First, put the baby to sleep (and wait ten minutes to make sure that she’s really asleep). Open oven, remove first oven rack and allow toddler to help remove second oven rack. Warn toddler to stand back and spray oven (repeat warning every thirty seconds as toddler advances). Close oven door. Pack three boxes with kitchen things while waiting the required twenty minutes for oven cleaner to work.
Don yellow gloves, gather the paper towel, and open oven door. Commence scrubbing oven door and only mentally say nasty things about the stains that aren’t coming out despite the soaking in oven cleaner. Tell toddler to stay away from oven door. Repeat warning to toddler to stay away from oven door. Throw out first handfuls of paper towels. Toddler observes, “Dirty. Garbage.”
Commence scrubbing interior of oven. Try to tell toddler that she cannot lean on oven door (even though mommy is practically doing that in her attempt to clean the oven.) Try to tell toddler that she doesn’t need “mitts” even though mommy is wearing some. Repeat this three or four times as toddler says, “Mitts, peas.” Tell toddler not to touch oven door again.
Throw out more paper towels. Toddler wants a towel to scrub the oven door. Then toddler helps unroll and hand mommy paper towels, about as fast as mommy needs them. Hope that the tenants of the next house you’re moving into have cleaned their oven so that you don’t have to repeat this procedure in two months when you move in. Try not to burn fingers on hot light (or to break hot light—wonder how long it took the tenants in the first apartment you lived in to notice that you broke the light while cleaning that oven before moving out).
Pour oven cleaner in bottom of oven on tough dirt spots. Wonder if putting a layer of tin foil in the bottom of the oven would make it easier to clean—try to remember where you saw that. Tell toddler to get off the oven door again. Tell toddler she doesn’t need “soap” for her “towel.” Scrub oven door again. Use wet paper towel to begin washing oven cleaner off the oven and decide that oven is clean enough—too bad for the stains that won’t come off (maybe they were there when you came).
Tell toddler that “mitts” are “dirty” and she cannot wear them. Scrub oven racks with a metal scrubby (at least they are easier to clean). Move over so that toddler can stand on chair watching you scrub oven racks. Wash toddler’s hands. Rinse oven racks, return to oven, close door and wash down outside of oven. Remind yourself that this job should be done annually and not left until you move out of the next place in four years or so (try not to think about what an oven would look life if not cleaned for four years).
Tell toddler, “Oven done.” Toddler nods and repeats, “Oven done.” (Hurrah.)
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Book Review: Chasing Lilacs
I’ve mentioned before that one of the fun parts of blogging has been meeting other writers and seeing their books go from idea to paperback. It’s kinda like watching a baby grow in its mother’s womb. I’ve enjoyed learning more about the publishing process this way and celebrating with authors as they announce contracts, reveal book covers, plan book launches. The latest book I’ve read from a fellow blogger—Chasing Lilacs by Carla Stewart—has certainly been worth the wait.
Sammie Tucker is a typical twelve-year-old growing up in a company town in Texas. Typical, except that her mother has just attempted suicide and has now been admitted into a mental institution. Sammie spends the first part of her summer writing letters to her mother and hoping for the day that her mother comes back a normal mother. And at first, things do seem normal… except for Mrs. Tucker’s momentary lapses in memory.
When Mrs. Tucker again attempts suicide and succeeds, Sammie is left wondering if her mother ever loved her. Aunt Vadine arrives to “help” Sammie and her father deal with their grief, but Sammie turns instead to her friend Cly and a grandfatherly neighbour, Slim. She joins the school newspaper, learns to play backgammon, and helps out with Goldie’s aviary. Then, just when life seems to be returning to normal, things turn upside down again.
While most of us haven't faced the exact issues that Sammie does (hopefully!), her story is universal in that many have a parent they'd like a better relationship with, a parent they've lost, or questions about whether their parent loves them or not. Sammie's struggles were very real and as she finds answers, she gives hope that the rest of us will find answers too. In Sammie's mother, there is assurance that, even when parents face difficulties that leave them unable to express their love to their children, they still love their children. That was part of what made this story so beautiful.
Chasing Lilacs is a touching coming of age story set in the 1950s. Carla brings the era alive and captures the essence of the small town Sammie lives in. I identified with Sammie as a budding writer who writing helps her deal with her struggles. Overall, this was an excellent read from another new author whom I hope to see more books from.
Sammie Tucker is a typical twelve-year-old growing up in a company town in Texas. Typical, except that her mother has just attempted suicide and has now been admitted into a mental institution. Sammie spends the first part of her summer writing letters to her mother and hoping for the day that her mother comes back a normal mother. And at first, things do seem normal… except for Mrs. Tucker’s momentary lapses in memory.
