In which this is how the move went

Thursday (T minus 7 days)

No packing yet.

Heck, it's not until THURSDAY.

I have tons of time.

I live in less than 800 sq ft and we don't have much.

It'll be fine.

Really, we'll be surprised at how easy this is, I think.

Saturday (T minus 5 days)

Maybe we better get started?

Let's pack the books at least.

(That means we pack about 57% of the house.)

Congratulations to us.

We're so on the ball.

Tuesday (T minus 2 day)

Gee, maybe I better pack more.

It's hard to pack with the tinies around.

I've never moved with a three year old and a one year old underfoot.

Evidently they don't like not being the centre of attention.

I cancel a lunch get together with friends.

I am determined to pack.

I am getting grouchy.

And a little panicked.

Wednesday morning (T minus 1 day)

8:00 AM - I drop the tinies at a baby-sitters house,

just so I can pack like a crazy woman.

My intention is to pack all day long.

11:30 AM - But then some friends are getting together.

And really, it's just over the bridge in Pitt Meadows.

I decide to drop in very quickly.

2:00 PM - I'm home.

And feeling rather behind.

2:01 PM - This isn't going so well.

Somehow, in the past few days, my house has seemingly gone

from Not Much Stuff to OH MY WORD WHAT IS WITH ALL OF THIS CRAP!

And it's gone from 800 sq ft to 32,000 sq ft.

I will be packing this house for six and a half years.

3:45 PM - I have to pick up the tinies. I'm late.

Hurry, hurry.

Aaaaaaand, the garage door of the parkade won't open.

I'm stuck.

FAN-tastic.

4:52PM - Finally get the tinies picked up.

The essentials of the kitchen are packed.

So nothing to eat.

No plates or spoons.

And we take the exhausted and weary tinies out for supper.

Take them home

put them to bed, take stock of what remains...

half the kitchen

the washroom

the laundry room

the bedding

our clothes.

We welcome Laura, the baby-sitter in.

7:00 PM - And then go out to downtown Vancouver

with 50,000 other people

to experience the U2 360 tour (more on that later..).

We yawned right through the Black Eyed Peas

Sent 52 text messages back and forth with my sister and Adam

who were across the stadium

in much better seats.

And then we danced the entire concert,

leaving with our hearts full

and our ears ringing.

Thursday (Moving Day)

8:30 AM - We are both very grouchy.

Brian is ornery in particular.

We are packing like crazy people.

Throwing things willy nilly into boxes.

I skip breakfast and then lunch.

12:08 PM - It's not going so well.

I take the tinies out to Abbotsford

for they are losing their ever-lovin' minds.

Leaving Brian to load the stuff out,

finish the packing and wait for Dad and Adam join him.

7:34 PM - And, like the rockstars they all are,

they load it up in no time.

Friday (Closing Day)

9:00 AM - We meet with Martin the Notary Who Looks Like An Undertaker

and sign thousands of documents.

We're officially homeless.

But one last thing...

This house is filthy.

And we need to clean it before we hand over the keys.

1:30 PM - I'm so glad that my mother stayed home to watch our tinies

because I would be HUMILIATED if she could see how filthy this is.

Word of caution - don't pull out your refrigerator if you are in an emotionally unstable spot.

Because the site of the dust and grime may, in fact, reduce you to expletives.

2:08 PM - I decide to call this our Karma Clean

We are sowing a good deep clean, trusting that we will reap a good deep clean at our new place.

3:23 PM - I have a bleach headache and we are both so tired.

We hand over keys at 5PM.

I cry in the living room.

We go downstairs to the parkade to stand wistfully in spot 74,

remembering.

We slip our email address under a few doors of friends,

especially Nurse Kelly who helped catch Joseph.

5:11 PM - We slowly drive through our neighbourhood in the rain,

hungry, weepy and tired.

We drove to my parents house.

We're headed back to where home really is - with our tinies.

Just aching to hold them close,

missing them and so thankful to close

at least one more chapter.

8:14 PM - We decide to forget

that will have to clean our new place next Tuesday

and unpack it all.

Doing it all over again, in reverse.

Tonight, we just going to relax.

In which I make a decision about the H1N1 vaccine

I posted our decisions about the H1N1 vaccine as a status update on Twitter and Facebook. I have now had more than 33 people comment with their decision for and against, citing articles and blogs, medical journals and newspapers. The best thing about it is that it showed me that people are truly evaluating it, researching and considering their options. It has been interesting reading and I thought I'd expand a bit on my thoughts here.

(Sadly, I will respond without any citations, alarmist or otherwise. I feel like people are about to drop dead of Too-Many-Contradictory-H1N1-Articles-Itis and I don't wish to contribute to that pandemic.)

I am not anti-vaccine. I assumed that I would be anti-vaccine since a lot of people that have a similar parenting style to ours are anti-vaccine. But after doing my research and identifying the Canadian system and ingredients and schedules, I felt comfortable with the tinies receiving all of their shots with few exceptions. We never receive the flu shot and I excluded the chicken pox, I believe.

