Picture perfect

Originally published on Sweetspot.ca


Like all young families, there comes a time when you consider the family photo as a thoughtful gift for grandparents (who are begging for prints ever since our kids' childhoods became jpegs). 

In the past, we've attempted the in-store portrait studio of our youth (cute but cheesy and overly pose-y), and the self-timed "everyone in front of the tree" approach (where the baby fell asleep in my arms before we got a semi-decent shot). 

This year, we were able (via testing for a future Sweet Nothing email) to squeeze in a session with a photographer. A visit to Negin Sairafi's website showed a sample of her work that made it clear the photos she would take of us would be anything but cheesy. Our session in her studio was quick and painless -- her way with my kids was impressive for a non-mom -- and in a short hour she managed to capture the dynamics of my family and my kids' personalities on film. 

Here are the results: (I think Grandma will be pleased!)

 

(For the record, my daughter automatically got in this post when she saw the camera. Must be all the ANTM I watched when pregnant with her!)

Ooh we are... yes we are

You know when you first start dating someone? And you get all those wiggy waggies in your stomach every time you think about them? And then you stop hanging out with your friends for a while, because you're out having picnics and going skating and to the movies and making out all over town?

Well that's kind of why I haven't been blogging much. I'm in love.

I'm not really sure when it happened. Not so long ago I thought my family was done. I thought that divorce was inevitable and I started planning. "OK, Sunday-Wednesday, he'll have the kids. Then I'll get them Wednesday-Sunday..."

Then we had THE TALK. You know the one. You might have had it too, especially if you have kids. The one where everything seems hopeless, every argument is the same one you had the month before and you're just not getting anywhere. And somebody says the awful. "Well, I guess I'll just leave then."

Because you feel terrible. You are ruining everyone, you think. They'd be better off without me. I'm the fuck up. I'm the problem. Or you might think that your partner is the dick. That he or she isn't pulling their weight. You're feeling overwhelmed and you don't know how to ask for what you really need, so you're just a snippy bitch all the time.

And we got scared. Like really, really terrified. Because what the fuck were we saying? How could we go from thinking we had the world by the balls to hating each other every day? We swore we'd never do that. And now we were a daily cliche, wallowing in everything that we weren't to each other anymore, wondering what we ever had in common.

I could see our struggle like a graph (sort of, don't quote me or try to picture it yourselves, because I wasn't very good at graphs ever, so I can't explain the axis to you...). Our marital stocks had plummeted. You could look at it one of two ways: either Company Silverthorne was going to fold, or we were at the peak of awful and the only way to go was up.

Then the marriage genie granted us an extension, some sort of miracle that would get us to the next crossroads, the next judgment line.

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"Every horse thinks his load the heaviest." It appeared one day as one of those annoying Google ads that comes up at the top of Gmail. And I saw it. I mean how many ads go by that you don't even register? But this quote of the day caught my eye, and it made sense.

I decided to stop weighing and measuring everything. I decided that I needed to practice not being angry when I felt like I was doing more.

But before I go further, I should let you know that I did not come to this on my own.

As mentioned before, I've been working with a Life Coach named Carly Cooper. She's into Oprah, and The Secret, things I normally roll my eyes at like the coolio that I pretend to be. (OK, I'm hot and cold with Opes. I did love her for years, but Maya Rudolph's SNL impersonations might have ruined her for me forever.)

Sometimes on our weekly call I would ask her things like, "Why do I need to tear him a new one when he forgets a simple errand?" She would calmly reply that I would rather be right all the time than keep the peace in my house. But I'm a lifetime know-it-all, how the fuck was I going to stop doing that?

I can't even get into all the amazing things she's taught me about myself. For example, if you sometimes take your inner dialogue, play it back to yourself and then think about how you'd feel if your child talked to herself that way, well it shows you how you mentally abuse yourself. But that's a whole 'nother post and this one is lengthy already.

So not to simplify, but once you become aware of all the shit you do, you can train yourself to flip the switch in your brain to the right choice. For example, regardless of whether I'm stressed or not, I have the same workload at my job. I can get stressed about it, thinking it makes me look more important and busier than my colleagues, or I can shut the fuck up and just deal.

When my husband washes the dishes in cold water (and he does) I can make him feel like everything he does is wrong, or I can CHOOSE to gently ask if next time he would please wash the dishes in hot water because it means a lot to me. (Previously I would try this but it would go more like, "Who washes dishes in cold water? Don't you know that doesn't get the grease off?! Maybe WE should start using hot water to wash the dishes, because that's what the rest of the world does.")