When Mrs. Tucker again attempts suicide and succeeds, Sammie is left wondering if her mother ever loved her. Aunt Vadine arrives to “help” Sammie and her father deal with their grief, but Sammie turns instead to her friend Cly and a grandfatherly neighbour, Slim. She joins the school newspaper, learns to play backgammon, and helps out with Goldie’s aviary. Then, just when life seems to be returning to normal, things turn upside down again.
While most of us haven't faced the exact issues that Sammie does (hopefully!), her story is universal in that many have a parent they'd like a better relationship with, a parent they've lost, or questions about whether their parent loves them or not. Sammie's struggles were very real and as she finds answers, she gives hope that the rest of us will find answers too. In Sammie's mother, there is assurance that, even when parents face difficulties that leave them unable to express their love to their children, they still love their children. That was part of what made this story so beautiful.
Chasing Lilacs is a touching coming of age story set in the 1950s. Carla brings the era alive and captures the essence of the small town Sammie lives in. I identified with Sammie as a budding writer who writing helps her deal with her struggles. Overall, this was an excellent read from another new author whom I hope to see more books from.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Packing Up and Moving Out
With our moving date a week from today, everyone keeps asking us, “Have you started packing yet?” Nope. I’ve had other things to work on—a baptismal dress to sew, a party to plan, a newsletter to edit, and the usual household tasks to accomplish with a toddler and a baby. The packing will happen sometime—when my husband gets home from work or when my aunt and mom come to help at the end of this week.
After three moves in the last four and a half years, it’s getting to be a bit old hat. Pack the books first; there’s a lot of them and they can get packed anytime. (When we lived in the city, one of my friends came over to help me pack, because Sunshine was a newborn at the time. She spent all afternoon stacking books in boxes and, after several hours’ work, couldn’t believe that all she’d gotten packed was books.)
There are many things I didn’t even bother unpacking this time. My good china and dishes stayed in their box, though I had to pull them out when we hosted Thanksgiving dinner. Most of our pictures are still boxed; why hang them for less than a year? University textbooks also stayed packed; now, as I look at them, I wonder why on earth we kept them. Nobody uses textbooks after they leave university (though both my parents and my husband’s dad still have their textbooks too).
I’ve been doing more decluttering with this move, taking things to the thrift store. Books I don’t want, toys Sunshine hasn’t played with, baby clothes that neither Sunshine nor Lily wore, things I never use. In some ways, moving lots has made that easier: I know what we haven’t used since the last move. I sold our elliptical machine, since we rarely use it and it takes up a lot of space in a moving trailer. It’s amazing how much “stuff” we collect.
Maybe I’ve put off moving because it is such hard work. We knew this place was a temporary stopping point, and in many ways, we haven’t settled in here. We haven’t unpacked, gotten involved in the community, made friends. I’m looking forward (despite the work!) to settling into our new place, to volunteering at church and the university, to building a new community there. (And I’m trying not to think of how much more work moving will be when we’ve been in one place for four years...)
If you've moved recently or frequently, do you have any tips to pass on?
After three moves in the last four and a half years, it’s getting to be a bit old hat. Pack the books first; there’s a lot of them and they can get packed anytime. (When we lived in the city, one of my friends came over to help me pack, because Sunshine was a newborn at the time. She spent all afternoon stacking books in boxes and, after several hours’ work, couldn’t believe that all she’d gotten packed was books.)
There are many things I didn’t even bother unpacking this time. My good china and dishes stayed in their box, though I had to pull them out when we hosted Thanksgiving dinner. Most of our pictures are still boxed; why hang them for less than a year? University textbooks also stayed packed; now, as I look at them, I wonder why on earth we kept them. Nobody uses textbooks after they leave university (though both my parents and my husband’s dad still have their textbooks too).
I’ve been doing more decluttering with this move, taking things to the thrift store. Books I don’t want, toys Sunshine hasn’t played with, baby clothes that neither Sunshine nor Lily wore, things I never use. In some ways, moving lots has made that easier: I know what we haven’t used since the last move. I sold our elliptical machine, since we rarely use it and it takes up a lot of space in a moving trailer. It’s amazing how much “stuff” we collect.
Maybe I’ve put off moving because it is such hard work. We knew this place was a temporary stopping point, and in many ways, we haven’t settled in here. We haven’t unpacked, gotten involved in the community, made friends. I’m looking forward (despite the work!) to settling into our new place, to volunteering at church and the university, to building a new community there. (And I’m trying not to think of how much more work moving will be when we’ve been in one place for four years...)
If you've moved recently or frequently, do you have any tips to pass on?
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wanting to Write
These days I think I should change the name of this blog to “Koala Bear Mama.” I don’t write much (other than what you see here). Tonight my writer’s group is meeting and once again I have nothing new to take with me to share.