So when the H1N1 virus hit pandemic in Canada, I really considered it. I see the benefits of vaccines, truly.

It came down to a risk vs. benefits. And for me? The risks at this point in a relatively or comparatively untested vaccine outweigh the potential benefits. The side effects, particularly for small children such as seizures, concern me as do many of the ingredients overall. The debate rages over everything from the live virus inoculation to mercury to testings and concerns about runs on the clinic for the shot.

We are not in a high-risk group. Yes, my children are young but we lead a fairly quiet life with a small circle for them. They don't go to daycare. We don't have a ton of play dates. We are being wise - Vitamin C, water, rest, plenty of hand washing - and also, of course, praying. The vast majority of people do NOT get the flu and of those that do, the vast majority of them do NOT experience a serious case even requiring hospitalization. The precaution of the vaccine seems excessive given the risk of acquiring the disease to me.

Even though we don't have the collective immunity built up yet, H1N1 isn't any more deadly than the usual flu or, for that matter, riding in a car. I really considered it seriously after those two beautiful children in central Canada were victims of H1N1. But I came back to this decision with full confidence.

Because the media reports so exhaustively on swine flu right now, we have lost all sense of proportion. More children and people die of many other things not in the news cycle right now.

What about you? Will you be getting it? Have you given it a lot of thought or preferred to just ignore it?

In which she has music in her soul

Joseph received a harmonica for his birthday. Which means his big sister has confiscated it and held it close her to chest, humming 'My precioussssssss" to it with a crazed look in her eyes.

She held it close to her for a day. Which resulted in me snatching it back, driven wild by the squeaks and squeals of it, the loudness and scrawly sound. I told my friend that I didn't know whether to write her a thank you note or kick her ass for giving us this gift.

Honestly.

Who gives children musical instruments? Isn't that in the unwritten rules of Fellow Parents? We don't give each other's children things with batteries or musical instruments. If it's not, it should be.

Later in the week, I gave it back to her. What can I say? I'm weak.

Today she came to me and said she had two new songs for me. She said "This is the Good Night Song."

And she played a few notes, near the end of the scale, slowly, breathing into the harmonica gently and quietly, coaxing a sound from this instrument I didn't know it was capable of. Her eyes were closed and she breathed a song of mellow love, calm nights, working her small mouth from note to note easily. She played for nearly three minutes, just going from note to note and round again, breathing easily a song of a quiet night.

Her eyes snapped open. "And now! The Good Morning Song!" She slid to the middle of the harmonica and blew a raucous tune, quickly, up and down, hitting notes often and higher and higher. It sounded just like her mornings, up and at'em, rising up singing.

She finished. I said, "You did beautifully, Annie. It sounded beautiful. You are good at this."

She looked at me thoughtfully, climbed into my crossed legs and kissed me right on the lips.

"I feel happy in my tummy now," she said seriously.

I think I owe my friend an apology.

In which I am turning reflective (instead of packing)

(Yes, I put her to work packing books. It's a gigantic task in this house and I need all the help I can get.)

We packed our faces off on Saturday. We went from 0 boxes packed to now having (according to my now-retired "mathlete" of a husband) about 57% packed. And that's where we've stayed. We move in two days and I have yet to pack the kitchen, the bathroom, our room or the toy box. So that's my job for the next two days. I am determined to finish it off. We depart on Thursday to stay with my parents for a week or 10 days until our sale on our new house closes and we can paint/scrub the place before moving in. And then unpacking it all over again.

And yet here I am, blogging, having a cuppa tea. You know - not packing.

Two years doesn't seem like a lot of time in the space of a life but for my tinies, it's 2/3 for Anne and an entire life for Joseph. When we moved here, Anne was a bit younger than Joseph. She learned to walk and talk here. Brian spent a year at home with Anne here, engaging in the daily life of raising babies on his own. It's a year he's always cherished even if it was an adjustment to pace and life (isn't it for all of us, right?). We walked the streets of our neighbourhood often. I gave birth to Joseph here. Literally. I spent my year at home with the tinies here. We dove into our community quickly, making friends and acquaintances at the playgrounds and in our building, getting to know our doctor, our hair stylist, our local yarn store, the grocery check out ladies. We did a lot of living in this tiny place.

We have destroyed the carpet.

I have put down small soul roots here even in this short time. To be honest, this is my favourite city I've lived in yet. I love living in the city. I love an urban community. I love being on "this side of the bridge." I love spending my time in Vancouver. I love being close to the beach, smelling the ocean and being surrounded by the mountains. I love the old turn-of-the-century, quietly genteel and occasionally rotting homes that surround us. I love the huge trees lining the streets. I love the pace of the city, the deep old parks with aging playground equipment (even though I am convinced they are likely peeling lead paint) and walking to the high street on Saturday mornings for coffee. I love the chatter of languages, the vast differences in socio-economic status, the ethnic and cultural diversity. It's an amazing experience.

And then there is the side that aches a bit. Leaving behind friends, putting an hour drive between us. Leaving my church in the heart of the city of Vancouver. Even though I'm just an hour away, the Fraser Valley feels further away in every way.