We started talking again. Not just about how awesome the kids are, but how awesome we are as parents, as people. We started talking about our dreams again, and talking about them like there wasn't a mortgage and line of credit hanging over our heads. We started to put plans in place and set deadlines to help us write outlines for our artsy endeavours. WE! Together. Without fighting.

I'm not saying any of this was easy. It's taken months of almost daily/nightly introspection and discussion. Many fights ended in tears. But after getting to the tipping point, we realized that we didn't want every conversation to become a fight. I'm learning to not get my back up at every suggestion he makes. He's learning that what he views as constructive criticism comes off like he's the perfect human and I'm the asshole.

Did we start dating again? Nope. I love that idea, but the reality of making it work with two kids and weird-houred jobs is complicated. I did start turning off the BlackBerry and the laptop though. I started putting my head in his lap during Dexter. I started wanting what he wanted without being offended when I realized I was falling short on some things.

We're not 100% yet. If I knew anything about graphs I might say that this is because we're on the slope up, and that may be the toughest part. We could slip back down to the bottom if we go back to sleepwalking through this marriage. But trying to always have an awareness -- of the triggers, of my own thoughts, of how he might feel if I say X Y Z -- that is the key. It takes patience and practice and it's not going to work for every couple, but if you think about how much of your martial discord comes from measuring and weighing, this could work for you too. Email me if you want to chat in private. (nadineDOTsilverthorneATgmailDOTcom)

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So there you have it. I haven't been watching Gossip Girl or ANTM with you; I haven't met up with you for our weekly yoga class or fro-yo date; I haven't gone clubbing or to the movies or to your Facebook wall -- because right now I am IN LOVE with my family. All of them. Even the cat and I are into each other and snuggling again. I didn't see it coming. But it's here and I'm hanging on to what I've got. right. now.

What makes a good dad?

Originally published on Sweetspot.ca


Whether you celebrate them religiously, or just kinda sorta, the holidays are all about shopping  family and friends.  Which got me thinking -- what makes a good dad?

Here are the five things I think make today's dads (especially my kids' dad) the best in history:

	1. Their desire to be involved.  Today's fathers don't want to sit on the sidelines. They want an active role in the raising of their children. They change diapers, they kiss booboos, they prepare rice cereal (sometimes even with pre-pumped breastmilk!).
	2. Their ability to immerse themselves in play. He doesn't just play "dragons" -- he IS the dragon. A father's ability to teach through play is one of his greatest gifts. Whenever I deal with kid conflict through over-analytical discussion, my husband steps in to diffuse the situation by diverting young attentions to something fun. I love him for that.
	3. Their great sense of humour. My husband once caught an unexpected toddler poop mid-air at bathtime (I was freaking out when I saw my child's "poop face" and he came running to the rescue). Then he turned to me and said, "Talk about taking one for the team." A partner who can make a crazed, exhausted mom laugh on this road called parenthood is a valuable asset indeed.
	4. Someone who doesn't keep score. I recently read a quote that said, "Every horse thinks his load the heaviest." Sometimes it's inevitable that a couple will play the "Who does more?" game. But a partner who values your contributions to the family (regardless of whether you work or stay at home) is worth his weight in chocolate.
	5. Someone who encourages without pushing too hard. My husband gets us out of the house to take walks, convinces us all we can do and be anything we want... when life gives us adversity, he is our strongest cheerleader. Then, if we still really, REALLY want to quit, he lets us and buys us ice cream.

Even if the horrible happens and our marriage doesn't survive parenthood (hey, it could happen to anyone), I know my kids will be OK because they have a fantastic father. (I love you J!)

What do you think makes a good dad?

Oh Joy

It's coming up fast; grabbing me by the throat so that I can't breathe when it enters my mind. If I struggle against it, I fail. Resistance is futile as they say, so I let the speed of its current carry me away and I find peace.

In six short weeks, I will have a five-year-old.

They tell you it will pass by so fast. They compare it to the speed of light and all you think of is Superman. Try as you might to be prepared, to take stock in the minutiae of fingernails the size of lentils, you can't. You can't ever be ready for it.

Some days I feel like Sandra Bullock in Speed. Like I just want to the bus to fucking stop already, but Life is Dennis Hopper on a cell phone, commanding me to go forward at an inconvenient pace.

The bomb has already imploded. I am the mother of a soon-to-be five-year-old and a two-year-old. My home is a melee of LEGO shrapnel, cat hair and discarded dolls. I bail on holiday housewarming parties so that I can go to bed at 9 o'clock, next to my almost five-year-old boy -- who mostly sleeps on his own (though begrudgingly so) and would prefer the open-mouthed gargle snore of his mother any evening.

