Downward Dogs and Angry Cats

I've taken up yoga.  

I know.  Oh, I know.

It's all "om" and trips to India and wearing racerback exercise tanks and those finger socks with rubber soles.

Except it isn't!

I put off yoga for a long time because it was just a little bit too out there.  I didn't think I was 

the type.  I don't juice my carrots and parsley, and I occasionally get angry and lippy. 

But I decided to try it.  I'd noticed I was kind of tight in the morning and my neck and shoulders were all 

out of whack from my sleeping position.  I tried all kinds of different things to fix my neck.  I

followed the massage person's suggestion to lie on my couch arm and let my arms hang 

(surprisingly effective except for the tingling).  I tried to switch from sleeping on my side/armpit/bicep

to sleeping on my back with my hands crossed over my heart (think the mom on Addam's Family).

I woke up one day with a lily in my hands and knew that Richard was making fun of me.

Not really.

But it didn't help.  So, yoga it was.  And yoga it is.  I admit, I thought yoga was the exercise of 

people who really didn't want to break a sweat.  It's just stretching right?  I found a beginner

yoga video on YouTube and realized....

I was wrong!

That stuff is hard!  The balance.  The stretching beyond stretching.  The trying to look graceful during 

it....fiew.  I admit, I didn't nearly look like the lady on the video.  She was beautiful and graceful in 

her racerback tank.  I was kind of, well, not beautiful or graceful in my pj bottoms and Richard's t-shirt.

She moved from position to position like a dancer.  I stumbled through like a 12 month old learning

to walk.  

And then I thought, "Hey!  Let's mix things up and try the core strengthening yoga!"  Oh, Emilie.  

Oh, no, Emilie.  Leave well enough alone, Emilie.

I originally thought I didn't have abs.  I found them.  They're under that layer of skin and fat and 

they are real.  And they hurt.  A lot.  Scissoring your legs while keeping your shoulders off the ground

is torture.  Resting (ha!) on your elbows and pumping your legs and twisting our hips all the while

keeping your feet from touching the floor is excruciating.  Looking good while doing it?  No.

It's day 2, and it hurts to bend over.  But, I am not a quitter.  I will prevail!

Yoga, I will own you.    

On Growing Old

I have been looking at myself lately.  This has never happened before, except for
the blessed times I've been pregnant.  It was a pleasure and a thrill to stand
in front of the mirror, sideways, to see if my seven week baby bump was noticeable.
Had anyone guessed my secret yet?  That my body was busy, busy, busy building
a little human from nothing but a miniscule seed and egg and hopes and dreams and love?
And, long after any guess work was involved, I would run my hands over the huge mountain
of a belly, feeling the elbows and heels with my fingers.  Fascinating, to see the results of
life in the making.

No, this has never happened before.  Secure in a husband's desire, there's never been the worry of
ugliness or fault.  I have never cared all that much, beyond the teenage vanity
of years ago.  Was I too fat?  Too skinny?  Did I curve right?  Life took over, and frankly, beyond the
daily shower there hasn't been time for fussing over wrinkles or flabby thighs.

But the last few months have brought changes.  My twenties - long over.  I am swiftly approaching
35, when I officially become an obstetric old lady, half way to my allotted three score and ten.  Only
3 years until I am midlife.  Tic. Tic.  Tic.

And, so, I have looked at myself lately.  Not critically, as I am not really preoccupied with
generic sexiness and sculpted bodies.  Every woman is desirable, if only for the right lover.  I have
mine, and there is great thankfulness in this.  No, not critically.  More...curiously.  It began with a few strands of silver hair, right at my temple where my hair parts.  I loved them immediately.  They lent my face a wisdom, a dignity, a respectability of sorts.  Their placement was a bonus.  I felt I had graduated to the experienced, wise-woman status.  Quickly, they have been joined by more silver.

In the mirror as I bent closer to confirm, yes, more silver, I noticed my face is not as smooth as it was even a year ago.  Tiny lines by my mouth, a faint furrow between my brows.  Have I frowned more lately?  I tried a little upset face...the furrow matched, the wrinkles not.  Maybe I had smiled more.  Yes, those lines matched when my lips curved upward.  And, is it any wonder?  We weathered the hardest year of our married life these past dozen months.  My face.  A reflection of my life.  A reflection of my husband.  The pain and worry and stress of debilitating pain.  The horrible strain on our marriage.  The hope of surgery.  The relief that it helped.  The joy of holding hands and walking - walking! - together through a parking lot.  The happy tears of witnessing our toddler in his lap, without having to push her off because of the incredible pain. It's there.  My face, a history.