I know all of the reasons why we are moving. And I am excited about moving. Don't get me wrong.

But there is a still a bit of a pull today, a bit of missing this place - our home, our community, our city and our friends - already.

In which there's a reason we call him Curly Bear

In which it is a rainy day

And so I didn't get out of my pajamas today.

And I didn't put on a bra or a stitch of make-up.

And I knitted while I acquainted Anne and Joseph with my beloved Mr. Dress Up, Casey and Finnegan on the computer.

And Joseph had a nap, curled up in his own crib with a flannel blanket my Auntie's friend made for him when he was born. It has a zebra on it and Anne always wants to 'share' it.

And we had oatmeal for lunch.

And my teapot has been refilled a few times already.

And Joseph has played with his little wooden train, stacking and restacking most of the morning.

And Anne has turned the pages of her books, reciting the words by memory. "And the next morning..." she says as she turns each page.

And Joseph is still in his rocketship jammies with the little footies.

And I am resisting the urge to open my remote desktop for work.

And Anne is wearing a summer dress with her striped tights and a sweatshirt as her own concoction.

And we have just enjoyed the quiet and the stillness today, hiding from chores and things to do and responsibilities, phone calls, bills and emails.

And now I'm going to have a bowl of ice cream.

In which I pull out a bottle of whine

(Disclaimer: I fully admit to indulging in some First World whining. Many people would LOVE to have my problems. I recognise this and require no reminder of my many blessings and my fortunate life.)

To say I am exhausted and hurried is an understatement.

We move in 5 days. I haven't packed a box. I seem to have lost my packing mojo. I keep waiting for Anne to do it. Or for the elves to show up.

I am so tired of moving. Of new addresses and forwarding mail. Of setting up phones and finding doctors. Of telling people, again, this is why you write our address in pencil, not pen. Because in the 8 years that Brian and I have been married, we have moved 6 times. The longest we were anywhere was our house in Texas for three years.

I am a good packer. I am not a pack rat. I can pack boxes efficiently and move quickly. We unpack in a day or two, including pictures on the walls. But this time?

The mojo has left the building.

I am inclined to throw everything into Walmart bags and hope for the best.

Move to a new house.

Clean it top to bottom because it is, in fact, filthy filthy filthy and grimy.

Paint every wall. Including baseboards.

And then get settled all over again, trying to make a new home, new friends, new church, new life all over again.

I am as ready as Brian for some roots and some stability. He has always loved stability, craved security. His parents still live in the same house they bought before they were married. When we visit, we sleep in his boyhood room. His best friends have been with him since elementary school. He loves a long history and theology of place. I moved around a bit as a kid and didn't live close to extended family after I was 9. I was used to making a new life now and again, even enjoyed the opportunity to change and start over. (Of course, Facebook has made it impossible to ever truly start over.) But now? I am yearning to put down some roots, stay put and raise my children for years in the same house, close to their family. I never want to pack a box again.

Or at least for three years. Okay?

In which we don't go to strip clubs, I promise!

I am raising my tinies in the same faith traditions that I grew up in - non-denominational, charismatic Christian. Which means that their entire concept of church is casual, laid-back, jeans-clad people with cool music and fun Children's Church. Anne looks forward to church all week long because she loves the music and loves to play with her friends. Joseph is the darling of the nursery and he, too, loves to clap along with the music and bob his head to the groove. People like to jump or dance sometimes even. The kids church in particular is exciting.

So I recognise that my tinies have a different concept of "church" than most people.

This was highly evident to me last weekend when we went to the Fort Langley Cranberry Festival. As usual, I spotted the old church and simply had to go inside. I love to spend time inside of old churches, you may remember. But it was the first time I had brought the tinies with me.

We went inside. It was dark and mysterious, filled with shadow and light. The stained glass windows were stunning. There was a precious older lady at the organ, playing softly, rehearsing for service. The pews were mellow with age, polished and shining. The air smelled heavy like candles and incense.

I felt reverent just being in this sacred space.

Anne, on the other hand, pushed her way right to the front and stood, all her weight on one foot, hip cocked saucily. The lady looked back at her and sweetly said, "Welcome to church."

Anne looked around and said, loudly enough for the rest of the people milling about the sanctuary and narthex to hear, "Where are the dancing girls?"

The lady blinked.

"Pardon me?"

"The dancing girls. The drums. The guitar? This isn't church. Church has dancing girls."

Bless her heart, the lady turned about three shades of purple and stiffly informed Anne that her church did not, in fact, have dancing girls.

And Anne told her that was too bad and spun around to say "I'm done here, Mum."

I would say so.

I was left trying to explain to this poor Anglican lady with her new perm that we go to a lively church and really, it's not how it sounds and....

Oh, I give up.

In which I am learning to parent like God parents me

(Anne on baking day, luxuriating in chocolate cake-y goodness out of the bowl.)

I was listening a few months ago to a podcast I quite enjoy (read: it's life-transforming) called The God Journey. They had two back-to-back episodes with Danny and Sheri Silk to discuss their new book "Loving Our Kids On Purpose" and the principles of it (Part 1 and Part 2, for those interested.) And can I be honest?

