Catching Up

Hello, my name is Mia and it's been 365 days since my last post. Probably not a single one of those has passed without me thinking to myself that I really should write a quick post. I really should capture some of the insanity of these times for my future self. For my kids. But then, the kids are wired and starving - for food  yes, but more so for attention. Cairn and I have barely stumbled downstairs at 9pm after a long day of work and gym and chores and kids and bedtime and tidying up.

The computer is there, staring at me, goading me to keep up with this writing that I've so grossly neglected for so long, way too long to ever be able to catch up now, in the fleeting moments I have to myself before I go to bed exhausted and it all starts over again tomorrow. Sometimes the computer does get turned on but it's work that happens in that case. Always just work.

 And I'm painfully aware of the family photos that are piling up on various devices around the house - needing desperately to be organized and shared and printed. Hysterically tuned in to how fast my kids are growing and how much I'll forget by not writing it down. And for all that worry, I just can't. I just can't muster it on top of everything else. And so I've decided to forgive myself. I've turned to Instagram in a major way. A picture, after all, is worth a thousand words. The thing is though, I miss the words. And so maybe, when the opportunity presents itself, I'll try again. Even just a few words here and there. But maybe not. Don't hold me to it just yet. After all, there will be a day, in the not so distant future, when the kids are not so demanding and the house is always quiet. And I'm willing to bet that when those days are upon me the words will still be here, ready to flow.

Speaking of the not-so-distant future, my Everley is turning two years old in less than a month. My Bella is staring Grade 1 in a week. Big deals, both. Pictures will be taken and words will be shared. Can't say how many but some. See you soon.

Moet: 2002 - 2012

Moet at the cottage with his constant companion, Winston.

We have one of those 'family organizer' calendars that hangs on the wall in our kitchen. It's a handy thing on which there are several columns so you can devote one to each family member. The days of the month run down the side and you can make notes in everyone's individual column and keep track of who is doing what when.

Our family calendar has four columns filled out. One for me, one for Cairn, one for Bella and one for Moet. I usually fill them out a few months in advance, satisfying my need for order and control via list-making. It helps calm me when I feel things are starting to get out of hand. I rarely look ahead at future months once they are filled in, but the act of doing it settles me down. Makes me feel like I've got a grip on what can sometimes be a hectic work-life schedule.

As any dog-owner will know, in spring begins flea and tick season. We all haul our pets off to the vet for a check up and drop insane amounts of cash on heart-worm pills and flea prevention meds. They are meant to start taking them on June 1st and take them again on the first of every month straight through until November. In order to help remember, the meds come with stickers. Bright red, heart-shaped stickers that you can put on your calendar to help you remember to give your dog his medication.

We were late starting Moet on his medication this June. It's so telling of how crazy our lives have been lately. And especially illuminating of the fact that, sadly, unfairly, regrettably, when things get really nuts in our house, Moet is always the first family member who gets bumped down the priority list.  His walks get more rushed, his bed gets cleaned less, he gets left for longer periods of time alone while we're out running around like chickens with our heads cut off.

I remembered mid-month, while digging through Moet's stuff to find his ear-cleaning solution, that he hadn't started his heart-worm and flea routine on time. It was June 14th. We gave him his treatments and the very next day I sat down with my handy calendar and started to "organize" my thoughts. I picked up those cute red heart stickers and I stuck one in Moet's column on the 14th day of every month from June straight through to November. And afterwards I felt better. I crouched down to pat him and scratch behind his ears and I told him, 

"There we go Lil' Boss, now we're all set. Now we won't forget again." 

Well, in true pug fashion, ever striving to be the center of attention and refusing to be ignored for long, our Lil' Boss made damn sure that we were not going to forget about him again.

He took ill on July 12th. A Thursday. I arrived home late from work that day, as I'd been doing for a while, only this time I went straight to him. To investigate for myself why he was was vomiting up God-knows-what and hadn't eaten his supper. He'd been perfectly fine that morning, or at least, so far as we all noticed. I sat with him for a minute on the floor and tried to convince myself that it was just something he'd eaten. But although our boy had been sick many times in the 10 years he's been part of the fiber of this family, this time for some reason I knew.

