tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57852394201796608602024-02-08T00:36:19.813-05:00Adventures of Baker BabeBaker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-4848308673951904482016-02-08T10:27:00.001-05:002016-02-08T10:27:30.068-05:00In The Swamp<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlubw6zL4XtIce4tsfiB7soQoFwj10i2ygXXMNZ5lKQDm4kV6KLqDC72ERfba8nDjh77bS5RPXM9pfCmcOObTaWYnwm7h4fS0xChcJllTx_fhyphenhyphenZ1ZRx9ez96yIxKp0EbsKr3I7OPXyYQ/s1600/IMG_8554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlubw6zL4XtIce4tsfiB7soQoFwj10i2ygXXMNZ5lKQDm4kV6KLqDC72ERfba8nDjh77bS5RPXM9pfCmcOObTaWYnwm7h4fS0xChcJllTx_fhyphenhyphenZ1ZRx9ez96yIxKp0EbsKr3I7OPXyYQ/s320/IMG_8554.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our protest at Old City Hall Feb 4, 2016</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">I cried at the breakfast table this
morning, in front of my kids. I don’t do this often, if ever, but today I did.
My three year-old daughter looked at me with such concern and sweetness, and
quickly put her arms around my neck. I buried my face deep into her little
body, her purest of innocence.</span></span><style><!--
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">All the while, thinking – I want this to be
a better world for you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I have entrenched myself in the current
trial of Jian Ghomeshi. I am sorry I just had to write his name, because his
name feels like a mosquito in a swamp. It’s this swamp we’re all in, stuck in the glue of its shit, trying desperately
to get out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Last November, when the story broke, it
sent a huge shockwave through me, and seemed to affect everyone I know – specifically
all the women I know – in a deep, sickening way. We were all deeply disturbed,
and we were sad. It was hard for me to put my finger on why exactly, why was I <i>that
affected, </i></span><span lang="EN-GB">seeing as I wasn’t really a fan or a
listener or a follower of him in any way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But there I was, disturbed and anxious, reading everything I could,
talking to everyone I could, trying to alleviate some of my emotion, and trying
to understand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">His trial started last Monday, and again –
here I am – a mess. My sleep is disturbed, and there is a general undercurrent
of anger and sadness inside of me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I think we reach a place where we can’t
take anymore, and sometimes we don’t even know what that anymore is, until it
bubbles up and screams in our faces.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This is screaming in my face, this is
pounding away at my heart, this is chipping away at my gut. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I can’t take the violence. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I can’t take the silencing of women.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I can’t take the culture of rape.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I can’t take the way the world is.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"> I just can’t take it anymore.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I can’t accept that all of this happens,
and this is what we are supposed to accept, and this is what is normal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Is this normal?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">But again, I ask myself why – why am I so
upset? Because this story is about what we allow, and all the allowances I have
made. All the ways I have lost my power, and have used my body to get some power
and acknowledgement. All the times I have smiled uncomfortably when I should
have been yelling NO.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It’s all there, in my body. It’s a swamp.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It’s a dark green sludge of a slimy swamp,
and it has coated my cells. But now – now it is coming up. And in my view, it
is what is coming up in everyone. It is coming up because of this story,
because of this man, because of these women that are speaking up, and sharing
their imperfect truths, and because of our backwards system, that is
exemplifying its lack of protection for women. Because everywhere you go,
people are talking about this, and the news is plastering it on its paper and
soundwaves and screens. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It wants to change.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I am a 38 year-old woman. In my lifetime, I
have:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">- had my legs rubbed in a weird way by a
60+ year old man when I was nine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">- been mugged in an alleyway while walking
alone, my jaw fractured, when I was 15.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">- been stalked by a stranger when
travelling alone in Mexico, when I was 25.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">- said yes countless times when I actually
wanted to say no.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">- been groped, had my butt slapped, been
subject to countless comments about my appearance, been catcalled and whistled
at, been propositioned on the street countless times. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">- given away my power more times than I
could ever possibly count. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maybe you’ll look at that and think – well,
that’s not too bad, that’s kind of <i>normal. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Is it? Is that normal?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Because I can tell you, that if any one of
those things – any one – were to happen to my daughter, I would be cracking
skulls. Cracking them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So where is the barometer here? Is it that
we are to expect at least some of this behaviour in our lifetime, and if we
don’t get too much of it, then we consider ourselves lucky?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Why have so many women that I know been
raped? Is this <i>normal?</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I need to tell you that it’s not. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I need to tell you that I can’t take it
anymore. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I need to tell you that it wants to change.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And I need to tell you that all of us are
in this swamp, and we need to get out. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjH7CNXey2SlTr7uqLQ2-0YaPEmmecPqhI9mAUWrxpjVwP7tX9NZ2gV28hZxE4Ezp-w_qZKIBDYUtL6QTm_K_t_HS5CuU_R_n3DBMff1AoL78xn-uogcBmf-cvr1BnlhmdOIC6AnriA/s1600/IMG_8544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjH7CNXey2SlTr7uqLQ2-0YaPEmmecPqhI9mAUWrxpjVwP7tX9NZ2gV28hZxE4Ezp-w_qZKIBDYUtL6QTm_K_t_HS5CuU_R_n3DBMff1AoL78xn-uogcBmf-cvr1BnlhmdOIC6AnriA/s200/IMG_8544.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom at the protest. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7xd1TD9z5v_JE0rKBsjjuvLtN3sEBuVh4RGmB3qWbPorwBCbcNhmxRWTuccTNRAdW0WWTZE3lD6pJjq-H54oTuK_V482dfXrY6WmTySZl3X_BZa5Dxzy2gFRW1L77JNc-RoeyeU1bg/s1600/IMG_8546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7xd1TD9z5v_JE0rKBsjjuvLtN3sEBuVh4RGmB3qWbPorwBCbcNhmxRWTuccTNRAdW0WWTZE3lD6pJjq-H54oTuK_V482dfXrY6WmTySZl3X_BZa5Dxzy2gFRW1L77JNc-RoeyeU1bg/s200/IMG_8546.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me at the protest. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-GB">I don’t know how to get out exactly, but I
can tell you this: I will no longer be staying silent during any uncomfortable
moments. I will no longer try to “get what I want” by using my looks, my body,
my sex. I am going to call it out, from now on. I
will stand as a defender and protector to anyone who is mistreated. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I urge you to do the same. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -31.5pt; margin-right: -.5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-72568545320921735192015-07-31T22:07:00.004-04:002015-07-31T22:17:04.213-04:00Easy Peach Galette I had my first peach of the summer the other day. I took the first bite, pulled it away from my mouth and stopped to look at it, while thinking: this is the best f*^king thing I have ever eaten. Peaches are everything that summer is about: sweet and ripe and messy and full of juice, and just don't stick around long enough. This is why people can the crap out of peaches: to catch summer at its peak and enjoy them in February, when things are just plain bleak. A bad peach is a horrible disappointment. I can eat a mediocre strawberry, but I just can't eat a less-than peach.<br />
<br />
I've been battling an annoying addiction to the internet and all of its many rabbit-holes, one of them being looking at beautiful food. Do men do this? Look at pictures of food on the internet? My husband thinks it is downright strange that I do this, but I think his scrolling for guitars and music gear is just as weird. We obsess... And then - I notice myself at the fruit market buying a basket of peaches and I realize that I have seen about 537 beautiful pictures of galettes this summer. Galettes. A quick, throw-together, rustic, messy pie of a thing. I finally had a mission and purpose in life: to make a peach galette.<br />
<br />
<i>Here is what I did:</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5K9oDOVyVKJyPbiUrHXjtAiBcmtXeO5Kj5-J9u2N0-NH_GAfKe_u5F5ox0sGpvds19-Er8IhyJzQtYvfWyDXIfFot06rDXYE8OyfPk_H_IEoP_xCqS2esJMqy7AoB4mobiV6AZ9wfBw/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5K9oDOVyVKJyPbiUrHXjtAiBcmtXeO5Kj5-J9u2N0-NH_GAfKe_u5F5ox0sGpvds19-Er8IhyJzQtYvfWyDXIfFot06rDXYE8OyfPk_H_IEoP_xCqS2esJMqy7AoB4mobiV6AZ9wfBw/s200/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<b>Spelt and Cornmeal Pate Brisee:</b><br />
1 3/4 cups organic light spelt flour<br />
1/2 cup organic yellow cornmeal<br />
1 tsp sea salt<br />
2 tsp raw sugar<br />
2 sticks of ice cold unsalted butter, cut into small squares<br />
1/4 c ice water<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlE_EWk56wBXs7IWolzvYaO1x6LbaW904_AnR0A2yoM_WC09zpR8rKKQv6QH4PZMreFypO3Oa8JVpkZ3rAIZdM0Kbd22OwIxu89W_2-rfra5IIerBykNzCvEufb5kl9M4SrF7RgE-Yw/s1600/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlE_EWk56wBXs7IWolzvYaO1x6LbaW904_AnR0A2yoM_WC09zpR8rKKQv6QH4PZMreFypO3Oa8JVpkZ3rAIZdM0Kbd22OwIxu89W_2-rfra5IIerBykNzCvEufb5kl9M4SrF7RgE-Yw/s200/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" width="200" /></a>Place the flour, cornmeal, salt, and sugar in the bowl of a food processor, and pulse until blended. Next add butter, and pulse again until the butter looks like tiny peas in the flour. Then with the food processor on, add the ice water in a stream and stop as soon as the dough begins to clump, but is still crumbly looking. Shape the dough into a disk with your hands, without handling it very much. Wrap it in saran wrap and put it in your fridge for at least one hour.<br />
When you are ready to make the galette, take the dough out of the fridge, and preheat your oven to 425F.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSeFt_q2WiThI1nPt3E5CXvSHo_SYnKBVBhj3VIc6H2a4uScwEciHpIvlhqJrAUEfurFrfg2T-hU79wojiksWnmAfy-eGx3MS2FcVrAqJvys3i7uzbah3i4jSNRlmnjZDLGjY2KfEvA/s1600/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSeFt_q2WiThI1nPt3E5CXvSHo_SYnKBVBhj3VIc6H2a4uScwEciHpIvlhqJrAUEfurFrfg2T-hU79wojiksWnmAfy-eGx3MS2FcVrAqJvys3i7uzbah3i4jSNRlmnjZDLGjY2KfEvA/s320/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" width="320" /></a><b>Peach Filling:</b><br />
6 medium-ripe peaches (not too ripe), cut into 1/2" wedges<br />
2 tbsp organic light spelt flour<br />
2 tbsp raw sugar<br />
Juice of 1/2 lemon<br />
pinch of cinnamon<br />
pinch of salt<br />
1 tsp vanilla<br />
2 tbsp butter, cut into chunks<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieWfZdTQGEwdQ5QnykN29Sd-VVF5SOB2JReF8lDS0_dpPIWOHcuJvivQaP5L8pAx4sIBB5GNMARDAfDuM6EXXGDU5gwbPmhwVkJvETQFdBU9nY85a8hT2vj_xg-GskzOw7r0d6_Q_3Aw/s1600/FullSizeRender_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieWfZdTQGEwdQ5QnykN29Sd-VVF5SOB2JReF8lDS0_dpPIWOHcuJvivQaP5L8pAx4sIBB5GNMARDAfDuM6EXXGDU5gwbPmhwVkJvETQFdBU9nY85a8hT2vj_xg-GskzOw7r0d6_Q_3Aw/s320/FullSizeRender_3.jpg" width="281" /></a><br />
Place all these ingredients - except the butter - in a bowl, and toss everything together lightly to coat the peaches.<br />
Roll out your galette by dividing the chilled dough in half, and placing one mound on a rectangle of parchment that matches your cookie tray (mine is 9" x 13"). Sprinkle some cornmeal on the top to ease the rolling. Roll it out to a circle approximately 10" in diameter. Either throw your peaches on there in a big heap, or do it nicely by making neat rows starting 2" in from the edge. Once the fruit is placed, fold the edges over. Try to seal the cracks if any of the dough breaks while folding. Scatter those butter chunks on the top, then transfer the parchment to your cookie tray, and bake for 20-25 minutes, or until the edges of the crust look golden-brown.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQagSlvLWqsnIcZPB3_0nkWPbZI6e0kKVNUsNCjyEQlXFFNgCOmwe_eyONkv8NxjH82kt5MXSTtH3zHCbzDHcwf0KcCYQiW1MSlE3W57TjWl6VDI-vToNy4go4KqnU2mDOiDxXnkWyFw/s1600/FullSizeRender_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQagSlvLWqsnIcZPB3_0nkWPbZI6e0kKVNUsNCjyEQlXFFNgCOmwe_eyONkv8NxjH82kt5MXSTtH3zHCbzDHcwf0KcCYQiW1MSlE3W57TjWl6VDI-vToNy4go4KqnU2mDOiDxXnkWyFw/s320/FullSizeRender_4.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrMxLJlzE9n_SCkggjmZ8nBrsafrm1tAjXNYQ3S7oZRNBp_7dBAFI6hGVU-pYEIs1wxHnrwz4pJvk4fcVZKlZBytr1IbQ_3Jv-bqo_lE02jBAJtZ6Wv0uySlhyWWSf9K4nrrAFbrqEA/s1600/FullSizeRender%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrMxLJlzE9n_SCkggjmZ8nBrsafrm1tAjXNYQ3S7oZRNBp_7dBAFI6hGVU-pYEIs1wxHnrwz4pJvk4fcVZKlZBytr1IbQ_3Jv-bqo_lE02jBAJtZ6Wv0uySlhyWWSf9K4nrrAFbrqEA/s320/FullSizeRender%25282%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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We served ours with coconut whipped cream. I can't give you that recipe right now because I'm really hot and tired, but I'm sure you can easily find it on the highly-addictive internet. <br />