It kind of rocked my world. It reminded me a lot of another favourite of mine, Grace Based Parenting but the podcast format, the conversation, really stuck with me.

The premise is that instead of looking to techniques or tactics for raising our children, we should look to this: we need to parent our children the way that God parents us.

(Now this has plenty of room for disaster in my opinion because most people have a very screwed up view of God. Most people see him as either mad all the time or sad all the time. Some people focus way too much on the sovereignty issue or the obedience thing. They expect the heavy hand of the wrath of God, the judge who sacrifices his own Son and demands total obedience. A life filled with narrowness and "Do not" commands. They fear God or they avoid him, they ignore him or they stifle him because they do not know him. If you knew him, really knew him, oh, you would be compelled by love for him.

But this is off my point. Which isn't surprising if you've been reading this blog for any amount of time. Ahem.)

We practice a lot of the behaviours of Attachment Parenting. Why? Because that is where God has lead us. I saw a lot of the practices of this - like breast-feeding, baby-wearing, co-sleeping, gentle weaning etc. - as having a motivation of unconditional love, of servanthood.

When I think about how God parents me, how Jesus loves me, it's not behaviour modification focused (just getting me to Behave Right). It's about my heart, it's about the how not the what. I certainly experience the consequences of my decision but sin is usually its own punishment.

Do I want quaking instant obedience? Marionettes of fear? Or do I want their heart knit to mine, obedience out of love and understanding, a connection of joy and gentleness, self-control, kindness, wholeness and love?

We heard a fantastic message at church on Sunday about recognizing the voice of God. Honestly, you may want to just give it a listen (once they have it up, I'll post the link) but the gist of it is that God's voice is

gentle,

sounds like the Bible,

is peaceful, steadfast, reliable, single-minded,

personal,

glorifying to Jesus which leads me to more like Him,

and convicting rather than condemning.

Any one of those things make me think, make me reflective about how I parent my children so that it lines up. I want the way I speak to them and parent them to be all of those things.

I yearn for the way that I parent my children to lead them to Abba. I want to be a path that they walk with confidence instead of a barrier or stumbling block.

Practically, here's the thing where it recently came up with Anne in regards to discipline.

We don't strike our children in any way - no spanking, no slapping, no flicking. I also try not to scream and yell. It's not hard for me because I hate screaming and yelling. Some people find it satisfying but for me, whenever I hear screaming, I just retreat and shut down. I can't handle it. It wounds some part of my soul and I can't function with screaming. So even though I can occasionally lose my temper with the tinies, I am not much of a screamer.

Which means that most of the Traditional Arsenal for Discipline was lost to me. Rats.

How do you make your kids mind if you aren't spanking or screaming?

I tried time-outs for the last few years. For the most part, it "worked" in that it stopped the behaviours I didn't like. But my heart would break for Anne. She would cry and cry in her room, devastated to be far away from us. She would come out, red-eyed and hiccuping, apologetic. Recently, she seemed unable to cope with time-outs. I would march her to room, inform her that until she could behave properly, she had to stay in here alone. And then she would lose it over the isolation from her family. Screaming, flinging herself on the floor, crying wildly. It was awful. It was breaking her heart. It wasn't a major display of temper (I know what that looks like....trust me). It was that her heart couldn't handle this. And every time I had to discipline her with a time-out, it got worse and worse. I would go in and yell - yell! me! - to STOP IT and SETTLE DOWN and STOP IT. She would cry louder and it would just continue to escalate.

I was praying and thinking about what else to do when I heard that podcast I mentioned above. They mentioned that they don't like time-outs much because it isn't what God does. After all, the Father never leaves us or forsakes us. When we run from him, he stays close, waiting. He uses love to reconcile. So instead of time-outs, if it's not working or hurting your child, try a "time-in."

It was like in the old cartoons when the light bulb went on over my head.

(As a sidenote, Anne is no longer in daycare. That is a post coming up this week. But part of this issue is related to the behaviours, exhaustion and attitudes that she was bringing home.) The next day, she pushed her brother hard. He was playing with something she wanted to play with and rather than share, she gave him the old-heave-ho. He started crying and it just began to escalate as she tried to shush him up. She disobeyed my repeated insistence to stop. So I marched her to her room as usual for time out. And again, she freaked out. So this time, I put Joseph in his high chair with some Cheerios and went into her room.

She couldn't get a grip on herself. She was sobbing and screaming. I sat on the floor and pulled her to me. I didn't say anything, just pulled her close and held her tightly. She was twitching and sobbing but allowed me to hold her. I sang quietly to her and prayed. She quieted down in seconds. Then we sat together, just hanging on for a while while she pulled herself together. We prayed together that she would learn to obey the first time and not hit her brother. She was repentant and tired. She got up and went out to Joseph and apologised. Then we continued on our day without any more incidents.

Since that day, we haven't had as many issues. And when we do, that's my cue to slow down, love her and see the issue. After all, tinies aren't all that different than us. Doing wrong is usually just an illegitimate way to meet a legitimate need. Her needs are usually legitimate, it's just that she wasn't finding the right way to meet that need.

