Muscle Memory

I was.....AM an athlete. My body just doesn't always remember what my heart yearns to feel again. It has been at least two years since I have done any serious exercise. After surrending my body over to my two beautiful children for over two years now, it is time to reclaim what is rightfully mine!

Today for the first time in as long as I can remember, I felt a little of the athlete making a comeback. I hopped on my treadmill, and decided I was going to run. Not long, not hard, but run in intervals. Run one minute, walk for a minute. I really was not sure how long I would last. My knees have become very weak and even walking up stairs can cause me great pain. Never the less, I was game to make this happen even if I ran for one minute. I was going to trust that my muscles would remember and take over for my brain.

As I ran my first minute, it was hard. My knee hurt. I didn't think I would be able to get through the second minute. Second minute came and wasn't as bad as anticipated. Before I knew it, I had ran a minute 10 times! Each minute, my muscles began to remember the motion. Each minute, went by faster. Each minute, my body was a few steps closer to becoming the athlete that is in my heart. I was getting the high I used to get during really intense workouts when I was in my best shape. The feeling took me higher and higher until I thought my heart would burst!

My muscle memory has always been there. I can lay in bed and feel every movement of a triple salchow, every breath of a really hard run and every burn from lifting weights and yet my body can no longer execute. The muscle memory is there, underneath layers of fat and aching joints...I need to dig deep and bring the memories to the surface. My body and my heart will soon be working together again and I am going to enjoy the journey and have lots of hot baths and massages!!

Men and Housework

Why is that when men do something domestic they want to bring it up in every argument, keep a running tally and receive constant praise for helping out? Women, on the other hand, will wash the endless sinks filled with dishes, do pile after pile of laundry, cook meal after meal, change bum after bum and only want a quick hug and kiss or thank you. A man's philosophy is along these lines: I filled the dishwasher so you should empty it. Sounds fair...until you realize that you have washed the breakfast, lunch and dinner dishes in the sink every day for the last however long. My husband has accumulated more points in the last nine months than he had in the ten years I have known him although he still believes that housework is fifty-fifty. He take this in quite a literal sense! He will put his dish in the diswasher after dinner and may be one of the children's, leaving mine on the table and all of the pots and pans on the counter and stove. It's your mess he says. Ummm...nevermind the fact that I cooked the dinner! If it was truly half the work, he should clean up ALL the dinner dishes? If I wash and dry the laundry, he should fold and put it away? If I clean 1/2 the toilet, he should clean the other half! He has his own idea of fifty-fifty and it usually fits with his agenda. For the record, today I fed Evan at 2 am, got up for the day with Evan at 6 am after feeding and changing his bum and threw a load of laundry in. I came downstairs and piled the dishes from last nights dinner (that he didn't clean up after I did my half - the cooking) and cleared the counters. I made Evan's breakfast and played with him for a little. Matt got Connor up brought him downstairs and gave him some milk, toast and yogurt. I went back upstairs and threw another load of laundry in came down and grabbed Evan, fed him and took him up for his nap. Then I went to the basement with Connor and did a work out. He came down half way through, probably to mock me as I was sweating my buns off and then went upstairs again with Connor. When I finished, Evan had woken up, so I went upstairs to get him with Connor in tow. Matt was playing MarioKart. I grabbed the next load of laundry, folded and put it away all while entertaining a two year old and near nine month old. We changed the sheets on the bed and Connor pooped so we came downstairs and Matt changed his bum! He definitely gets points for that. I notice he has emptied the dishwasher and loaded some dirty dishes back into it. 3 Points for Matt? I go up and finish folding the mountains of laundry from last week and have a shower. When I come down Matt is feeding the kids. 4 points Matt. I make my lunch and fold the kids laundry that I brought down with me while Connor "helps" me and makes a bigger mess. I then start making some Steel Cut Oats for the week on the stove and while this is cooking I played with the boys and danced around the living room. Matt was on the computer apparently editing my blog post! So that brought us to lunch and Matt had 4 may be 6 points (giving him 2 points for changing a poopy bum) and I have, around 15 I think. So fifty-fifty eh! I would hate to see a sixty-forty split! I guess men just have a different set of mathmatical skills than women??

Slummy Mummy cont'd

I found another (well, several actually) excerpt in the book that I want to share!