Enjoy!<br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-49784038529265450352015-07-23T23:04:00.001-04:002015-07-23T23:13:50.341-04:00The Colour of Grief<style> <!--
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<span lang="EN-GB">My father died eight years ago today. I didn't realize this until I was at the coffee shop with Cedar and Brian this morning, and wrote the date into my journal. I wrote about my dad while Bri and Cedar drew funny pictures of aliens. I cried, wrote, answered to Cedar a few times, drank my coffee, and kissed the top of my boy's head more than usual. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB">I made a pact with myself, that even when I am with my kids, I will still find the time to write, even if it's a messy sentence or two minutes of a poem, or just an idea to paper. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB">I also made a pact with myself to share more of my writing. Here is what I wrote this morning. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>The Colour of Grief</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Death - it's a shaken box. Everything in
it, rattling. A snowglobe scene of life, upside down. The car, the heatwave,
the blueberry hand pie and strong espresso, my stomach, his long limbs - bare
now. No fat. No momentum. Like a tree whose leaves did not take. Skinny poplar
branches. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">He was sleeping in my brother's bed, the
bed I'd slept in the night before; listening, listening for any sound he might
make. A part of me awake all night. A vigil. The TV channel was set to a nature
sounds station. Birds chirping all night, a monotonous stream, sometimes
crickets and wind. My father’s snore, for the first and last time, the greatest
comfort to me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Love. Love in my chest. A weeping love. A
nervous love. Love holding on tight, making stamps of everything, everything,
to keep as memories. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The heat wave, the fan, the back and forth,
the up and down of stairs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Death. Making its slow, definite way toward
us. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">You don’t, you can’t say goodbye. Who and
what are you saying that to? People slip through dimensions, their bodies left
like laundry on the floor. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I did not say goodbye. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">My body was so heavy with love; love’s new
face, love’s new sadness, love’s loss. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">My father’s eyes were blue as Lake Louise
that morning, as he slipped away, through that building of his body, clean as a
canoe cutting through water. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And me, us, here like remnants. The rattled
box now still. The sweeping through complete. Now there is just debris. Now
there is just grief. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The sunset that day was the kind that makes
you breathe more deeply, makes you stop, makes everything feel held in beauty.
It was pink and orange and even purple in places. It was every colour my heart
was; a bruise so beautiful I could not look away. </span><br />
<br />
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Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-37968898918231630942014-08-06T23:08:00.001-04:002014-08-06T23:34:36.442-04:00Go for GoodnessSee that picture down there? That's my family. If you're anything like me, you might look at that photo and feel a twinge of envy, mainly because you'll assume that one photo tells a story of our lives, as opposed to the one moment we captured. That was a really, really happy moment. That's why I snapped a shot. I can tell you, so very honestly, that those moments don't happen all the time when raising small kids. I just don't snap pictures of myself screaming into pillows or punching walls, or scowling at my spouse for not doing the laundry *right*.<br />
But this, this was a great moment:<br />
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Before I had kids, one of my teachers told me that the greatest spiritual growth I would find would be in having and raising kids. It sure sounded glossy to me when she said it, and I know my heart swelled, but flash forward four years from that shared wisdom to me wiping the kitchen floor for the third time today or getting kicked in the eye, or picking up a turd from the carpet that my toddler left behind. There is nothing glossy about it. But she was right - this has been, and is, the greatest edge I've ever encountered in my life, and I have grown more as a person than I could have imagined.<br />
<br />
I have often wondered about the Creator's Master Plan. It's ironic you know, that one of the main objectives of raising a human is to foster independence. We live a good portion of our lives being independent and full of ego, and doing what we want, when we want, and then BOOM we have kids and all the stuff the ego thrives on gets completely destroyed.<br />
It's not about you anymore. It's not even about them, really. It's about being willing to give to other humans wholeheartedly, and to jump into the abyss of service. <br />
<br />
My two biggest parenting challenges have been:<br />
<i>1) Controlling my temper. </i><br />
This means that I blow sometimes. I get full to the brim from sensory overload and frustration and I blow. After I blow I feel like the world's worst mother and I beat myself up for days and days. It's a shitty cycle and it sucks. So I work on it daily: cultivating patience.<br />
<br />
<i>2) Knowing what to do with my kids. </i><br />
I know that sounds weird, but I have a lot of anxiety around my time alone with them: finding things to do, keeping them occupied, trying new things, getting creative. I realized that I am not confident with my ability to play and be on the spot. So what happens? I get angry (see above) and the cycle continues.<br />
I have told myself that I'm just not good at it. I look at other parents playing with their kids and I compare myself. I zone out when with them, or avoid moments of playtime by doing housework or making busy. Meanwhile, I miss out on all the moments of connection that I long for. <br />
<br />
My older child is almost 4, and it was just a few days ago that I decided to ditch this story of me being a shitty parent and get down on the floor with him and play. What was the hang-up? I've been afraid to fail. Afraid to try things I don't feel good at. Afraid to let go and jump into the moment.<br />
<br />
Someone said to me today, "You know what? I think I'm really afraid of failure" to which I replied, "Who isn't?"<br />
I know it's only been a few days, but in deciding to be open to trying new things, to committing to being present and playful with my kids, I feel like someone new. I feel my heart opening. I feel my vulnerability and humanness. I feel like it's okay to suck at this for awhile because then I'll get good at it. <br />
<br />
I had a breakthrough.<br />
<br />
And here's the wisdom I want to share:<br />
My fear of failure and insecurity showed up in the form of a bad attitude. You know, "I hate playing with them. Playing is so boring. This sucks. I'd rather be doing anything else..."<br />
A bad attitude is like being stuck in stone.<br />
In shifting my attitude, I discovered that the voice of intuition kicks in. This is the voice that knows how to play with my kids, knows what they need, knows how to be present. It's all there, I just have to keep kicking the shitty voices away.<br />
<br />
And hey, look, this is us playing:<br />
<br />
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I hope I've inspired you to go for some goodness. Seriously, there is awful stuff happening in the world these days. Every act of love matters. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-32609297903052510302014-05-29T15:06:00.000-04:002014-05-29T15:06:08.119-04:00My Friend, The UndertowWhen I was nine years old, my mom took my sister and I to Mexico for a vacation. I remember it as one of the strangest and most chaotic experiences of my life; we were almost electrocuted in a swimming pool, our hotel was broken into one night, my sister and I had a Sibling Fight Club moment that resulted in my head falling into, and breaking, a glass table by the pool, plus I had a bad case of Montezuma's revenge. <br />
It was also the first time I went into the ocean since being a very small kid accompanied by a parent. I was enthralled and excited by the waves. For most of the trip, I played just on the lip of the shore, going waist-high, and staying close enough to where my mother was.<br />
<br />
One day I must have been feeling more bold, or perhaps the tides were stronger, but I got pulled into the undertow. I can still see, so clearly, what the underbelly of the ocean looks like: bubbles and froth and particles of sand and debris. I was whipped around into a perfect circle, my neck scraping the rough floor.<br />
I emerged gasping and shaking. Terrified. It was the first time I felt the force of nature as something big and scary, with the power to hurt me.<br />
Since then, I have never been bold with the ocean. I am timid and usually afraid, and even the smallest waves unnerve me.<br />
I watch surfers and swimmers in awe; jealous of their ease and confidence. They were probably pulled into the undertow a hundred times, but just kept trying.<br />
<br />
What does this have to do with anything?<br />
Let me tell you.<br />
My life is in chaos mode. It has been for months and months. I keep telling myself that I'm rounding a corner, or that things are about to get easier, but BOOM - something else comes up that puts me right back into the underbelly.<br />
I'm probably managing what most mothers manage: two small kids, a busy business, a house, getting dinner on the table, picking shit off the floor all day, sleep deprivation. It does not escape me that I am not an exception to the rule. I know a lot of people in a similar predicament - mostly those of us who have demanding jobs and are also raising our families.<br />
It's just too much. I'm sorry to crush the Superwoman Myth, but there - I crushed it. <br />
<br />
For a very long time, I have considered chaos to be something I have to defeat or rise above, something that is unnatural, something that I am creating.<br />
I don't believe that anymore. Chaos, a lot of it, is just nature. Small kids are chaos. There is no way to change that. And often there is just too much on the plate to not feel drained, tired, and angry. <br />
<br />
The question is this: how do I operate with chaos?<br />
I think of that undertow in Mexico. I remember how unhinged and afraid it made me feel. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, but it was one I never wanted to repeat. This is the stuff of control freaks. <br />
When I am faced with chaos, I try to control it. It never, ever works. Never. <br />
<br />
Those swimmers, the ones I told you about before, they do this thing when they go into the water and a wave comes: they dive into the wave before it crashes. Right as it is swelling, they dive in. And then they come out the other side and keep moving deeper into the water.<br />
<br />This is how I would like to move with chaos and change - not conquer it or control it, but go right into it. With grace. Let's face it, the undertow gets all of us sometimes. It doesn't mean you stop swimming. Another good idea, a really good idea, is to sit on the shore every once in a while. The waves can't reach you there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-42221813907659779772014-05-11T22:42:00.003-04:002014-05-11T22:42:56.823-04:00Right HereSo this is it.<br />
<br />
I used to think I'd be a lot of things. I pictured myself zooming around in a fast-moving, important car, meeting important people and being very important myself. I thought that would be my success story. That I'd be famous or highly influential. That I'd be a millionaire or something stupid by the time I reached 40. I thought I would write books that would change people's lives. I used to think I'd be a lot of things.<br />
<br />
And then came you.<br />
Then came me.<br />
Then came the truth of everything.<br />
<br />
I became a mother.<br />
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<br />
<br />
What does that mean anyway? We get brainwashed into thinking it means we become docile, sweet martyrs who experience divine love when changing a diaper. Images, since we're little girls, show us that we'll be beautiful and calm and perfect all the time - that this is motherhood. I used to think that what's motherhood was.<br />
<br />
But no.<br />
Then came you.<br />
Then came me.<br />
And now I know a little bit more...<br />
<br />
