serial

Happy New Year everyone! Last night we sat around eating stale chocolate, and then fell asleep before setting off any of our fireworks, and it was generally a low-key evening. Today, Felix, Cosmo and I stayed home, while Lee took Horus and Treva to the movie theatre in Fredericton to see The Hobbit. I don’t get it, personally, but sure, and seeing as one of my New Year’s resolutions is to be more enthusiastic about my sweet, gentle husband’s interests, …yay for the Hobbit. Also, this was the third attempt to take the kids to the theatre, the previous having ended in tears and a major scene involving a woman I don’t know who followed me around the theatre lobby after I finally found the kids who had wandered off to have an all-out physical fight, basically telling me what a shitty parent I am…I’m sure she meant well, but the whole deal was tiresome and irritating and I think she assumed that when I said, This is absolutely ridiculous and unacceptable I’m leaving, she probably thought I was trying to punish the children for their weird, asocial behaviour, when in fact I had legitimately lost my place in line, and the movie had already begun (It was cheap day, right after Christmas, we should have known better. And for the record, I am *all about* treating my children with respect, and as though they are the thinking, feeling human beings that they in fact are. And sometimes every thinking feeling human being needs to be respectfully told This is ridiculous, get up off the floor, put your darned shoes on, your behaviour is unacceptable, I’m leaving. For goodness’ sakes, I wasn’t even there to see the darned film, I was just trying to secure tickets while Lee had gone back to the car to bring in our contraband non-gmo popcorn). Sigh. So, today, success at last. The Hobbit on the big screen.

Felix, Cosmo and I had a lovely time today, at home. I try to observe the full 12 days of Christmas, because I love it, and this is one strange, holdout area of my life that I like to do properly, to my own potentially bizarre standards (Lee doesn’t get it). So I put on some Christmas music, and Felix and I carefully took all the decorations off the tree, one by one, but don’t worry–the tree itself will stay up until twelfth night. Felix was so sweet and respectful and observant. Every little decoration he would hold carefully, and acknowledge. Goodbye Frosty the little snowman! Have a good year! We will see you again next Christmas! And then Felix would help me wrap him up in tissue paper, and place him in the box. I appreciated his help and his presence so much, in the same way that my walk in the woods with Horus on Christmas day was right and perfect for him. I have spent too long, I realize, wondering how I’ve messed my kids up. The answer is completely, each one of them, but also that these children–and all of us–we just have our own way in the world. It is utterly fruitless, hurtful and dangerous to expect from our children anything other than who they are. And yes, I have applied this concept to the movie theatre story, thanks.

I have several New Year’s resolutions, but I won’t bore you with the Get Fit, do my taxes, clean my mess up, figure my life out, blah blah blah. It was with a sudden flash of realization earlier today that I knew, then and there, that my one real and important resolution is this: This year, 2015, I will say No to almost everything, (certainly to everything that doesn’t resonate, or serve my family) and I will hardly every leave my house. If my presence, in person, is required, you know where to find me. There will be a few exceptions (friends, I love you, and I’ll be around). But I will be focussing, above all, on my children, on being at home, on completing some of my goals having to do with pottery, art and writing, and on settling things here a little bit. In 2014 we gutted our house, moved back in, made the first forays into recovery, in so many different ways. I don’t want to over-dramatize things, and don’t get me wrong–I feel incredibly fortunate. But there is a lot of healing to do, still, for all of us. I have deferred beginning my Masters until next February, 2016. It was a very difficult decision for me to make, because my urge is always to dive in, to do it all. 2014 was a strange year, and feels like a bit of a blur. And the following list is kind of mangy and strange, but that’s ok.

1. Best of Decluttering: Marie Kondo. Marie Kondo is the Japanese author of “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing”. I want to proclaim that this book has changed my life…but to be frank, I think it is too early to tell. Suffice it to say that it resonated with me in a way that many other books about how to not to wallow in one’s own filth have not, and I think the “magic” of the book and its effect on me, personally, can be summed up by the simple concept that everything in one’s physical environment should be tossed, unless it sparks joy. I come from a long line of crazy hoarders, whose crazy hoarding is massively complicated by the fact that my family members tend to be crazily hoarding *really really interesting, valuable, and beautiful stuff*. Darn. So for me, the previous criteria that I have always employed when assessing my junk (is it beautiful? Yes! Is it useful? Yes! Does it have potential? Yes! Does it possess a story? Yes!) is not, in fact, very helpful. How could I possibly get rid of unnecessary crap that is beautiful, useful, full of potential, and storied? (answer: couldn’t possibly). However, the question, Does this item spark Joy? Wow. That simple query has opened to me a world of possibility. That is, a possible world devoid of weird trinkets, sad reminders, ugly mementos, and a world full of…space. Kondo’s book is charming, kind, sweet, and kind of culturally specific, which gives it, to my ears, an outsider’s validity. She seems to be writing for a primarily Japanese audience (references to tatami rooms, etc), but presented at a distance, her approach somehow revealed to me with a new clarity, the issues that pertain to me personally, as well as to my culture, when it comes to the acquisition and subsequent stickiness of stuff. I have, I admit, developed a slight obsession with unearthing the origins of a personal motivation for tidiness. I quizzed my sweet, kind, brother-in-law over Christmas as to how/why/when he developed a desire to not live like a barn creature, and I somewhat regret my probing because it triggered my own irritations about cleaning in relationship, during what was supposed to be a family gathering which always means we all pretend to ignore these kinds of issues entirely (and I’m never very good at that). I do, increasingly, believe that one’s physical environment does indeed reflect our mental state. To be clear, this fact fills me with dread, and shame. My home constantly veers towards the precipice of almost-abject squalor, a fact that I am continuously attempting to hide from the world. (Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating, it’s always a pretty normal-ish kind of mess, and one that I think many parents of 4 kids under 6 can relate to, although let me be clear, I don’t buy any of the excuses, least of all my own). One of my readers, who I now count as a friend, messaged me to ask how I manage to keep it all together, remain productive, clean my house, etc., with 4 little ones. In my head, I fashioned the title of the fantasy blog post: How to Keep Your House Clean, Run Several Businesses, Write Engaging Blog Posts, and Effectively Homeschool Your Brilliant Kids, Without Losing Your Mind! And the content of the post would read: I have no F*&$^# clue. haha, the end. (So, Niamh, (xo) There you go.) But anyway. One of my projects for 2015 is to seriously, honestly, take on the mission of becoming one of those clean and tidy people who have it all together. So yeah. I’d love to hear what you think of Marie Kondo’s book. And I’ll keep you posted. What I can say hitherto, is that I have recently discarded several bags of kids clothes, because, simply, they did not spark joy. This is a massive breakthrough for me, and this action did prompt a sense of liberation and elation. Previously I would have held on to those bags of clothes just in case [I continuously procreate for the next 8 years? No! An ice age descends and we are forced to sew blankets by hand using scraps of cloth cut from newborn onesies? No! etc.] Here’s to a gloriously minimal 2015.