"When Sam was a baby, I remember lying beside him on the kitchen floor, before he was able to turn over on his own, trying to calculate the value of the tiny space that he occupied and realising that there was no price that could be put on it. When I was pregnant with Joe, it seemed impossible that I would love this new baby as much. I imagined I would have to halve my affections, because surely there was a finite level of love? But that was the wonder of motherhood, the discovery that there were always untapped reserves available. And every day, despite the upheavals and the chaos, there are brief moments when that is all I feel, the unadulterated pure pleasure of love."

This paragraph was like a de ja vu for me because like Lucy, the Slummy Mummy, I had this exact same wonderment before Evan was born. When I was pregnant, I was so in love with Connor. I had several conversations with Matt about how we could possibly love our new baby the same way we love Connor. In one of his wiser moments he said something that made more sense than anything I had ever heard him say in our ten years together. "You can't measure love. You can't run out of love, you just keep loving more and more." After the initial shock wore off that MY husband said something so profound, I realized that he was right. I would love the new baby just the same as I loved Connor and it is true. I do!

I am also slowing learning to recognize those brief moments amongst the chaos where I am feeling that unadulterated pure pleasure of love. I enjoy sitting back and watching the boys interact with each other more and more each day. They lock eyes and something passes between them silently, and then the giggles begin! I love watching Connor play and use his boundless imagination and wonder how he has grown into such a beautiful, smart and funny little boy! I marvel at how Evan is learning to use his body to get where he wants and how he loves his big brother and tries to grab his attention. Some days it is almost painful to love this much. So when I should be doing dishes or mopping the floor or doing the endless piles of laundry, I am enjoying those moments of infinite love. I think that is a pretty good excuse! Don't you?

updates

So I haven't blogged for a few days. Seems like life kept getting in the way, so here I am making a quick update! I have surprised myself a few times on this detox! When feeling serious temptation, I have been able to fend off the want to get something sweet and not on plan several times. A marvel! So heading into week 3, I am hoping for some new food ideas as the same old food is getting rather boring. Although, I have tried making a few new things and for the most part they were a hit (the exception was the Shepherd's pie which Matt refused to eat...I thought it was delish).

My challenges have been:
- staying ahead of the game and prepping/planning.
- finding food that my husband will eat too.
- cleaning the damn juicer!
- not eating after 7 if I am watching tv, so I usually go to bed around 8;30
- getting rid of food associations (mom usually brings coffee over).

So far I have been able to overcome these challenges.
Looking forward to the next two weeks!

Anyone hiring????

Before I begin, I got my hubby's permission to write this!

My husband, Matt, has been laid off from his job at Electro Motive since the end of last March. I went on Maternity leave the first week of April last year. We have spent the last nine months together essentially 24/7. Don't get me wrong, having him home has been wonderful and there are many moments that I wonder how I would have survived without him. It also means we have both been home with our children for almost an entire year and that in itself is a blessing. He has even become a little domesticated having done dishes in the sink twice!

It isn't easy for him to be home. I give him a lot of credit. After having Evan by Cesarean section, I wasn't able to do a lot around the house let alone run after Connor, a very active toddler. He totally picked up the slack by changing Connor's diapers, putting him down for naps, putting him to bed, making his meals and taking him outside to run around. That was hard for me to let go of all the things that used to be my domain, but my hands were full with Evan and healing. Now that I have healed he seems to have found other ways to keep himself entertained.

He has become the neighbourhood snoop. He is like the nosey old lady neighbour who knows everything and anything that happens on the street. Living in a newer subdivision, there is always action. He even has nicknames for some of the construction workers. Tom Green, Mini Me, Gerry just to name a few. I mean, you can't tell me he isn't bored!

As the time quickly approaches for me to go back to work and the prospects of him returning to work look slim, he may become at stay at home dad. I am not sure he looks at this as a good thing. I on the other hand, would embrace being at home with my children with open arms. I would love for him to stay at home with the kids if I knew it would make him happy. He needs to go to work to feel fulfilled and to be happy. Everything happens for a reason and him being laid off was definitely to help me through my rough patches. It hasn't been easy, but I wouldn't have traded anything not to have him home all this time. But really, is anyone hiring??

