No exceptions.

One of my favourite blogs lately is Humans of New York. A guy and his camera, walking around New York City, taking pictures of strangers and asking them questions. It's magic. There was one recent post of a philosophy professor, who said "Never make an exception of yourself." When asked what he meant by that, he said, "People like to make exceptions of themselves. They hold other people to moral codes that they aren't willing to follow themselves. For example, people tend to think that if they tell a lie, it's because it was absolutely necessary. But if someone else tells a lie, it means they're dishonest. So never make an exception of yourself. If you're a thief, don't complain about being robbed." 

A few little words that stopped me in my tracks. Full stop. 

I have a potty mouth. Honestly, I love to swear; I'm not going to lie. And generally speaking (aside from hateful language designed to hurt, demean and worse), I'm not of the mind that there are "bad" words; language is language and it's all about how you use it. I don't swear with everyone because there's a time and a place, I suppose. But I'll always have a potty mouth, that will never change.

Because they are so young and don't understand the subtleties of when and where to use certain types of language, I've had to tell Sonja and Haven they aren't allowed to use the same language I do and of course I had to admit that I shouldn't be using it either. I had to make a deal with them; "You can't say it and neither can I." They agreed.

Haven's always the first one to rat me out, usually while we're driving somewhere.

"Mama, don't say 'fucking.'" 

"Oops. Sorry, Haven."

"It's okay, Mama."

"Well, thank you for reminding me."

"You're welcome."

I love it so much that she remembers our deal. It doesn't bother me that I forget about it everyday, but it does bring up the whole old-dog-new-tricks thing. Small reminders to not make an exception of myself; I love to swear but not enough to tell my kids to do what I say and not what I do.

 

We went to the library this afternoon. I don't know what it is about the library, especially in the afternoon, but we can't seem to get out of there without some kind of meltdown. Today was Sonja's day to get upset, complete with a tantrum. She had been aggressive with Haven and I'd taken away her privilege of helping me check out the books at the self-checkout. I was at the end of my rope with Sonja and I got both the girls out of there as quickly as I could. When we left the library I got really upset about her behaviour and then walked to the car. After getting Sonja into her car seat, I had a split-second realization that what happened next was completely up to me. I could say what I really felt like saying and listen to her scream and tantrum all the way home, or I could go against my initial desire - to get angry - and treat her the way I would want to be treated - with compassion and understanding.

I took her hand. I looked into her eyes. I could tell she was ready for a fight. I took a breath. I told her I loved her. I told her her behaviour was unacceptable, mostly because it goes against her sensitive nature. I appealed to her love for her sister. And then I listened to her. And I kissed her. And she hugged me soooooo tightly. 

"Never make an exception of yourself."

Why, in the moment, does it feel so difficult to do the more thoughtful and empathetic thing? Why does it feel so much easier to get angry? And do I really want to teach my kids that Mommy is allowed to get angry, but they are not? Oh my goodness, no.

Another case in point:

I've lately been telling my girls that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being upset. In fact, I want them to express all their emotions, whatever they are. But I make it clear that they should talk about their feelings instead of screaming and yelling, and doing and saying hurtful things. It's totally okay to be upset, but what you do and say when you're upset matters.

Ugh, even typing that out I feel like I fail at this everyday. ...and I can't help but be reminded how valuable writing this blog is; I've always felt that writing things down makes them real. 

What you do and say when you're upset matters. For all of us.

On the flip side, the love we give should be given regardless of the reception it receives. No exceptions. Sounds simple, but it's not. 

I find myself feeling resentful sometimes when my kids - to my mind - take me for granted. The reality is they absolutely don't; they love me unconditionally. But when I spend almost every waking moment caring for them, playing with them, taking them places so they can have fun, feeding them... I take it so personally when they talk back, freak out, hit me ...you name it. It's so upsetting.

But it's totally okay to be upset, right? Talk about my feelings. What I say and do matters. No exceptions.

Breathe. My life is so full of love.

The keyword to life is love. Always love. 

Inspiration.

Why is inspiration so fleeting? I have short, single moments of blinding inspiration on an almost daily basis. They are as hard to hold onto as those early-morning dreams dreamt right before the alarm goes off; there long enough to flood my consciousness with technicolour, then gone before I can even grasp what it was I was so excited about. This has been the case for months. Almost a year. Over a year..? I honestly can't remember.

Lately, I've gently berated myself for not just sitting down to write. Just do it. It may read like nonsense. I may hate what comes out, but who cares? The more I write, the more I write, and that's a good thing. 