And down, lower, my body has been altered by years and babies and circumstance.  The breasts that fed our babies, all four of them, literally keeping them alive and thriving.  How different they are from the beginning of my adulthood.  From one trick pony, to jack of all trades.  They were and are food for hungry bellies, comfort for bumps and bruises, a soft spot for tired heads at the perfect level for me to dip my head and bury my face in the tendrils smelling of baby soft loveliness.

I have looked at myself lately.  I have run my hands over my belly, turned sideways in the mirror, and wondered.  Does anyone know?  When they see me at the market, my belly a slight bulge, do they know that I have carried my son and three daughters within me?  That I have grown them in the secret of my body, that there they were safe, warm, and loved?  That the stripes shining on my skin are witness to the hugeness of my belly after ten moons, as huge as the love and responsibility of my commitment to my little ones?  Never will my muscles and skin return to their 'normal', rippled muscles and bikini-ready.  Never will my heart go back to those times, either, abandoning these last 10 years.  I have run my fingers over my scar, from where my daughter was lifted screaming with her fist pumped over her head.  I cried hot tears over that battle scar, only to have that river of grief lead me to a safe port of thankfulness.  It's there, a faint white line, and bears testimony to the birth of a newborn baby, a newborn mother.

When I was very young I imagined myself a grandmother.  I imagined the apron, making cookies with my grandchildren.  I saw them snuggled up, pages turning on the couch.  I imagined the comfortable, easy smiles and silly dances that have no room for vanity.  I imagined the garden, barefoot, eating peas fresh from the pods and teaching the children of my children what my mother had taught me.  And it looked like this.  It looked like dirt handprints on jeans.  It was like flour on rounded cheeks.  It was a lap big enough for two or three, soft with no sharp.  It was a little finger tip tracing the crinkles of my laughter just before naptime sleep.

Beautifully, wonderfully made.  My body as a testament of life lived well.

A Little Taste of Japan

I was in the city yesterday for doula meetings (3!  What a difference from a few years ago!).

My first meeting started early and thus ended early which luckily gave me enough time to grab a quick lunch.

Living in a small town with only a few fast food joints and good ol' home cooking type restaurants 

has me jumping at any and every chance to live it up and eat ethnic.

Japanese cuisine, here I come!  

It was my first time in a Japanese restaurant, and I must say that I was pleased.  Classy, beautiful

and modern looking.  There were no fish tanks (thank goodness!  No one likes watching fish take a poo

while eating something they can't identify.), no gaudy streamers and no pre-wrapped fortune cookies...

which means I wasn't at the local chinese eatery.  The ceiling was a painted black tin, and the plates were 

earthen pottery.

I was dining alone so I chose a quiet table in the corner where I could observe without being watched.

I chose from the menu (in English, though I really had no idea what I was in for) and settled back.  I

started wishing I'd brought in a book.  There is something slightly awkward about trying to look entertained

when you're all by yourself.  My food came in record time and it was beautiful.

Gorgeous.

I had a little clay teacup with green tea and a dish of miso soup.  There was a funny shaped spoon in the soup which led me to believe I should eat it with that.  I looked around desperately for someone to mimic.  Were they using their funny spoon?  Or should I just drink from the rim?  I went back to my old adage...WWTD?  What Would Toni Do?  I did my best.

With the soup and tea I had a woven basket with square dishes each filled with a different food.  Another ceramic dish for sauce (tempura, Tempra? like the paint?  No!  For the tempura.  Ah, yes.  I dipped everything in it since I wasn't really sure which of the foods was tempura), and sticky rice in a perfect sphere on a side plate.  But, no fork.  Only some very classy silver plated chopsticks.

