Today I Said “Yes”

Just so we’re clear, this is not a political post, not this one anyways. 

Sometimes I say “no” to adventure. Sometimes it’s because I’m tired and I’m learning to honour my body and its quiet messages. Sometimes it’s because I know our kids will benefit from the chance to stay home, and sometimes, I say “no” because it’s easier..but that’s another post because today wasn’t one of those days…


Today we hopped into the van and turned left into the world of flashing cameras and publicity. It helps that there were free cheese samples and ice cream to cool our tired, impatient selves…Oh…and blurry photo ops with the Prime Minister…..




Homeschooling rocks.





Build It And They Will Come

It’s the little things that light up my life. Organic cream delivered to my door step, fresh flowers, kids building projects quietly with way too much tape…sometimes that’s all it takes me make my heart sing…to remind me that my life is beautiful. Yesterday, that moment came while the kids were playing happily inside. I stepped out in the afternoon sun, feeling just a bit frustrated about the chore of picking up and putting away. The minute my soles hit the warmth of our brand new-papa- built deck, I was instantly invigorated. My arms soared above my head, finger tips kissing the sky, and I reached down for a good stretch in Uttanasana. That’s when I heard it…the quiet buzz of insect life in my flower garden. Perched on the edge of the deck, I watched as tiny bugs flitted about, performing a task much greater than they are aware of. 

And then it occurred to me…perhaps, in my daily menial, nothingness tasks, I’m contributing to something bigger, something more than I’m aware of. Just like that, the moment was gone. It’s like that as a mom. It will seem that I’m on the verge of something significant, a conscious-altering concept, and then as quickly as the child appears, the thought bubble pops and the thought dissipates. 
Wildflower pranced through the door and into the garden, gathering a bouquet of beauty as she went. I cued her to stop and observe the magic; together we watched a beautiful monarch drink nectar from the echinacea. He was then replaced by a beautiful moth whom was all too happy to pose for us. A fleeting moment captured in time. 




Raisin’ Hays While The Rain Pours

A couple of weeks ago, our family set out on our annual festival/camping trip. Plastic drawers were released from their duties in the house, stuffed with kid clothing and packed into the tent trailer, white T shirts were stashed into our luggage in hopes of being streaked with beautifully coloured dyes, and I eagerly packed my basket with books and journals to enjoy while resting on the beach. Ahhh the beach…scantily clad in the sunshine while the kids play happily, with minimal arguing….oh the epiphanies I’ll have…the inspiration that will seep into my soul….Except that it rained. It rained for four days. It rained so hard the slugs came to visit.It rained so hard that any shred of excitement and optimism I felt, wooshed away with the raindrops, trickling from the tarps Griz strung so neatly from the branches. I turned into grumpy mommy, the woman I had tried to leave at home. It didn’t matter how hard Papa Bear tried, no amount of tarp stringing or yummy meal making broke the spell of grumpy that had been cast over me. There was just something about the combination of sand in my bed, dampened by the moist air that just didn’t help.

So to keep the kids from arguing…We played go fishand caught tiny toads…I believe Wildflower caught…72?

And on the fifth day, the sun came out, juuust in time for us to wash up, pack up, and head home.

There’s a funny thing that I learned from the camping trip from hell. All of the much needed inspiration didn’t come while it was pouring so loudly we couldn’t hear each other speak. It didn’t come when we walked to the soggy beach to be bitten by the bugs on the way. It didn’t even come when we began to pack up under the bright sun. The epiphanies came to me after we had been home for a night, with time to talk and clear my mind, time spent just with my partner in crime. The two days we spent at home after our trip felt more like holidays than the entire trip. It took looking at myself, deeply, in an uncomfortable situation, to learn the answers to some of the heavier things on my mind. Ahhhh sometimes things just don’t go as planned.



Slow Living

I’ve been working at not being a grumpy pants. It seems it’s harder than one would think; in fact, I’m finding it difficult at times to invite more joy into my life because it seems there are so many miserable things that I’ve stamped with a big ole “important” sign…like picking up toys that will make their way to the floor again momentarily and cleaning bathroom counters. Who knew, that in a world where busy= important, I’d find myself trying to be the opposite. So, my house is no longer tidy, my gardens are dry and dusty, and my laundry is stacked in baskets, but today, I took my camera outside after dinner and snuck in a few minutes of something that makes me happy. 