On Friday morning he was worse and we checked him into the hospital at our beloved vet's office. The news was not good, and they told us as much. And I knew. In my heart and my soul I knew this was it. On Saturday it was clear that his organs were shutting down and that no matter what we tried next he was done fighting. We made the utterly heart-wrenching and searingly painful decision that it was time to end his suffering as humanely and swiftly as we could.

It was July 14th. When we came home from the vet that day -- as a family shy of one -- I leaned back against the kitchen wall gutted and exhausted with grief, and found I was staring right at our family calendar. And there, in the column marked Moet, on the very day that he left us, was that bright red heart sticker.

Me and Moet on his very first day home. September 2002, 10 weeks old.

My wee fur baby, sleeping with Hippo.

On his very first walk, Trinity Bellwoods Park, September 2002.

Running with Cairn. Thanksgiving 2002.

A windy day at Ipperwash Beach.

Pay attention to me, or give me a cookie. Now.

Man's best friend, Moet was never far from Cairn's feet.

This sums up exactly how he felt about the winter. Took after me that way.

Sure did love the cottage though. Also took after me on this one.

Exploring Ipperwash Beach. 

Barely putting up with his jaunty scarf on grooming day.

Never strayed far from his much-loved bed for long.

An ever-loyal companion, he sure loved him some Bella.

Gazing longingly at another of his favourite humans, Uncle Matty.

I'll always remember him just like this, my handsome, handsome boy.

Snack time will never be the same without this hot little fuzz ball underfoot.

My loves. Our picture is not quite complete without him, but he's forever in our hearts.

Moet, Momo, Lil' Boss, The Momes. I loved you like crazy, everyday, even the ones where I was too fucking busy or distracted to let you know it the way that you deserved. And I know you loved us too. Through thick and thin you loved us the way only an animal can. Fiercely, loyally, without judgement or jealously or remorse.

Good-bye my old friend.

We'll never forget you.

Love, Mommy

Summertime

I was just outside in the backyard, sweeping and bagging leaves, when I heard the children in the schoolyard next door shriek with pure excitement and joy, "Look! Snow!"

I thought they must be crazy, I was warm from working, hot even, but sure enough I raised my face to the sky just in time to see the dusting of white flakes before they dissolved into icy water droplets and disappeared before my eyes. For a moment I was completely caught up in the contagious energy of the kids and I smiled. Just as quickly as the snowdrops melted, so too did my excitement. Winter.

I've always been a summer girl. It's by and far my favourite season. I thrive on the heat, the sunshine, the thunderstorms. We all know I love the beach, the long, lazy days that humid Toronto summers allow us to indulge ourselves in. I know there are people who love winter for almost the same reason - the excuse to huddle up and stay indoors, watching the weather bluster and blow through the window as you lounge under blankets with hot cocoa and good book. I get it. But still, summer is my season.

I haven't posted about this summer here yet. Unusual for me, since I'm usually so quick to share my most magical moments: my daughter running naked on the beach, kicking back with best friends and family, enjoying cold beverages on the lawn. This summer was no exception, it had all of those moments, each special and worth sharing, and seeing as today is Remembrance Day, 11/11/11, I figure, what better time to remember?

This summer was the best of times. It was also the worst.

I found out I was pregnant in early July. It was not expected exactly but not entirely shocking either. Whatever it was, it was wonderful. I was ready. It's not my place to speak for Cairn here and I won't, but I will dare to say that we were ready. Finally feeling settled into the new house and with many months ahead to take care of anything else that needed doing, a March due date was just perfect. Bella would be four years old (!) and off to Kindergarten in September. I'd keep her home with me part time in the summer, maybe. By the the time summer arrived, I'd have a four month old and a four year old - imagine? I'd spend extra time at the cottage with the kids.

The kids. I've always thought there would be two.

I drifted in a happy daze through the first summer month. Just thrilled really. Bursting inside with my secret. Happy at work and at home in a way that I hadn't been quite a while. It had been a trying year, with all the house stuff and changes at the office. Exciting, but stressful. And finally I was calm and settled in. I started planning how I'd tell Bella the news. She was asking for a baby brother or sister a lot at that time. She still is. I was already choosing names and decorating rooms in my head even though as every newly pregnant woman is aware, particularly those at my age, it was too early to be doing all those things. But as we also know, the love for a child does not start on the day they are born. It starts the moment you discover your secret. It's a special, intense love that only a mother can feel.