And then I realized that these were the real deal chopsticks.  All those other wooden, pre-wrapped chopsticks?  Not the real deal.  Those are apparently rigged.  These chopsticks were heavy, slippery and took considerable skill.  All the times I had successfully (and smugly, sigh) eaten with chopsticks now

meant nothing.  I started to be very thankful that I was dining alone because the seat across me was soon splattered with sauce from my poor chopstick handling.  I did my best.  When I thought no one was looking I just stabbed my deep-fried yams and ate them lollipop style.

Being noon-time the restaurant was filling up.  A couple came in, young and giggly.  The girl tossed her hair and smiled an awful lot, the boy was wearing what he considered a flattering bicep-showing shirt and paid an awful lot of attention to his girl.  Aw, a first date maybe?  Newly in love?  They sat down, stared deep into each other's eyes and promptly took out their phones to text friends who were not there.  Well.  So that's how people date in these modern times.  I hope they were texting each other.

So I ate the sticky rice.  I ate the soup.  I enjoyed the yams and zucchini.  I finished the raw tuna.  I polished off the sushi.  

The tea gave me palpitations, but I'm sure my solitary dining experience was more heartfelt than the texting couple.  

At least we'll always have green tea.

Mangers and Bassinets

It happened.  Christmas!

It happened without me, unfortunately, which was a first.  20 minutes before my family was due to arrive
to celebrate the Reveillon I received a call from my client.  She was heading to the hospital.

And then I got another call.  Client number 2 was also heading to the DECH.

Thank goodness for my wonderful back-up doula!  In the 7 years I've been doula-ing
I've never had to call in a back-up.  Yet, here we were, Christmas Eve, and I was frantically
phoning her in.

It's like birth insurance.  You hope you never need it, but you're awfully glad it's there when you do!

Yet another twist of fate, and my first client was dismissed from the ward early.  She settled in for a night of sleep.  I joined Super Back-up with my second client and witnessed the triumphant birth of a little girl on a peaceful Christmas Eve.

Fearful that I'd be called in during the night snowstorm I stayed in the city overnight.  I was right...the next afternoon a beautiful baby boy was born - a Christmas child!

 Although I missed my family, and the hub-bub of opening presents, it seemed rather fitting to be on the labour and delivery floor for Christmas.  What an appropriate way to celebrate Jesus' birth.

Christmas Crafty

Church was cancelled for the second Sunday in a row, so our cooped in children

needed something to keep them occupied.  

The weather raged outside, and since there was nothing better 

to do we made cinnamon applesauce ornaments.

They are a cinch to make, but maybe a bit too easy.  The older girls

only lasted one ornament.  The little ones held out until we ran out of dough.

They loved it.

Graedon, forever the ham, really went to town on this activity.

He sort of looks like a TV evangelist in this picture.

Hallelujah!

Eva, poking a pattern into her ornaments.

Pretty, no?  And they smell heavenly!

Eva turns 8!

Our Eva turned 8 in October.

 

Horse lover, mama trainee and compassionate friend, she is a special gal.

 

Here's to a wonderful, smart, gentle girl who loves as big as the sky.

 

My first attempt at fondant...I should have started out with something simpler than horses.  Like a ball.

 

 

Work-Away Experience

When Richard and I first found out that this was the summer he would be having his hips replaced, we

signed up for a program called WorkAway.  The idea is to 

host a worker, usually a young person wanting to travel and experience a different culture,

and to trade room and board for a few hours of work every day.

For months, after several dozen requests to interesting participants,

we got nothing.

Summer passed and whadaya know?

We got an e-mail from a Japanese lady who said she could come the next week.

And that's how we met Toni.

We picked her up at the bus stop on a dreary, rainy evening.  She stayed with us for almost a month.

We got a lot done around the house with her help.  It's incredibly motivating to get things done

when you have to fill 3 hours of a workawayer's time with chores.  The bathroom was painted,

the windows washed, the gardens winterized and so much more.

Another plus was that it threw us into tourist mode.  We showed Toni around our little town,

and in so doing, we were able to see our home with new eyes.

Everything was exciting and new to Toni, and we were able to realize that

yes, we do live in a pretty great place, full of beauty and quiet excitement.

We took the time to go biking.

We discovered a waterfall we had never seen before, just minutes from home. 

We feasted, Japanese style. 

We went whale watching. 

The best part?

Getting to know a wonderful young woman who has become a friend to the whole family.