I’ve found that the most difficult thing to let go of is being in a hurry, but I have purposefully cleared my schedule this summer so that I can learn to relax. Once I begin to chill, I stop raising my voice, I panic less, and it’s easier to take time to do the things that I enjoy, like sew or create. I remember, again, why it is that I wanted to homeschool my kids… Because I like them. Because I want to be there for the little things and the big things. Because I didn’t want to spend everyday yelling at them to “hurry up”, “let’s go”, “we’re gonna be late”.
Slowing down means time to appreciate the ‘look at me’s’, and the teensy faery feasts that appear on a semi-regular basis on the front step, past dark. This one’s a cake. Yum!

And it’s funny. When I take just a few minutes to do something slowly and with beauty, even if it’s as simple as preparing oats with sliced strawberries for breakfast, it fills up a part of me that I’ve ignored for far too long….a part of me that can only be filled by snippets of joy. I’ve tried to fill that hole with many things, chocolate being the most readily available…

And you? Have you stepped towards freedom lately?




Brownie Camp

Last weekend, I put on my big girl pants and committed to spending the weekend amongst 50 screaming little girls, one being my own. One weekend at Brownie camp won’t kill a mama, but it will leave her exhausted and sore from being scrunched into a single bed with a baby and a Brownie. We spent the weekend together, stepping outside of my comfort zone, which consists mainly of our 7.5 acres. With a pirate-theme, we dressed up, made crafts, and sang campfire songs. I learned about the joys of swaps, tiny crafts made for pinning to camp hats to be traded with friends and I watched the girls dance the night away under the influence of ring pops. Wildflower, myself and baby spent two nights together in our little cabin, sharing snacks and staying up late, retelling stories of the day’s adventures. Watching my girl running and imagining with her little friends made the trip worth the struggle of packing for three and planning to be away from home. It’s so rewarding to see her stretch her wings with very little trepidation. In short, it turned out to be way more fun than I had imagined it would be….but I’m not going to lie, when I crawled into my queen-sized bed, complete with a papa bear beside me, I couldn’t have been more grateful. I love my life.

One of the coolest things about our weekend? The mama bird who lived right outside our door allowed us to stay in her cabin. Sure, she’d sneak away every time we came close enough to the door, but we did our best to give her a peaceful enough home while we were visiting. Three tiny eggs nestled in a moss-covered nest gave us lots of excitement. We made sure not to tell to many of the girls, to save her privacy.

As for Brownies, there’s some changes to be made to the system, changes that may take more than the letter that we plan to write, but it looks like something Wildflower is interested in sticking with for the time being. And me? I’m just happy to be home. There’s full year before we come face to face with anymore camping trips.


xo MamaBear

Mothering. I’m Still Learning

This post is for the moms. Mine in particular.


I get it now.

I know what it’s like to be tired when I need to chase children.

I know what it’s like to hear for the eighth time this morning that he doesn’t want to eat toast for breakfast even though he’s so so hungry, and it’s grocery day, and there’s not an ounce of food left in the house, and if he’d just eat his fr#cN fr@cn TOAST! We could get our shopping done.

I know what it’s like to not be able to remember my last shower, but my children are lovingly bathed several times a week, hair brushed and wearing matching clothing. I’m wearing yoga pants with holes in them because every pair of pants I own have been snagged on the lid of the metal garbage can.

I know what it’s like to dream up a colourful life for my children, implement it, and spend every day wondering if I’m just messing them up.
I know what it’s like to still feel like a child, despite being a grown up, in charge of raising four beautiful kids.

I know what it’s like to give my heart and soul to these magical beings who love me, but don’t comprehend how incredible their little lives are, so I spend the majority of my mothering feeling unappreciated.

I know the struggle of trying to balance feeding their fires without letting my own extinguish.

I know what it’s like to hear the tiny voice inside of me say “I’m still here”. In fact, occasionally, through flues that pass through 6 people, and sleepless nights with new baby teeth, that tiny voices grows. She stores up her reminders and comes out as a ferocious lion. Sometimes she spills out, like a hot July fire. She burns through me and then moves towards my children, quicker than I can extinguish her.

I know what it’s like to humbly apologize to small faces, unsure if it’s enough.

I know what you meant when you said I’d know when I got older and had children of my own.

