Inspired by GirlGoneChild, I set out to make a gingerbread house with the kids. Way too much fun. In true form, the kids preferred the black licorice “pipes” to all other candy.
Candy with Some Gingerbread
December 22nd, 2010Post 30
December 15th, 2010Well. I’ve turned 30. I’ve had no revelatory realizations about age, but I did make wicked spelt flour dinner buns in my new mixer. (No rise, 5 minutes of kneading).
Nothing is different. I’m just one year closer. Each day feels like one day closer, this is just another mark of time passing. Nothing spectacular. Just another year of my life, gone.
If we are ever on a plane together, and it’s “going down”, like in the movies, and there’s this calm passenger just sipping their complimentary water, who clearly has accepted their fate…. well. That won’t be me. I’ll be the one you want to flog during descent, the one screaming hysterically “I’m not ready to die! This is NOT the time!”
Part of me is terrified because how do you really know what is going to happen when you die? As much as I used to enjoy a good party, I wouldn’t like to hang in hell, and reincarnation is about as appealing as an eternity of perpetual pap smears. (ie. Let’s just get THIS ONE over with…)
I have participated in many religious and spiritual rituals. I have bounded around a Maypole, lit my menorah and sat in the United Church listening to the meditative speaking of whoever that guy is who stands upfront. I believe in something greater than myself because that was a revelation that I did actually have once. It was when I was “Working the Program”. I found “God As You Have Come To Know Him” (I think this is like “He Who Shall Not Be Named”) driving up and down the concession roads. I knew I needed to find something that could save me, that could help me save myself. Something that would always be there, something both infinite and finite. That something was pasture. Dirt. Both a speck of soil and a layer of life underneath all of us.
It worked. It got me through the program. I feel it, I’ve got it, I’m living it. Except in the end, it all just returns to the soil. The answer to The Big Question for me is “COMPOST”. Terrific. Nice going.
I’m also terrified of dying because I want it ALL. I don’t want to miss anything. Not only did I break a bad cycle, I bought 50 acres of my own personal salvation. I have the most wonderful children, a husband I adore. The idea of being separated from them, of being unable to help them, makes me feel ill.
I know there is plenty of life I cannot help with. That should be, and is, beyond control.
I now WORRY. I am often worried. Not paralyzingly so, but pretty darn fraught. I have never hated winter driving as much as I do now. Every drive into town must be shaving years off of my life in stress. “Let go and let God”, eh? We’ll see about that.
So, yeah. My new addiction is love. And it’s kicking my ass.
Tattoodling
December 11th, 2010This is a little advertising on my otherwise advert free blog, aimed at anyone interested in getting tattooed at our shop this season. If that’s you, read on!
My talented better half is having another one of his walk in days next Friday, which means that you would be able to bypass the wait and the waiting list and get tattooed same day. He shows up to work around 8am and doesn’t leave until he’s finished. If you’re interested please call ahead and drop off reference, so they day moves as efficiently as possible.
Also of note, Scott’s diminutive apprentice Choona Mel is now tattooing the public. She will be pouring extra love and affection into her holiday tattoos and I am hoping I can find her at least one client who wants a Christmas Elf immortalized on their body! Be that person!
On a personal note, I haven’t been tattooed in ages. Whine, whinge, wail. I think this is like the plumbers wife who has a leaky faucet on her bathtub.
Happy Happy
December 8th, 2010It’s my birthday! My morning started with delicious coffee in a new mug from JR & Kara, hunter’s bagel & lox (cream cheese with venison), two lovely cards and one big box. I cannot wait to let this thing knead my dough!