When I do have some spare time (or get Lily down for a nap), I’ve been editing. I’m editing a novel for someone (very slowly) and I’ve enjoyed doing that; it makes me think of my first novel and wish I could start revising/editing it. I’ve also enjoyed working with the author, who is a new writer. Sharing with him all the tips and advice I’ve learned over the past ten years has reminded me what a journey writing is (there’s always someone who’s better than us and someone whom we can help) and encouraged me that I haven’t forgotten everything I know about writing.
I’m also editing the August issue of FellowScript, which must be done early because we are moving at the end of this month. I put a few pages together at 6 am while bouncing a wide-awake Lily back to sleep and worked feverishly on other pages while Lily naps (and Sunshine plays in my lap). Again, it makes me feel like a writer, helps me feel productive—gives a meaning to my day beyond changing diapers and washing dishes. I like seeing each issue come together and imagining the writers who'll read it and be inspired by the advice and information within its pages.
In my teens, I read Papa’s Daughter, a story about a girl who wanted to be a writer. During her teens, she wrote stories and hacked away at her typewriter. Then she married, had kids, and left her writing behind. When she began struggling with depression, someone found a unique cure for her: start writing again. At the time, I didn’t really understand how suppressing such an integral part of herself could affect her in such a way. I’ve considered writing a hobby; but other hobbies I’ve had (folk art painting, scrapbooking, cross-stitch) have fallen away. Writing remains a driving force in my life—enough that I’m going to try balancing marriage and two kids with going back to school to study writing.
Writer Mom talks about how she feels dissatisfied if she goes to bed without writing something during the day. I’ve come to understand that feeling. Even if all I write is a short blog post—a rant about motherhood or an attempt to put into words the feelings simmering in my mind—then I feel much better about myself and my day. This blog has become my outlet, an expression of the two sides of me: mother and writer. There may be times when one is more dominant than the other, but both are there. And so I remain Koala Bear Writer.
When I do have some spare time (or get Lily down for a nap), I’ve been editing. I’m editing a novel for someone (very slowly) and I’ve enjoyed doing that; it makes me think of my first novel and wish I could start revising/editing it. I’ve also enjoyed working with the author, who is a new writer. Sharing with him all the tips and advice I’ve learned over the past ten years has reminded me what a journey writing is (there’s always someone who’s better than us and someone whom we can help) and encouraged me that I haven’t forgotten everything I know about writing.
I’m also editing the August issue of FellowScript, which must be done early because we are moving at the end of this month. I put a few pages together at 6 am while bouncing a wide-awake Lily back to sleep and worked feverishly on other pages while Lily naps (and Sunshine plays in my lap). Again, it makes me feel like a writer, helps me feel productive—gives a meaning to my day beyond changing diapers and washing dishes. I like seeing each issue come together and imagining the writers who'll read it and be inspired by the advice and information within its pages.
In my teens, I read Papa’s Daughter, a story about a girl who wanted to be a writer. During her teens, she wrote stories and hacked away at her typewriter. Then she married, had kids, and left her writing behind. When she began struggling with depression, someone found a unique cure for her: start writing again. At the time, I didn’t really understand how suppressing such an integral part of herself could affect her in such a way. I’ve considered writing a hobby; but other hobbies I’ve had (folk art painting, scrapbooking, cross-stitch) have fallen away. Writing remains a driving force in my life—enough that I’m going to try balancing marriage and two kids with going back to school to study writing.
Writer Mom talks about how she feels dissatisfied if she goes to bed without writing something during the day. I’ve come to understand that feeling. Even if all I write is a short blog post—a rant about motherhood or an attempt to put into words the feelings simmering in my mind—then I feel much better about myself and my day. This blog has become my outlet, an expression of the two sides of me: mother and writer. There may be times when one is more dominant than the other, but both are there. And so I remain Koala Bear Writer.
Friday, June 18, 2010
A Baptismal Dress for Lily
Sunshine leans across my arm, bouncing in the chair. I grit my teeth, focusing on the fabric bunching under the sewing machine needle, hoping I’m catching all the gathers in the sleeve. A phrase from a song drifts into my head and I mentally rewrite the lyrics to fit this situation: “It was an itsy bitsy teeny tiny white satin dress she sewed...” Sleeves are horrendous, I think, and wish for the hundredth time that my mom was here to help.
The white satin and chiffon are leftover from my wedding dress. It’s beautiful. But as I struggle to get the fabric lined up, I think of my mom. Of how she’d know that fancy stitch to put around the hem so the stitches don’t show. How she wouldn’t have to topstitch to make the lining sit right. And how the lining would match up at the bottom, if she were sewing this dress.
It looks perfect as I hold it up to admire it. Only I, the creator and perfectionist (and my mother, the perfect seamstress) will notice those little details. Lily will look adorable on Sunday in her sparkling white gown.