Becoming a mother is this: you crack open just like the earth does. You storm and shriek and soothe just like the earth does. You bend and fold and fall. You get a real heart: the kind that hurts and feels and loves so much that you think you can't do this, you can't bear this, but shit - how could you ever go back? <br />
<br />
This is it.<br />
Right here.<br />
This is what life is all about. <br />
<br />
I used to seek a lot. I was never home. I was never planted. I was always out looking for this thing - this thing - and now I know what it is:<br />
<br />
it is the perfect imperfection of life<br />
it is the messiness of love<br />
it is the bare, sheer work of raising a human being<br />
it is the rage<br />
the unbridled joy<br />
it is their tiny hands and faces sticky with the day<br />
it is my baby girl's head on my shoulder as I sing her to sleep<br />
thinking this:<br />
I cannot wait to die and be reborn just so I can become a mother again<br />
just so I can crack open again <br />
<br />
It is humbling to be here<br />
to let go of the fast car fantasy, <br />
and the oh-how-important-I-want-to-be dream <br />
and just be with these beautiful children<br />
as they grow into themselves<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFwJAOZTjNcxgXIPfXBK9XibIln_sHUHMVE5PGKZ4xx3ud3ECJssNMC4feu1TvpRqZYOu93Rx4cs-veQt121GCXP7261ixtSw0KgVXe-lL77g2BmIkjJMkcw83CgjKcwcJEgaf7VV5A/s1600/mex+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFwJAOZTjNcxgXIPfXBK9XibIln_sHUHMVE5PGKZ4xx3ud3ECJssNMC4feu1TvpRqZYOu93Rx4cs-veQt121GCXP7261ixtSw0KgVXe-lL77g2BmIkjJMkcw83CgjKcwcJEgaf7VV5A/s1600/mex+1.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a>and know that the earth is pleased with my work<br />
that I can sit here now, as important as anyone else who is alive<br />
who gives or receives love<br />
who is born, grows, and dies here<br />
<br />
This is it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-35430849479040982302014-03-07T22:34:00.000-05:002014-03-07T22:35:58.896-05:00Happy Frankie DayOne year ago, in the very early hours of the morning, I gave birth to a beautiful girl named Frankie Rose. <br />
She came into the world as fast as an earthquake, at least it felt like an earthquake...<br />
I woke sometime after one a.m. that night, with the slow ache of contractions in my belly. I waited for some time until waking Brian, and we waited together until after three a.m. with contractions that never picked up too much speed or intensity - I thought it would be the same deal as my first birth, in which there were about twelve hours like that, so I figured I should try to go back to sleep, and stood up to go to the bathroom.<br />
That was when the the earthquake started; it was bigger than me, bigger than my body, bigger than my mind. I couldn't contain the intensity so I let go into it. I've never felt as much like an animal as I did that night. <br />
It was less than thirty minutes like that; back to back contractions as I stood over my father's antique roll-top desk in the den. I couldn't sit or think or stop, I just had to move my hips and breathe and allow for the earthquake to happen.<br />
And then, there she was. The midwife barely caught her. She slipped from her hands and landed on a towel on the floor. I looked down and saw her face for the first time: my daughter. Her cheekbone looked like the moon, like a little crescent moon.<br />
And so it began - I birthed a girl, on the powerful occasion that is International Women's Day. <br />
<br />
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There is something that happens to me when I look at my daughter. I don't just see a baby, I see a woman in the making.I see the body that will shift and change so dramatically in her
lifetime. I see my own dreams - the ones I haven't fulfilled yet, and I
see a girl who I hope will not go through a lot of the things I went
through in order to find her place on this earth. I finally understand why things between mothers and daughters can be so hard, and so charged, and so full of emotion. While she is, of course, her own little person, Frankie is also the greatest reminder I have to reach for my potential, birth my dreams, and honour myself. It is easy to look at her and want all those things for her, but if I don't fulfill those desires for myself, I may resent her later on, or grow jealous of her, or compete with her - all the things that run rampant between mothers and daughters.<br />
I don't want those things between us, so that is then my work to do.<br />
<br />
Often when I look at her I think of what I want for her, what I <i>really </i>want for her, and it is this: self-worth. Sure I want her to follow her dreams and her truth and have fun and grow and be true to herself, but mostly I want her to feel the value of her being. In feeling and knowing the value of her being, she will not have to go seeking a false sense of womanhood from shady places.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7SbHrEscyB0vFmRV-WcGUxj-EWoxkKP7xzeOYQUSbHC6GrsiLkDsnXXrIFEgKgqZHYC-6gIHURCl7BpKRf7OhND0YEyguVEGHsIy6G2vT9HqMpMljvnqrqc-cOLUxTlyoWEzBYWnGw/s1600/DSC_1734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7SbHrEscyB0vFmRV-WcGUxj-EWoxkKP7xzeOYQUSbHC6GrsiLkDsnXXrIFEgKgqZHYC-6gIHURCl7BpKRf7OhND0YEyguVEGHsIy6G2vT9HqMpMljvnqrqc-cOLUxTlyoWEzBYWnGw/s1600/DSC_1734.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a>My dear Frankie girl - happy birthday. Happy International Women's Day. Welcome to the sisterhood. We've got your back. <br />
<br />
<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-68604199450168452372014-01-13T21:38:00.000-05:002014-01-13T21:38:28.643-05:00How to Actually Change Your LifeThere is something I've been saying to myself just enough these days that it has become worrisome. It goes something like this, "I hate my life."<br />
Writing that feels bold and scary and so much bigger than the real feeling I've been experiencing, but regardless, these are the thoughts I've been thinking. It seems somewhat crazy to me because, on the surface, I am sure everything looks great. I seem to have it all, right? Two amazing, healthy kids, <a href="http://www.newmoonkitchen.com/" target="_blank">my own business</a>, a wonderful husband, a great house, a place in the country. All of that. But here's the truth: I have never felt as tired, rundown, or pissy as I do these days. Why? Because maintaining all of the above is more than I feel I can handle - well. At the end of the day I am frazzled and have barely a shred of energy for myself. <br />
<br />
This past year one of my beloved teachers, <a href="http://www.forevermissed.com/harley-swiftdeer-reagan#about" target="_blank">Harley Swift Deer Reagan</a>, passed away. The impact of his death has been, and is, like a ripple on the water inside of me. I keep catching waves of it, and each wave brings with it an awareness of what he taught me. This man was a Shaman, healer, medicine man, Vietnam vet, Martial Arts master, magician, shooter, and probably the most authentic, bold human I have ever met. He said, "your life experiences are not your life. Your attitude and approach are your life."<br />
I keep repeating that to myself these days, in hopes that it will finally click and I can find a way to say something more along the lines of, "I love my life."<br />
<br />
Swift Deer's formula went something like this: <i>change your thoughts, you change your attitude. Change your attitude, you change your reality. Change your reality, you change your life. </i><br />
The root to change starts with the thoughts that I think. And in changing what and how I think, I can make space for beauty to be seen and felt. <br />
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I am someone who, when faced with an uncomfortable situation, will take measures to change it. I am a doer and a fixer. If you want an image, picture me climbing atop a pile of mess, sticking my hand in the air and saying, "this is unacceptable, let's try it this way instead." My solutions are action-based. They usually involve <i>doing </i>something differently. My husband calls them "eden's systems." I am relentless with them, and sometimes one just has to give in to the pile of mess, knowing that there are more important things to give energy to, like these rascals:<br />
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But let's take stock of my current situation: a ton of shit on the plate, none of which can be eliminated. So what does a fixer do? What do you do when you can't control the mess you're in and there's nothing you can cut out?<br />
There is only one thing to do, my friends. <i>Change the way you think about it. </i><br />
I had this realization a few days ago, but it only sank in today while I was at work, doing about 32 tasks that I am not the fondest of. Normally I complain all day about doing these tasks. Today I said, "what if I just accepted that I have to do these things?"<br />
So I shut up and did them and as I was walking home, I actually smiled. I felt really happy.<br />
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2014 is not about acquiring more. It's not about achieving and doing. It's not about invoking the agents of chaos and change. No. My 2014 is about changing the way I think, feel, and react to my life experience. This includes shitty diapers, teething babies, aggressive toddlers who hit their sisters (I am not mentioning any names), cheques lost in the mail, delivery vans that won't start, and cookies that get burnt. It's about accepting this version of myself, no matter how rundown, tired, and grumpy I feel.<br />
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This is what surrender is all about. <br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-51975858942850731072013-12-11T22:34:00.000-05:002013-12-11T22:34:54.405-05:00Get a JobIt happens to the best of us. The Us I am speaking of are entrepreneurs. That said, I think this story applies to most people, not just the crazy business owners of the world.<br />
So here's how it goes...<br />
I realized this week that I don't like my job anymore. Gasp.<br />
No, I am not putting the <a href="http://www.newmoonkitchen.com/">cookie biz</a> up for sale. I love my business, love my cookies, love my staff, love everything - except my job.<br />
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On my way up to work this week I realized that I have an office job now. I sit at my desk. I send and answer emails, make phone calls, send faxes, order cardboard boxes and chocolate chips, and swear at my printer. It has been a slow progression to this point, but was solidified after I lost ALL MY STAFF at the end of August. No, I am not a slave driver, and yes, it is a whole other story that I will share very soon.<br />
When I had the crazy staff turnover this summer, I lost both my office manager and production manager. These were the two roles that held down the fort of the business and allowed me to have the freedom to do what I wanted (mostly) within my position of New Moon's Chief. Funnily enough, I remember there being a lot of desk and computer time back then too where I was just wasting time and puttering and stressing about sales and growth and how the heck was I going to take next steps, and what were they anyway? But back then I had people taking care of all of my daily operations so I didn't think too much about things. I thought I was coasting.<br />
Then all those people quit in one fell swoop within a month period, and there I was starting from scratch again. I had to cover all the tasks that both those managers were doing, plus train a whole new staff, plus I had a five month-old baby. It was an act of magic, and now that I'm through it I can honestly say it was one of the best things that has ever happened for my business.<br />
But - I am still sitting at that desk.<br />
That desk.<br />
My desk.<br />
Stationary, except for when one of the bakers needs my guidance, or I have to taste test something, or point out a dust bunny. <br />
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This was never the career that I wanted. I made a distinct choice to commit to my business so that it could be a vehicle for my creativity and self-growth. <br />
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There is a small story in this beautiful book called The Book of Embraces by Eduardo Galeano about a hamster that is caged its whole life and when the cage is finally opened, it huddles in the back for fear of freedom.<br />
That is why I sit at my desk. That is why I have elaborate and stubborn ideas in my mind about how "no one could possibly do this task" because only I could decode the magic of filling a box with cookies, or pasting UPS stickers properly, or taking an order from that finnicky customer.<br />
These are lies. Tricks. Things I convince myself of instead of pushing the envelopes within myself that have been glued shut for way too long.<br />
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If you are an entrepreneur and happen to be reading this, I highly recommend reading a book called <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/The-E-Myth-Revisited-Small-Businesses/dp/0887307280">The E-Myth</a> which is all about this conundrum that we get ourselves into: the brave and fearless entrepreneur who ends up being a technician in their business.<br />
I don't want to be a technician anymore. No, I want to feel the blood flowing again, the creative juice in my veins, and my heart pumping with excitement. That is what being an entrepreneur is all about.<br />
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Would you like to know what career I want?<br />
I want to be the Ambassador for my business. I want to travel with it, make connections, and keep building a network with other inspiring entrepreneurs.<br />