Chores in Snow
December 4th, 2010
Runon
December 1st, 2010The A says Ah. Let me fold the dough over and then you can punch it again. Who wants to go to the laundromat? Cochonne, stop eating the cat. That’s a very good ninja somersault! Please stop banging your bike into the walls. If you whine you will not get what you want. Can I just please have quiet voices so I can talk on the phone. Cover when you cough. Use your words. Thank you for doing up your own buckles. My ears are hurting from the whining. Yes, I’d love to read you a book. Please stay in the cart. Please stop climbing. I’m going to take you off the conveyor belt. If I have three beans and I take away one bean. Herbivore or carnivore? Don’t chase the dog with the stick. Pass me the kindling. It doesn’t matter that it is raining, it’s time for us to go do chores. I really like that drawing you did of your Dad. Get off the cat RIGHT NOW. Use your words. You will not get what you want for whining. Those shoes are not waterproof! Quiet voices please. Please.
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I’ve been doing holiday shopping, which has been lots of fun. I’ve linked below my favourite listings and shops on Etsy. Other gifts in progress are wooden tattoo machines (made by Daddy) and a pulley, hook and basket (HABA makes one, but I’ll just go to Canadian Tire). I ordered a wooden catapult from Lee Valley (good idea or bad idea, time will tell!) A box of art supplies has arrived, always a hit. I’ve got a bunch of supplies together to outfit them a craft cupboard they can access on their own, and I am hoping it will get done for Christmas. It would be an awesome surprise. I’ve also printed giant BLURB books for family again. Nearly 400 page, 12″ x 12″ photo albums which truly rock the monkey. Want to your loved ones cry with joy? That’s the way to do it.
Never underestimate the joy of simple toys. A jar full of acorns. A fresh batch of play dough. A huge roll of paper. A big cardboard box.
Favourite Etsy Listings
Favourite Etsy Shops
I also have done a fair bit of shopping over the years at InspiredbyFinn. That shop has outfitted my kids in high quality amber necklaces (first for teething, now for lovely looks) and leg warmers. Bob is 4 and is still wearing his BabyLegs. They are awesome for cold weather under pants and hot weather, worn just with a tee shirt. If you shop there, you can use my code to get 25% off your next purchase: twwly25
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So, about my tardiness with the blog posting. I don’t know how much to write about the kids. I don’t know how to write about myself without writing about the kids. I don’t think I would have wanted my mother writing personal things about me in public places. I would have wanted to have been asked first.
Idle Hands
October 26th, 2010
Well. Two posts in two days! Take that, internet.
So much is changing with fall. With the exception of the Goat Crew and Eunice the Herd Nerd, everything is done for the year. La Cochonne was responsible for the deaths of 2/3 of our laying hens recently and the remaining hen went to live at a neighbours barn. Pigs went yesterday. And this past week, I pulled and wrapped my glads, brushed the snow off of my garden and got my garlic in.
This is the day I’ve been talking about all summer. The day everything is gone, my chores are minimal, life gets back to a reasonable pace. The day I reference whenever anyone tells me “but you do so much!” The summer rush I say, it doesn’t last long. And this year, the rush was stronger than ever. Our growing season felt deep, but quick. Intense, more animals than ever before, I believe my Mouths To Feed headcount was near 150. The poultry required frequent attention. I practically lived in the goat shed waiting for Suki to give birth. I did down plenty of produce.
Now I need to get in the fall/winter groove. Homeschooling. Sewing. Music and swimming lessons for the kids. Snowsuits. Slow driving. Darkness.
I plan on pursuing new things this season. Like keeping the house clean.
I get a lot of people telling me I “do a lot.” In contrast, I feel like I don’t do ENOUGH. Especially when looking at the laundry room, or the dust on the piano, or the piles of papers and books that accumulate in every corner. In reality, I don’t usually get to sit down for more than a couple of minutes at a time. Even during meals. I know this. Tonight, while stirring dinner (Beatrice the Lamb chili, with tomatoes from our own garden) I hand sewed felt mice toys for the children. Multi-tasking, or masochism?
Plain fact, I loathe laziness.
I also believe in that old adage that “idle hands are the devil’s tools.” Not only might those hands land in you in a heap of shenanigans and consequences, but I believe being idle can be highly detrimental to ones emotional and mental health.