Behind Closed Doors

Life has been a lot more balanced lately, I think to myself as I sit with my baby who is eating lunch. Sitting with him while he eats his lunch is a true test of my patience some days. He takes forever to eat even just a little and you can forget using a spoon to fed this boy. Mr. Independent likes to feed himself. Which means half of my effort in making him a nutritious lunch and carefully cutting it into baby bite size pieces, ends up on the floor! God love him! He is cute and he has that in his corner! It has been over a week since my last major meltdown which in my life is excellent. I ponder if it is coincidence that I feel more stable, my baby is starting to sleep better and I have more energy after starting to detox the sugars out of my body? I am beginning to think it is not coincidence at all. This makes me smile! Some of the poison that leached into my thoughts, making them toxic, and causing my poor babe to have sleep problems, was in the food all along. Who knew?

I look over at Mr. Independent who spits out the skin of a carefully slivered grape and smiles at me! It is nice to see his smile without the set of luggage that usually occupies the space under his eyes! The same goes for me. I say good riddance. You have worn out your welcome! As I sip another delectable taste of peppermint tea (I am, by the way, becoming a tea granny all too easily) and wonder how our mothers managed through the sleep deprivation. Our grandmothers and their mothers with families of more than two children and quite often all born very close together. For example, my Grandmother is ninety-seven years old. She is one of seven children who lived through the depression. How did her mother survive through the sleep deprivation? Did they just accept that life was difficult and forge on without incident? Did more happen behind closed doors than what was ever acceptable to speak in public? I say yes, but that was a time when a community of woman supported them and helped raise their families.

Evan seems to be done mashing food into his sweet little mouth. Sometimes I wonder if anything actually gets into his stomach when I look at the mess he leaves behind. There are pieces of grilled cheese everywhere. I don't do an exact count, but it looks to be about the same amount I had put out to begin with. This would normally eat away at me and trigger a meltdown. I don't consider myself an anxious mother and certainly less so the second time around, but a different child a different set of challenges. He is now on the floor beneath his chair picking up his scraps and pushing the high chair around. Clearly, my floor is clean enough to eat off to him and the thought is laughable!

As I clean up the aftermath of Evan's lunch, my thoughts drift back to my struggles and realize that I feel like less of a fraud now. About four months ago, our photographer came to take our family portraits. It was during probably one of my rougher patches and Evan had a particularly poor night. I was coiffed, make up done and out of my usual track pants and t-shirt. I looked pretty good, on the outside. I felt like a fraud. These pictures would capture our family with smiles of joy, but underneath the surface there was such turmoil. Then, I wonder if there are more moms out there have felt like frauds too. I know the answer is yes, but it makes me press deeper and ask why do we feel the need to cover it up? Why keep it behind closed doors? If there are other moms out there who are feeling the way I was/am, should we not be supporting each other in our struggles and create the community that our fore mothers drew upon?

There is a side to being a mom that is never talked about because we are afraid. Afraid to be judged, afraid the authorities will take our children away from us, but it is that side of motherhood that makes us human. The problem is, before we have children, we have no idea that this dark side exists because we are led to believe that motherhood is wonderful, the epitome of existence. The idea of this beautiful, shiny new baby blinds us. When we are pregnant no one ever tells us to read the fine print. The fine print should read, "side effects may include: you questioning who you have become and if you will feel this way forever, endless nights of nursing and sleep deprivation so severe it may cause you to daily sob uncontrollably, engaging in screaming demonic-like tones, throwing household items and in worst case scenarios shaking your baby." So when these feelings begin to invade our thoughts and we put on a smile, we continue to deceive ourselves. We are being frauds, living behind closed doors. These are the stories that need to be told so that we as mothers can begin to heal and quit feeling like failures. Surround yourself with a group of women that understand your struggle and don't be afraid to share your stories.

The Secret Life of a Slummy Mummy by Fiona Neill

"If Petra hadn't been staying, I would have resorted to one of those larynx-aching rants that purge me of my anger and make Sam refer to the NSPCC ads that tell you shouting is tantamount to child abuse. Whoever devised those should be sent to come and clean up the carnage.

Fred came over to nestle in my lap, hoping for clemency, and my eyes stung red with the effort of neutralising my anger. For Fred had done this before, less than two weeks ago. I imagined the blood vessels coursing into my head, struggling not to burst their banks like tiny river ways during a heavy rainstorm. All it would take is one tiny point of weakness, and my brain would flood like the Okavango delta in the rainy season, leaving my children motherless.