I miscarried naturally at home on August 1. Exactly one week after I'd started spotting. The longest week of my life. I was almost nine weeks along and had known about my pregnancy for four weeks. Four weeks is a long time when you're dreaming up a life for a child.

I'm not trying to be melodramatic and some might wonder why I'm choosing to share this now and in this way. It's difficult to tell people this in person. Awkward for them, because they struggle to find the right words to say, when really there aren't any. Awkward for me because I want to gloss over it and be quick to assure then that "I'm okay, it wasn't the right time, we'll all be fine!" I'm also sharing because because I don't want to hide this thing that happened to me, to us, behind closed doors. I've read many, many brave and inspiring stories from other women since this happened. I know I'm not alone with this grief. I want to join their ranks. To let other women know that it's okay to be angry and confused and devastated by the loss of a pregnancy. But also that it does not define you, it does not destroy you and you should not be ashamed.

I'm not ashamed. But I've had moments of huge guilt. Moments of panic that this will happen again and again. Moments of utter, heart-wrenching sadness. Those painful moments hit me less and less as the summer days drifted into fall, and even less now as fall drifts into winter. And between those awful moments have been many, many moments of pure joy. The joy of summer that I dream about all winter long.

That's what I choose to share from this summer past. And so here I celebrate with snapshots of summer 2011 - a bittersweet one but a sweet one none-the-less.

It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday

It's not like I didn't ask for this. Want this. I wanted it badly. So badly in fact that I shed more than my fair share of tears during the time that we were looking and looking and not finding what it is that we were looking for.

Isn't that always the way? You search high and low for the next big thing, only to realize in the end just how much you already have. Well, it's that way for me this week. This week we will pack up the little, comfortable life that we have built in our first home. Our 1100 square foot home which was starting to feel too crowded with things, overwhelmed by the new life we added into it and nurtured and grew over the last three years. Our little home tried its best to keep up with us, to contain us, and it did its job for as long as it could.

It forced us to be close to each other. Some days closer that we wanted to be. It forced us to be efficient with our things, our routines, our emotions even. There certainly was nowhere to hide. Not from clutter, not from neighbours, certainly not from each other.

And so while we are all more than ready to move on, and we all know that it's the right time, the perfect time, now that our move is eminent I'm taking stock of our first little home. I'm looking around at the nicks in the hardwood and the cracks in the walls. The little stains on the carpet - from coffee during our morning rush and dog puke and baby pee. I'm looking at all the little things that have been maddening for me as my desire to move on grew stronger, and this week I'm thankful for all of them. These little signs of life. Little reminders that this was not just a house. It was our home.

I'm thankful for this little home, for the memories that she holds. Our first house together - a purchase that was one of the most exciting, thrilling things that I have ever done. Our first house as a married couple. The only home our daughter has ever known.

Leading up to this week it's been relatively easy for me to lose myself in the administration and organization required to search for, buy and sell a home. The paperwork, the budgeting, faxing and lawyers. The renovation planning, materials selection. Items that must be written down and ticked off one by one, just to make such big transactions possible.

Then the packing began and the job (not finished, btw) is massive, even with our well-edited (read: obsessive compulsively organized) space. These things were enough to keep me busy, to allow me to avoid facing the other impact of moving from the place we've called home for the last six years. The emotional impact.

And hoo-boy. If you know me, you know I like me some emotion. And now it's time. To take a few moments, a little trip down memory lane. I know it will be a weepy journey, but also a cathartic one. It's time to say goodbye to this place that we built, the two of us - then the three of us - into a safe, comfortable, loving, happy home.

Here she is in her infancy. What would become the main living floor - living and dining areas. There was something very special about buying a house from the plans. The excitement of watching it take shape, literally build up out of a hole in the ground. The feeling from the very start that it really was all yours.

Crown had to sneak in to take these pictures. I vividly remember waiting on the ground, keeping watch while he climbed around inside. I was nervous, worrying as always, that we'd get caught, but it was worth the worry to see these photos after. Our first glimpse of the house that we had worked so hard for.

