Day five – some new food required

Day five was another evening yoga session because Budsie ended up sleeping in my bed last night. Hmmm, perhaps ‘sleeping’ isn’t the right word – he didn’t actually fall asleep until around 2am. He woke up at around 11pm with nightmares, see, and then demanded to see his Daddy, who isn’t here right now. No amount of story reading or singing would get him to settle down, so he picked up his new favourite dog, ‘SauSau’ (Sausage, a rainbow-tummied Valentine’s Day dog), his teeny ‘po po’ (pillow) and toddled down to my room. Early morning yoga is impossible with a toddler sharing your bed because they wake up to the sound of grass growing. So we ‘slept-in’ until 7:30am.

But no matter. The yoga happened this evening, all 60 minutes of it and the meditation session immediately after. This is turning out to be the best way to do things, since I’m already sitting at the end of yoga anyway. Today’s efforts were placed on elongating everything – back, chest, arms, legs, you name it, I elongated it. Felt good. But near the end, I started to feel a little groggy and here’s where the next step in my path to yogarificness comes in: yoga fuel.

My diet is a mixed bag. Having completely abandoned hardcore veganism once I started breast-feeding (you gotta eat what the body wants you to eat during times like these), I’ve settled now into an odd low gluten, bit of meat here and there, boatloads of vegetables and yogurt sort of diet. Lots of water, etc. There are gaps here somewhere, though, because I simply do not feel appropriately fuelled for my practice. This evening I’d go so far as to say I felt stodgy, if a person can feel stodgy. Of course it might not be a food thing, but a timing thing. Either way, investigation is clearly in order.

So that’s tonight’s little task. I have to write a grocery list/menu for this week anyway – might as well tie in a little research on what to eat to fuel my yoga times. Can’t spend too much time here though – there’s a thesis to format (my mother’s, not my own) and sleep to be had. Any tips from my readers (I’m looking at you, lovely EH) would be greatly appreciated.

 

 

Day four + Stewart

Today’s yoga session was all about awareness, specifically awareness of my feet. I tend to forget about my feet, choosing instead to focus on my breathing and relaxing my neck (I’ve never been good at relaxing my neck, much to the chagrin of numerous dance teachers). But today I tried to really focus on my poor feet, being sure to plant them firmly in standing poses, to not scrunch my toes in balancing poses, and to keep them active and flexed during floor work. Phew! That was a lot of foot mindfulness. It did pay off though – I felt stronger in my standing forward bends, for instance. Another yogarific day.

In non-yoga related news, I recently purchased a basil plant. Now before you start fearing for Stewart’s life, you should know that Percy is thriving. He’s doing just splendidly. And he has two other friends who also seem to be enjoying life as a plant at Ezmy’s: Violet (a small, purple African violet) and Walter (a yellow-spotted plant of some kind). Hopefully Stewart will feel equally at home.

(You’re wondering why I didn’t mention Edmund, aren’t you. Hmpf. Well, Edmund survived more than one year. And he isn’t dead…per se. He is, however, a little worse for wear. He currently resides on the balcony, so as not to depress the other plants. Also, I think the weather might be more his speed here. We shall see…)

Anyway, I’m going to try my hand at herbs again. Starting with Stewart and hopefully moving on to Rosemary. Fingers crossed.

Day three…

Day three was almost NOT a success. I slept through my alarm, see, and fitting yoga in during the day is tricky business, between thesis-ing, meal-preparing and toddler-minding. Workouts usually occur between 6 and 7am when I am almost 100% guaranteed to have a sleeping kidlet.

So I started the day with a hmpf. But then I thought, meh, move on and stay focused – you’ll get there. So I went out to work on the thesis, came home and scoured the kitchen, made a tasty dinner for my menfolk, tucked the little dude into bed and, at 8:30pm, finally got around to yoga and meditation. Success! Also awesome? Whilst balancing in a version of triangle pose where the back leg is lifted (I don’t know the names of things), I was finally, FINALLY able to look all the way up at my upper hand. I’ve only ever been able to do this while in regular triangle pose. This will mean nothing to most of you, but I don’t care. BALANCING MILESTONE!

Right, shower and reading time. I’m feeling super good about myself today. *beams*

Day one…

First day of yoga challenge = success. I mean, it would be pretty sad if it wasn’t, right? The 15 minutes of meditation turned into sleep. Quite by accident – having spent the morning running around after an angry, over-tired toddler, I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. A nice 15 minute sitting snooze was just what the doctor ordered, however, because I’m raring to go now! Time to do some writing (and deleting…and then some more writing…and deleting).