Plus we were able to identify some things about Anne and her personality through this. She is desperate for quality time with her family. She could care less about gifts and other methods. She wants time from us. And when she is getting enough time, it's like her little Love Tank is so full that there is no acting out, no angst from her. The isolation or cutting her off from those she loves most was simply too much for her heart. And, like God, I want to react with limitless tenderness for her.

I don't know what I'll do with Joseph. That's one nice thing about God; he doesn't parent any of us the exact same way in terms of tactics. So I may not do the same things with him. We'll see. But the heart is always the same: unconditional love, grace and an invitation to true life, lived in wholeness.

In which this is a retelling

A modern telling of the B-attitudes by Rob Bell.. 140 characters at a time via @realrobbell
Blessed are those who don’t have it all together.
Blessed are those who have run out of strength, ideas, will power, resolve, or energy.
Blessed are those who ache because of how severely out of whack the world is.
Blessed are those stumble, trip, and fall in the same place again and again.
Blessed are those who on a regular basis have a dark day in which despair seems to be a step behind them wherever they go.
Blessed are you, for God is with you, God is on your side, God meets you in that place.
The gospel is the counter-intuitive, joyous, exuberant news that Jesus has brought the unending, limitless, stunning love of God to even us.
(H/T Missio Dei's Jonathan Brink)

In which this is for today

Outside my window...the trees are turning gold and red. It's pouring rain because This is Vancouver and This is What the Weather is Like in October. And there is an entire building of apartments looking back at me.

I am thinking...about our new home... arranging furniture, picking out paint colours, drooling over the thought of a garage.

I am thankful for....two tinies taking their nap at the same time today. HOLLA!

From the kitchen....Black Bean and Corn Chicken in the crockpot for tonight.

I am wearing....comfy and worn out blue jeans, a grey sweater and argyle socks.

I am creating....Christmas presents for Brian's family. But sshhhhhhh.

I am going....to the library today.

I am reading... The Know It All by AJ Jacobs.

I am hoping....that one of these days I will become motivated to pack. Still nothing. I move in less than two weeks. And I haven't packed a thing.

I am hearing...every noise. Next door is playing loud music. Kids outside. Someone upstairs won't answer their ringing phone. Can you tell I'll be glad to get out of city apartment-land? Oh, and a good thing they didn't ask "I am smelling..." because that answer would have to be POT. Yes, skunk-weed floating around the common area. Good times.

Around the house...it's quiet though. Tinies in for naptime.

One of my favorite things...is the fact that it's Friday. And Brian will be home on time tonight (fingers crossed). And we have a whole weekend together.

A few plans for the rest of the week...lots of work to do. Lots of cleaning. Lots of laundry. And then more laundry. Little inclination to do anything other than hang out, watch movies and knit.

A picture to share...

The small boy is starting to learn to walk. He loves to practice.

(H/T to Ali Edwards for the idea.)

In which it always matters

We sponsor a little boy in India through Compassion. We also sponsor a little girl whose parents died of AIDS in Rwanda through World Vision.

Their pictures are on our refrigerator. I write them letters and cards. We send $40 a month to Betty and $35 a month to Raj for school, medical help and provisions. They send me their report cards.

It feels like it can't possibly be enough.

But it's two lives. And to Betty and Raj, it is enough.

Catalyst 2009 Compassion Moment from Catalyst on Vimeo.

This beautiful man from Kenya met his Compassion sponsor for the first time. "Mark from Canada" started to sponsor Jimmy 19 years ago when Mark was just 20. (Jimmy starts to talk around the 3:45 mark.)

And now?

Well, you just try to watch it and remain unmoved.

In which we were meant to be

I love him like I love breathing.

He is that necessary to me,

that intrinsic to my being.

He is my soul, my best,

my family,

everything beautiful of my life.

Life may be hard,

unexplainable,

but we are never the issue.

We are the rock, we are the anchor,

we are the centre where I find my feet.

Everything and everyone else may be moving

but he,

he is my true north.

He kissed me when I was a teenager,

he held me up while I gave birth to our children.

He wrapped around me in the stillness,

he saw new things with me.

He believes in me,

when I even I can't see it.

We grew together

changed in ways we never could have foreseen.

Now we are growing old together.

We have wept together,

laughed together,

given birth together,

mourned together.

We go far back, tracing the line of time backwards with each other

and no one - no one -

knows me like this man knows me.

I am vulnerable here

but never more safe.

And here is the amazing thing -

he loves me more

for the true knowing of me.

And I love him more

for the true knowing of him.

If I have done one thing right in my life,

it will be for him.

We will go our graves

convinced that we,

somehow - divinely,

sacredly and purposefully,

we were

meant to be.

In which I am experiencing a thousand gifts (104)

This morning

I am thankful for

this,

read in the first light of morning:

So, chosen by God for this new life of love,

dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you:

compassion,

kindness,

humility,

quiet strength,

discipline.

Be even-tempered,

content with second place,

quick to forgive an offense.

Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master forgave you.