My scientific, double blind proof? I’m worked off my feet and happier than I’ve ever been. That’s it.
If I were still minoring in Women’s Studies, I would love to draft an essay about these idle hands and how they relate to maternal happiness and home life. I would write about how in the days before women joined the workforce OUTSIDE of the home, their satisfaction within the home was higher. (Was it really? I don’t know, I’m guessing for sake of this blog entry. I’m not in university anymore so I don’t have much time to research things aside from worming goats without chemicals).
I’m talking about the days before it became backward, even anti-feminist, to can or crochet. Quilt or crock. Stay at home and raise ones children. The days when kids stayed outside until dinner, and then again until dark. The days when women got to feel the satisfaction of putting clothes on their childrens back thanks to needles in their own hands, and not the magic of internet shopping.
These women made work for themselves within their homes. (Make do and mend. Make your place. Good WORKS. Instead of today’s Good Looks). Being busy, creating with your hands, rocking a crying baby, quilting, cleaning. Bundling up baby and going for a walk around the block in the brisk wind. Having your sadness blown away.
Works for me. But what do I know? This isn’t an essay, it’s a blog. Written by someone who doesn’t remember the last time she was bored.
And wants to keep it that way.
These Little Piggies Went to Market
October 25th, 2010
Pig Daddy Kane and Piggy Smalls went to the butcher this morning. Our heritage Berkshire pigs, raised on pasture with a soccer ball to call their own… those two had a great time here. They got all the ear scratches and 5 star slops two pigs could ask for. I feel strongly that if we are going to eat meat, we need to make sure it comes from animals who get to act like the animals they are, who get to safely enjoy their lives, eat food that I would eat and that they die at the most capable hands, as quickly as possible. The only way I know how to do this is by raising it myself, and patronizing small abattoirs. And so this is what we do.
It would be easier if I could write “Ho, ho! Isn’t it just super! Bring on the bacon!” While I do feel that way, it’s complicated. I am also saddened that their vibrant lives are over. I hope they were more curious than scared. I hope I’m doing the right thing. I’ll always remember them, our first pigs.
Thank you, boys.
Lucky Ewe
September 30th, 2010Things are wrapping up around here. Busy in a different way, a longer way. No more spring fever, no more summer frenzy.
The garden is out, with the exception of the carrots and beets. I’ll leave them in, and we can pull them as we need for the juicer. Rosehip syrup was my last preserve and I have two baskets of tomatoes ripening on my counter which will be the last into the canner.
It was slaughter day for our lambs yesterday. In the end, I made the executive decision to send Beatrice and keep Eunice. Finally separating their identity, which had previously been “BeatriceAndEunice” as a general referral to both sheep. I kept her because I wanted her. Because I would like to have more sheep next year and less goats. Because I hope she’ll be a good mother and that her lambs look like her. Because I like her eyes. Simple as that.
So I had to get her hair done, as she had gotten into a patch of burdock while we were in Montreal. It was terrible. She was itchy and I had to check her for maggots every day. So today, finally the shearer came over, a total gentleman. I learned that the pigs I am raising originally came from his line of stock. I learned that it takes about 5 minutes to shear a sheep and costs ten bucks. I think I would like to learn to shear sheep. I think I’ll put that on my 2011 list of things to do, for my lucky, lucky ewe.
I’m still in the middle of a general identity crisis. I have absolutely no idea how to even attempt to have a good time. I mean, I read. I just started cutting squares for my quilt. I think about barn building, dream of fencing and plan I’d like to grow next year. Life of the party, I am not. I’m stoked for Thanksgiving though. Because we’ll be having some friends up. I’m hoping to get to Toronto soon, though I have been saying that for months now and I am sure Caitlin no longer believes me.