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I want to write books: a cookbook, a book about starting and running your own business, and a memoir about postpartum depression and my cracking open into motherhood.<br />
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I want to pick up <a href="http://blog.haterhigh.com/?p=2340">my guitar again and sing</a>.<br />
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I want to keep growing my business and creating great jobs for people. Did you hear <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/business/canada-post-changes-mean-8-000-fewer-jobs-1.2459776">Canada Post is cutting 8000 jobs?</a> It is a privilege to own a business and to be an employer, and I will keep on doing it.<br />
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So no, I am not a baker. Not a cookie packer. Not an order picker or a delivery person. I am not the office manager or the production manager. I'm also not the graphic designer (yeah, my designer should ban me from Illustrator). I'm not the lady behind the scenes.<br />
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I'm the face of my business and the leader of my life.<br />
How's that epiphany for a Wednesday night?<br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-2579763883801101032013-11-03T22:22:00.002-05:002013-11-03T22:27:14.268-05:00Welcome to the CountyListen. I want to tell you a story.<br />
A crazy thing happened this summer: I fell in love. Now before you get excited about this married mother of two falling in love, let me tell you that I fell in love with a place.<br />
Sometime in June, probably when it started to get hot in the city and that all-too-familiar feeling of concrete claustrophobia creeped in, I reached out to friends of ours that live in Prince Edward County and crossed my fingers that inviting my family of four to their farmhouse would be accepted. It was. And we went.<br />
When we first arrived to their place, looking all hungover I'm sure from our chaotic life here, the first thing I said to our hostess was, "so what do you guys DO around here?" she shrugged, somewhat dismissive, and said "I don't know, lots of stuff."<br />
We spent three days at their beautiful home, swam in their pond out back, ate elk burgers, had a fish fry on the beach, reveled at our toddlers and how well they got along, ran into James Taylor's son in town, made up a crazy song or two, and laughed more than I had in a long time. On the Sunday morning before we were leaving, I strapped the baby in the carrier and went on a walk down a country road by myself. I saw two houses for sale. Before we left we went into both of those houses, and the next night, when we were back in Toronto, we put an offer in on the one across the road from our friends.<br />
I thought we were just going to hang with our friends for the weekend and escape city life. There hadn't been any discussion of buying a property in the country. But we fell in love. And love makes you do crazy things. <br />
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We didn't get that house we put the offer on. It was heartbreaking but like all things that fall through, something better came along and we jumped on it during the most chaotic week of the summer, when I was sure my life was falling off its hinges. In a dramatic sweep of change with bank loan denials and all my staff quitting (yeah, that's a whole other story) and the money falling through and time almost running out but the whole thing coming together in the end, we bought a piece of land in Prince Edward County. Land. A sweet little house. A funky old barn. A stretch of green that my little boy and girl can run in. A perfect escape. A home that lights my heart with warmth and contentedness.<br />
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Do you want to know what I learned? Here it is...<br />
Brian and I hadn't been talking about buying a property in the country, but we had been deeply questioning our lifestyle and our reasons for working hard and the madness of the daily grind. We'd been living next door to a now year-and-a-half-in demolition reno that has upset our home life tremendously (newborns and renos do not go together well) and hadn't had a sense of comfort or peace in a long time. I knew our dissatisfaction would make us hunt for peace of mind, whether we liked it or not.<br />
This is how intention works. Intention is like sending a telegram to the Universe - one day it arrives and you get dialed in. On that magical weekend, we were dialed in. We were woken up by our own dream and it was time to act. <br />
When dreams come calling, it's a beautiful thing. It's also messy and chaotic and usually has me flying by the seat of my pants. But I now firmly believe that we are meant to live on the edge of our seats. That's when the telegrams to the universe get a direct flight. <br />
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We took possession of our land on September 30th. We are just a month in and already everything feels it has changed, or at the very least has a new purpose.<br />
As we were driving home today on the Loyalist Parkway (which is a drive that soothes my soul) I realized it would be tempting to say that purchasing our land is the last piece of a puzzle, but it's not that; the puzzle is ongoing and will keep me guessing and growing for the rest of my life. However, we found the piece that fits with a bunch of the ones that were lying disconnected and turned over. The County is the piece that connected all those other pieces, and now I am starting to see a picture forming. <br />
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Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-87284866189186756242013-06-16T14:44:00.002-04:002013-06-16T15:34:49.418-04:00Happy Father's Day It's a humid Sunday afternoon, Father's Day. This morning at our favourite coffee spot (and community hub) I watched as different men came in, got in line, and wished each other a Happy Father's Day. I saw the pride in Brian's face as he accepted and gave the greeting.<br />
I wanted to hug them all, all those men, and congratulate them for being such incredible fathers.
It's obvious to me that Father's Day gets a different kind of attention than Mother's Day, mostly because men (um, er) aren't typically the doters or important-day rememberers (come on, I'm allowed to say that) like women are. But there is something else to this day, at least for me and for scores of people I know. I am surrounded by good, caring, playful, present fathers. This wasn't the kind of father I knew or had, this wasn't a seemingly
popular role for fathers with the kids I knew growing up. Meeting a real
dad was like meeting a king or celebrity.<br />
In our home, Brian takes the lead as the more nurturing parent, and I can admit that. I learn from him how to be patient and playful and generous. Times are really changing, and we get to be more ourselves instead of what a gender stereotype dictates.<br />
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I believe that our parents parent us even in the ways they are absent. For example, not having a solid attachment with my dad made me seek fathering in many different (and harmful) ways in order to fill the gaps. I adored my father with vehemence. It was a bruised love between he and I, one that healed after I left home, but truly came to fruition when he was dying.<br />
Why are parents not around? Not because they don't love, but mostly because they hurt or they don't know, or because personal issues prevail.<br />
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Father's Day is bittersweet for me; I miss my dad so much. I wish he could have met my kids, I wish they could have known him even a little bit. I see some of him in Cedar, and it warms my heart. I have also longed for his calm, collected way of bringing me down a notch - I could use this most days lately as I navigate parenthood.<br />
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There is this prayer, this honouring, that is spoken whenever entering or exiting a sweat lodge for ceremony, and it is:<i> for all my relations</i>. The sentiment behind this being that when you heal, you affect the seven generations before and the seven generations ahead of you. There is no separation or time divide when it comes to love and healing and family.
How I make sense of this in my world is by witnessing my son have a father like Brian - who wakes with him every morning, reads, cares, educates, loves, spends endless time with, protects and plays with him. So although my father didn't provide most of that for me, knowing that Cedar has it bridges the gap. This is called healing a family spiral, and in my eyes there is no greater work for us to do here. <br />
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Happy Father's Day, Brian, you are the best. Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there who are changing the old story. And Happy Father's Day to my dad, who would have wanted to sit in his garden today, drinking a beer, reading a good book and offering a scratchy moustache-kiss to each off his offspring.Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-42420193917900788322013-05-11T22:48:00.000-04:002013-05-13T17:06:00.325-04:00Happy Mother's DayOne of my best friends is about to have a baby. It is her first, and she is due in the next month or so. She had her baby shower on the weekend and her request from the women she invited was for each of us to share some wisdom or advice about raising kids or being moms. I've been chewing on the request for a few days now, and thinking "what would I have told myself? What would have been the best advice?" So here goes, a truthful mustering about motherhood that I wish someone could have told me. Although, like all things real and gritty and life-changing, you have to go through them to know them.<br />
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Dear Self,<br />
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As you are about to become a mother, there are some things you ought to know. I realize you may not remember all of what I am about to say, especially in the middle of the night when you are rocking a fussy baby and are exhausted and frustrated and think your life is over, but hopefully these words will find you when you can't see through the small moments.<br />
You are about to change. And I mean, really change. You are about to lose a self that you thought you were only to find someone bigger, softer, stronger, angrier, and more giving than the self you are now. You are about to birth, not just this small human who will be your son or daughter, but also this new self of you, and it may take some time to get used to both.<br />
Motherhood will ask you to change. It will ask you to put aside a lot of the shit that you thought was so important in order to do what needs to be done and just be present. You will look different. Your body will change. Try to love this new body: honour it and comfort it and give it what it needs. Your body is now someone else's home for a while and even as your children grow, you will be the shore for them. Always.
Your heart will break again and again, and it will keep breaking because it needs to get bigger and it needs to open and expand to hold the love that you have for this child, but also the love you will need to have for yourself.This bigger love will make you see the child in everyone, even in people you think are assholes. You will somehow come to love the assholes because you know that even they have mothers.<br />
You are about to be stripped down to who you really are and who you are meant to be. This might feel very confusing because you'll think you have lost yourself for a good, long while, but really you are becoming, and that takes time. While hanging in limbo, have faith that you will find yourself again and whoever she is will be awesome.<br />
Your kid will sculpt you. This can really suck, but is ultimately good. They will sculpt you into the parent they need you to be. Let them be the teacher.<br />
Most importantly, who you are is exactly who you need to be for your kid. Show Your truth. You don't have to be something you're not. Motherhood is your expression. Let it be messy, let it still be your life, and never sacrifice your needs and the things which keep you happy.<br />
You will find the dark places in yourself. Babies and kids seem to expose this to us. Let those dark<br />
moments be like soil: rich and earthy and holding space for something to grow. The anger comes because you want control, you want to be alone, you want to run away, you don't want to do the work, your kid is driving you crazy, you feel trapped, you need a break, you just can't take another second. All of this is okay, and all of this is natural. Ask for help from the people around you. They want to help.<br />
A lot of people say that "your life is over" when you have kids. Who are these people and why did they give up? You are starting a new chapter and it will enrich and feed you like nothing else has.<br />
You are about to truly become hardcore, in the softest way.<br />
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But the key is this: find the moms. They're often in coffee shops and parks. They all have iPhones and use them religiously. Talk to them, befriend them. This is your new hive. These women, even in very brief moments or words, will be the backbone you can count on and they will count on you. Be honest with them; share your strife. Build your village.<br />
Welcome to the greatest journey of your life.