And regardless of what else you put on,

wear love.

It's your basic, all-purpose garment.

Never be without it.

Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune with each other,

in step with each other.

None of this going off and doing your own thing.

And cultivate thankfulness.

Let the Word of Christ—the Message—have the run of the house.

Give it plenty of room in your lives.

Instruct and direct one another using good common sense.

And sing, sing your hearts out to God!

Let every detail in your lives—words, actions, whatever—

be done in the name of the Master,

Jesus,

thanking God the Father

every step of the way.

(From the Book of Colossians, chapter 3, verses 12 through 17 in The Message.)

Truth is wrapped around me,

worn like clothing.

I am learning to give Love and Truth

the run of my house.

Every detail in my life,

singing a song of gratitude.

And today, Thanksgiving Day,

I am learning to give thanks

every step

of my way.

In which we spent the day at the Cranberry Festival

Brian was volunteering all day at the new Mercy House on Saturday. (Sidenote: Have I mentioned that I love this man? This man that works hard all week long and then gives up his Saturday to haul drywall for free? Just because he believes in what we're doing? He is a gift from God.) So it was just me and the tinies. And I was grouchy because Joseph and I hadn't slept well the night before. It was either A) Stay home and drive my children insane with my exhaustion and bad attitude or B) go out and enjoy the beautiful fall day. I called my parents to join us but they couldn't make it. At first I almost reconsidered but then I pressed on. And I'm so glad that I did!

We went to the Fort Langley Cranberry Festival! Fort Langley is one of my favourite ways to spend a fall or summer morning. And this was their big fall festival so we enjoyed the crafts, artwork, food and music all morning long.

Don't ask me to walk by an old church or chapel and NOT take a picture of it. Because that is impossible. I love old churches.

Unfortunately, I didn't find the flea market at St. Andrews that good. What's happened to the old church ladies with their fabulous quilts and crocheted tea cozies? Not many soft grannies that smell like baking around anymore, I suppose.

In other news, Annie's blonde hair is long enough for pig tails. I usually like to keep her hair bobbed but haven't gotten her to the hair dresser lately. Isn't she a sweet girl?

And this is tired and grumpy Joseph. And his beautiful new HOMEMADE (yes, I knitted that) pumpkin hat. Just in time for fall. Yay!

I'm sure that Nellie would roll over in her grave if she knew that I paid some hobby farmer $5 to lead Anne around the pasture on a pony. But I couldn't resist and we are city folk. And despite the blurry picture (my camera isn't that grand), you can see why I did it. She loved that pony and Scooter was a firm friend by the time she was ready to dismount.

He perked up a bit for the dancing. There were some wonderful bands this year.
And mini-donuts seemed to go over well for both of them.

The style of Fort Langley - the old turn of the century buildings and quaint shops - is something I never tire of. But I am someone who likes braided rugs and is, right now, baking pies for Thanksgiving. And I love quilts. And I knit. So take that with a grain of salt.

Dancing, dancing, dancing! We boogied for a while. It was so warm and crisp outside. And really, what says fall like spinning in the grass to old Judds tunes? I can't tell you how many times my sister and I listened to "Grandpa....tell me 'bout the good ol' days..." on our mix tape. Memories!

And of course, what's a market without a huge bouquet of fall flowers like dahlias and sunflowers to bring home? Since it was the Cranberry Festival and all, we also picked up some fresh cranberries. Which Anne and Joseph discovered, after shoving a handful into their mouths, need a bit of sugar to really taste good. And picked up a few vintage handkerchiefs.

We were all warm, full, happy and tired by the time we left. I love festivals like this and couldn't easily make it a yearly tradition.

Particularly for the mini-donuts. Cinnamon-sugary-hot-goodness.

Don't be a hater.

In which I am changing the world today

My hope -

my earnest expectation, my joy and my anchor in the midst of a storm -

is that even

my life matters.

It isn't all meaningless. There is a reason, a purpose, a plan.

Because, you see, I am changing the world today.

My life can feel small sometimes.

Compared to what I dreamed about.

Where is my Great Canadian Novel?

Where is my money?

(Seriously. Where is it?)

Where is my fame?

Where are the thousands of people

that I am impacting?

Instead, here is what I do:

(and the doing of it will not make me famous)

I get up three times during the night,

stepping over a small girl sleeping on a toddler mattress in the corner of our bedroom,

to reach for the crying baby boy.

I hold him in the pitch-dark, letting his mouth find my breast,

his instincts in the dark are better than mine.

Sometimes I fall asleep in the chair.

Then I lay him back in his bed, stumble back to my bed,

checking to make sure that the wee girl is properly covered and warm before

sliding into the covers, pressing up against my husband's back.

And two hours later, I do it all over again.

I lay in bed every morning for an extra thirty minutes

while Brian gets ready and the tinies dance around him in the washroom.

This is my gift in return for being up all night - 3o minutes in bed by myself.

It's my time to pray, to breathe, to meditate.

Then I crawl out from the duvet,

kiss my husband with my lips shut tight against morning breath,

and make our beds.

