On Where I’m At

For the first time in years, last month, I hesitated when my blog hosting plan came up for renewal. How long will I continue with this? Am I really going to pass the time this way, in a satisfying way, for both myself and readers, long term and potentially new? I’m not really into rambling, mind dump paragraphs, examining ideas and getting things out there just cause. I like to write but I don’t NEED to write like some people do.

I was forced to take a blog break with Tyler’s song-a-day challenge last year. It was just too much to fit into one day. With us recording a video everyday, there wasn’t much left in the tank after working, parenting, video of the day. If there was, I’d get the dishes done before bed. I was writing but a bit too halfheartedly, and I was pouring my ideas and energy into videos. I was more than happy to close my computer at the end of the day without adding anything more in my own space here.

Maybe I don’t feel the same need to photograph and share details as much as I used to. I’m getting more wary of splashing photos of my sweet kid all over the Internet without him having a say in the matter. So am I too cautious of oversharing to keep writing? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just out of the habit, or need to find a better balance.

I think I’ve come to the conclusion that for now, I’ll try to keep writing about the things I feel passionate about. Even if that means the day to day slips by, I still want to travel and chase sunsets, cook great food and drink wine, think about life and how best to enjoy it. My little J will naturally be a part if it, but maybe less of a real focus. I’m not sure.

I’m still having fun making great food, enjoying little moments. We’re heading on a big, exciting trip to California in a week, so that’ll kickstart my writing and photo taking mojo, I think. And I’ll just go from there.

That’s where I’m at right now, anyways. How about you?

An Ode to Saturday night

Since becoming a parent, I don’t miss those Saturday nights I’m not having anymore. I had lots of those nights: going out with friends, partying, staying out late and then luxuriously sleeping in.

It wasn’t having a baby that changed my routine, so much, I was thinking to myself last night at 10pm as I stood outside, just past my front steps, clinging to the end of my dog’s leash, wishing he wouldn’t refuse to pee in the backyard once the snow turns to dripping ice. Although in the past, I’d take more than a step or so away from the house where inside my little boy snoozes peacefully.

I did used to stay up late on Saturdays – watching movies as I scrapbooked happily on the coffee table, wrote, sipped wine and read. I always had a project on the go and I loved working on it into the wee hours, music playing or Sex in the City on repeat. I’ve always been pretty happy staying in on Saturday nights. This, I suppose, helps makes me a good fit for someone like Tyler who works every Saturday night. At first, I still went out with my girlfriends often, dragging them along to shows or out to a movie. But as the years went by, we all paired off, started doing ‘couple’ things, and I hung out mainly with single friends.

More time, and more things like marriage and babies, and we’re all being pulled in directions that don’t often equate to gathering on a Saturday night so often anymore. I imagine most of my friends are doing what I do: cleaning up the kitchen, folding one last load of laundry, maybe sneaking in an episode of TV before going to bed not so late.

Nowadays, I’m always meeting Sunday head-on, stumbling out of bed at the first morning cry of Mama! Since Tyler arrives home around 3:15am from work, he doesn’t even notice those wake-up sounds three or four hours later. We always go to my mom’s for breakfast to get out and let him sleep in.

It’s nice, a different sort of weekend, but not all that different. And all the smiles and laughter, feeling a little hand grip mine we walk outside in the early morning – it makes it all better.

A strong city

Life changed a bit today. For me and for everyone around me here in Ottawa. There was an attack here, in Canada’s capital city, a shooting at our Parliament Hill. One soldier was killed and the gunman managed to make it right into our government’s Peace Tower before being taken out. Government buildings and schools were locked down, and police and first responders swept the streets.

It’s the kind of thing I never imagined we would ever see here, in our calm city with friendly, welcoming faces; where I wouldn’t hesitate to ask for directions or walk alone night. This is a serene place, one that can even border on the mundane.

I don’t want to give into fear and paranoia. I want to believe that ours is a city of kind people who would help each other, and band together. I don’t want to think that our neighbours and friends could be people with ill intentions and guns hiding away in the closets of their minds. I want this to be a safe city for my son to grow up in and I believe that it will be again.

Even with the penchant of late to deliver horrible news in a graphic, breathless fashion, I’ve been following along online with my favourite local station, where the news is updated in a careful, thoughtful manner, rather than creating ill-conceived headlines written to strike terror. I’m glad about that. I’m not trying to disparage or brush aside what happened today. A soldier with a family who loved him was gunned down. Some were injured, and many others were thrown into panic by the sound of gunfire and emergency sirens.

This is not something we’ve seen here before and I just hope and pray it is not something we see again.An in-depth assessment or the situation, and more security measures may need to be taken, and my hope is that this is something we can do in a deliberate, intelligent manner.

After my son’s nap today, we laid down on my bed for a moment. Him still sleepy, and snuggled in close, fitting right to my body with his silky hair right under my chin. I sang a bit, and he nestled there, then looked up into my face with a funny little grin. I want this world that he will know to be a good one.

I’m gazing out the window now, quietly, watching the birds soar past. So sure of what they are doing and where they are going, uninterrupted in their path of flight. The sky is clear and blue; the trees outside still filled with specks of shifting green-yellow-red brilliance, and I breathe, feeling the remnants of uneasiness. Things are ok, and for that I am lucky.