. At least, not in the way the glossy magazines tell me I should. I want to feel strong again. I want to feel confident and well-rested and clear-headed. I want to stop prefacing every suggestion I make with "this might be stupid but I got no sleep last night so it's the best I could come up with." I want to stop apologizing for being a disaster. I want to stop feeling like a disaster. I do not want to get my pre-baby body back. I want to get my self back.

Another Wild and Crazy Saturday Night

Shawn is a talented musician. Is that gauche of me to say? Am I supposed to be humble on his behalf? I don't even care. The guy has worked at honing his musical craft for decades and is extremely good at what he does.  

Recently, opportunities have presented themselves to him and all of a sudden he's playing for multiple bands.

Which is great. Dude likes to play. But it's also challenging for me, the person stuck with the dinner grind and bedtime routine and the whole "not having the time or energy to even remember what her hobbies are, let alone pursue any" thing.  

Look. I know how lucky I am. I am endlessly, unbearably grateful for the life I have. I'm at home with my babies. There's a roof over our heads, we are fed, we are safe.

It's just, when someone asks me on Friday what we're up to this weekend, I want to be excited about my response. I don't want to make some vague comment about "kid stuff" and quickly change the subject. I also don't want to answer honestly (because somehow I don't think they want to hear "eating leftover Easter candy while watching Bones season one on Netflix and going through my camera roll to sort pictures into my "Penelope Rash" photo album."). 

I'm happy Shawn is pursuing his passion. I'm thrilled his hard work and commitment are paying off. I'm so glad he has this creative outlet and the privilege to accept these opportunities as they come.

I'm also seething with envy. It's petty and unattractive, I know. I can't help it, though. I don't want to be up on stage, performing. I'm not jealous of his specific situation. I just wish I had the time/energy/freedom/space to do my own thing sometimes. Whatever that thing may be. 

This sounds like a criticism of Shawn but it's not meant to be. I am sincerely happy music plays a role in his life. I'm also glad he feels secure enough in himself, and in us, to protect that part of himself.  Shawn would sacrifice sleep before he'd give up music. I want to learn how to be like that. To acknowledge that I enjoy / need something and just do it instead of doing a million other things all the while complaining about not having the time to do the thing I actually want to do. There will always be more laundry. Th dishes will never be done. If I'm waiting for the house to be completely clean before I pursue my interests, I'm going to be waiting a very long time. 

If you're a parent, what's your strategy for being present for your family but also preserving your hobbies?  Or is this one of those "seasons of life" moments where I just need to buck up and realize that I have a baby and anything beyond "keep the baby fed" is beyond the scope of possibility right now?

 

IMG_1285.JPG

LVL Lash Lift and Tint

A few weeks ago, I asked for mascara recommendations on my Facebook page. I use mainly tarte cosmetics, and have used their Gifted mascara for years, but I was looking for a change. A friend suggested I try getting my lashes tinted. 

As fate would have it, one of my favourite bloggers, Janette from Ava to Zoe, posted a review and giveaway for an LVL Lash Lift by Stefania Lash Bar...and I won!

Truth time: I had no idea what an LVL Lash Lift even was. Stefani does LVL Enhance by Nouveau Lashes.

LVL Enhance straightens your natural lashes at the root, creating the appearance of longer, thicker lashes. Plus the added lash tint creates a mascara-style effect, so your lashes are perfect from the moment you wake up. No extensions, no adhesive and no need for mascara!
— https://nouveaulashes.com/lvl-enhance-the-natural-lash-lift

I don't have a lot of time to fuss with my face (understatement!). I like that the lash lift uses my own lashes and after the first 48 hours I have no restrictions or special care instructions. The tint makes it look like I'm wearing mascara, even though my eyes are completely free of makeup. 

Stefani's home studio is cute and artistic, and her table was so comfortable I almost passed out during the hand and arm massage (while your lashes set, she does a hand and arm massage with locally made lotions). The entire process took less than an hour, was completely painless, and there were no harsh smells. The products Stefani uses are vegan and cruelty-free. 

I was a little concerned that I would wake up with irritated eyes this morning but I was pleasantly surprised. When I fall asleep without removing my mascara (BAD, HILLS) I wake up with angry red, itchy eyes so I was expecting something similar this morning. My eyes were totally fine this morning. No pain, no discomfort, no itch, just beautiful lashes that made me look like I'd already spent some time in front of the mirror. I'm thrilled.

So! Who wants to see the magic Stefani performed?

Disclaimer: I won this service in a giveaway so I did not pay for it. I am not required to write, nor am I being compensated for, this post. All opinions expressed are my own.

IMG_1080.JPG
IMG_1082.JPG
IMG_1084.JPG