The first time we laid eyes on our finished home was a fun day. We'd waited patiently for many months and I remember feeling anxious and giddy the week leading up to our first inspection. But it was love at first sight. The gleaming new floors and stark white walls spoke of possibility. A blank slate on which we could add our own mark.

Oh, how shiny you were. Gleaming and sparkling and new. I adored the newness and the knowledge that we'd be the first to do everything in here. I still love that about this house to this day. All of its marks and scars are our marks and scars. Our life wore her in.

Workin' those booties. Striking a pose.

The front hall. This has been the bane of my existence since the day we moved in. It's long and narrow and good for nothing. I have had it on my list to tackle with an overhaul for years, but since Bella arrived and with her a selection of strollers and a considerable reduction in both funds and free time, it has remained nothing more than an unkempt utility space. And not a very efficient one, at that.

My memories around the front hall are mostly sulky. Arriving home after a long day, a frustrating commute in the middle of winter, bitterly cold and heavily pregnant. Barely making it in the door before sitting on the stairs in a puddle of tears and frustration. Dismayed that somehow I'd gotten too huge to navigate this crowded, narrow, messy little space. I wish I could say I fit better down there today, but the truth is I just don't.

As we move up in the house, my memories grow much fonder. Our "dining room" can hardly be called a room at all, but we shared countless dinners with family, with friends, with each other. There have been more tears shed, laughter shared, conversations held at that little glass table than I can hope to recall. We searched high and low for our beloved vintage buffet and just like all things that are meant to be, when we first saw it, we knew it was the one. I still think it will never be as perfect as it is on that wall, right there.

Hard to believe that anything was ever accomplished in that tiny little kitchen, but many a delicious meal was prepared by Crown and enjoyed by us all. I cooked all of Bella's baby food from scratch in that little kitchen. My baby playing happily on the floor. The smell of cooking apples will forever take me right back here.

As I write this I'm staring at this exact view, except all the life has been stripped away. The contrast of what I see in this photo is remarkable. In this photo I see our life. If that couch could talk. Hours and hours spent on that couch. I laboured through the night on that couch for five hours before realizing that I need to go to the hospital. That my baby was on her way. Then I lay with her wrapped up together in the wee hours, while the rest of the world slept, and I dreamed of our future, of her future. And sometimes in those dreams I saw us in a new house. And now, those dreams, imagined on that couch, are coming true.

And this? Well this is where the magic happens. Heh. For real though? What can I say? My daughter was conceived in this room and that alone makes it special. But in the years before there was any hint of Bella, my best times were always spent tucked up in that bed. Weekend mornings with the paper and hot coffee, the dog snoring between us while we lounged and lazed. We've nursed ourselves through sickness in that bed. Spied on neighbours through the window, as I'm sure they spied on us. My baby slept in her bassinet next to me, brand-new, as I stared and stared.

Speaking of my baby. What can I say about her nursery? I can't. Except that it's the hardest room to leave behind. Because the significance here is too much. We're leaving her babyhood in this room. She'll grow up in the new house, and I can't wait to take that journey with her, but she'll only have ever been a baby in this one. This room is loaded with so many incredible moments that my heart can barely sustain them. It swells and bubbles over with the memories we created, the bond we developed, right here in this room.

And finally, our rooftop. Along with the location, it's the reason we bought this place. 380 square feet, with sunny west-facing exposure, I'll always regret that we didn't use us more often. But when we used it, we used it well. Parties and BBQ's for the best of friends. Hot summer nights spent drinking wine and eating burgers. And perhaps the most lovely memory of them all. A beautiful day in June, my mother-in-law's birthday, when we sat on this rooftop and gave her the best present - the news that she'd soon be a grandmother. I'll never forget how happy we made her on that perfect day. How happy we all were.


You have been good to us little house. We'll always remember you fondly as the place where we learned to nest, learned to love like we never imagined possible, learned to know - no matter how bittersweet - when it was time to move forward.

Goodbye.

I'm Still Standing

Hi. Have you missed me? I've been a little busy. HAHAHAAAA. Understatement of the century.

But I have not given up on this blog. And I still fully intend to honour #23. Its just, well, the thing of it is OMG I CAN'T DO IT ALL.