Somehow, before Sunshine’s baptism, I never even thought of a special gown. She wore a simple white sundress from a writer friend of mine. It was only a few months after her baptism that Mom gave me the leftover fabric from my wedding dress. I’ve saved it until now, for this dress, this day.
I am a passable seamstress; while I was at home, I sewed most of my own clothes. My mother is an artist with fabric. I lack her passion for it, her pure enjoyment of the process, her precision and perfection. She sewed both of my grad dresses and my wedding dress. Fancy, finicky fabrics—those are her forte, not mine. I only took scissors and sewing machine to this satin becasue I am just making a baby dress (which should be small and easy).
My ears are tuned for Lily’s wail as I clip threads and pin the next sleeve onto the dress. It’s been hard to sew with a baby. I got part of the dress cut out on Saturday while she napped; part of it on Monday night while she slept; and on Wednesday I asked my mother-in-law to come watch the girls so I could sew. Now, after three attempts to get Lily down in her cradle, I am trying to get the last parts done: sleeves and buttons.
The white satin and chiffon are leftover from my wedding dress. It’s beautiful. But as I struggle to get the fabric lined up, I think of my mom. Of how she’d know that fancy stitch to put around the hem so the stitches don’t show. How she wouldn’t have to topstitch to make the lining sit right. And how the lining would match up at the bottom, if she were sewing this dress.It looks perfect as I hold it up to admire it. Only I, the creator and perfectionist (and my mother, the perfect seamstress) will notice those little details. Lily will look adorable on Sunday in her sparkling white gown.
Somehow, before Sunshine’s baptism, I never even thought of a special gown. She wore a simple white sundress from a writer friend of mine. It was only a few months after her baptism that Mom gave me the leftover fabric from my wedding dress. I’ve saved it until now, for this dress, this day.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
And Then There Were Two
“Juice peas. Juice peas.”
“Mommy will get you some when she’s done feeding Lily.”
“I want a orange.”
“When Mommy’s done changing Lily.”
“My ball. My ball.”
“No, Mommy’s bouncing Lily. You can bounce later.”
Sometimes I worry that Sunshine will resent her younger sister because she’s always waiting for me to do something with Lily before I can do something with her or for her. While she’s old enough to understand what “wait” means (usually), she’s also old enough to get upset at having to wait.
She does love having a little sister. Right now they are both sitting on the couch; Sunshine is trying to play with Lily. She gets Lily’s blanket for her and wants to help me change diapers. She’s always asking, “I want a hug,” which means that she wants to hold Lily. And some days she’s better than a baby monitor for knowing when Lily has woken up from a nap and started fussing.
She also wants to be like Lily. If Lily is in the stroller, Sunshine wants in the stroller too (previously she wanted to walk more). Potty training slowed down for a bit because Sunshine saw me changing Lily’s diapers and wanted hers changed too. And if I’m giving Lilyher Vitamin D or a saline nose wash, Sunshine wants it too. But when Sunshine wants a hug while I’m nursing Lily or wants to bounce while I’m bouncing Lily, we both get frustrated.
So Sunshine and I bake cookies or wash dishes while Lily naps. We put Lily in her stroller and walk downtown to the post office and library. We dance together while I’m trying to get Lily to burp or settle down. We read books while I’m nursing Lily. In these moments, I hope Sunshine will know she’s just as important to me as Lily is, even if Lily needs more of my time right now.
“Mommy will get you some when she’s done feeding Lily.”
“I want a orange.”
“When Mommy’s done changing Lily.”
“My ball. My ball.”
“No, Mommy’s bouncing Lily. You can bounce later.”
Sometimes I worry that Sunshine will resent her younger sister because she’s always waiting for me to do something with Lily before I can do something with her or for her. While she’s old enough to understand what “wait” means (usually), she’s also old enough to get upset at having to wait.
She does love having a little sister. Right now they are both sitting on the couch; Sunshine is trying to play with Lily. She gets Lily’s blanket for her and wants to help me change diapers. She’s always asking, “I want a hug,” which means that she wants to hold Lily. And some days she’s better than a baby monitor for knowing when Lily has woken up from a nap and started fussing.
She also wants to be like Lily. If Lily is in the stroller, Sunshine wants in the stroller too (previously she wanted to walk more). Potty training slowed down for a bit because Sunshine saw me changing Lily’s diapers and wanted hers changed too. And if I’m giving Lilyher Vitamin D or a saline nose wash, Sunshine wants it too. But when Sunshine wants a hug while I’m nursing Lily or wants to bounce while I’m bouncing Lily, we both get frustrated.
So Sunshine and I bake cookies or wash dishes while Lily naps. We put Lily in her stroller and walk downtown to the post office and library. We dance together while I’m trying to get Lily to burp or settle down. We read books while I’m nursing Lily. In these moments, I hope Sunshine will know she’s just as important to me as Lily is, even if Lily needs more of my time right now.