I shut my eyes and breathed in the smell of the soft skin of Fred's neck, the soft fleshy part underneath the long curls at the back of his head that I can't bear to cut because they represent the last vestiges of his babyhood. He giggled, because it tickled, but allowed me my moment of wistfulness. He smelt of a sweet blend of clean pyjamas, soap and the unsullied pureness of a recently washed toddler and I felt myself melt. Waves of nostalgia for the baby he will never be again swept over me, and for a moment I thought I might cry. Sometimes it is a question of getting through the days, but then from nowhere come those moments that you want to preserve forever."

This excerpt is from a book that I am currently reading. It is a wonderful tale of a stay at home mom with three children who struggles with keeping up with household duties, keeping the children organized all while competing with Yummy Mummy no. 1 and Alpha Mom for Sexy Domesticated Dad's attention. A character that any stay at home mom or working mom can relate to. The book is really hitting home for me right now. No, not the Sexy Domesticated Dad fantasy, I am currently living that fantasy, my husband is laid off! The Slummy Mummy concept. I am a slummy mommy.

I am not proud to be a slummy mummy. I long to be the mummy with energy to spare. To be able to keep up with household cleaning. To be able to navigate through the endless piles of laundry and sort, wash, dry AND put them away into their closet homes. I would like to look presentable when I answer the door! I want to be the mommy that is fit and strong and emotionally stable. Life has been this way for over two years now. Two children in under two years can really test who you are as a human being. I think that is why this book has really got me thinking. I bought it over a year ago in the airport before boarding a plane to Cuba. This was my reading for the week. I am just getting around to reading it now. Perhaps there is a reason for that. May be I will get something more out of reading it now than I would have a year ago.

The last couple of years have been life changing. That is to be understood and somewhere in all of this change, I lost who I am. The last eight months have been the most difficult for me. Since the birth of Evan, I have been living in the most sleep deprived state of being ever in my 34 years. Sleep deprivation that led to some post pardum depression which has led to some of my worst mommy moments ever. When patience runs thin it is only a matter of time before you crack! I have had, "larynx-aching rants" that purged me of my anger and have felt my eyes hot from tears that try and neutralize the anger. The blood has coursed through my veins to the point where I thought they might explode. I relate to this character all too well. I have questioned everything these last eight months. I knew it was going to be hard the first year of his life, but this was way more than I had ever imagined. So, how does a sleep deprived, emotionally drained slummy mummy move forward?

Start by living in the moment so you live without regret that you wished your child's first year away hoping things would get better faster. When I hold my children close and take deep breaths, smell their clean hair and touch their soft skin, it makes me want to freeze time. Those are the moments we need to remember. We need to be nostalgic because we can't freeze time. Amongst our chaos we can find reason and truth. You might need to sift through a pile of laundry or two. Perhaps wade through a sea of toys strewn about the floor, but take the time to look because when you find it you can create yourself again. You won't be the person you were before you had children. Having children of our own changes us. That responsibility weighs heavily on our shoulders, but we can reach our full potential as wives, mothers and women. We just need to open our minds to the possibilities that surround us. People come and go in our lives as we need them. Each person that crosses our path is there for a reason. We draw people into our lives that we need. I am lucky enough to have drawn some incredible women into my life these last few months. They are my support network and give me the motivation to be something more than the Slummy Mummy I had become.

Show some empathy...

Connor and I are walking through the produce section of the grocery store. This is a new store for me and only my second appearence. I find myself doing laps around the islands because I forget grapes or celery, but the inconvenience isn't bothersome since Connor is entertaining me as usual! We cover all the organic section and before I know it the cart is heaping with produce and it spills over into the bottom section of the cart! My cart used to be filled with boxes and cans and frozen junk. I felt a sort of pride that I had filled my cart with such healthy choices! Every item I place into my cart Connor tells me "Nummy, nummy!" Excellent!

We attempt to navigate the meat and dairy ailse and other shoppers have unthoughtfully parked their cart mid ilse in a narrow ailse. Normally, this would have sent me on a mental rampage. Screaming F bombs in mind at the ignorant shoppers surrounding. Today is different. I continue to chit chat with Connor about the fans on the ceiling of the store and deftly navigate and wait patiently for carts and bodies to move. I picked up some ground turkey, another new item in my cart and some turkey breasts and we head down to grab some milk. As I close the door to the refridgerated milk section, I hear a high pitched scream that could belong to no other than a disgruntled toddler. I quickly look over to Connor and breath a sigh of relief! Not him! The screaming continues as we make our way up the next ilse and I see the faces of the other consumers. There are several faces looks of disgust and a few snickers. I catch a glimpse of the mother with the screaming child and she has two other older children in tow. Immediately, I feel a surge of empathy for this poor woman. Her face is red and she is rushing around throwing groceries in her cart and the child continues his high pitch wail. She passes by me and I smile at her trying to convey that I understand how she feels, but she dodges my attempt as continues on.

