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Friday November 27th, 2009 “We all love animals. Why do we call some ‘pets’ and others ‘dinner?'”
k.d. lang
I’m a pescatarian, which is basically a vegetarian who eats seafood. Ever since I was a child, I was bothered by the sight of meat on my plate, but I couldn’t articulate my feelings. I wasn’t aware that there were such people as vegetarians; I just thought that I should learn to like meat like everyone else. I went to great lengths to try to disguise morsels of beef and chicken and veal by mixing them in with other food on my plate. I was sure that a piece of steak would be more palatable if it was covered with corn and mashed potatoes, but no matter how it went in, it was always tough for me to swallow.
Once I left home and was in charge of my own meals, I was essentially a pescatarian, but I didn’t officially present that title to the world because it seemed inconvenient. I thought it would be rude, for instance, if I was invited to someone’s home for dinner and then didn’t eat the meat that had been prepared. (I definitely had a ‘pleaser’ mentality.) Finally, in my twenties, I boldly ‘came-out’ of the meat-locker and announced that I was a fish-eating vegetarian. It was such a relief!
My husband enjoys eating meat, but he also loves seafood so it hasn’t posed a problem for him to be a part of a pescatarian household. When it comes to our daughters, they aren’t presented with the opportunity to eat meat very often, but I don’t stop them if they choose to try it. I plan to share my beliefs with the girls when they’re older, and I will respect whatever choices they make.
It seems, however, that I might be having the conversation with my three-year-old daughter, Pip, a little earlier than anticipated. Pip typically loves eating fish, but lately she has started asking questions like, “Mama, what was this fish doing?”
“What do you mean, Honey?”
“I mean, was it swimming?”
“Yes, it was swimming.” I quickly launch into a little prayer of thanks to the fish at this point, both to divert the conversation and express our gratitude, and we carry on with our meal. The last time we had salmon, though, Pip wouldn’t touch it.
“Eat some of your fish please, Pip.”
“No, Mama, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t know about it, Mama.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just don’t know what it’s going to do when it’s inside me,” she started to cry at this point.
Pip had imagined that the salmon would come to life in her wee belly and resume swimming. Creepy. Despite all attempts to assuage her fears, she did not eat the fish.
I thought she had forgotten the fish discussion until the following morning. We were playing with horses and Pip was very curious about their diet. “What do horses eat, Mama?”
“Well, your Auntie used to have a horse named Misty, and I know that she liked to eat grass and apples and carrots, and sugar cubes!”
“Do horses eat fish?”
“No, I don’t think so, Pip.”
“Mama, I don’t want to eat horses,” Pip said.
“Of course not, Pip, you don’t have to eat horses.”
“I don’t want animals to be died, I want them to run around and swim a little bit.”
“That’s very kind of you, Pip,” and I left it at that. Believe it or not, that brief conversation with Pip has me reconsidering my choice to eat seafood. Suddenly, when I imagine explaining to my daughters why I eat fish, but not meat, my argument seems weak. In fact, I’m a hypocrite. I am bothered by the notion of eating animals that bond with their young, yet I will kill a crab and eat it. It turns my stomach to see a rack of lamb, but I’ll happily bang on a goat-skin drum. I own leather shoes, a leather jacket, and at this very moment I’m lying on a leather couch! Like I said, it’s hypocritical!
I should clarify that I’m not attempting to persuade anyone out there to become a vegetarian, my point is simply this: is it not a beautiful thing when your three-year-old daughter inspires you to reevaluate your belief system? I have always set high standards for myself, but now, more than ever, I want to be the best person I can be, because I know what an important role model I am for two glorious little people. My daughters make me want to be a better woman. What a gift.
Monday November 23rd, 2009 “Continuity gives us roots; change gives us branches, letting us stretch and grow and reach new heights.”
~Pauline R. Kezer
I love writing. I always look forward to the times when I can pull out my laptop and reflect upon my life as a mother. Writing this blog, specifically, is the most satisfying type of writing I have ever done, because it’s so rewarding to have an audience! I really appreciate you! I love knowing that there are women out there who are connecting with the experiences that I’m sharing. It’s an empowering process.
