meditations of a blueberry

For everything there is a season. Or so they tell me. Seasons are not forever. They pass. Sometimes they pass with what seems like lightning speed, and sometimes they drag along as if someone had accidentally pushed the slow motion button. Sometimes you are surrounded by others in the same season as you, and sometimes you are all alone. The season of my life is currently babies and toddlers and all that pertains to the crazy life that is 4 children 6 and under. I am in the season of life where if I get 2 mins alone to go pee without hearing screaming at least once a day, I feel like I won the jackpot. I am in the season where my life is ruled by snacks and naps and early bedtimes lest my precious little people suddenly turn into gremlins. I am in the season of diapers and diapers and even more diapers. I am in the season where by the end of the day, I am just spent and can hardly find the energy for much else besides losing myself in an episode of Doctor Who or Supernatural,...

A little over 9 years ago, I was laughing and rolling my eyes when my friend told me about this website called "Facebook." "Like I'd join that," I said. "I will stick with MySpace." Little did I know. Shortly after that conversation, I gave in and joined when I was at the university curriculum lab procrastinating doing a project. Soon the addiction took over. And before I knew it, everyone I knew was on Facebook, even my Nana. Now, Facebook has evolved into this amazing tool to be used to keep in touch and to feel like part of a community. But there does come a price. Sometimes we share openly and honestly about our lives, sometimes we don't. Sometimes we share only the good parts of our lives, creating this illusion that everything is perfect in our world. This not only hurts others as they inevitably compare their lives to a nonexistent perfect life, but ourselves as we are not being open with our lives. This is why I insist on being an open...

This morning I awoke to light peeking in through the curtains, the smell of bacon wafting upstairs, the sound of children's voices echoing throughout my kitchen, and the soft touch of a baby's hand caressing my face. When I got up, I was greeted with excited voices saying "Mommy!" as they ran to give me a hug. I have never been a morning person (possibly an understatement if you ask my mom and dad), but these moments where my children run to me almost make me one (almost...coffee brings me the rest of the way). Not every morning is like this, but today was. This Thanksgiving weekend we have snow. A fair amount of snow. Enough to pull out the sleds for the kids to pull each other around in. Normally, I feel disgust or annoyance at the first snow, especially when it comes before Halloween. But this year, watching them outside playing (interspersed with the usual sibling fighting and screaming) while the smell of pumpkin pie wafts past me, I feel grateful. Grateful for ...

"Hurry up! Let's go, let's go, let's go," I said to my toddler as he inspected the long grass, seemingly unaware to my urging to move his little body faster. I could feel my frustration and anxiety mounting inside me. We were going to be late. Again. And my sweet little man was completely oblivious to everything but that stupid grass. Finally, I picked him up and carried him alongside his sister as we rushed to get my oldest off the bus. I had left early. It's literally a 2 minute walk to the bus. I don't understand how we were running late. Yet here we were. Late and rushing. Again. In the last few years, I've tried really hard to not rush and to instead slow down. I haven't always succeeded, but I have tried. When you're rushing and hurrying everyone up, sometimes you miss amazing moments. Like when my toddler inspects the long grass and lays down like he's a lion stalking his prey. Or when the baby sees her brothers beside her and laugh...

I have spent much of my life questioning my worth. Wondering if I was smart enough, pretty enough, thin enough. Wondering how I could make myself organized enough, patient enough, "mom" enough. Wondering if anyone could see how much I was faking it trying to be enough and wondering what they would do when they found out the truth. Well, here is the truth that I am finally starting to believe (after 33 years, 10 years of marriage, 5 children, and 2 university degrees). I am enough. And so are you. That's right. Just as we are. Flaws and everything. Know why?  Because God doesn't make junk. If you don't believe in God, then replace "God" with whatever word you'd like  (Allah, nature, biology, whatever). Even diamonds have flaws if you look closely enough, and yet even the most flaw filled diamond still shines brightly under the right light. We are enough too. And we can shine brightly no matter our flaws. I'm impati...

My body is in a holding pattern. Six months later and my body is still very much postpartum. And why shouldn't it be? Six months ago my body was growing an 11 lb 6 oz baby. My fourth. My third large baby. Of course my body has not "bounced back." It shouldn't. And I shouldn't expect it to. My body has done an amazing thing. It has grown and nourished 4 babies. It has stretched to unbelievable sizes to accomodate large babies. It doesn't need to bounce back. It needs to be loved. It needs me to love it. This body is mine. It's not perfect but it's mine. It's a soft place to land for my kids. These strong arms lift up and fly my kids around the room. These legs carry my body about my day. This still round belly is the perfect place for the baby to snuggle into. Eventually I will heal my diastasis. I may or may not lose the weight. I may or may not fit into my smaller clothes. It doesn't matter. The future doesn't matter. I will not put my ...

The smell of new pencils and blank paper is in the air. The excitement of kids and parents alike is thick and hangs amongst the sales racks of nonmarking shoes and first day of school clothes. Backpacks that are much too big for little bodies are stuffed full to the brim with kleenex, glue sticks, and Crayola markers. Busses are shiny and clean. Teachers are lovingly arranging their classrooms so they are inviting and organized, hopeful for the learning that will occur shortly. September. Back to school. My biggest starts Grade 1 this year. I'm not really sure how that's possible, but here we are all the same. It seems like yesterday he was a wee babe. Nursing all hours of the night. Laughing and giggling as he watched the fan above him. I swear just this morning he was taking his first steps down our hallway in the condo. And now he's six. I'm sure by the time I blink again he will be heading into Grade 12 and I will wonder what happened to the last 12 years. Time. S...