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Linking up with Selena over at le petit reve. '#RealMamaLife - Motherhood Uncensored.' <a href="http://http://www.lepetitreve.ca/category/real-mama-life/"<a href="http://http://www.lepetitreve.ca/category/real-mama-life/">><a href="http://http://www.lepetitreve.ca/2013/05/realmamalife-there-is-no-pause-button/#more-3597">Find this weeks edition here</a>Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-43257010887258177962013-04-20T15:05:00.001-04:002013-04-22T21:48:48.660-04:00Having It All?BlogTO just wrote a <a href="http://www.blogto.com/eat_drink/2013/04/behind_the_scenes_at_new_moon_kitchen/">piece about New Moon</a> (and me) as a featured look behind the scenes at our cookie factory. I must say, getting this jolt of PR while cradling a 5 week-old baby felt pretty awesome, and I am so grateful that they came for a visit.<br />
The article got me thinking though, about how we are creating, within our zillion media outlets, this superwoman power-mama who can do it all and it is oh-so-easy. <br />
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Since having Frankie (baby number two! A girl!) I've noticed a few women comment that I make it look easy, and while it's nice to hear a compliment, I also want to grab that woman's hand and say, "Lady, this is the hardest thing I have ever done."<br />
I often compare myself to that mythical woman; the one who seems to pull it off without breaking a sweat. Although many, many women pull off incredible feats of multi-tasking and having the all, it doesn't mean we should feel we have to, or that the new norm means wearing as many hats as possible in order to feel whole.<br />
In an attempt to debunk a myth, I'd like to share My Having It All with you.<br />
Here is what I have:<br />
- I have an incredibly short attention span and often look like an iguana tracking flies. I attribute this to the complete splicing of my life right now, and the compulsion to get everything done and maintain some small sense of having-it-together. In order to accomplish this I am always doing at least two tasks at once. Like: peeing and texting or eating and folding laundry.<br />
- I have two kids. One of them is a rambunctious, spirited two-and-a-half year-old who is my favourite person in the world and also someone who likes to tear, throw, or break all my shit and is also prone to hitting other children which really helps my social standing.<br />
My other kid is only six weeks old, but judging by her nighttime screaming I think she may be spirited as well. In other words, my ego lies crumpled on the floor.<br />
- I have a cookie business that I am supposed to be running, but these days it feels more like a staggered jog.<br />
- I have a home in Roncesvalles Village. It is awesome and also very messy. There is a kids' bike in the hallway and a utility closet I yell at whenever I have to go in there to get a roll of toilet paper and things like votive candle holders from our wedding four years ago fall out and smash at my feet.<br />
- I have a couple postpartum issues right now, one which I am going to spare you the details of and the other a condition called vasospasm whereby I get pins and needles in my nipples. It hurts. As my friend who also had it said, "it's worse than my craziest night of sex ever."<br />
- I also have a crazy temper these days, which I blame on the hormones, but let's just say that I have been punching pillows a lot and last week my husband caught me about to throw a book against the wall. The book was Guerrilla Marketing; perhaps I should read it instead of throw it. <br />
<br />
I used this analogy after having that Cedar that my time felt more like snacks than a meal. Now with two kids it's like eating snacks really, really fast. So fast that you don't chew them and end up choking on a piece of carrot or something.<br />
It's kind of maddening in the moment, but in the greater perspective it is beautiful to be at the mercy of life these days: to be a tangled mess, to wear the same pants for four weeks straight, to eat a dirty apple off the ground because I am hungry and could care less, to make a playdough couch first thing in the morning with my son before even having a bite of food or taking a pee. To be such a rundown, emotional version of myself: more raw and real than I have ever felt.<br />
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I guess what I am trying to say is that having-it-all (career and family) is not exactly pretty. At least not for me. There is so much push-pull around wanting to be at home but needing to work, and also <i>wanting </i>to work and get space from my kids. I feel like I am doing a crappy half-assed version of everything right now, and that's only because my expectations are set way, way too high.<br />
It's a paradox, and yet I am trying to satisfy all the parts of me that need food - even if they are just snacks for now. <br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-54478898801478423962013-03-07T22:20:00.001-05:002013-03-07T22:37:56.024-05:00Into the Great Wide OpenIt is a peculiar thing to be waiting on a baby. It is even more peculiar to assign a human being a due date, or to feel that one is "late" once this date approaches and the baby is a no-show. Clearly, I am a few days past one of these due dates, as they are called.<br />
Although people are assuming I am chomping at the bit, I am quite happy to sit here in this gap of time wherein a baby could come at any second, or not, so therefore I have nothing to do but just tinker around.<br />
It is a pause and I am thankful for it. There haven't been too many pause moments throughout this pregnancy; it's been a GO marathon. In fact, there haven't been too many pause moments since Cedar was born. Nope. Self-reflection is now available when I am driving to work or washing the dishes, or waking up at 4am to pee and all these thoughts barrel in when I should be sleeping.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXjZjICLQeVgHtbSpJr1GplMYpo5WJ01Ms1ccR15VBrNnZ0QxCCmfkVNO5-e-dmqtAUpwyt3pZtVSd8Lm0Z6zE22YVgA1-x3Sq6xDXAJoLa-2chC9fQnC-EKr-KZlkaEd2ckmiswfpg/s1600/IMG_1729_2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXjZjICLQeVgHtbSpJr1GplMYpo5WJ01Ms1ccR15VBrNnZ0QxCCmfkVNO5-e-dmqtAUpwyt3pZtVSd8Lm0Z6zE22YVgA1-x3Sq6xDXAJoLa-2chC9fQnC-EKr-KZlkaEd2ckmiswfpg/s320/IMG_1729_2.JPG" width="261" /></a>It is quite a thing to become a mother. It's a popular rumour that a woman is changed forever, or loses her self, or won't get her life back, or that her days will be punctuated and spelled out by self-sacrifice. Definitely, there was the loss of self - a certain self. And definitely life changed, and most certainly I had to make a lot of room for someone else. And honestly, I had/have to do a whole ton of things I don't want to do. Those changes all seem obvious at this point. But there is something else, and I think it is the something that doesn't get talked about all too often. It is about who replaces that lost self: the mother. You may think of her as frumpy or forgotten or messy, but she is just about the sexiest creature I have ever met. This woman is covered in life's everyday messes and still manages to crack smiles, get food on the table, and do that freakin' fish puzzle with her kid for the thousandth time. She is vibrant and soulful, gets angry, gets soft, finds happiness in the tiniest little simple things, and loses her shit completely at least a couple times a week but recovers like a champ.<br />
I have met, and become close with, and admired many of these women since I had Cedar. I think it is even fair to say that I have become one of them. It's a righteous club. More hardcore than anything I've ever done before.<br />
So here is this pause, this abyss before I give birth to my second (and last) baby. Today I imagined myself driving on a highway in Phoenix, Arizona that I have taken many times. It boasts a perfect horizon, one you can really see and feel as it approaches. I was picturing this road and thinking about the whole idea of coming to the edge. See - I've always imagined the edge as a cliff, one you are supposed to jump off of. That idea of jumping off has never fit with me. I mean, I get it, but why would I just go and jump off a cliff? It occurred to me that the edge is simply a place I haven't been to before. It is that point on the road that is new and unknown and scares me. There is no jumping required - just the will to go forward, to explore, to be present. I am here now inside this edge.<br />
I don't know any other way to say it except that I want to be free. This moment here is not just about having a baby, but of birthing myself again into this next incarnation. I am not a maiden becoming a mother, about to be devastated by the loss of ego. Now I am a mother birthing my new self.<br />
I see this as an opportunity to choose the form that my life takes after things settle down on the home front. I've been mulling over and dreaming up all kinds of things for a couple years now, simply waiting for the time and energy and personal juju that could bring it all together. <br />
It has become clear to me how much I <i>do </i>because I think I have to, or because it is my duty or obligation, or because if I don't do it, who will? Could it be possible to live life as if everything were a choice? What would that feel like? What would change? I have the sense that it would change everything. This is what I am sitting here with in the abyss; the chance to let it all go. Begin anew. Turn the corner. Find the new edges and valleys and twists that are all part of this crazy journey. <br />
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Well, Little One in utero. Thanks for giving me a few days to figure all this shit out. You can come out now.<br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-91576619478455847672012-10-08T21:23:00.001-04:002012-10-08T21:24:27.669-04:00Thankful for GivingThis is my favourite time of year; the end of a whole cycle, a whole watching-of-time. The end of the harvest, the changing of the leaves, the crispness of apples and cool air. But mostly, mostly - this is the time when I had Cedar.<br />
The day after he was born my sister and mother-in-law came over and roasted a turkey and gawked over the baby and we ate pie and stuffing like real pros. Brian and I had bowls of leftovers for dinner every night for a week as we stumbled somewhat gracefully through our first days (and long nights) of parenting.<br />
And now it is Thanksgiving weekend, two very full years later. Cedar's second birthday is in three days and we are in Montreal with Brian's family, trying to figure out the logistics for tomorrow's turkey and stuffing, and where we'll find a proper pumpkin pie in Montreal.<br />
Things, you see, they all come together. Eventually. I say this because I feel that something in me has clicked. I feel like a mom. A good mom, or at least, the right mom for Cedar. Lately it is love-on-fire with him.<br />
Being that it is Thanksgiving I simply wanted to say that I am thankful for him. I am thankful, so deeply thankful, that I get to be his mother and guide in life. For a long time there, I really didn't get it. I was in a lot of pain and overwhelmed and battling my own inner demons so much that I didn't feel or understand what was so great about motherhood. Honestly.<br />
But something has happened. Maybe all those demons were just a big fire in my chest that could burn a place for my heart to open. Perhaps the overwhelm was sweeping me over to a new shore. And now I am here with an almost two year-old boy, and I understand what is great about motherhood, or why a woman may say that it is the best thing she has ever done.<br />
I love to give to him. I love to know what he needs and when. I love to be with him and to discover him. I love the simplicity of needing to be nowhere else or do anything more. I love that who I am makes sense when I fall into step with him.<br />
But mostly, this thing we have feels equal. We're clearly two spirits on the journey together. I don't feel that I am a wiser being than him, but that we are two wise beings learning from each other.<br />
You know what it's like when you're in love? When time seems to slow down or speed up or just leave you alone, and everything looks brighter and you feel that you really don't need to do anything else except just exist in that moment? It's like that. On the good days, of course. Of which there are many more than the crappy days.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday Cedar. Thank you for teaching me how to love.<br />
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone. This year, and hopefully for many more, I am thankful for giving.Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-65680369489983789222012-09-22T21:23:00.002-04:002012-09-22T21:28:21.466-04:00Just Give 'ErIf you choose to pay attention, you might just find that events in life often seem to coincide or relate or conspire together to teach you something or give you a nice, firm kick in the butt to take action on something.<br />