My daughter runs a commentary all morning long

(evidently not speaking all night long has resulted in a burst dam of conversation),

words spilling behind her as she follows us about the house.

Joseph sits at my feet and reaches up with his dimpled arms,

calling "MumMumMumMumMum"

until I reach down and lift him up.

He burrows his runny nose into my hair,

clutches my neck and burrows.

I get frustrated trying to get everyone dressed and clean for the day.

I sometimes forget to make sure everyone's teeth are brushed.

I am responsible for clipping 60 fingernails.

I notice that Anne only likes colourless food these days...

things that are yellow, brown or a dull orange....

foods like macaroni, grilled cheese, bread, crackers, cereal, cream of wheat.

I make a pot of tea every morning and it's usually gone by 10 AM.

I sit on the floor and build puzzles.

We read books.

I don't eat breakfast until nearly lunchtime.

They squabble over toys and territory.

I longingly think of wearing high heels and being in my office again.

We read books.

We make up a song about a new letter every day.

This week we are singing about the letter W.

W W W W W W is for WATER.

W is for WATERMELON.

W is for WET.

W is for (dum dum ba dah dah dum) WIGGLE!

And then we wiggle all over the house.

Neither one of us can sing (Anne is shockingly off-key)

but we just keep trying to come up with W words and

then when we can't think of anymore,

we holler WIGGLE and wiggle all over again.

Joseph quite enjoys wiggling, we've discovered.

I laugh until I nearly cry.

I see their little heads, bent close together,

working away on something and I feel full.

We go for walks. We go to Starbucks.

We chat with our neighbours. We go the bank.

We come home for lunch. The tinies go to bed for a nap.

And I go to work.

I write press releases. I research.

I read stories of women that are caught fast in nets of despair,

depression, alcoholism, drug abuse, physical and sexual abuse,

self-harm, anorexia and bulimia.

I am their advocate.

I am advocating for their freedom and

their release from the prison of hopelessness.

I write a marketing strategy.

I think long and hard about what our key performance drivers should be.

I pray for more money to come in.

I write web pages.

I pray that the tinies will stay asleep so I can finish more work.

I feel small, David against Goliath sometimes.

But full of faith and hope and love,

knowing that we are doing a great thing in small steps.

Then they wake up.

And I'm exhausted, my sleepless night catching me again.

But we do our chores now.

We clean, we do laundry, we bake, we get supper ready.

And what's that sound?

Is that a key in the door?

It is.

It's Papa Bear, Mumma! Papa Bear is home!

Brian walks in the door and Anne promptly informs him that he is STINKY.

But he kisses all of us.

And he goes to have a shower after a day spent

laying hardwood floors or building decks or repairing walls.

We eat our supper, we talk about our days,

he wants the details of everything Joseph learned.

And Anne never stops talking. Joseph never stops eating.

Brian wraps his arms around me

while I step around the dishwasher door open in the kitchen.

I squirm away,

too busy to stop for a hug sometimes.

We bath the tinies, at the end letting Anne have deep water

and bubbles with her Noah's Ark toys for a half hour.

That's our time with Joseph, to get him ready for bed,

for Brian to play with him one-on-one.

Now it's seven o'clock already so everyone has to head to bed.

I am nursing Joseph, holding him close to my body,

his blonde hair curling against me while I am reading emails.

Brian is in our bed, reading

The Sneetches or Amelia Bedelia or "Curious AND George, Daddy."

We say prayers, we tuck babies into their beds,

we remember we need to brush their teeth,

we decide it can wait until tomorrow morning.

We meet in the living room at 7:30, both exhausted from our days.

We talk. We laugh. We lay on the floor and complain.

Brian checks football and hockey scores. I write a blog.

We watch The Daily Show online.

I knit Christmas presents, a long list in my mind of projects to complete.

We read books. We kiss on the floor for a while.

He goes to bed.

The house is quiet at last.

I clean up the kitchen, tuck away the last of the toys.

I sit on the couch and wind yarn in the silence, just enjoying a still house after

the tornado of activity all day.

I know I should go to bed - a long night is ahead -

but I can't surrender the quiet.

And yet this frees me to hopeful instead of despairing.

Some people find the daily work a distraction.

A barrier between them and their real self.

This is my real self.

This is my real life.

I am changing the world today by changing one life at a time.

By being fully present, by making space for God wherever I walk,

by being open and full of invitation to the Holy Spirit.

I am changing the world and I am starting with myself.

So I find hope here.

I find hope in the corners of my daily life.

I am finding hope because I am surrounded by love.

This is it.

No do-overs.

My hope is that what I am doing now,

today,

matters.

In which I decided not to do a giveaway after all

I was recently invited to go to our local Babies R Us to "preview" the new Safety 1st car seat. It was on the same day as Joseph's birthday and so I didn't go. They still sent me a lovely (and enormous) gift basket filled with Safety 1st products.

Most of them are for smaller babies - it had a baby bath, a cradle cap solutions kit, a baby view mirror, a temperature-checking device for the tub, a Baby on Board sign, a bottle cooler lunch bag thing and then (randomly) a toddler bike helmet among other things. I was going to just do a giveaway here on the old blogaroo for you locals.