2. Best of Podcasts: Bookfight. Thanks Jian. Because of you, I no longer really listen to the CBC. (I wrote about Jian Ghomeshi Here) This isn’t a protest, it just sort of…happened. Sad, but strangely liberating. I was so devoted, for years, and now, the spark is gone. It almost came as a surprise to me, that the continuation of weather, politics, and the outside world at large does not, in fact, hinge upon my witnessing every minute of it as told through the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Sigh. Let’s talk about it later. I have mixed feelings. What I have done, though, is to hesitantly (at first) explore the world of podcasting. I’m not a big screen fan–I like entertainment that allows me to *Achieve!* at the same time–dishes, laundry, cleaning up, cooking, etc. Like everyone else, I devoured “Serial” (and yes, I acknowledge and agree, that the story’s fulcrum was the victim of the crime, who, through the telling, was erased as a person, and that the show is flawed and suspect because of that. The show remained compelling despite its glaring flaws. I have no self-control. Etc.). After Serial, I moved on to Bookfight, accidentally. Now, I’m totally hooked, and I don’t even really know why. It is both fabulous, and not-that-great, and have developed a slight nostalgic crush on the two hosts who I am unable to tell apart, and who remind me of all the other first-year literature/CRWR boys I went to UBC with, and who were a little bit smart, and a lot bit privileged, and whose banter is slightly funny but so familiar and strangely comforting. The show is nostalgic in general, and takes me back to those pointless, narcissistic creative writing workshop courses, but there is great satisfaction in the way that each episode veers from jocularity, to obscenity, to insight. Maybe it’s just refreshing to hear two dudes chat about Joan Didion. Anyway, I love it. Their Christmas edition was especially entertaining,

3. Best of Music: The Weather Station. I started piano lessons when i was 3, played in my school orchestra for years, sang in school and church choirs, and then immersed myself, obsessively, in recorded music through my adolescence and into my twenties…and then we had a billion kids. Music is still a big part of my life, and I listen and play daily with the kids, but I don’t seem to have the time to really engage with a recording the way I used to–no lying on my back next to the turntable in the living room just listening to the album on repeat for hours on end. No poring over the liner notes. Nor do I indulge by reading Pitchfork anymore, and I have completely abandoned any idea that I might have my finger anywhere near the pulse of the music zeitgeist or any such similar nonsense. (Wow. This best of list is sounding a little old and bitter. Anyway.) I have noticed that I am much less inclined to seek out and take time to absorb “challenging” music the way I used to, and that kind of makes me sad. But I did discover The Weather Station, and I find Tamara Lindeman’s music to be intellectual as well as gorgeous, and *magical* and moving, and I adore all of it. Lindman’s voice is high and low and strange and warbly and warm and wild. Her music has made me remember things and forget myself and the recent EP What Am I Going to Do With Everything I Know? has been the soundtrack to my days for the past couple of months. Go buy it, and then tell me what you think.

4. Best of Slippers: Yea, that’s right, slippers. Padraig slippers are the best! Our crew received a new pair this year at Christmas, and I realized that my kids have been wearing Padraigs for the past 14 years, and the old ones I still have are still holding up extremely well. Wool, sheepskin. The real deal. And they stay on babies’ feet. Right on.

5. Best of Fiction: The Enchanted by Renee Denfeld. The Enchanted is a novel that tackles some very sad, harrowing material, but does so gorgeously, gracefully, with massive heart and hope, addressing abuse, tragedy and the universal pain of life without any graphic details, while refusing to shy away from poignant truths. It is written almost perfectly; spare, clear, with a heartbreaking and very real mysticism. If you are interested in criminology, gender issues, prison reform, or, simply, being human, read this book. I have recommended it to everyone I know, including to my mother for her book club, and she called me a couple of weeks later to tell me that the book-club discussion had been the best yet.

6. Best of the Birth Blogs: Birth Anarchy. She just nails it every time. Go “like” the BA Facebook page, check out their website, and even (as I did), pay the fee and join their special online club. It’s brilliant.

In case you’re wondering, this list is ad-free! I do have an amazon thing, but I actually don’t know how to link to that properly so I can collect the paltry commission, so never mind that. But I am considering actually getting serious about this blogging thing, and possibly doing the sponsorship thing? very very ambivalent. We’ll talk about it later. xo

BAUHAUSWIFE

freebirth, mothering, family, feminism, spirit, nourishment, outrageousness & dissent

Bauhauswife Best of 2014, (and some notes on New Year’s Resolutions)