Some people call this serendipity, and some people are obsessed with "signs" and that overwhelming sense that the universe is <i>really listening</i> to you, therefore you should definitely make a move. I don't mean it in either of those ways. In fact, I am pretty much over reading-into-everything as a way of decoding life. What I am talking about is the simple putting together of life experience so that it makes sense and so that we see where change is heading. We either change or we die, right?<br />
Let's start with this lovely dinner I had with one of my best friends this week. This woman is incredibly beautiful, intelligent, creative, warm, loving, adventurous - she has it all going for her. But she has been looking for love for quite some time and certainly has her doubts about whether or not it will happen. My first instinct was to tell her to look at herself, to see where she needs to change or open her heart, to essentially "work" on herself. Then I kind of slapped myself in the brain; I realized that I don't think that is true anymore - that we have to continually work on ourselves in order to arrive at some perfect version of who we are in order to have what we desire. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a picture of a fraction of the show.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Now onto today. Bear with me please, because I am about to bridge this into business. Today I went to a trade show at the Metro Convention Centre. It is called the CHFA and is for manufacturers and distributors in the health food industry who are looking for new business. I roamed the aisles and aisles AND aisles of all things gluten-free and raw and supplemented and fermented and vegan and well - you know I could go on and on. This is a growing industry. So I'm roaming and I'm trying all the cookies, of course, and as I'm eating all these cookies from the many cookie businesses there are out there, I am growing increasingly disheartened and confused. <i>How will I make it when everyone is doing the same thing? What's the point? </i>It got kind of depressing, actually.<br />
Then I thought about my husband, who is a brilliant musician, and how he will be attending a music conference in October. I thought of how many other handsome guitar-playing guys will be there, with songs that are great, with voices that can soothe and belt, and how he also may wonder why and how and what for. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A picture of my feet at the show. </td></tr>
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The question is then, do I stop doing what I do for the fear that there is no place in this world for it? Do I succumb to doubt? Do I give in to the thought that I don't measure up or don't have what it takes or that someone is better than me? Or do I go for it?<br />
I am not perfect. Oh dear, I am so far from it. And my business is not "ready" to go national and be on those big, bright shelves at the supermarket. But it is what is right now.<br />
How does this relate to love, and music, and cookies, and putting all the pieces of life together? Well, I suppose I am a bit scattered and a bit lost these days, but that's what it is. There is no perfect version, there is no waiting to get it all right. Life is messy.<br />
I am not saying that I'm going to sell a crappy product or anything, but maybe my product happens to be good enough to make a whole bunch of people happy. Besides, between you and me - I had some pretty crappy cookies today. Cookies that are sold in supermarkets all over North America. I'm not being a hater, just making a point. <br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-38303479873533368572012-06-06T14:40:00.001-04:002012-06-06T14:43:23.746-04:00Hello Anger, Nice to Meet You<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04xDYqgnre359ijPPzvB2Vw96O5IciApJA6Qos8CFiDqgqG3l7Z6hEbZxCpAJ6XokFuo5OqP4ek4rYG3aE8hGU11v2xE8W43mkOGS5cyQ1XZIswsxxq7TWmRKZ4VXvExO628wO6I7TA/s1600/storm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04xDYqgnre359ijPPzvB2Vw96O5IciApJA6Qos8CFiDqgqG3l7Z6hEbZxCpAJ6XokFuo5OqP4ek4rYG3aE8hGU11v2xE8W43mkOGS5cyQ1XZIswsxxq7TWmRKZ4VXvExO628wO6I7TA/s200/storm.jpg" width="200" /></a>I have never considered myself to be an angry person; it hasn't been my default emotion when life gets unruly. Instead, I may have become overly busy or anxious or inwardly stressed. But not angry, not a steaming, rattling kettle. Not until lately.<br />
There are so many things that aren't spoken of openly when it comes to parenting, but more specifically to motherhood. It's common knowledge that there looms an ideal mother in our society. She is selfless, patient beyond compare, willing to give every ounce of herself at every given moment, and does not get angry. Plus, she LOVES every single moment that she is with her children, which is every moment of every day. I have come to know this false idol quite well. She sits on my shoulder in a glowing white smock with a perfect smile on her face. She follows me to the park, into my kitchen, into my kid's room when he wakes at 3am, and no matter what, how, or when - I can never live up to her. This makes me feel bad about myself. Most of the time.<br />
Sometimes I break free and am able to be myself with my kid. And I'll tell you, it is the best feeling I have ever felt. It is the purest, realest love I have ever experienced. It is ecstatic bliss. These moments are gold. Pure gold. But the rest of the time I am battling with a whole army of emotions and responses that, after digging around with a few other mothers, I have learned are part of the whole motherhood deal.<br />
My kid brings me to a place of rage that I did not know I was capable of. I thought I was pretty calm and collected and able to handle most adversity with a pretty decent level of grace. But now? Maybe on a good day. <br />
My rage doesn't get bounced onto him, instead it turns inward and I put it on myself. Rage and anger are such huge emotions - they are like having an ocean storm inside your body, rolling and lashing. I do not know where to put these feelings or how to handle them. They scare me. Which brings me back to that perfect mother and why I think the whole idea of her is a pile of crap. Giving birth to a human being and raising him in the world is a huge thing. It is more important than anything else I have ever done or will ever have to do.<br />
Life is not dressed in a glowing white smock. Life is full-on. Life, if you are open to it, will rock you like nothing else and offer you so much growth and awesomeness and challenge and grief and love and pain. So much. How can I teach my son about life if I am not able to feel rage and show him how to be with it?<br />
This is why, I believe, motherhood induces rage or frustration - it opens us up, day by day, to be bigger people with bigger hearts and a larger capacity for emotion. That greater capacity is what allows us to love more, bigger, stronger, more powerfully. That, to me, is what motherhood is about.<br />
This anger thing feels new to me. I'm not good at handling it yet. I stomp and curse and want to run away. I shut my heart, I get pissy and sucky. And here it is - an ocean storm in my heart asking me to open up bigger, stronger, more powerfully. What a paradox.<br />
So here it is - for any mother out there who may be feeling the same thing or wondering if any other mother feels this way: yes. Me. I do. I sincerely hope we all bring that perfect mother down from the pedastal so that we can be ourselves, which is exactly who our kids need us to be.<br />
xo BB <br />
<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-77713576594619421222012-05-15T14:02:00.001-04:002012-05-15T14:06:35.358-04:00Help WantedI usually like to keep my game-face on, but thought I'd tell it straight instead: I think I'm stuck. Well, I kind of know I'm stuck. OKAY - I'm stuck!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgVfO0OIomgHXhdkG1iysXruoIcdT63U-mB7oJvbeoh7x5r-N90T66lESDXjYatQvQNStUFCdZRbOJNqjLdKO35KfYzmij5m1ZzpSD22ds_JndrW4yzS-76FWO8LCwDqj-f_EO-Z4Gw/s1600/keep+going.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgVfO0OIomgHXhdkG1iysXruoIcdT63U-mB7oJvbeoh7x5r-N90T66lESDXjYatQvQNStUFCdZRbOJNqjLdKO35KfYzmij5m1ZzpSD22ds_JndrW4yzS-76FWO8LCwDqj-f_EO-Z4Gw/s1600/keep+going.jpg" /></a><br />
My name is Eden and I am officially experiencing some kind of personal crisis at work. Now, when I say work I don't just mean my job. This is the thing with owning your own business; <a href="http://www.newmoonkitchen.com/">New Moon</a> is my baby. It is part of me. In fact, I may be over-identifying with my business. Me and New Moon have been together since I was 19 years old. That is almost 16 years. I wouldn't say it's like marriage, it's more like a kid. The difference with a kid is that they are most certainly energetically their own being, whereas a business, without its own stubborn determination for separation and autonomy, seeps into the ego and identity.<br />
When my business is doing well, I feel good. When my business is struggling, I don't sleep at night, and it becomes very difficult to think about anything other than how to solve the problem.<br />
Here is a picture of where things are at:<br />
When I was pregnant, my job was to get the business running like a well-oiled machine. I needed to do that in order to ensure a smooth maternity leave. It was a lot of work; I remember sitting at my desk cramming away at spreadsheets and systems just days before I gave birth. But I did it, and while I took a step away to have a baby, the business ran well. No major hiccups, we didn't go into debt, all was well.<br />
Then I came back, pretty tired and shell-shocked, and resumed my seat at the desk. And twiddled my thumbs. Since then it's been an interesting journey; I've done lots of clean-up, worked with my staff, shredded lots of old paper, played with new recipes, tried to get more customers, but I still sit here day after day with this sinking feeling. How on earth do I grow my business? What does it require of me? How do I take a small-medium business to bigger? But most importantly, what do I want?<br />
This is where I'm stuck. And it feels a bit scary to admit that I don't know. I want the business to grow, I want to continue to build an awesome business with incredible people and incredible products - but where and how? I want to have fun, and I want to be creative, and I really, really don't want to compromise my ethics JUST to make money. This is the crux.<br />
So I'm putting out a Want Ad. I want to find a mentor. I want to talk to someone who can say, "hey, this is what most entrepreneurs go through at this stage and this is how to get out of it".<br />
As it stands, going to work and trying to "grow my business" is proving to be somewhat painful, because I am being incredibly hard on myself, and the pressure is too much.<br />
I wanna be this guy over here, walking into the sky - except not a guy and perhaps wearing a killer dress instead of some boring suit. Oh yeah, I'd also be holding a cookie in each hand and have Cedar on my hip. <br />
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xo BB<br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-10091338546688904902012-04-27T15:14:00.000-04:002012-04-27T19:47:32.587-04:00Is it Time?Breastfeeding, for whatever reason, always seems like such a hot topic. I find it kind of stupid that we pay so much attention to this one act: whether or not a woman does it, and for how long, and where, and what she wears (or doesn't wear) while doing it, and who she may offend by doing/not doing it. The list goes on... There are so many issues in our not-so-evolved Western culture around parenting that exist because many of us have the luxury of not having to work and <i>can </i>discuss our breastfeeding woes or preferences. <br />
Alas, here I am at home on a Friday afternoon because I have the privilege and luxury to work flexible hours so I can be with my kid. I mean that earnestly. And here I am on this Friday afternoon wanting to share a story about breastfeeding.<br />
Cedar is now a year-and-a-half old. He has a full set of teeth, and we are still going strong with breastfeeding. He doesn't take nursing lightly; this kid is very serious about his boob. I have always loved sharing in this wonderful act with him. Lately though, I am feeling really annoyed by it. He is getting his back molars and because of all the discomfort, he has been especially needy and forceful with nursing. It can be very frustrating. This leads me to the question of whether it is time to begin the weaning process.<br />