What am I supposed to look like, anyway? I mean, I clearly don’t dress like a SuicideGirl anymore. I have found those old skirts that I could wear as a belt, see through shirts and 6″ heels and that’s all clearly out of the question. I found an old box of jewelry the other day, which prompted a conversation between Scott and I about piercing. My single piece of daily wear jewelry is my wedding band. I can’t imagine having nipple rings again, or a nose ring. Between horned goats and hauling hay bales, they’d be torn out of me in a season I am sure. Footwear, too. I have been pining for a pair of Operetta soled Fluevogs for quite sometime now, but let’s be honest. I step in shit just about everywhere I go and the only brands that suit my feet are sold at Canadian Tire.
I’m happy. I just have no idea who I am.
The kids are doing great. We’re homeschooling. Which seems like such an obvious thing for me to say, I am sure this comes as no surprise to any of my blog readers. I wasn’t even going to bother blogging about it because I felt it would be as redundant as me saying “I eat quinoa and I LIKE IT.”
But here I am. Master Bob already meets the pre-kindergarten recommendations, so he’s now learning to read. I am sure there are some folks out there reading my blog right now with babies who were taught to read by the television at 2 months of age. I thought we’d be thinking about starting to read coming up on his 5th birthday, not his 4th, but he’s interested and self motivated so off we go. I can’t say we’re attempting Charlotte Mason, or a Waldorf method, or an unschooling or to the letter curriculum based approach, we’re going to make it our OWN approach. I am thoroughly stoked.
And no, we are not in any way worried about “socialization”. We’re homeschooling, not locking them in a closet. This makes sense for us, for our lifestyle. Both on the farm and off of it, as we are hoping to start traveling again. And this makes sense for who we are as people and what we hope for our children. If it stops working for us, we’ll change it. We have no goal other than you know, attempting to raise brilliant, fascinating, inspiring individuals. And did I mention hilarious, self motivated and remarkably well read?
If anyone wants to razz me about this decision, or if anyone out there is contemplating making this decision for their own family, please read these two books:
1. John Taylor Gatto’s “Dumbing Us Down: The Hidden Curriculum of Compulsory Education”
2. Rachel Gathercole’s “The Well Adjusted Child: The Social Benefits of Homeschooling“
Sock Weather
September 16th, 2010It’s so clearly fall now. The turkeys have gone to butcher. The sheep are next. I am hoping to find a buyer for our last two goats. Then the pigs will go. We have three freezers. Four, if you count the one attached to our fridge. Not enough.
I could not have been more pleased with our experience raising turkeys this year. We brooded them together with the chickens, which every book I have told me would wind up in certain death by black head. We decided to act instead on wing, prayer and rumor and low and behold it worked out fine. I can’t believe these little creatures which arrived in their boxes looking like they were on the brink of death turned into such giant birds, in such short time. They were gentle and curious. I didn’t find them stupid. I had been warned “the only thing stupid-er than a turkey is a person who raises turkeys.” Nope. These guys just liked routine. Do something outside of the routine and they were not impressed. The chickens are like an angry mob on methamphetamines by comparison. We will absolutely raise turkeys again next year.
Scott and I attended the Montreal Tattoo Convention this past weekend. It was awesome. I got to meet all sorts of new friends and catch up with old ones. It reminded that while I do have lots of interests, tattooing is so much a part of who I am. My friends are evocative and colourful, and low and behold, underneath my sheep shited wellingtons, I am too. Hoping to have my back finished by next year’s show!
Our house is chilly already. We haven’t lit a fire yet, but we’re going to have to soon. Our Amish neighbour STILL has not brought up the 100+ cords of wood he took out of our bush. We have some kicking around the house, but if this drags on much longer… Why I’ll… just have to go ask politely… again. Thinking about tucking in for the winter. The box of kindling and the box of starter that sits by the fire. Waking up in the middle of the night to stoke the fire. At least only having goats to look after this winter is going to seem like a breeze!
We have signed up for swimming and kindergym. We have signed up for music lessons. I recently got two new board games from Family Pastimes, an Ontario company and I can’t wait to get more. They are cooperative games and totally awesome. They’re definitely going to get played a lot this winter, I can tell!