On the home front, Budsie has a new phrase: “mmm mmm TASTY!”. Everything is “mmm mmm TASTY!” these days. What a great life.

 

ezmy’s yoga challenge

When not thesis-ing and looking after a now very dramatic little boy, I spend my time yoga-ing. I usually get in 3-4 sessions each week, depending on my mood and the weather. I do so love my moments with Rodney Yee and feel most comfortable when I’m balancing on one leg, or working on a new pose.

I’ve had to stop running for a little while, so my mornings have just been freed up quite a bit. What better time to set up a little yoga challenge for myself? So here goes:

For the next 30 days, I aim to practice yoga for 1 hour, and to meditate for 15 minutes each day. The meditation is where things are going to fall of the wheels, I suspect. Not having the money for classes, I have to be the one who convinces me to sit still for 15 minutes. And I’m a difficult meditation student, prone to wandering about the house picking up socks and cleaning Crayola off of the walls. But meditate I must! My best writing is done post-meditation, to say nothing of the fact that I could use the 15 minutes to re-group after a day of being told “NOOOOOOOO!” even when the question is “Would you like to go to the park and eat snacks?” (the way toddlers enter the world is strikingly similar to teenagers…this is both amusing and terrifying to me…).

Anyway, so this is my yoga challenge. I will, of course, post updates here. Yogarific!

my thesis is my life…

*Warning: this is a dry and dusty post, one which largely serves to help me get through some writer’s block on the thesis front. Stop reading if you find environmental feminist ethics and activism to be dull as dishwater topics.*

…but not in the way you might expect. Certainly, as I head into the re-write of my most intense chapter (what I refer to as The Dreaded Chapter Three), I feel as though my thesis has taken over my brain. I am constantly thinking about new arguments I should tackle, new gaps in my logic, new documents I should include in my analysis. So ‘my thesis is my life’ in the usual grad student-type way.

Lately, however, I’ve been noticing how closely I’ve begun to live my life according to the theoretical foundations of my graduate work. Some background: the paper I’m working on is an argument in favour of re-imagining the political concept of citizenship as ecological citizenship. But not just regular old ecological citizenship; I’m interested in a re-imagination that is grounded in a feminist political ethic of care. Without bogging you down in the details, such an ecological citizenship would take as its starting point the idea that we are all embedded in webs of caring relationships with others, both people and ecological others; that is, we only exist as selves in (caring) relation. Ecological citizenship, so conceived, would be expressed through language that takes seriously the core values of care, such as attentiveness, responsiveness, and responsibility; environmental policy language, for example, would not be phrased in terms of either fiscal incentive or obligation, but rather in terms of responsibility, trust, respect, and attentiveness to the needs of (inherently ecological) others. I argue that this caring ecological citizenship is better able to motivate change and effectively address the numerous and interconnected environmental problems we face today, while simultaneously politicizing caring relationships through an acknowledgment of the complicated obstacles that people face in their attempts to live sustainably, and the potentially harmful relationships in which citizens find themselves day-to-day.

(This sounds a little flowery, I know, but trust me it’s awesome and considerably more well-thought out in my actual paper).

Anyway. As I say, my day-to-day life is becoming increasingly informed by my thesis. It started when I had Ewan, and suddenly became a care-provider to a small human. Previously, I had focused on negotiating my own needs with those of my surrounding ecological environment, which is challenging by itself. Balancing Ewan’s needs with my own and those of my husband, as well as those of the ecological space which our family inhabits, is very tricky business. It is harder, for example, to be proactive about environmental causes because of Ewan’s sleep schedule; meetings for environmental organizations are inevitably at night when I have to put my kid to bed, and rallies and protests are almost always during nap time. I also find my day-to-day environmental responsibilities (such as cloth-diapering, composting and recycling) much more time-consuming with a little dude “helping”. Equally challenging? Eating responsibly (with no car and limited time, I find getting to farmer’s markets much more difficult than I used to) and cutting back on water usage (particularly difficult if one is toilet-training or spending lots of time in the mud…so many baths!). Ultimately, since having a kid, I have found I have less and less time to dedicate to creative, ecologically-responsible life choices. In short, green mum-ing is hard.

BUT!

I also find myself caring more about what happens in our ecological space. Air quality issues seem closer to home now that I have a small set of lungs in the house. Clean water, a healthy food supply and green spaces are all basic requirements for my child to thrive, and industrial, public and private activities that pollute these resources anger me to a level I can’t begin to describe.