It’s also a very time-consuming process! This next month I’m going to be focusing on another passion of mine: photography. I’ve been given a great opportunity by Liz Tribe, the manager of the Comox Mall. She has taken a huge leap of faith and hired me as her official Santa photographer this season. I am thrilled. As you can imagine, I want my first professional gig to be a smashing success, so I need to make a bit of room in my life. More time for photography will mean less time for writing. (For all of you local readers, the first Santa shoot is this Friday at 5pm!)
So, there are going to be a few changes to ‘The Grateful Mama.’ I’m definitely going to keep writing, every Monday at the very least; but I won’t hold myself to the ‘five posts a week’ schedule. Who knows? Perhaps in the new year I’ll be returning to the week-daily post format. I’ll keep you all ‘posted.’
Change is good. Sometimes change is hard. Change is always inevitable. I remember, when I was ten or eleven years old, my family was preparing to move to a new town. I didn’t want to go. I was sad about leaving my friends, my teacher, my school and my bedroom. I was also frustrated that I had no say in the matter!
My dad came into my room one night and had a little chat with me. He didn’t give me the speech that I had anticipated. He didn’t try to cheer me up by telling me that I’d make new friends and I’d like my new school. Instead, he just told me that the one thing I would always be able to count on in life, was ‘change.’ “Everything changes,” he told me. And he was right. It was a pretty sobering thought at the time, but his words have stuck with me over the years. When you’re a kid, it’s very obvious when adults are feeding you a load of crap and when they are giving you the straight goods. I always appreciated that about my dad. He was a straight-shooter. He still is.
To my wonderful, loyal readers who start every day by reading my posts: I’m sorry if this change disappoints you. I hope you won’t hold it against me, and that you’ll continue to read and enjoy my offerings.
To my wonderful, loyal readers who check in every once in awhile, this’ll be no big deal!
Thank you all for reading!
Saturday November 21st, 2009 Catch my debut article with OUR BIG EARTH this morning @ www.ourbigearth.com
Friday November 20th, 2009 “Everyone eats and drinks, yet few appreciate food.”
Confucious
Big Daddy-O was away and the girls and I had to run an errand in the late afternoon. It took longer than I had anticipated, so at 5:20 pm I decided to pick-up Chinese food for dinner instead of cooking at home.
“But I don’t like Chinese food, Mama,” Pip whined.
“Honey, you’ve never tried Chinese food, so you don’t know if you like it or not.” This next bit is rather shameful, “Do you know that you used to say that you didn’t like chocolate chip cookies? Then you tried them one day, and you liked them!” It wasn’t true, but at least it made her think about making uninformed decisions about food preferences!
We strolled into Q.F. and ordered the four-item combo; rice, veg, chow mein and prawns. Just for fun, I had them throw in a few spring rolls. (My mouth is watering just typing the words, ‘spring rolls.’)
We got home and I had dinner laid out in a flash. Pip seemed to like the looks of her dinner after all, and chomped into her spring roll without hesitation; or plum sauce. “Mama, I LOVE CHINESE FOOD!” were the words that I heard at least three times that evening.
“Fantastic, Pip!”
“I think I could eat a WHOLE spring roll all by myself,” she ate one and a half rolls, then polished off everything on her plate.
After dinner the girls ran around a bit while I cleaned up, then we all danced for awhile before bath-time.
Once I had put Fig to bed, it was time to read to Pip. I got onto her bed while she looked for her book of choice. When she joined me on the bed, she performed an energetic little bounce on all fours and surprised us both by purging a good portion of her dinner on the bed.
“I threw-up Mama.” Pip was very calm.
“Yes you did, Honey.” I began to strip the sheet.
“I don’t know why I did that Mama.”
I explained that perhaps her body wasn’t used to Chinese food, perhaps she ate too quickly, or perhaps it was just all of the activity straight after dinner.
By the time I finished my explanation, Pip was snuggled into bed and ready for her book. I had to let a small chuckle escape before I began reading. I couldn’t help myself; it was the vision of her exuberant, ‘I LOVE CHINESE FOOD MAMA!!!’ coupled with the sudden vomiting image. Pip didn’t see the irony, of course, but she laughed when I chuckled, just to keep my giggle company.
Thursday November 19th, 2009 “A three-year-old child is a being who gets almost as much fun out of a fifty-six dollar set of swings as it does out of finding a small green worm.”