I round the corner of the ailse and stumble into a woman serving samples of McCain pizzas. She looks at me and instead of asking if I would like a sample, she gives me a look of disgust obviously referring to the screaming child. I give a weak smile and manage to say, "He sounds very upset." She turns up her nose and says, "There is no need for that." My heart is sinking for that mother and I feel hot tears welling in my eyes. I cannot understand why there is so much judgement for this poor mother. I mean, don't people remember what it is like sometimes? I have not had the unfortunate experience of my boys having a complete meltdown in public. Connor had a minor meltdown in Walmart when he was about eighteen months old and all of the old ladies commented about how cute he was! That is probably the worst public experience to date and certainly nothing compared to what this poor woman is going through.

I ponder why everyone is judging her as I make my way to the Organic section. I feel such empathy towards this woman. I want to put my arm on her shoulder and tell her it is ok. That as a fellow mom, I understand the struggle. I look down at my beautiful Connor and he smiles at me. I ask him for a kiss and he happily obliges me! I feel some regret for not being able to better convey these feelings to her. I also feel some gratefullness that it isn't my child screaming. I just hope that when my day comes, someone has the courage to put their arm on my shoulder and tell me they understand the struggle.

A morning in the life of a domesticated housewife...

My alarm already? Really? It is only 4 am! May be he will go back to sleep? Oh wait, he is quiet again. There he goes again and wait...silence.

I wake to the alarm again at 5 am! He is not going back to sleep without some help. I nudge my husband and he begrudgingly rolls out of bed, throws on his shirt and patiently tends to our son in the next room. Its only fair after all since I will be up with him for the day around 6 anyway while he lounges in bed until eight thirty when our two year old son wakes. I drift in and out of sleep for the next hour while our eight month old, Evan, makes his daddy work. It is now ten after six and there is no sign of Evan going back to sleep. Damn. What a way to start the day!

I shuffle down the hall and open his door, throw the lights on and with a not so cheery good morning, greet my little night hawk! He smiles and wiggles in his excitement to see me. I pull him out of his crib and he snuggles into my neck and wraps his wee arms around me. That is enough to get me through the next couple of hours I think! He nurses, stops to stare at me, reach for my face and then back to the business of nursing. He begins to play with my hair and tries and sit up, so I gather he is finished and I change his diaper and head downstairs. The lights are out and it is still dark outside. I turn on the kitchen light to realize I wish I had never turned it on. It was masking the disaster I left my kitchen in last night. I resolve to clean it later, after Evan goes down for his first nap.

Plunking Evan down at his toy barn, I pour myself a glass of water and then another. Taking my vitamins, I grab an apple and sit down at the computer to check on the progress of my friends that are rocking the detox with me. There are a few updates and everyone seems to be doing well. Even a delicious turkey chili recipe and I make a mental note to put ground turkey on the grocery list. I look over at Evan who is bouncing in time to the music that his barn is playing and he giggles. I smile, may be today won't be as bad as I originally anticipated? I sit and stare at the mass of produce on my counter and try to decide what fruit to eat for breakfast. I decide on a banana and some grapes to start and throw some bread in the toaster and cut up some pears for little man.

By now the sun is rising and there is a soft pink hue to the sky. The snow seems almost lavender as the darkness retreats. The stark trees rise like dark fingers from the earth towards the sky. I take a deep breath and live in the moment. The moment is broken by Evan gagging on his breakfast and he proceeds to throw half of it up. Lovely. I clean him up and gently remind him about chewing his food! I look at the clock and wonder where the last two hours have disappeared to? Challenge time. Evan's first nap.

I carry him up the stairs and step in something wet. Ugh, spit up. I grab the closest rag which is a dirty bib, toss it on the floor and wipe it up using my foot. I leave the bib on the floor and climb the stairs. I weave in and out of the mountainous range of laundry piles that litter the hall. Entering his room I approach his crib and set it up for nap. "Blankie goes down here. Here is sleepy bear, your extra zaza's and big brown bear to watch over you." We kiss the giraffe on his night stand and sit in our chair for a little milk. He passed out upon contact with the nipple. Damn! So much for putting him down awake. I guess his escapades earlier this morning have caught up with. As I stare down at his sweet little cherub face, enjoying the stillness, the quiet and closeness, I live in the moment. Then pondering whether or not I will catch a quick morning nap or head downstairs to tackle the natural disaster that is my main floor, I lay him down in his crib and cover him with his blankie. I shut his door, tripped over a pile of laundry and decided I needed to go back to bed.