If there is one parenting philosophy that works for me, it is this: if you can't stand it, do something to change it. For example, I can't stand the biting and pulling and obsessing over my boobs. Makes me bonkers. When I am bonkers we all suffer - just ask my husband.<br />
Although bonkers, I feel very emotional about the idea of weaning him. Just before his nap today I tried not giving him the breast and he cried and cried, then I started to cry too. This breastfeeding thing - this is ours. This is the most basic, beautiful, natural thing, other than love, that I feel I can offer my child at this point. When he is upset, the breast calms him. It is a simple communication, and no one else in the world can give this to him in this way. This boy grew inside my body, and it was my body that fed him, and my body continues to feed him through breastfeeding. So simple.<br />
I feel emotional because I doubt that anything will ever be this simple again. I think about this huge, mad world that he is growing in, and I think about wanting to give him every tool there is to manage well within it. As he grows and changes, these tools will also have to change.<br />
I imagine that every mother experiences this moment when she realizes that her baby is going to grow up and move on in the world. I have never experienced the movement of time at such a fast rate; it is mind-blowing. While he is still on my breast, he remains a little person in so many ways. I do not want to force him, or myself, but I do want to change the stream of things right now so it is more comfortable for me, and in turn, for him.<br />
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<br />Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-39147356839283300862012-03-19T21:37:00.000-04:002012-03-19T21:37:17.659-04:00Number Two, How You Scare Me So<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'll preface this post by saying: I am not pregnant. No, not yet. Haven't started "trying" or anything. But we had a conversation last week that went something like this:<br />
Bri: So, you wanna make a baby, huh?<br />
Me: Yeah, you?<br />
Bri: Yeah, why not?<br />
And practically in unison: Get 'er done.<br />
Isn't it funny that the first baby is the most incredibly romantic and wonderful idea/thing of all time, and number two is this shafted little being who happens because, well, you can't have just one, or the other needs a sibling, or you know you want two so you may as well get through the debauchery. So you shrug your shoulders and pull the goalie.<br />
All that said, I know there's more to it, and I know that my heart wants a second baby with as much true love as it did for the first. Only difference? I guess I'm just too damn tired to put as much energy into it!<br />
I'm scared though. Not a real scared, but an unsettled anxiety that's creeping around my shoulders these days. We've sort of, kind of, become settled with this one little guy. Bri and I are both back to work in our freelancey ways, and I am starting to have dreams for the bakery again, but here comes Number Two nudging my ovaries.<br />
I've been taking polls from different families. This morning at the coffee shop I asked a friend who has a three year-old and a six month-old what it's like to have two. He said, "twice the beauty, twice the pain." Or there's my other friend who says that having two is not 1+1=2, but 1+1=3.<br />
The consensus is that two is better than one and you may as well have the second one BEFORE you get too used to things like sleeping or having some time to get things done.<br />
All logistics aside, I think I'm scared because those first and many months after Cedar were the most difficult and painful times of my life. I don't want that again. And that's just the truth leaking out now.<br />
Moral of the story: when the heart wants, it wants. Things like Order and Control are always getting messed up by that dirty little heart scoundrel.<br />
My great-grandmother had 9 kids. 8 of them girls. Times have changed, haven't they?Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-9028608275017358842011-12-28T21:27:00.002-05:002011-12-28T21:57:22.486-05:00The New FaithI am exhausted. November and December, in hindsight, look like the insides of a tornado. Okay okay, that's not fair, November was actually really awesome, but December - December was certainly a tornado. In its mix: husband touring extensively, toddler cutting 8 teeth (which made him forget how to sleep), and a persistent cold that turned into a crazy sinus infection (I'm still coughing).<br />It is incredibly crucial to pay close attention to your anxieties. Why? Because all that anxious thought will bite you in the ass. If I had a bumper sticker which would have summed up my greatest anxieties of the past year, it would read: ALL ALONE AT HOME WITH NON-SLEEPING TODDLER. So what happened? I ended up <span style="font-style: italic;">all alone at home with a non-sleeping toddler.</span> And here's the thing: it wasn't that bad. In fact, it forced me to finally surrender to all those things which are really out of my control. This is such a breakthrough for a control freak, to realize that there are things I can't control so can just stop trying. It's like a vacation!<br />I have a tendency to make busy. Plan plan plan, do do do, fix fix fix. I exhaust myself. I am certainly the culprit of my own insanity. My pattern has always been to fit as much as possible into each day, and do this for weeks on end, then take a trip somewhere by myself. I've always believed that in order to feel life at its peak, it has to be crammed full of experience. Then the vacation serves as time to unwind and reflect before heading into the next bout of creative madness. Here's the hitch: having a kid means that I don't take those trips by myself to decompress. So I am faced with two choices: stay on the crazy train without a vacation, or get off the crazy train and find a new way.<br />What I want to tell you, from the other side, is that what I gain from 5 minutes of open-hearted joyous play with my kid does not compare with a trip by myself to Tulum. Sigh. I think I just lied. Trips to Tulum are amazing, but my kid is even more amazing.<br />So what to do now that there isn't that chance for the getaway? I make the ordinary moments my salvation. I discovered this one night in the midst of December's madness when I had to drive to Canadian Tire in a rainstorm to pick-up a steam cleaner (long story). I get to Canadian Tire and am bulldozing my way through the aisles looking for lightbulbs, a stepladder, bob skates, all the while getting more worked up and stressed. Then I hit the customer service line-up to order the steam cleaner. It was a Sunday night. Long line-up. I could have lost it completely, but instead I took a breath and realized THAT was my moment to escape, to find some peace, to relax, to take a little vacation in my mind and pray. I prayed for things to calm down, I prayed for some patience, I prayed for Cedar to take up sleeping again. And a moment which could have gone awry went beautifully instead. I think I even listened to Hungry Like the Wolf on the way home at full volume and whipped my hair around a bit.<br />So take my advice: make life your temple. Make life your vacation. Listen to old Duran Duran. Eat more cookies. Be kind. Practice patience. Eat more cookies. Forgive your parents. Forgive yourself. Welcome a new year with open arms.<br />Off to bed.<br />xo BBBaker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-30097418472665989352011-09-27T10:35:00.003-04:002011-09-27T14:34:34.880-04:00(Just Like) Starting Over<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBHKY3l2hIAiu03wD-JAtrKXwMnDjBtvheQTVqQ49ydt-04dZvxkXIHbMcyuyKzxjBPypq5jl4LbPIMY9MDOZ1MmKrZlGUzkWU8P_joAsmakgO__CDIAfwI6raz0JOUbkB9fOCBeMoQ/s1600/learning_to_drive_stick_bumper_sticker-p128496803754046221z74sk_400.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBHKY3l2hIAiu03wD-JAtrKXwMnDjBtvheQTVqQ49ydt-04dZvxkXIHbMcyuyKzxjBPypq5jl4LbPIMY9MDOZ1MmKrZlGUzkWU8P_joAsmakgO__CDIAfwI6raz0JOUbkB9fOCBeMoQ/s320/learning_to_drive_stick_bumper_sticker-p128496803754046221z74sk_400.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657109578687715586" border="0" /></a><br />We got a new car last week. It's great except I don't know how to drive it. That's right, 14 years on the road in automatic cars and I've now decided to learn how to drive stick. The timing for this venture couldn't be more perfect; it is most certainly a fitting metaphor for where I'm at with everything these days. Here's an example:<br />This morning Bri and I had our coffee at home, sat in the living room with the boy, and perused the newspaper. 9:30 encroached and it was time for me to go to work. I took a deep breath and collected myself, for getting to work used to be a simple thing, and now it is a challenge. I have to wrestle with the new beast of manual driving, which brings humiliation, frustration, and makes me feel like a hormonal teenager. Yes, I know this sounds dramatic, but bear with me...<br />I got in the car, put on some music, and made my way along the regular route. There is construction on Dundas St. so when I arrived at the top of the hill there was back-up. I haven't yet been on a hill, stopped. There was a line-up of cars behind me. The light turned green: I released the brake, released the clutch, pushed the gas. I started rolling backwards. Did the process again. Rolled backwards. Car behind me with nowhere for her to reverse. Cars everywhere. I put the brake on and got out. Then I started waving my arms to the construction workers, and the cop at the top of the street. "Do you guys know how to drive stick?" No one knew how. Traffic was lining up, my heart was racing (yes, dramatic!). I saw my friendly mailman coming up the street and ran to him, "can you drive manual?" He said yes, and then I actually told him that I loved him. He said to keep the emergency brake on, and to gun it. The construction worker kindly said he would hold up traffic for me. So I got back in, waited for the green, and did exactly as he said. It was hilarious - I had a mailman, a construction worker, and the guy who owned the laundromat shouting "you can do it!" as I gunned up the hill. Once I knew I was in the clear and was headed downhill, I noticed the words of the song playing in the car "you're gonna neeeeed to be... patient with me".<br />I have a new life now. All the rumours about having a kid are true. I am truly learning a whole new way to drive. I don't know how just yet, and I stall all the time, and I get really mad, and it makes me feel so humble and so frustrated to be on such a learning curve with everything. But every day I get up and keep trying. I try to be patient with myself and with my little boy, who is changing so much these days and is also frustrated with the things he can't do yet.<br />Today I told him that he'll soon be walking, and that he'll soon have words to tell us what he wants, and that it will make things a lot easier. But for now, we're just going to be frustrated and that's okay. Me? I have to learn how to have balance. There is so much stop and go, and I find myself wanting to lurch forward into movement, to get back into work and doing and being busy. But it's too much; I'll burn out if I try to do things the old way. A little bit of clutch, and a little bit of gas - that's what I am learning. Hopefully I'll always have a team of construction workers, mailmen, and policemen to cheer me on...Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-88960686698144058542011-09-21T14:11:00.006-04:002011-09-21T21:03:08.093-04:00Crazy Going Slowly Am I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmCJAqEmz1RsKdWE8t_u1v2bwbLnOImmLcn9LowQzrsbgGO-gIhk_qW5cy4pkSq0OReYkhTUTg4Oz03DDQxOkm2qZetRkEwxRyDoPTewRR6R6rLLsunWm3XEWoUHM8FzuD8irOjBOOA/s1600/DSC_0109.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmCJAqEmz1RsKdWE8t_u1v2bwbLnOImmLcn9LowQzrsbgGO-gIhk_qW5cy4pkSq0OReYkhTUTg4Oz03DDQxOkm2qZetRkEwxRyDoPTewRR6R6rLLsunWm3XEWoUHM8FzuD8irOjBOOA/s320/DSC_0109.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654886342450375138" border="0" /></a><br />On Monday I had a playdate with two of my good friends and their two awesome little kids. While the kids drooled on blocks and tried to break out of the gates, we talked about the latest things we were grappling with. I find conversations with moms hilarious; we talk in the craziest circles, grazing over subjects because our brains seem to be newly wired for what I call "snack thinking". We simply don't have the kind of time we used to have, plus babies' attention spans are short, and in order to remain symbiotic I think we start to shorten our spans too. That's why I call it snacking.<br />What emerged in our conversation was a similar thread that all of us were feeling: stress. Stress over the little things, stress over when, what, how this would get done, that would be finished. Stress over packing a diaper bag, taking a shower, getting a meal made etc... We agreed that they were all small things which didn't matter all that much, but I found it interesting that we had been feeling the same way.