While I have loved every day of being his mother, I have not accepted that I am now a mother every single day. It's been the hardest road: giving up the superficial "me" that I thought I was (the party girl, the hipster, the in-the-know girl-about-town) and discovering my true self. I'm not 100% there, but I see me.

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I am always surprised to read something that reminds me of my "birth day" 4.8 years ago. I was over at sweet | salty after a long absence and I came across this post. And somehow it unlocked the words and the what-should-I-writes. I'm still blogging once a week at my day job, which I still enjoy, but the tone of what I do there in general is quite different from the real me.

And while I don't want to wallow in darkness anymore, I am struggling to find the in between. The new me and the new voice that goes with it.

What struck me about Kate's post was that I'm still not over my NICU experience. I don't think any parent ever totally heals from that. I lie awake some nights, listening to Nate breathe and I feel The Stroke hovering over us, taunting, "I can come back you know?" I try to picture his brain growing in his head and I want there to be no scar tissue, but I am struggling to erase my mind's eye vision of them. I imagine them sitting there at the top of his head, under his lovely chocolate hair, playing cards, waiting for the day they can get up and stretch their legs.

I know this topic would upset my mom, who wants so badly to forget it ever happened -- The Stroke that is. But I realized when I read Kate's post that I too am angry about my birth experience and I need to work it out. (Because Lord knows I'm scaring the bejeezus out of the preggos at the office.)

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Tonight, as we were driving back from my mom's, all-girl synth pop from the stereo sending Lucy to sleep in the backseat, Nate sucking his thumb in silence, I was about to parallel park in front of our house when a small voice made me brake.

"Mom, can we stay here until this song is done?"

The muscles of my heart pushed up to form a smile on my face. My son, my soulmate. We're connected at the brain and the only way for me to heal his is to heal mine.

I'll share the song here with you via a YouTube link (something we didn't do 4.8 years ago). It's "Oh Joy" by Au Revoir Simone and I think it's going to be my new anthem.




For the record, the chorus is "Oh joy! I can see you. Oh joy! I can see you. It's all I want. It's all I want." It's off their latest album, Still Night, Still Light. The album is softer and quieter than their live performances, but equally lovely and haunting. Get it because you can listen to it with your children and feel the warm tinglies inside.

Fall-ing in love

Ever since Lucy turned two, I finally feel most of the dark cloud of new motherhood has lifted and I can once again see light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, I see mostly light these days. I am learning (though often failing) to live in the moment and to savour the sweetness of little beings who are growing up all too fast.

On Friday, my colleague Sarah suggested I take at least one laptop-free day over the weekend and I scoffed. Lagging behind on deadlines, piles of editing and receipts to go through, I couldn't imagine taking time to enjoy my family. Which, of course, made me sad and all "Woe is me."

But then reality kicked in. Most evenings and weekends, while my news editor husband is hard at work, it's just me and the kids. There is really no spare moment to catch up on work other than furtive glances at my BlackBerry. If the laptop is open, they want to play on it. If my mobile is out, they want to use it to take pictures or call Timbuktu.

Guiltily at times, I turn on the TV and feel like I am plugging them into "the matrix," so that I may have a spare hour to prepare dinners or reply to emails. For a while they stare, mouths agape, but the TV does not hold their attention for long. "Play Mom!" they call out, tiny fingers pulling my hand towards a stack of Legos or crayons askew.

So lately, J and I have been making time to go out as a family and enjoy the last morsels of Fall. It seems so obvious, but we so often forget to make a point to take a walk and be in nature -- away from the noise of the city, and from laptops and gadgets. In the forest, their imaginations, like their bodies, run free. Sticks are swords or lasers; daddies are bad guys and mommies are princesses who need saving. We pause to listen to a brook and debate on whether it sounds like it's laughing. We run up ahead and hide behind trees, surprising the slower half of the contingent as they catch up.

When I immerse myself in their world, all I see is the now. Gone are the fearful flu headlines and the line of credit statements. The pile of laundry that's usually calling is on hold and I'm OK with forgetting about it for a morning. The Type A-me is shelved and my standards may drop, but we are, in fact, better for it. The house can be cleaned in the future; I can answer to all who need something from me eventually; but I can't get back these days of pure innocence and joy. 

The years seem to be falling faster than the leaves, but I'll worry about that later. For now, I am comforted by the satisfying crunch underfoot and a tiny, raspy voice beckoning me to take off my Grown-Up-Land goggles.