I crawl into bed beside my sleeping husband and snuggle in. The sheets smell like him and were warm and inviting. He wiggled his shoulders indicating he wants me to tickle his back. Since having the kids the poor man has been neglected. Usually when he asks for a tickle, I am too tired. This morning was no expception so I indulge him in a quick tickle before retiring to a peaceful slumber. "Ahhahahahahahaaaaaaa...no monsters..." My two year old, Connor, is up! Matt clambers out of bed and I remind him to keep him quiet. I hear him greet Connor and Connor begins his daily ramblings. His daddy reminds him to be quiet. "The baby is sleeping." I wake to the sound of the alarm again! It can't have been an hour yet?! I am right unfortunately. He has only slept for a half hour again. I am frustrated and I can feel my heart start racing and the anxiety of what we are going to do with this non napping baby fills me. I feel the tears well up in my eyes and they are hot. I take a deep breath and try to remember the sweet little cherub face sound asleep in my arms. I opt to take a shower and hope he falls back to sleep.

My shower is my sanctuary. No screaming children, no messy kitchen. Just hot water streaming over my tired body. I turn the water just a little hotter. It is just barely tolerable, but feels so good. I finally concede to get out of the shower and deal with Mr. No Nap. I towel off and go in search of some clean underwear that I left in the dryer. Pulling on some socks, old, grubby track pants and a t-shirt, I draw in a deep breath, exhale and enter Mr. No Naps room. I find his zaza (or soother), rub his bum and tell him nap time is not over yet. I muster up the courage to leave knowing full well the conclusion that is coming. "Waaaaaaaaaaaa..." I close the door and find my bed. My brain is racing about what to do next. If I keep going in he will keep crying for me because he knows I will be back. If I don't go back in, he will get the point that it is naptime and learn to fall asleep. The problem is, I feel guilty leaving him. With Connor I was able to follow through no problem during sleep training. Evan has been a different story. Is it guilt I feel for wishing his babyhood away? Is it guilt for thinking for a second that may be two children was a mistake? Which, by the way, is not how I feel now. It was a moment of panic prior to his birth and occasionally during bad periods of sleep deprivation. He is the sweetest little cuddle monster and I wouldn't trade having them both for anything. Ok, I need to make a plan. Wait...is that silence? Yes! Score one for mommy! I didn't even have to make a plan! I decide to head downstairs and tackle the kitchen.

As I come down the stairs, Connor sees me and runs over yelling, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!!" Music to my ears! "Hi Bean!!" and I scoop him up into my arms and smother him with kisses. I put him down and he returns to play "struction" or construction with his building blocks. I look at the mess and immediately start to well up. How could so much destruction happen in one measley day? Yesterday morning the kitchen was tidy, the toys put away and you could see the top of the kitchen table. In a mere twenty-four hours, the house looks like a hurrican came through. This detox is creating lots of mess! All the prep work, cooking and cleaning. For a moment, I wonder if it is all worthwhile. I remember the women doing the detox with me and I think, what would they do? They would clean up the mess and start all over again because we are going to rock the detox! While the kitchen sink is filling, I organize the dishes into dishwasher, tupperware and pots and pans. "Waaaaaaaa..." Mr. No Nap is up! Great! Matt goes up for a rescue. I begin the mundane task of washing the same dishes I washed yesterday. It's the same god damn thing everyday. Normally, I would finish the dishes and reward my hardwork with something sweet. Like the hot chocolate sitting on the counter. Temptation starts to take over and then is knocked down by something. What is that? Willpower? Where have you been all these years?