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Three-Minute Brownie
I once saw a coffee mug that read, "Behind every good mother is a cup of coffee." As a nursing mom, I looked at that and thought, "Not unless she has endless patience to deal with a grumpy, fussy, caffeinated baby." I'd say instead that behind every good mom is a big chocolate bar—you know, the size that comes out only at Mother's Day. One that can make up for 6 am mornings with a wide-awake baby, a toddler who forgets to say they need the potty, and all the other little stresses of being a mother.
And so I give you the three-minute brownie recipe, for those time when a chocolate bar isn't available. Someone emailed this to my husband when we lived up north and he passed it on to me. I think I have it memorized now. My mother-in-law says that chocolate may make for a gassy baby, but when I've just about hit my limits of patience and endurance, chocolate helps me go a bit further.
Three-Minute Brownie Mug Recipe
4 tbsp flour
4 tbsp sugar (I cut this down to 3 tbsp sometimes)
2 tbsp cocoa
1 egg
3 tbsp milk
3 tbsp oil
3 tbsp chocolate chips (or peanut butter chips, or whatever other chips you have in the cupboard)
a small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug
Add dry ingredients to a large microwaveable mug and mix well. Crack the egg on top and add the milk, vanilla, and oil and mix well. Fold in chocolate chips. Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes on high. (Test this in your microwave; in mine, I only cook it for 2 minutes.) The brownie may rise over the top of the mug (if the mug isn't big enough), but don't be alarmed (it won't make a mess of your microwave).
Allow it to cool a little and then grab a spoon. It can feed two, if you are feeling slightly more virtuous (or want to serve it with ice cream).
And so I give you the three-minute brownie recipe, for those time when a chocolate bar isn't available. Someone emailed this to my husband when we lived up north and he passed it on to me. I think I have it memorized now. My mother-in-law says that chocolate may make for a gassy baby, but when I've just about hit my limits of patience and endurance, chocolate helps me go a bit further.
Three-Minute Brownie Mug Recipe
4 tbsp flour
4 tbsp sugar (I cut this down to 3 tbsp sometimes)
2 tbsp cocoa
1 egg
3 tbsp milk
3 tbsp oil
3 tbsp chocolate chips (or peanut butter chips, or whatever other chips you have in the cupboard)
a small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug
Add dry ingredients to a large microwaveable mug and mix well. Crack the egg on top and add the milk, vanilla, and oil and mix well. Fold in chocolate chips. Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes on high. (Test this in your microwave; in mine, I only cook it for 2 minutes.) The brownie may rise over the top of the mug (if the mug isn't big enough), but don't be alarmed (it won't make a mess of your microwave).
Allow it to cool a little and then grab a spoon. It can feed two, if you are feeling slightly more virtuous (or want to serve it with ice cream).
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Book Review: A Distant Melody
Allie Miller is plain—at least, according to her mother, but not according to Walt Novak. Normally, Walt gets tongue-tied around pretty girls, but because he meets Allie on the train while she’s helping with another woman’s kids, he thinks she’s taken and strikes up a conversation with her. When the two reach their destination, they discover they have a mutual friend and end up spending the next week together. Walt and Allie share a sense of humour, a love of music, and an understanding of each other’s embarrassing moments.
However, Walt is about to go overseas as a fighter pilot in World War II and Allie is practically engaged to her father’s factory manager, Baxter. Letters between them fly back and forth, increasing their regard for each other while they pretend they are “just friends.” Walt tells his crew that Allie is his girlfriend but reminds himself that she’s another man’s girl. Allie looks forward to each letter from Walt while trying to find a similar attraction to Baxter.
A Distant Melody is Sarah Sundin’s first novel and kept me turning the pages until I found out how Allie and Walt resolve their story. Both must overcome their weaknesses and learn to be true to each other and to themselves.
One of the things that I loved about A Distant Melody was how real Sundin’s characters were. After the gorgeous, perfect heroes and heroines who populate most novels and movies, it was a delight to meet characters who are “plain” or “ugly” (though beauty is in the eye of the beholder). Walt’s shyness and Allie’s insecurity, among other things, made them more down-to-earth and likeable. They felt like friends, people I’d have something in common with.
Another thing I liked about this novel was how faith was woven in. Walt is a pastor’s son and Allie has grown up going to church, but each has to learn how to live out their faith in their everyday life. As Walt deals with his habit of telling little lies and Allie is called to obedience in the matter of choosing a life partner, their faith is tested and strengthened. The faith aspect felt real, like part of the novel, not something added as an afterthought to make it “Christian” fiction.
I had high expectations for A Distant Melody because Carla Stewart recommended it, and I wasn’t disappointed. With delightful characters, precise details, careful research, and interesting plot twists, A Distant Melody was an excellent read. This is another book for my bookshelf and another author whom I'll be watching for more books from.