Children who teach me about patience, everyday…

They’ve taught me lessons of kindness and self-sacrifice. They’ve taught me about generosity (you can have my last m&m mama), confidence (yes, you can do it!), and the importance of knowing the difference between equal and fair (not the same thing!).

And then there is the most difficult lesson…the lesson of self-love. If I want it so badly for them, I must model it, myself.

Frequently, I’ll catch myself uttering the words I heard you say many times while we were growing up, together…..I’m still learning.

Happy Mother’s Day



Meaningful Work

The words meaningful work have been floating around in my mind lately. What is meaningful work, what does it mean to me?

I’ve always been a dabbler, and by that, I mean, I’ve always dabbled in many different mediums of creativity. As a child even, I was guilty of beginning several different projects, finishing only those that were exciting enough, and moving on to my next outlet. Well, my inner child is alive and well today. She’s trapped inside a 33 year old woman’s body, with silver streaks in her brown hair, tiredness under her eyes, and the desire to create beauty.Never one to replicate my work, I’m always tinkering away at something different. Occasionally, I’ve even received compliments on my resourcefulness, how lovely and thought-filled my work is, and that has always been nice…to hear kind words of appreciation. I’ve always tried to hear it as a compliment when people mentioned how great it must be for me to know how to do so many things.

But as the story goes, those with straight hair, can’t help but wonder how those with wild curls live. What must it be like to be truly great at something? To have studied and become a master. What must it be like to know something inside and out? I won’t ever be one of those people. I don’t say this with a heavy heart. I’m not looking for a pep talk, an encouraging pat on the back that says “you can do it!”. I’m merely stating a fact, the way one states that the sky is blue and that children are young. In the same fashion, I can say, “I’ll never run a marathon”, I also know I’ll never be an expert.I’ll know how to write something someone wants to read. I’ll nurse babies with difficult latches. I’ll grow my own vegetables and flowers. I’ll raise wild children. I’ll sew, bake, draw, design, and paint. I may learn about marketing, or leatherwork, or drumming. I’ll teach children to dance and to hear the beat of the music, and I’ll share my knowledge of herbal remedies. I’ll be a walking book of tidbits of both helpful and useless information, but I’ll never be the next Maya Angelou or Roberta Bondar, and I certainly won’t be the mom with a PhD. It’s not that I lack the intelligence because I don’t.

Some may call it artistry, and some may call it ADD, but I think, it’s simply a combination of the fact that I am so easily distracted by soul awakening beauty, and the awareness that there simply is not enough time while I walk this great earth to see and do all of the things that elicit feelings of awe and pure joy. I just have to dip my fingers into that cool earth and plant this tiny packet of seeds since I simply cannot wait until I get to hold the rainbow of carrots that will surely follow. I have to touch that purple satin ribbon and imagine it woven into a beautiful braid in my daughter’s hair. I must know how those colourful buttons will look strung together on a string, in just that pattern, suspended from a grapevine wreath.

I so admire my friends who have studied and pursued their dreams. I see the value in learning about one subject and becoming very skilled in one’s craft. I can imagine how satisfying it must be to have chosen a speciality, monogamously devoting oneself to a subject of expertise. I also know that meaningful work, in our society, generally implies a decent income or an income in general, a recognized career involving a higher education, and so I’ve spent a long time believing what I do is not as valuable or meaningful. So I set the projects aside that bring my spirit joy and instead I toil away at all of the things that make me grumpy. There’s sewing to be done, but for some reason, I’ve decided that it’s more important to vacuum. It’s only recently that I’m learning to look at my gifts differently. So I’m proposing this experiment to myself for myself, and I invite anyone who wants to to join me. It sounds simple, but I’m certain it won’t be.

For the next year, I’m going to fill my life with beauty. No, despite what it sounds like, I’m not beginning a one-year shopathon. I won’t be bolstering our visa with beautiful things from The Container Store or Etsy, don’t worry Papa Bear. I’m going to spend time doing, creating, and enjoying as many things as possible, in hopes of teaching myself that I have value, that my work is meaningful. . .I’ll try to make the boring bits more beautiful by believing that my time is well spent in spending an extra few minutes on details. I’ll check in here occasionally to post an update or two to keep track of what I’m working on and how easy (or not) it’s been on the journey….I mean, I do have a newborn after all. This means that I’ll have to let go of things that are not serving me….that’s the part I’m going to find tricky. Wish me luck!