<br />The next day I went to work for my three-hour stint at the bakery. My phone rang, someone texted, I started a spreadsheet, I checked my email, I texted back, I checked the cookies, I went back to the spreadsheet, I forgot to eat - and by the end of that three hours I truly wanted to rip my hair out. I got nothing done. I feel this way a lot of the time and find that it's a real challenge to get focused and accomplish something.<br />I am writing about it with the intention to bring some order into my somewhat chaotic existence.<br />My schedule is like a stop and go tornado. Not so different from my soon-to-be-a-toddler...<br />Here is a list of the things that make me crazy right now:<br />1) I don't eat properly. It's always lunch that gets missed, and this really affects my blood sugar and mood.<br />2) I feel like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly with the way I'm always texting, checking email, texting, checking email. I think Apple has kidnapped my brain.<br />3) My house is cluttered and disorganized.<br />4) I try to fit too much into one session at work and end up accomplishing very little.<br />5) Exercise always takes the backseat.<br />6) I always scramble to find something to wear in the mornings and it makes me feel like a bit of a schlump.<br />What I desire and crave and would drool over right now is having some kind of a schedule that I can stick to, and that isn't too ambitious. Why do I want this so bad? Why do the other moms I know want this? Why do most people thrive in this sort of condition? Because having just a little bit of control is nice. It makes me feel grounded, and sorted, and like I am taking care of myself.<br />So here's my list of solutions to get started with in response to the above crazy-makers.<br />1) Dedicate Sunday to meal planning and food shopping so that I can make a couple soups or stews for the week ahead. I do have a Crock Pot after all.<br />2) Choose specific times to check email and use phone. This is a hard one, but will help me to relax and focus.<br />3) De-clutter. Just get it done. Pick one area or one room at a time and move that s**t out!<br />4) Make a list when I arrive at work of the top 3 things I need to accomplish that day. Check them off as I go.<br />5) Make time to exercise. Seriously! Even 30 minutes every day.<br />6) Put my clothes out the night before.<br /><br />Is this over-ambitious? I just want to find a flow, get into it, and feel as though I have some say in the way I feel day-to-day. Better to be on top of the wave than underneath it with a mouth full of sand.<br />xo BB<br />ps - the picture with this post is one I took while on my honeymoon in Big Sur. I want to feel how this photo feels.Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-14918859271348010322011-09-19T14:37:00.005-04:002011-09-19T15:12:00.862-04:00Having the New All<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUs8M6jQLsHp8X1dNUlvuHhHkFyHDnWxQyRZ6Pi01hBxf1mbZ_6JpF-vjXFuseQwtSGZXCkBExjBv-9UR14Zgjymx25cPW73Vvy2r79-O_xl1mu6dYT61CTNnYjybaBTwbttsdtqdBsQ/s1600/IMG_1343.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUs8M6jQLsHp8X1dNUlvuHhHkFyHDnWxQyRZ6Pi01hBxf1mbZ_6JpF-vjXFuseQwtSGZXCkBExjBv-9UR14Zgjymx25cPW73Vvy2r79-O_xl1mu6dYT61CTNnYjybaBTwbttsdtqdBsQ/s320/IMG_1343.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654150461182489202" border="0" /></a>Back before I had the little person in my life, I had concocted an idea of what it would be like to have a kid/be a mom. The concoction fit well with all the other things I had going on. You know, I could take the baby to work, still carry on the way I was carrying on, and everything would be dandy and unchanged - except I'd be blissfully happy all the time.<br />You know how people say to you that your life changes a lot when you have kids, and they say it in this kind of "you have no idea what you're getting yourself into way"? I used to scoff at those people because I was sure nothing could get in my way. Now I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> one of those people, because it is so incredibly true: having a kid changes everything. And why? I'm going to say that it's the biggest emotional and spiritual shift I've ever felt: to be responsible for another human life every second of every day, for many years to come. It changed my relationship to everything.<br />For months I have felt very split, very conflicted, very unsure of how to do it all. The all being: take care of Cedar, take care of myself, run my business, feed my marriage, make soup, eat soup, pay bills, run errands, and also have a creative outlet. It is my way to think that I can do everything, and essentially, have it <span style="font-weight: bold;">all</span>.<br />But really, what is this <span style="font-weight: bold;">all</span> I am attempting to achieve? Where did it come from, and why am I so hard-pressed to live up to its expectation of me?<br />I made it, folks. I made that all. I made it so long ago that I didn't even realize it was following me around, tapping me on the shoulder, and not cutting me any slack. I've finally spun my heels around and am taking a look at this annoying creature who expects me to be this Superwoman.<br />I created an identity I could never humanly be. What a ripoff.<br /><br />Everything I need to learn from life is coming straight from Cedar these days, and he doesn't need me to be a Superwoman. He just needs me to be his mom.<br />He is the most wise and patient teacher I have ever had, and best of all, he has no idea of his impact. Sure, he screams and whines and does all that baby stuff, but it pales in comparison to his zest for life (he goes down the slide head-first, I kid you not), his unabashed jolliness, and his fascination with the simplest things.<br />Where is it I feel I have to go, who is it I think I have to be, when the very most important thing of all is looking through the kitchen cabinets with Cedar? It's humbling, especially when the thrillseeker in me wants to get out in the world and scratch something together. It's humbling to realize that the only place I really need to be is on my kitchen floor, strumming a ukelele with dried avocado on my jeans.<br />The more I acquire, the more I want to shed. All these things amount to nothing when faced with my true self in the eyes of a baby. I mean that, and not in a granola way. This is some powerful stuff. This is what it's <span style="font-weight: bold;">all</span> about.<br />It's messy, it's wonderful, it's maddening, it's mind-numbing and hilarious. It's frustrating and rewarding, and sour and sweet. I wouldn't trade it for anything else. And well, I couldn't even if I wanted to :)Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5785239420179660860.post-73761725616987817502011-08-03T14:22:00.004-04:002011-08-03T20:15:47.096-04:00The Balancing Act<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-I7dOxsOS37ndBKVpKC8n5o6PlAWJf_VcmHBYvU5oshvCoR1UGLKRLZIu1jRxwyH6lBlySVoAPABtBn3xSj2p7n3eRQgiTtfBF-fC1BORvZ0vK8Vj2s5o522QQbdiGzcoSfK58W16A/s1600/IMG_1444.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-I7dOxsOS37ndBKVpKC8n5o6PlAWJf_VcmHBYvU5oshvCoR1UGLKRLZIu1jRxwyH6lBlySVoAPABtBn3xSj2p7n3eRQgiTtfBF-fC1BORvZ0vK8Vj2s5o522QQbdiGzcoSfK58W16A/s320/IMG_1444.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636709769555595826" border="0" /></a><br />My lovely neighbour, who is a reporter, and who had a baby three months ago, sent me a link for this blog, <a href="http://www.joannagoddard.blogspot.com/">A Cup of Jo.</a> The writer, Joanna Goddard, interviewed seven moms about how they balance work/baby/life. I dug right in and read them all - twice. Since Joanna neglected to interview me (insert happy face) I decided to answer her questions here on my blog just for the fun of it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What's your work schedule?<br /></span>It's only in the last month that I have gone back to work in a more solid way. We've finally carved out a routine that is working for all of us. For now anyway...<br />So here goes: The Cedar alarm clock goes off at 7. We hang out in bed for a good hour and try to entertain him with lazy toys like diapers - yes, clean - or magazines, or the curtains. Anything to stay horizontal for as long as possible. Then we get up, head downstairs, make smoothies, shower, and head to<a href="http://mitzis.ca/cafe.html"> Mitzi's </a>for coffee. Cedar has a little buddy that we meet there in the mornings. It's the best part of the day.<br />At 9:30 I put Cedar down for a nap and then head to work. I work from 10-1. Bri is with Cedar during this time, doing fun mysterious boy things. I get home and put him down for his second nap. It's during this time that I either journal, blog, or do some housework. This is when Bri leaves to do <a href="http://www.brianmacmillanmusic.com/">his work.</a><br />When Cedar wakes up at 3, the world is our oyster... For a couple hours anyway.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span>How do you handle childcare?<br /></span>Childcare is currently split between me and Bri. Bri does the 9:30-1:30 shift, and I do 1:30-5:30, then we reconvene for family time. Cedar is our boss.<br />In the fall, Cedar will start daycare 3 mornings a week, which will allow for longer stretches of time at work. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Where do you work during the day?<br /></span>I work in my office up at the bakery. It's in a loft/mezzanine space above the staff area. I like working in an open space where I can have contact with my staff (love those ladies...)<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />What do you like least about your current set-up?<br /></span>The 3-hour chunks at work don't feel like enough time to really complete a task. The day feels split up in a way that makes my head spin a little bit.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />What do you find so-so/tricky/hilariously bad about your current set-up? What would you change if you had a magic wand?<br /></span>The trickiness comes when trying to do too much. I used to put SO many things into a day, and I don't think it was healthy for me. When I try to operate like I used to, and end up dragging Cedar around in the car too much, it feels really crappy because no one is happy after a day like that. I also find it challenging to fit in the things that make a house a home: cooking, cleaning, beautifying. Food plays such an important role in how a day feels, and this is often neglected.<br />If I had a magic wand I'd probably break the motor on it from overuse. Not because anything is 'wrong' per se, but because I am kind of addicted to improving things. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />How do you and your husband fit your marriage into the balance?<br /></span>Cedar goes to bed at 7:30, so we have the evenings open for work or hanging out, or doing something that feeds us. We usually end up using this time to get things done, which isn't exactly feeding the marriage aspect of things. We went out for dinner last week for our anniversary and had such an awesome time. Our aim is to do that once a week.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Do you have any time for yourself?<br /></span>I've carved out Thursday mornings as my time to <a href="http://octopusgardenyoga.com/">go to yoga </a>and perhaps even get a massage after. If I don't feed myself these things it is really easy to lose touch. I also use the evenings to do things like write, or read, or veg, but I find I am pretty bagged by the end of the day.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Do you ever wonder how other women manage the juggle? Have you talked to other women about it?<br /></span>I am obsessed with this topic. And yes, I practically stop other women on the street to find out how they choreograph their days. I know that I've been looking for answers, and hoping that I am doing it 'right' but I don't think there is any right or wrong way. Each family is so different, and we all seem to create it as we go.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />What advice would you give to other moms about how to balance work and life?<br /></span><span>I</span> don't think things are in these neat compartments of parenthood/life/work - life is life and everything has to be treated as part of one whole or it's easy to fragment and feel disconnected. I want to feel complete and present with all of the elements that make up my life and not jump between personas. I especially notice this since having Cedar and trying to be "a mother" when really I just need to be myself. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Baker Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10111180804565563415noreply@blogger.com0