However, Walt is about to go overseas as a fighter pilot in World War II and Allie is practically engaged to her father’s factory manager, Baxter. Letters between them fly back and forth, increasing their regard for each other while they pretend they are “just friends.” Walt tells his crew that Allie is his girlfriend but reminds himself that she’s another man’s girl. Allie looks forward to each letter from Walt while trying to find a similar attraction to Baxter.
A Distant Melody is Sarah Sundin’s first novel and kept me turning the pages until I found out how Allie and Walt resolve their story. Both must overcome their weaknesses and learn to be true to each other and to themselves.
One of the things that I loved about A Distant Melody was how real Sundin’s characters were. After the gorgeous, perfect heroes and heroines who populate most novels and movies, it was a delight to meet characters who are “plain” or “ugly” (though beauty is in the eye of the beholder). Walt’s shyness and Allie’s insecurity, among other things, made them more down-to-earth and likeable. They felt like friends, people I’d have something in common with.
Another thing I liked about this novel was how faith was woven in. Walt is a pastor’s son and Allie has grown up going to church, but each has to learn how to live out their faith in their everyday life. As Walt deals with his habit of telling little lies and Allie is called to obedience in the matter of choosing a life partner, their faith is tested and strengthened. The faith aspect felt real, like part of the novel, not something added as an afterthought to make it “Christian” fiction.
I had high expectations for A Distant Melody because Carla Stewart recommended it, and I wasn’t disappointed. With delightful characters, precise details, careful research, and interesting plot twists, A Distant Melody was an excellent read. This is another book for my bookshelf and another author whom I'll be watching for more books from.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
A Rugby Wife
“In rugby, players aren't allowed to throw the ball forward, so they always toss it to someone slightly behind them...”
I smile as I listen and cast a sideways glance towards the voice. It’s an older man explaining rugby to a younger woman, perhaps his granddaughter. It reminds me of when I watched my first rugby game, and a fellow who’d lent me his umbrella talked about rucks and scrums and other things I was clueless about. I alternated between watching the ball and watching my husband (then “just” a friend from university) and at the end of the game had to ask him who’d won.
I bend over Lily, tucking her blanket closer around her, and glance at Sunshine, who’s crawling across the bleachers under the legs of the lady sitting next to us. Out on the field, I try to find my husband (number 25 jersey) until Lily wails under her blanket. I shift her to my shoulder, adjusting my shirt and hoping everyone is focused on the game and not paying attention to a mom trying to nurse her three-week old on the sidelines.
“Potty,” Sunshine says, tugging at my jacket. I sigh, looking at Lily and the diaper bag and the long walk across the lawn, up the stairs, and through the clubhouse.
“You really have to go?” I ask her, but of course, she insists. I’m fairly certain that as soon as we get in there, she won’t do anything. But I pack Lily into her carseat, heave it up, and decide that my diaper bag (and wallet) will be safe on the bleachers.
We weave through the crowd in the clubhouse, find the washrooms, and both use them. Back outside, Lily stays sleeping in her carseat and I’m able to focus on the game. It’s my hubby’s first game in about fifteen months; there was no team up north, so he hasn’t played since we left the city. I watch as a couple scrums wheel 90 degrees, but I can't tell if he's wheeling them or the other prop is.
Sunshine is back beside me, trying to rock Lily. She wants a juice. Then she doesn’t want it. She climbs up the bleachers, back down again, under the lady’s legs. When Lily begins to wail, Sunshine seizes the blanket that I’d tucked over the carseat. I try nursing Lily again, with the wind blowing the nursing cover around and Sunshine dragging the blanket around the bleachers. She sees my husband and yells, "Daddy! Daddy!" Then she wants to go potty again. I tell her no.
By the time the game is done, I’m exhausted. I pack the girls up and head to our Jeep, hoping my husband will know where to find us. In the warmth of the vehicle, I unbundle Lily and myself and nurse her without worrying about covering up. Sunshine plays with the steering wheel and radio. When my husband appears, he takes Sunshine back to watch the last half of the game with him. Lily falls asleep and I crack open my book, breathing a sigh of relief at the chance to relax.
His next game is Saturday. I’m trying to figure out a game plan for watching rugby with a baby and a toddler. Any suggestions?
I smile as I listen and cast a sideways glance towards the voice. It’s an older man explaining rugby to a younger woman, perhaps his granddaughter. It reminds me of when I watched my first rugby game, and a fellow who’d lent me his umbrella talked about rucks and scrums and other things I was clueless about. I alternated between watching the ball and watching my husband (then “just” a friend from university) and at the end of the game had to ask him who’d won.
I bend over Lily, tucking her blanket closer around her, and glance at Sunshine, who’s crawling across the bleachers under the legs of the lady sitting next to us. Out on the field, I try to find my husband (number 25 jersey) until Lily wails under her blanket. I shift her to my shoulder, adjusting my shirt and hoping everyone is focused on the game and not paying attention to a mom trying to nurse her three-week old on the sidelines.