Now before you get all uppity, I’m not suggesting that people who don’t have children aren’t as motivated as I am or somehow can’t care as much as I do. But I am arguing that having kids adds a new layer of motivation, a new layer of care. Thus in an effort to be responsive and attentive to the needs of those to whom I live in relation (which includes my family, my community, and my ecological space), I find myself getting around some of the aforementioned challenges of green mum-ing. I let some stuff go, certainly – my public environmental activism has taken a back seat, for now, because I feel it is more important for me to be home in time for naps. But I continue to compost, recycle, and reduce our personal waste by avoiding excessive packaging, disposable products, chemical-rich toiletries and cleaning products, and shopping for the sake of shopping. We try to buy second-hand, where possible, and we reuse everything we can. And Ewan spends his time at the park, in our yard, or at museums, rather than in front of the television, or at the toy store getting more stuff he doesn’t need.

In other words, I have negotiated and crafted a new ecological position for myself, in my current role as stay-at-home mum, one which emphasizes educating my son to be responsible and attentive to the (ecological) others around him. My act of ecological citizenship is therefore to raise a little ecological citizen. It is a position which requires constant re-negotiation, as the needs of our environment and of my family change, and it is one which is full of obstacles such as lack of time, money, and support from an unfriendly government. But it is also a position which has brought me closer to my surroundings and helped me to feel deeply connected to my environment, both human and non-human.

All this to say that my thesis has solidified for me the importance of ‘living in relation’. Even if this beast sucks in the end, the life lessons I have learned in writing it have made the whole thing worthwhile.

Right, back to The Dreaded Chapter Three.

cookie monster

On my first Mother’s Day, I wasn’t technically a mum yet. I was supposed to be – weeks before, I was told to expect the baby “any day now” (what a laugh – he was a day late, rather than the expected 12 weeks early). I spent the day on the couch watching bad television and eating my weight in jellybeans. I remember being bored, which amuses me because if there’s one thing I don’t have time for now, it’s boredom.

On my second Mother’s Day, I slept in until 9:30am!! It was oh so glorious. Later, my 11 month old sat in bed with me while I sipped coffee and opened up fun cards and gifties (a copy of one of my favourite movies, ‘Stranger than Fiction’). And we had macaroni and cheese for dinner – the special Jamie Oliver mac and cheese with the five bajillion pounds of cheese in it. NOM! I must admit, though, that it felt super weird to be celebrating me on a spring day. May is a crazy month for birthdays in my family, and I think of it as a month when I have to buy a boatload of cards, not sit back and have cards sent to me. It’s nice, this spring holiday business. Really breaks up the time between Christmas and my birthday.

Today is my third Mother’s Day. Celebrations actually started last night, when the lovely LG came over to babysit so that A. and I could go to ‘Play’ for dinner (ridiculously tasty, as usual. Brown butter gnocci with fiddleheads….*drool*). No sleeping in this morning as the kid was up at 7:30 sharp (‘HIIIII!) and wanted to show me my books (he has this thing about taking all of the books off of one shelf in our room and asking the titles of each one. This activity simply must be done before anything else happens, which is cute most days and mildly irritating on days when we have an appointment to get to…). But it’s been the best morning anyway! First, my menfolk brought me coffee in bed, along with a peanut butter cupcake – NOM! I also opened a cookie monster card that my little dude picked out all by himself, a card which informed me that while cookies might be a sometimes food, I am an all the time loved mummy. Melt! Now we’re off to brunch at Carmen’s with Mum and Frenchie. Then teatime, naptime, and probably macaroni and cheese again.

All this to say that I love this day, but not because of the gifties and cards and suchlike (although it’s always a good day when one has coffee in bed). I love it because my little dude is the bestest and this day reminds me how lucky I am to have the bestest little dude around.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

dating mums

I’ve been trying to meet other mums for, well, two years. And I’ve come to realize something: Meeting mums is exactly like dating.

How so?

1)   In order to meet mums/men, one has to make oneself available. You simply must put yourself out there. In the case of men, this means going to places where menfolk hang out. Pubs, sporting events, laundromats and political science classes are all acceptable places. Sewing circles and DIY wedding cake classes? Not so much.

In the case of mums, this of course means going to *shudder* circle time, playgroups, the kids’ section of a bookstore, or the park. Trying to meet another mum in, say, your family room is just not going to work. She’s not there.

2)   Or is she? As with dating, the online arena cannot be overlooked as a potential site for finding other mums. Twitter, MeetUp, and mum blogs are an enormously helpful source for many stranded stay-at-homers.