Apparently though, I can do a lot. Here's a quick run down of why I've been M.I.A.:

• We bought a house (#2, CHECK! Full post on this, with hilarious pictures to come)
• We packed up and moved out of our condo in order to sell it. We've been living at my parents' house now for close to five weeks (#3, to be checked off very soon I hope, will keep you posted)
• Work has been insane with the build up towards the full redesign of my website (#5, in the works!)
• Still taking my Interior Design class at Ryerson, which has included several Sundays devoted to a massive group project. Am going to post pictures of the crazy model we had to build as soon as I can find a few minutes to upload photos
• Christmas shopping
• Christmas parties and lunches (yes, already)
• Crown's mom was in town, so there was much evening visiting to be done
• Oh yeah, parenting a beautiful but, ehm, explosive toddler
• Throw in some incidentals like swimming lessons, real estate agent meetings and sleep

Add all those items up and I am left with something akin to NO TIME FOR ANYTHING ELSE AT ALL.

So bear with me. There is excitement afoot, I promise. And as soon as I have a minute or two to sit my ass down at the computer, I will share this excitement with you in a witty and engaging manner. Plus, I'm still finding time for the odd post of something pretty over at Beaches' Bites.

For now, proof that we still bring the cuteness, out and about in our temporary 'hood:

If You Don't Know Me By Now...

...never fear you might still get your chance!

Here's the dealio.

I know I've been neglecting this blog. I always wanted this to be a place where I could actually sit for a while, think about things and record my life's moments with some intelligence, humour and depth. But since I went back to work and my life's moments started flying by at the speed of light, I've found it incredibly difficult to find the time (energy, space, passion, desire) to give this blog the attention that I feel it deserves.

Plus? Major identity crisis. Beaches' Speeches was always supposed to be all about me and my rambling observations on life - hence "Speeches".

And I think it started out that way. And then when I was pregnant it was obvious that I would record that experience here because that's what I was doing at the time. You know, CREATING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING INSIDE OF MY BODY. Kind of a big deal, just saying.

And then Bella was born. And raising her was what I was doing at the time. All the time. Every second of the time day and night I was raising her and photographing her and obsessing over her and loving her and needing her and needing to share her with all of you (and writing run on sentences, which has clearly continued). And I was on maternity leave so really, truly, she was my sole focus in life.

And though my life was busy, I still managed to squeak out some me-time to sit here and write about her. Time to think and reflect on what it meant to become a parent. And time to record it (I think quite well, thank you very much) during naps and late at night when the rest of the world was sleeping. And so this blog became all about her.

I'm not considering changing the direction of this blog. Anabella remains a (if not the) major focus of my life and as such, I anticipate that most of my speeches here will continue to be about her. But I'm also going to allow the direction of this blog to follow the direction of my life and morph as organically as I do. I anticipate writing about myself a little more often here when (if) I find time. For those of you out there that still care to read my most ramblingest rambles, or see a million and one pictures of my kid and my dog (Hi, Mom), I hope you'll continue to check in on me here.

But lately I feel the need for a quicker more accessible outlet, a new project, that will allow me to focus a little bit more on, well, me. And so, for anyone who could really not care less that Bella is now fully potty trained AND sleeping in a big girl bed (that's right, Bitches! Successful parenting abounds in our house!), and would prefer to just get quick updates about what's inspiring me in my personal and professional life (Hi, everyone who reads me and who is not my mom) then hoooboy do I have life shattering announcement for you (drum roll, please)...

I have finally jumped on the Tumblr bandwagon and started a brand-new Beaches' Speeches offering called Beaches' Bites. I am going to use it for quick posts about things that I am hearting right now. It'll give you a peek into what I do for a living, what I'm learning and doing at school (yep, back to school this fall taking an Interior Design course at Ryerson) and what I'm coveting from my day-to-day discoveries online and elsewhere.

I know. Amazing news, right? You're welcome.

Given I don't get to post here that I often, I'd hate to wrap up this one right here and risk disappointing my loyal Speeches readers. So here you go Mom, these are for you:

Bella feeling proud of herself after her very first sleep in her "big girl" bed.

The Momes, enjoying the view of the spectacular Ipperwash Beach during our summer vacation in August.