Pixie Dust and Turning 4

On Monday, the golden brown grass lay bountiful in front of us, and the rest of the week, well it resembled something like a snowpocalypse. That was the garden. Let’s just say its been an indoor kind of week.

One thing that we did enjoy was the celebration of our favourite 4 year old. Remember that post last year? How far we’ve come! I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that birthdays always leave me feeling as though I haven’t quite done enough. I didn’t create enough magic. I didn’t spread sparkles and pixie dust all over childhood memory of birthday number four. I’m sure it’s why so many parents spend more than they really have to in order to impress their young child who would love nothing more than a refrigerator box for a gift. I find myself dreaming up magical pinterest moments, and then Mom Of The Year fulfills son’s birthday wish for rainbow waffles…

We ate peeled waffles for lunch….somehow, he was overjoyed

A new building toy from Papa Bear

A special friend from yours truly….his name was loudly proclaimed to be “Upsidedown”. This time around, I strayed from the traditional wool doll, since Wildflower’s doll, Willow cost us an arm and a leg to supply her lovely organic wool fabric, roving, and yarn, and now we’ve realized, she can’t be washed very easily. Upsidedown has been fashioned out of a piece of organic Lyocell and cotton interlock. It’s probably not going to be used again as it seems to run quite easily, and I had to double it for strength, but it is silky and soft, and, once again, Lil Brother doesn’t seem to mind. The rest of the little friend was made with bits and bobs I’ve saved for a special, unknown purpose. That made this guy one cost effective gift, unlike the one made by Papa Bear that, although could have been inexpensive if we had the parts laying around, wasn’t since it required a trip to the hardware section of Canadian Tire.

It’s funny that until I assembled the pieces of his birthday here in this space, I still felt that I didn’t quite do enough. There were no party hats or streamers. There were no trips to indoor amusement parks, bouncy castles, or groups of children bounding through our home. These are the things that I suppose I measure birthday success against, whether or not they line up with our family culture. Whether or not they were even requested. It wasn’t until I read through this, a birthday compiled in a few quick photos, that I realized I sound ridiculous…it makes me wonder if the “Under the Sea” birthday theme-mom with the bakery-made cupcakes and the blue jello centrepieces and matching loot bags may have the same birthday-hollowness as I do.

All in all, it was a successful birthday. Some close family spent the evening with us. Papa Bear and I remembered what it’s like to start and actually complete a handcrafted item for the first time since our new babe arrived on the scene, and I received a gentle reminder that the scale for measuring birthday joy doesnt come from how much money we spend or how much work we put into it, but the smile on the birthday boy’s face. And that was enough pixie dust for me. How humbling children can be….xo


And Baby Makes Six.


There are six of us now.

6 mouths to feed. 6 bodies to clothe and care for. 6 minds to educate. 6 souls to inspire.

6 feels like a good number, the right number. 

When Papa Bear and I had originally discussed family size, I had my heart set on 4….or 5 children. Now, I’m all in, elbows deep in the practice of parenting, and nothing allows logic to creep in like making dinner with a crying baby, a teen with a homework crisis, and two children chasing each other while the dog barks. You know…that and pelvic floor physiotherapy.

4 children, 3 who have heard the sound of me yelling from the inside…my logic tells me it is enough…my heart…well that’s another post entirely.

There once was a time when we would all suit up to head out on a family adventure– hats, boots and coats in tow, and as Papa Bear stepped out the door, youngest in arms, I would turn to be certain we had everyone. We both said, many times, that it felt as though we had been forgetting someone.Our family wasn’t quite finished.

Well…he’s here now. He’s here with his chin rolls and knee dimples. He’s here with enough smiles to go around. And he completes us. 