But when Brian got home last night, he asked if he could have it. A friend of his at work is about to bring home his baby boy from the hospital. This wee baby was premature and has spent his entire life in NICU. They've nearly lost him more times than Brian can remember and he has spent a lot of time praying for this man and covering his shifts and even going to the hospital to visit them both. There is a bit of a situation between the dad and the mother so it's not an easy or straight-forward situation. But the wee boy is well enough to go home. So Brian wanted to take the stuff to his friend and give it to him. Even the Cars toddler bike helmet.

And I hope you don't mind, but I said that was just fine.

(As a note, I received no compensation, monetary, car seat or otherwise from Safety 1st nor did they require me to mention anything about this on my blog in exchange for the gift basket. I just occasionally get invitations from PR folks to attend these types of events in hopes that I will be so dazzled that I must mention it on my blog.)

In which I made this so they have to like it.

I couldn't find a backpack for the tinies' foray into daycare that wasn't:

A) of a weight and heft that exceeded their own or

B) featuring a photograph of Hannah Montana or the Jonas Brothers, neither of whom exert much influence over my tinies as of yet. And I'd like to keep it that way, thankyouverymuch.

So that left me with the option of either putting up/shutting up or making our own.

So this Home Ec Drop Out dug out the Simplicity sewing machine, read the manual a few times to figure out how to wind the bobbin and launched into the adventure.

Of course, the most fun is going to the fabric store to choose your fabric.

This is the nice part about being the grown up. When your children want something that is, say, covered with hockey logos or soccer balls or puppies, you can veto it and suggest something more whimsical and suitable.

Hypothetically.

I had a lot of fun. But I have established one thing.

I'd rather be knitting.

In which someone wasn't too sure about the cake

We have a tradition in our family that a baby does not taste sugar until their first birthday. Then, and only then, are they introduced to the magic that is sugar.

Joseph was evidently unimpressed.

In which the deep freeze is standing at the ready

Well, a semi-attached house anyway. Some people call them duplexes. Other people call them semi-detached.

We call it a Dream Come True.

This process of house hunting and real estate is wearying in Vancouver and area. The market for condos (which we were selling) was down. The market for houses (which we wanted) was raging. After two months (and a near miss with insanity), we sold our condo.

And then we went house-hunting in Abbotsford. The only houses we could afford had issues like sloping kitchens. Or being built on top of a power sub station (hello, leukemia). Or perched on a cliff about to tumble off. Or used to be a grow-op. Or had been trashed in a domestic violence situation.

We did find a split-level on a cul-de-sac that we liked a lot. We put in our offer. It turned into a multiple bidding war. We were significant thousands of dollars over our budget when we bowed out. And then found out that they hadn't chosen us anyway because we dared to request an inspection of the property. Imagine that. Silly us.

We regrouped. We prayed. We talked. We realised that we did not, in fact, want me to go back to work full time just so we could live in a detached house. A detached house which we would then only be enjoying on evenings and weekends as we all went our separate ways to work and daycares. We decided to make a move that reduced our expenses while expanding our space.

Enter House of Dreams.

We found this semi-attached house on Saturday. I promptly fell in love with it. It's white with green trim. It's the last house on the street, backing onto a greenbelt hillside. There is a tiny yard out back and in front. Not much but it's enough for us. There are walking trails out back. It's tucked back in the city and it's close to good schools.

And would you like to know something? It's 2100 sq ft. That's almost 3 TIMES THE SIZE OF MY CONDO.

Yes. Someone get out the white hankies and start waving.

Oh, I'm happy dancing.

It's a basement entry rancher. That means that you walk in the front door into the basement. You go up the stairs to get to the enormous kitchen, dining room (DINING ROOM! DID YOU HEAR THAT!?), living room with fireplace, three bedrooms (THREE! BEDROOMS!), full washroom and even master en suite. The basement consist of a rec room, a den for my office as I work from home, another bedroom, a full bathroom and a laundry room. And it has a double attached garage. Which made Brian nearly sob with joy, envisioning his tools hanging on a peg board.

It's 15 years old and needs a good scrubbing. Which, as a MacLeod, I am well equipped to administer. Maybe I can fly my Auntie out from Moose Jaw to help.... It needs some serious painting as most of the walls are eggplant purple. The appliances leave much to be desired and may need replacing shortly.

But here's the beautiful thing - it's ours. OURS! We made an offer and it was countered which we accepted. We got it at a great value. Most of the other homes in the area are going for significantly more. I always like to have a the cheapest house in the nicest neighbourhood because then you have a quick opportunity to add value (can you tell I watch Relocation Relocation too much? But I think Kirstie and Phil would approve.). I am happy with the decision for the semi-attached house from a financial standpoint. This way I can continue to stay home with the tinies without us going broke or into debt.

I haven't slept for dreaming of paint colours and arranging furniture.

This feels so good. I have such a peace about the home and about our decision that lead us here. We are ready to settle down together, to put down roots in a community, to stay put for a while for once.

I think I may be ready for my deep freeze.