“Potty,” Sunshine says, tugging at my jacket. I sigh, looking at Lily and the diaper bag and the long walk across the lawn, up the stairs, and through the clubhouse.
“You really have to go?” I ask her, but of course, she insists. I’m fairly certain that as soon as we get in there, she won’t do anything. But I pack Lily into her carseat, heave it up, and decide that my diaper bag (and wallet) will be safe on the bleachers.
We weave through the crowd in the clubhouse, find the washrooms, and both use them. Back outside, Lily stays sleeping in her carseat and I’m able to focus on the game. It’s my hubby’s first game in about fifteen months; there was no team up north, so he hasn’t played since we left the city. I watch as a couple scrums wheel 90 degrees, but I can't tell if he's wheeling them or the other prop is.
Sunshine is back beside me, trying to rock Lily. She wants a juice. Then she doesn’t want it. She climbs up the bleachers, back down again, under the lady’s legs. When Lily begins to wail, Sunshine seizes the blanket that I’d tucked over the carseat. I try nursing Lily again, with the wind blowing the nursing cover around and Sunshine dragging the blanket around the bleachers. She sees my husband and yells, "Daddy! Daddy!" Then she wants to go potty again. I tell her no.
By the time the game is done, I’m exhausted. I pack the girls up and head to our Jeep, hoping my husband will know where to find us. In the warmth of the vehicle, I unbundle Lily and myself and nurse her without worrying about covering up. Sunshine plays with the steering wheel and radio. When my husband appears, he takes Sunshine back to watch the last half of the game with him. Lily falls asleep and I crack open my book, breathing a sigh of relief at the chance to relax.
His next game is Saturday. I’m trying to figure out a game plan for watching rugby with a baby and a toddler. Any suggestions?
Monday, June 7, 2010
It's Called Maternity Leave
When I went on maternity leave with Sunshine, I was thinking not so much about my baby as how much time I’d have to write now that I wasn’t working. I imagined myself clattering away at my computer keyboard while the baby slept blissfully in her cradle.
All you moms reading this are probably laughing right now. You’re right—it didn’t turn out quite that way. Sunshine wanted to be held all the time. I was able to read long novels like The Idiot while nursing her, but typing one-handed or while bouncing on the yoga ball wasn’t very productive. It wasn’t until we moved up north in September, when Sunshine was six months old, that she began napping regularly and I began writing more.
Despite that, as I went on maternity leave again this time, I had blissful thoughts once more of writing while Sunshine played by herself and Lily napped. (Yes, you can laugh again.) It hasn’t happened that way. Lily is much like her older sister; she likes to be held lots. She’s down for a nap now, but it’s taken me all day to get her settled by herself in her rocking chair and I have one ear cocked, waiting for her to wake up.
Recently, an editor asked me to write an article on transitioning from work to being a stay-at-home mom. At first, I didn’t think I had anything to say about that. Then as I thought about it, I started coming up with ideas. One of those suggestions came from my own frustrations at being unable to accomplish as much as I hoped. I realized this is maternity leave—not a holiday or a sabbatical. It’s time to focus on Sunshine and Lily, not on my writing.
Writing time will come, but the girls need me now.
All you moms reading this are probably laughing right now. You’re right—it didn’t turn out quite that way. Sunshine wanted to be held all the time. I was able to read long novels like The Idiot while nursing her, but typing one-handed or while bouncing on the yoga ball wasn’t very productive. It wasn’t until we moved up north in September, when Sunshine was six months old, that she began napping regularly and I began writing more.
Despite that, as I went on maternity leave again this time, I had blissful thoughts once more of writing while Sunshine played by herself and Lily napped. (Yes, you can laugh again.) It hasn’t happened that way. Lily is much like her older sister; she likes to be held lots. She’s down for a nap now, but it’s taken me all day to get her settled by herself in her rocking chair and I have one ear cocked, waiting for her to wake up.
Recently, an editor asked me to write an article on transitioning from work to being a stay-at-home mom. At first, I didn’t think I had anything to say about that. Then as I thought about it, I started coming up with ideas. One of those suggestions came from my own frustrations at being unable to accomplish as much as I hoped. I realized this is maternity leave—not a holiday or a sabbatical. It’s time to focus on Sunshine and Lily, not on my writing.
Writing time will come, but the girls need me now.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Book Review: A Crack in the Wall
I don’t often read short stories, which is perhaps one reason why I find it hard to write them. When I do pick up short story anthologies or any of the literary magazines publishing short stories, I often find myself confused or depressed by the stories included there. It makes me wonder if my short stories don’t meet the grade because I like cheerful scenes and happy endings.