Bill Vaughn
When Fig is too quiet, it usually means trouble. I was in Pip’s bedroom, assisting with her fifteenth costume-change of the day, when I noticed that Fig wasn’t with us. “Where’s Fig?” I asked Pip.
“I don’t know, Mama.” I called Fig’s name. There was no answer.
“It’s awfully quiet,” I said to Pip as I attached her butterfly wings. “Let’s see what your sister’s up to.” I walked out of the bedroom calling Fig’s name. No sign of her in the bathroom, nor in the master-bedroom. She wasn’t in the kitchen.
“Here she is Mama!” Pip yelled from the living room. I turned the corner to find Fig carefully unwrapping her tenth tampon.
I did what any responsible disciplinarian would do; I grabbed my camera. I also took some solace in the fact that these weren’t my favourite brand of feminine protection. It was one of those emergency purchases at the Merville Store, where selection is limited. The unused members of the box had sat under the bathroom sink for months, and I suspect they were quite thrilled to see the light of day and to realize that they were to be used as toys.
Fig quickly discovered that the cardboard tubes fit perfectly on her fingers. “Mama, Puppet!” she proudly announced.
After playing with the tampon puppets for a time, the inevitable happened…
but nothing prepared me for this:
I don’t think I’ll ever view feminine protection in quite the same way!
Wednesday November 18th, 2009 “Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.”
Albert Einstein
After boiling some pasta for the girls at lunch time, I was telling Pip that the pot was very hot and she shouldn’t go near it. For some idiotic reason unbeknownst to me, I demonstrated exactly how hot the pot was by touching the rim with my left pointer-finger, and promptly burning myself.
Who does that?
Tuesday November 17th, 2009 “In the final analysis it is not what you do for your children but what you have taught them to do for themselves that will make them successful human beings.”
— Ann Landers
Pip wanted to play with her cousin last week and I explained that she was having a sleep-over at Grandma P. and Grandpa R.’s house. That was all it took. The seed had been planted; Pip wanted a sleep-over. We called Grandma P. to arrange a date and Pip started counting the days.
Now my parents are only a ten-minute drive away, but it was a big deal for Pip to sleep away from home. My husband and I haven’t gone on any trips together (yet) without the kids, and any time my mom has baby-sat for us, she has come over to our house. The plan was for my mom to pick Pip up at 2:30 pm on Friday so that they could enjoy the afternoon together, before having dinner. Pip would spend the night with her grandparents and we’d pick her up Saturday morning.
My mom had said to me on the phone, “Now this could be a huge success, or a complete disaster,” and I agreed. Pip had surprised me with her independence before, but she had also cried Thursday night after I left her bedroom because she missed me. One never knows how these ‘firsts’ are going to go. I had told Mom that it would be nice to say goodnight to Pip on the phone, but we agreed that Mom should initiate the call instead of me, just in case there were any rough patches.
I’ll tell you right now, the sleep-0ver was a huge success; for Pip. What my husband and I were not prepared for, was how much we would miss her! I’ll never forget the look on Big Daddy-O’s face when Grandma and Pip drove away from our house. I was standing at the door with Fig, trying to ignore the ridiculous tears forming in my eyes, and my husband gave me a look that I’ve never seen before, and I’ll not soon forget. It was a surprised, emotional look that said, ‘Can you believe how hard this is?’ He yelled up at me, “She just left and I already miss her!”
It felt so strange to be a family without Pip. Both my husband and I have been away from Pip for at least one night before, but it was a different experience to be at home, going through our normal rituals as a family without our eldest daughter. Of course we enjoyed our time with Fig, and I must say that she was in her element. She didn’t mention her sister once, she just lapped up all the undivided attention we were showering upon her.
When Fig was in the tub, both Big Daddy-O and I were in the bathroom with her, and I said, “I hope Pip calls soon.” My husband laughed.
“I bet we’re going to be saying that a lot when she’s fifteen.”
“Seventeen.” I countered.
Pip did indeed call shortly thereafter, and her voice sounded small and happy. It was pretty special for Pip to have Grandma and Grandpa all to herself. It was also special for our second child to have her parents all to herself. In the end, I think everyone benefitted from the sleep-over. It’s a brilliant feeling to know that there’s a place, other than home, where your child feels safe and well-loved and happy. Thanks Mom and Dad.