THE NEVER ENDING LIST OF WEEKENDRY: how we’re dealing with weekend grumbles

Every week, the kids and I count down the days until the Friday when we can all be together. After dance class on Thursdays, everything moves into a slower, more relaxed weekend pace. It’s going to be a great weekend, we’re thinking. Traditionally, when Big Brother doesn’t have to take off for a weekend at his mom’s, we eat a fun family dinner, while watching a movie together by the wood stove. The youngins head to bed slightly later than usual, since Papa Bear and I are feeling more chill than our usual weekday state. Big brother can normally be found watching a season of something he’s declared the best show ever!!! while tossing down some snacks…this week’s choice was mango and doughnuts (I’m just grateful that part of it was actually food). And me and my other half and our pint-size bundle of ‘I like to sleep between the hours of 8pm and 2am’ head off to catch up on some much needed banter that we didn’t have the energy or time to delve into earlier in the week. It’s going to be a  great weekend….
In my memory, the best Saturday and Sunday mornings are coffee and chirping birds on sunny days. It’s what I remember most about visiting this old house as a child, when I would look out from the upstairs window, out over the rooftop, and feel the warmth of weekend sun on my face. That memory, feels like happiness to me. I can remember the smell of strong coffee, the way my grandparents liked it best, and I remember scurrying down the stairs, hand sliding on the round railing handle, going so quickly that I could skip the last two steps and land with a thud at the bottom. My gramma would be there, dressed to impress, in the itty bitty kitchen with my great-aunt, making cheese and toast. I guess that’s how I fell in love with cheese and toast….

Fast forward 25 years, and here I am in the same home, with my own crazy family. I wake on sunny weekend mornings snuggled in bed with our new baby and Papa Bear, and aside from the nights when I receive very little sleep, I feel pretty lucky. We get up sometime after the usual weekday time to the sound of kiddos watching morning t.v., and head downstairs to make coffee. That’s where we seem to hop into the downward spiral. Somehow, all of the things that we, all of us, have been dreaming about doing, somehow turns into a grumpy argument, and ultimately, we spend the weekend hours in conflict resolution mode…accomplishing nothing…not even enjoying the nothingness.

And then our weekend hopes and dreams spit in our faces right before they wither and die and explode into teensy bits of shrapnel. It seems Big Brother doesn’t want to help with the family clean right now, but would rather have cleaned this morning, so he storms around muttering under his breath while cleaning the glass doors. Little Brother is whining constantly for snacks and he refuses to help pick up just one toy from the ground. Wildflower, although she finished her chores, is now bossing her brother around, who isn’t listening because he doesn’t want to take his laundry to the bathroom, and the dog, Kevin Bacon won’t stop barking or stealing the things that we have already put away. Papa Bear doesn’t know how I put up with this all week long, and since he’s so fed up with the family musical of grumbling, barking, and whining that he throws in the towel and heads upstairs to count backwards from ten before he LOSES it, and there I am, sitting in the middle of it all, nursing a baby, wondering how in the hello we will ever have a great family weekend.

Now here comes the part where I lay out the magical solution I’ve discovered. Peace has come to our family, and we hold hands and skip every weekend….only I’m not that cool.

I don’t have it figured out yet, but this weekend, this one has been …ok. 6/10 maybe? Versus last weekend’s 3/10 (no one died, we ate food…that scored us a 3). So here’s where I’m at for anyone who may be looking for a similar resolution.

There are six of us now + dog. That makes 6+dog to consider…hopes, dreams, and grumbles. Gone are the days of waking up late with just my love, myself, and Big Brother, who was then, the only brother. It’s not easy to drink coffee in peace, let alone go out for breakfast anymore. Plus, we have hopes and dreams for our home, projects to complete, art to make, and sometimes, that just sounds like work.

So we’ve realized two things….what’s been lacking, like in all good quarrels, is communication, but bringing that word up again is going to mean five sets of eyes (I threw in baby’s and Kevin’s for comedic effect) looking at me in that ‘yes dear/mom’ kind of way, so I proposed an email. Yes, amish mama has stepped into the 21st century and started a never-ending list of weekendry email thread where we each list our hopes, whether they be work-related, at home projects, family cleaning, outings, wishes for yummy snacks, and I dare say, this weekend hasn’t turned into an all out brawl. In fact, the list is currently being wrapped up by this blog post early on Sunday afternoon.

The second thing I try to keep in the back of my mind is that the times that we argue the most as a family, are the times when things are great. When we have very few worries, when everyone has everything they need and some of their wants, when our lives feel balanced, we have a tendency to knock it out of whack because I guess, we humans have a thing for self-sabtoge.


So there it is…a bit of honesty…me laying it all out there, so that I’m not lumped into that ‘look at me, I live a fantasy life’ kinda blogger….


Until next time,