Recently, however, I picked up Betty Jane Hegerat’s collection of short stories, A Crack in the Wall, and thoroughly enjoyed them. I found myself turning the pages eagerly, disappointed when one story ended and yet anticipating the next story.
Many of the characters in A Crack in the Wall are in transition, moving on, facing changes. Sometimes these changes are related to a death or divorce—major life events. The characters must figure out how to deal with what has happened and how their lives are going to be now. The stories were humorous, interesting, inspiring; full of characters whom I could relate to.
One of my favourite stories was “Water from the Well.” It’s told from the perspective of Ilsa, an elderly lady in a nursing home, as her mind wanders between past and present, sleep and wake. In a strange twist of fate, she shares her room with an old enemy, a former neighbour from her homesteading days. Just as that neighbour kept water from Ilsa’s family when they were homesteading, Ilsa is now keeping water from her. Then, at the end of the story, a small comment in the other woman’s ramblings gives the women a common ground, a place to make peace.
A Crack in the Wall is Betty Jane’s first book, a delightful collection of short stories that’s earned a place on my packed bookshelves. Like her novels, this book both inspires and challenges me as a writer, making me hope that someday, I can write stories that are even half as good as Betty Jane’s.
Recently, however, I picked up Betty Jane Hegerat’s collection of short stories, A Crack in the Wall, and thoroughly enjoyed them. I found myself turning the pages eagerly, disappointed when one story ended and yet anticipating the next story.
Many of the characters in A Crack in the Wall are in transition, moving on, facing changes. Sometimes these changes are related to a death or divorce—major life events. The characters must figure out how to deal with what has happened and how their lives are going to be now. The stories were humorous, interesting, inspiring; full of characters whom I could relate to.
One of my favourite stories was “Water from the Well.” It’s told from the perspective of Ilsa, an elderly lady in a nursing home, as her mind wanders between past and present, sleep and wake. In a strange twist of fate, she shares her room with an old enemy, a former neighbour from her homesteading days. Just as that neighbour kept water from Ilsa’s family when they were homesteading, Ilsa is now keeping water from her. Then, at the end of the story, a small comment in the other woman’s ramblings gives the women a common ground, a place to make peace.
A Crack in the Wall is Betty Jane’s first book, a delightful collection of short stories that’s earned a place on my packed bookshelves. Like her novels, this book both inspires and challenges me as a writer, making me hope that someday, I can write stories that are even half as good as Betty Jane’s.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Writers-on-Wednesday: Dave Blundell
Dave Blundell has a Bachelor of Theology and has served in various areas as a pastor. In 2000, he transitioned out of church ministry when he started work as the Director of Global Operations for Global Aid Network (GAiN), the humanitarian arm of Campus Crusade for Christ, Canada. In this role he led relief and development projects in various countries in South America, Africa, Central and South East Asia, and the Middle East.
In 2003, Dave left the Global Aid Network to begin working for Hungry For Life International. Dave also has a Masters of Arts in Leadership and International Development and is married with two children. He has recently released his first book, Hungry for Life
How did you become a writer?
I have always enjoyed communicating. Developed from my work as a pastor, the ability to influence and motivate people became evident and affirmed. Largely that gift was exercised by preaching and teach and writing the odd article for the church newsletter. More recently, communicating through writing was developed out of the necessity for our organization to expand our impact and motivate people through stories of change. At the same time, taking my M.A. in Leadership provided a constant opportunity to write.
What inspires you to write?
My passion and drive to influence people creates the constant impulse to write. Communicating with the spoken word is valuable for the moment. Communicating with the written word leaves a message for generation.
Who is your favorite author?
Hmmmm…such a hard question for any writer or leader! My first favourite author was Max Lucado. His “coffee table discussion style” of writing drew me into thoughts I had never thought. Now though…I’d have to re-read about 12 books to answer this question more accurately.
In 2003, Dave left the Global Aid Network to begin working for Hungry For Life International. Dave also has a Masters of Arts in Leadership and International Development and is married with two children. He has recently released his first book, Hungry for Life
How did you become a writer?
I have always enjoyed communicating. Developed from my work as a pastor, the ability to influence and motivate people became evident and affirmed. Largely that gift was exercised by preaching and teach and writing the odd article for the church newsletter. More recently, communicating through writing was developed out of the necessity for our organization to expand our impact and motivate people through stories of change. At the same time, taking my M.A. in Leadership provided a constant opportunity to write.
What inspires you to write?
My passion and drive to influence people creates the constant impulse to write. Communicating with the spoken word is valuable for the moment. Communicating with the written word leaves a message for generation.
Who is your favorite author?
Hmmmm…such a hard question for any writer or leader! My first favourite author was Max Lucado. His “coffee table discussion style” of writing drew me into thoughts I had never thought. Now though…I’d have to re-read about 12 books to answer this question more accurately.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)