Monday November 16th, 2009 “In every artist there is a touch of audacity without which no talent is conceivable.”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(I apologize to all of my non-local readers for this hyper-local post.)
I recently heard from a woman named Lianne Raymond, who invited me to a documentary-screening called, ‘Who Does She Think She Is?’
Here’s a quick blurb about the documentary:
“In a half-changed world, women are often forced to choose: Mothering or working? Your children’s well being or your own? Responsibility or self expression? Who Does She Think She Is?, a documentary by Academy Award winning filmmaker Pamela Tanner Boll (who was also behind the Academy Award winning film Born Into Brothels), features five fierce women who refuse to choose. The artists include sculptors, painters, drummers and more. Through their lives, we explore some of the most problematic intersections of our time: mothering and creativity, partnering and independence, economics and art.”
Details about the event can be found here: http://lianne.typepad.com/womenart/
The screening is being held at the Courtenay Museum on Sunday, November 22nd, and admission is $5.00. I believe you have to purchase the tickets online by visiting the link above. Before the screening there will be an opportunity to meet a variety of local female artists who are combining motherhood with creativity. (I’ll have a table with my Grateful Mama books on display; fitting beautifully into the ‘Who Does She Think She Is?’ theme!)
Seating is limited to 50 people, so if you’re interested, don’t wait to get your ticket!
Friday November 13th, 2009 “Language… has created the word “loneliness” to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word “solitude” to express the glory of being alone.”
Paul Johannes Tillich, The Eternal Now
Pip and I were snuggling together in bed one morning while Big-Daddy-O and Fig were getting a fire started. “Mama, are there some families where each Mama has one kid?”
“Sure, Pip.” I cited a couple of examples of friends of ours. One family consists of a brother and sister who have two mothers, and the other family has one child.
“That’s what I want, Mama, just one kid and one Mama. You can be my Mama and Fig can have another one.” Instead of explaining the impossibility of her suggestion, I tried to probe Pip’s mind a little deeper.
“Why do you want that, Pip?”
“Mama, it’s hard to be a big sister.”
“Tell me what’s hard, Sweetie.”
“Well, all the sharing, I have to share all of my stuff and Fig can reach everything in my room; she wrecks my set-ups and takes the skirt off of Dorothy.”
I promised Pip that we could find a place in her room to store the special toys that were just for her. I then told her that Fig was a part of our family, we loved her like crazy and she was here to stay. I reminded Pip of how Fig makes her laugh and how much fun they have dancing together, riding (pretend) horses together, and chasing each other around the house. By the end of the conversation, Pip had a smile on her face.
It was a good conversation; a good reminder for me that Pip needs her space. Pip’s bedroom is on the main floor of our home and is much larger than the nursery which is upstairs, so Pip’s room is ‘the toy room.’ She’s never really allowed to shut her sister out of her room because then Fig wouldn’t have access to the toys, puzzles, books, etc.
On top of that, we always insist that the girls share everything. If they aren’t willing to take turns, then the toy is removed for a period of time. It’s a decent rule, but I also appreciate that there are some precious belongings that Pip would rather Fig not handle. Our youngest daughter is not the gentlest toddler in the world and she’s been known to rip the antlers off a moose, de-pop a few ‘pop-up’ books and chew on puzzle pieces. Pip deserves to have a few toys that are out-of-Fig’s-bounds.
I am a big sister, and I remember spending a lot of time playing with my younger siblings, but I also remember shutting the door to my bedroom and spending time on my own. I needed my own space. I still do. I can certainly relate to Pip’s wishes, and I’m a bit surprised that I haven’t made more of an effort to ensure that Pip has a place to retreat to. Ah well, sometimes I need to be hit over the head, and luckily Pip was gentle.
Thursday November 12th, 2009 “We hippos love our belly-b’s, they’re round and cute and funny, and there’s a place we take them to when summer days are sunny.”
Sandra Boynton
Pip has always adored her belly-button. It’s an impressive, round ‘outey,’ and she rubs it to soothe herself. It came as no surprise, therefore, when Pip brought her first ‘family drawing’ over to me the other day and I noticed that we all had belly-buttons. It seems that we’re destined to remain mouth-less for awhile, and poor Fig didn’t get arms, but at least we have our belly-b’s.
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