...and yet I haven't written a word in this blog since April 6th, 2013. Sigh.

I've taken quite a few photos over the last four months; they are stating to pile up. Keeping them, filing and storing them is important, since I want Sonja and Haven to have them when they are older. I want them to look back at all our photos and be happy. But I was recently scrolling through some of those pictures and realized that although having the photographic record is amazing, there is no narrative to go along with the images. 

By far the best thing about this blog is that not only will my girls will be able to see themselves, they'll also be able to know a little bit about how I thought and felt at the time the photos were taken. Now that my Mom is gone, I find myself wishing I'd asked her more about how she felt about things and what her perspective was about events in our lives together. I will never know, of course, but that doesn't have to be the case for Sonja and Haven. That's pretty much all the inspiration and motivation I need.

My beautiful, hilarious and smooshy-sweet babies. My favourite thing about these photos is how hard we all laughed while looking through them after they were taken. Sonja was so focused on being a fierce snow leopard and Haven... I honestly don't even know what to say, so I'll just say thank you. Thank you for these facial expressions, Baby Girl. 

I love you both.

As bright-eyed as they come.

Before having kids, I was on the fence about whether or not I wanted to be a parent. I remember Peter having to convince me that we were ready to start trying for a baby. Well, it's not like he had to twist my arm, but I was afraid - like a lot of people tend to be - that I wasn't parent material. I was afraid I was too selfish and I'm not going to lie; I still wonder sometimes. ...I can't help but read that last sentence and laugh a little; I really don't do very much that is strictly for myself anymore, because I am definitely that mom who stops and realizes that not only has she not showered that day, she has oatmeal in her hair and her kid's snot on her shirt. 

But a funny thing happened when Sonja was just over a year old: suddenly I was the one convincing Peter that it was time to try for a second. I think I was as surprised as he was, but I hoped our kids would be around two years apart ...and I also told him that if we waited too long, I wouldn't want to go back to the beginning again.

I'd always pictured myself with at least one son; I was sure Sonja was a boy, until the ultrasound claimed otherwise. You would think that when I was pregnant the second time I would have been hoping for that boy, right? When Sonja was first born, I would have said yes. But as she grew, I started to think about growing up without a sister and knew that even though I'd love a son, I'd be ecstatic to be a mom to sisters. And ecstatic I was.

Both my girls are so individual; a lot of similarities, but enough differences that I often hope they will be allies in this life, drawing on the others' strengths to learn and grow. 

When I think about my daughters, I sometimes remember the conversations Peter and I had before I was pregnant; if we had waited at all, we wouldn't have this family. Sure, we would have other fantastic kids, but we wouldn't have these kids. I can honestly say that I am so blessed to have these kids. They drive me absolutely crazy a lot of the time, but they are loving, they are funny, and they have taught me more than I ever thought possible.

Three years ago today, Haven Joy Erickson was born. She raced headlong into the world and has continued along that trajectory without fail ...except those first couple of months when she slept all the time; she was just resting up, apparently. Haven is a loud, happy, unflinching force of nature who is always ready for a cuddle. She specializes in zerbuts, climbing, and roping her pushover mom into carrying her around. She is as bright-eyed as they come and idolizes her big sister because she knows the real deal when she sees it. Her mama didn't raise no fool, so they say.

We love you to absolute bits, Haven. Here's to you, Baby Girl.

Sonja turns FIVE!

FIVE? Sonja is five? Wow. I used to imagine when Sonja turned five, mostly because even though I have memories of being younger, the majority of my early memories took root when I was five. Five also means she will begin Kindergarten this year and will officially leave Preschool - and babyhood / toddlerhood - behind.

For Sonja's party this year, we went to 4Cats Art Studio for a Pop Art Party. All the kids got to help Sonja create a huge, pop-art butterfly with watercolours and silkscreens. Each child also got to silkscreen their own canvas boards with a cat. They then painted them and took them home at the end of the party. It was a fun day and a great party; I've posted some photos for  you to enjoy.

But this post would not be complete without me saying that I'm still incredulous that the tiny baby born February 21st, 2008 is now such a big kid. When I look at her baby pictures, I feel like that baby was here only yesterday.

As I shake my head at how fast the last five years have flown, I'm also so excited for Sonja; she's a creative, sensitive kid with a wicked sense of humour and an astonishing memory (for everything besides the things Peter and I ask her to do). My every hope is that she retains her wonder and excitement and laughs as much as possible. 

...and listens to me. That would be nice. Happiest of Happy Birthdays, Sonja.