I attempt to get through the dishes amongst Connor's pleas "Where is the wrench?" which he repeats at nauseam and Evan has a constant whine happening. My head is swirling, the tears are rolling and I want to smash the dishes on the floor and yell at everyone to shut the F$%! up! I refrain, draw in another deep breath and instead of reaching for the hot chocolate or the bag of Chipits in the cupboard, I call my mom. We talk about Evan's night and what her plans are for the day. I tell her I am overwhelmed with the amount of mess in the house. We joke about how Matt is sitting on the couch as I wash mounds of dishes while the crumbs from last night's dinner are waiting for me on the floor beneath the children's seats. She is going for a work out and then to visit my Grandmother in the nursing home. Probably something I should be doing as well. After we hang up, Matt picks up the broom and begins sweeping! Point taken! I decide to start prepping my fruits for the juicer. Connor chips in and helps me with the Mighty Machine! He evens asks to have some fresh juice! Score! Now, to clean the damn juicer. I opt to have some cuddles with Connor instead! My mood is lifting again as I play with the boys and hear them giggle. "I want a snack please," Connor tells me. God, I love that he can talk now!

I sit both the boys down in their chairs and proceed to cut up some cheese, crackers and strawberries for Connor. As I sit and watch them eat their snack, I marvel at how fast the time is passing. They look at each other and start to giggle again. This is what I signed up for! They are beginning to interact more and more with each other as each day passes. I secretly hope they are best friends growing up. My brother and I were five years apart and I feel like we were never really that close. Even now, I hardly see him or speak to him. I wanted my children to be close in age. Mind you, seveteen and a half months is very close and perhaps a little closer than we anticipated. I muse at the fact that Connor was Evan's age when I got pregnant with Evan! Wow! I conclude that two is definitely the right number. I am not sure I can handle doing this sleep deprivation gig a third time. As they finish up snack, Evan is getting cranky and I decide that a proper nap is order again, except that Connor has spilled his drink on the carpet and is sitting dumbfounded. "What happened?" he says over and over. "It's o.k. honey, we will clean it up." Matt grabs the carpet cleaner and we soak up the dark stain until it is hardly noticeable. "Alright, Mr. No Nap, time for a nap!"

I scoop up Evan again and we march upstairs, again, to try for a nap. It is now eleven thirty and he should be good and tired since it has been two and a half hours since his last "nap". "...and Gerry Giraffe says have a good nap". We cosy into the rocker and he latches before I am even in position. I watch him drink and think how beautiful he is. How can such a beautiful being create so much tension? I choose to leave that topic for another time. As he finishes up his meal, he pops off and smacks his ruby red lips a few times and drifts off. Damn! I guess we won't be putting him down awake again. I see his face. So perfect. I draw him in close to me and kiss his forehead. He smells incredulous. His warm little body is nestled in my arms and I never want to let him go. I choose to live in the moment for just a little longer.

How do you feed your flame?

In order for a flame to burn it needs oxygen and kindling. Without these elements it is impossible for the flame to continue warming your soul. So, how to you continue to keep your flame burning in a world where there is little time for kindling? Finding the time to do the things we love is hard, but a neccessity if we are to keep our flames alive. Ask yourself, what feeds my flame? What kindling can I give my flame on a daily basis? Am I taking deep breaths?
The first thing that feeds my flame is my children. The giggles and smiles, snuggles and cuddles feed my flame intensely. This intensity is a little overwhelming at times and I have discovered that I need ways to feed my flame outside of my loving family. It needed to be something I am passionate about, something that allows me to be creative. Skating! Before I had my children I was coaching 6 nights a week, working full time and not enjoying a second of it! Once I had my first son, Connor, I went back to coaching 1 night a week just to keep my foot in the door. There was no pressure, no demands, just teaching my few students the sport that I love. I had discovered another way to feed my flame! I was enjoying my time on the ice again. I was able to share my passion for the ice with my students and inspire them to skate to some fantastic acheivements! Despite this awakening in me, I still felt like I was missing something. My flame needed more fuel.
I have always been an athlete and somewhere between ending my competitive skating and having children I packed on a "few" extra pounds. I don't feel like an athlete anymore even though my heart longs for activity and highs. My knees ache and feel so unsupportive, my center of gravity has shifted and my base is crumpled. This does not fuel my flame. So how are these extra pounds going to come off? Well, I have started a detox with some amazing women who have given me so much support it may bring me to tears yet. I am four days in now and am starting to feel better with each passing day. The scale has started its descent which provides incentive for me to stay on track. This is the start of something really big! With the support of these woman, I know I can keep my flame burning!
Another piece to this puzzle is this blog. A way for me to be creative through prose, anecdotes and may be even a little rhyme! I will log in daily and write what is on my mind! Food? Children? Progress reports? Anything that feeds my flame and makes it burn brighter! So that has me wondering? What feeds your flame?