Unfortunately, just as with men, the internet is tricky business. People have an uncanny knack for misrepresenting themselves online. I understand the temptation, but come on. When I meet you in person, you aren’t going to have the guitar to cover up the mustard stained shirt you never remove, or the good lighting that helped cover up your recently toked eyes. You also aren’t going to be flexing (presumably).

In the mum arena, this misrepresentation is a little trickier to tease out. Everyone seems so nice and friendly and interested in your LO (this means ‘little one’. I never use this phrase, in part because Budsie isn’t exactly little and in part because it sounds cheesy. I also don’t refer to him as my DS (darling son), because this too sounds a little heavy on the cheese). One obvious hint that something might be amiss: the mum in question asks you probing questions and manages to one-up you each time. If your kid smiled at 3 months, hers smiled at 3 days. If yours says four words, hers says 40. She might even go so far as to suggest that her 6 month old is toilet trained (he isn’t). This person is what I like to refer to as a ToxicMum and you must avoid meeting her, just as you would avoid going on the date with the guy who wore sunglasses, a bad spray tan, and posed, flexing, next to his muscle car.

3)   When you spot a potential partner/mumfriend, you have to strike up a conversation. Here is where the wheels fall off for me. Not with the menfolk, mind you. When I was dating, I never had issues striking up a little chitchat with a handsome fellow. I’m no supermodel, but I always figured that when it came to dudes, if they weren’t interested it was their loss and someone else would be. What’s the worst they could say? No. Meh. Plus the final prize is the possibility of sex, so the odds of a positive response are much higher.

With mums, this striking up a conversation business terrifies me, surprising no one who knows how troubling I find crowds of women generally speaking. I have female friends, certainly, but I’ve met nearly all of them in classes (where one on one is possible) or whilst drinking (thank you, second year university). What do I worry about? Well, what if the mum in question is a total crazypants? What if she constantly compares our kids? What if she’s mean to her own kids? What if she’s anti-choice? What if she’s one of those uber-judgmental mums, making snide comments about people who only have one stroller? What if she asks how much I weigh and then gets mad at me for weighing less than she does (laugh all you want – I’ve had a strange mother do this)? You see my dilemma. And the only prize here is my friendship. Not quite as appealing as sex.

Of course talk to them I must. And I do. But I have yet to find the right transition phrasing that gets me from “Hey, how old is your little dude?” to “Hey, how’d you like to meet up at the park sometime?” It seems that picking up mums is not my forte.

Hmpf.

What I really need is a place I can post a personal ad: “Stay-at-home mum of toddler seeks same. Enjoys coffee, talking politics, and park dates. Dislikes crowds and pessimistic folk. Judgey McJudgeymothers need not apply.”

Ah well.

 

pre-bedtime conversation #1

(Scene: Ezmy is climbing into bed post-bathroom routine. A. is already in bed, calmly reading a news story on his iPad…)

A.: *still looking at his iPad* “So I’m just curious.”

Ezmy: “Hmmm?”

A.: *still looking at his iPad* “I’m curious…do you have some sort of competition going on with yourself?”

Ezmy: “…”

A.: *looks up, straight-faced* “Some sort of loudest toilet seat closing ever contest?”

Ezmy: “What? No! That was totally an accident.”

A.: *ignoring Ezmy* “…oooh, I wonder how loud I can slam it this week. Perhaps as loud as tectonic plates rubbing together? We’ll see!”

Ezmy: *sigh*

A.: *still ignoring Ezmy* “…the great thing about such a contest is that you always win. But then, you could always lose too. Like some days, you don’t outdo yourself. You just slam it as hard.”

Ezmy: *sigh*

(pause)

Ezmy: “Do you think that would be loud?”

A.: “What? Tectonic plates rubbing together?”

Ezmy: “Yes.”

A.: “Yes.”

Ezmy: “How do you know?”

A.: “Well, it’s sort of a tree-in-the-woods type thing, isn’t it? But one can assume…”

Ezmy: *ignoring A.* “Right, but you don’t know! It could be a soft sound. Like cotton.” *immediately thinks to herself that cotton isn’t a sound, but whatever.*

A.: “Of course I don’t know know. I mean, no one is actually standing next to them while it’s happening.”

Ezmy: “Ha. So you don’t know.”

A.: *sigh* “Yeah, but we’re talking about stuff rubbing up against other stuff…”

Ezmy: *snicker*

A.: “…in this case rock. Like lots of it. Fucking bashing up against itself.”

(pause)

Ezmy: “But you don’t know it’s loud.”

A.: *sigh*