Images: A Hobby Farm with Messy Kids

About these ads

Occasionally, some of your visitors may see an advertisement her

Becoming a Mother Inspite of Myself

Thirty odd years ago, I never could have imagined myself as a mother. I was a 23-year old student at the University of Regina on the Canadian prairies. Having just graduated with an Honours Degree in English Literature, I considered continuing my studies as a graduate student. In fact, I didn't foresee any changes to my life which had flowed smoothly till then. I had grown up with one sister, ballet lessons and a library filled with great fiction and I still enjoyed gardening, painting and drawing, just as I had done as a child. I was content.

Suddenly, my life as I knew it changed dramatically. I met Michael, who was just passing through Regina, Saskatchewan to Prince George, British Columbia. From that first meeting, it felt like the prairie wind swooped down and scattered all my work and plans. Michael describes our initial introduction in much kinder terms; he says that he saw fireworks when he first laid eyes on me. It was instant attraction. Everyone thought I was going to be a nun librarian but, as Michael loves to remind me, he saved me from this fate.

I was not ready for such a dramatic change in my life but it was clear to me that this encounter was a defining moment that I could not ignore. So I baffled fellow students, profs, advisers, friends and family by saying yes to the unexpected. I did not know anything about my newly chosen lifestyle. I did realize that I was completely ignorant and lacked even the most basic skills required to survive.Coming from a family with only two children, it was a culture shock, to put it mildly, when I moved to eastern Ontario and met Michael’s sprawling French-Canadian family of eight boys and two girls.

I became pregnant before our first wedding anniversary. Instantly, I began to panic because I knew, that once again, I was utterly unprepared. I had never even held a newborn! So I got ready in the only way I knew how; I read every book I could find on pregnancy, birth and baby care.

However all this studying did little to equip me to mother a fragile, completely dependent newborn. For example, as I held my baby in a small bathtub for his first bath, I was nervous. It is hilarious to admit now but I actually had a book propped open with one elbow awkwardly holding it open to the right page, while my baby was in a bathtub on the table. The book was my security blanket, I guess.

My new husband, who was the second oldest of ten children and completely relaxed with babies, walked through the kitchen, shook his head in disbelief and said quite wisely,

“Melanie, there are some things you just can't get out of books."

Yet, something did happen to me moments after giving birth to my first child; still in the delivery room, I forgot my exhaustion and pain the moment I held my newborn. A surge of motherly love rose up in my heart combined with a sense of awe at the miracle of creation as I examined tiny, perfectly formed fingers and toes.

There was something about my baby's open, trusting gaze that literally drew love from me. My newborn could see clearly for about 8", just far enough to focus intently on my face. It was almost as if the initiative to bond came from my son first, especially when I consider his fierce hand grip as he clutched my clothing.To ensure that I fed him, he was born with a powerful rooting reflex and a cry that literally triggered the let-down reflex for my milk, soaking my clothes if I did not start nursing quickly enough.My baby did not even have a sense of himself apart from me for the first year, his whole identity was intricately entwined with mine. On a good day that translated into an almost magical relationship of love, the strength of which astounded me; on a bad day it meant little sleep where I was unable to put him down for more than a quick dash to use the toilet or to drag a toothbrush across my teeth.

Somehow, though, this new life, this culture shock, became my daily life.Unbeknownst to me, each successive baby set me free to become more fully who I was called to be, a joyful mother of nine children. If I think about it, I am just as baffled as any outsider when I consider this conundrum.

The Thinking Man’s Winnie-the-Pooh

“Something feels funny. I must be thinking too hard

The bear without a brain was actually quite profound.He tells adult readers to stop, look, listen, and learn from nature, animals and little children. Intellect isn’t as important as heart and intuition.

“

“Yes,” said Piglet,

“Rabbit’s clever.” 

“And he has Brain.” 

“Yes,” said Piglet, “Rabbit has Brain.”

There was a long silence. “I suppose,” said Pooh, “that that’s why he never understands anything

Poetry and Hums aren’t things which you get, they’re things which get you. And all you can do is go where they can find you. 

“Some people talk to animals. Not many listen though. That’s the problem.”

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?”

“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best — ” and then he had to stop and think. Because although eating honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.”

 

 

 

“I am a bear of very little brain and long words bother me.”

Humourous, Vintage Paintings of Mothers and Children

When I think of a typical hundred year-old painting  of mother with her children, I think of idealized images where everyone has a sombre expression on their faces. Well these painters had a sense of as humour as they capture the moments when a mother is overwhelmed by her children's need to touch her, even when she tries to work. These artists must have been fathers because they are remarkably insightful  into the mother/ child dynamic. .They remind me of the days when I felt like a mauled mother cat, feeling like if one more person touched me that I would scream.

Great Quotes About Children

Dr. Seuss, authour

“A person’s a person, no matter how small.”

Nelson Mandela,

We owe our children, the most vulnerable citizens in our society, a life free of violence and fear.”

“There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children.”

Albert Einstein -

The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives. 

- Anonymous 
 “Children are great imitators. So give them something great to imitate.”

Barbara Bush, former U.S. first lady“

You have to love your children unselfishly.”

English proverb

The soul is healed by being with children.”

                                                                                    John W. Whitehead, founder, Rutherford Institute

“Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see.”

Frederick Douglass

 It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.

The most interesting information comes from children, for they tell all they know and then stop.

Mark Twain  

Mohandas Gandhi,“

If we are to teach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with the children.”

Emma Goldman, author“No one has yet fully realized the wealth of sympathy, kindness and generosity hidden in the soul of a child. The effort of every true education should be to unlock that treasure.”

Lady Bird Johnson, former U.S. first lady

“Children are likely to live up to what you believe of them.”

 Mignon McLaughlin, journalist and author

“Only where children gather is 

there any real chance of fun.

Thank-you

A heart-felt thank-you because  of your support and warm encouragement, blogging opened the doors to the world of writing for me.

Actually I can hardly believe that I feel free enough today to stand up and boldly yell, ” I love writing and I want to help others start writing by encouraging them to blog.”

It took me years to finally decide to start writing again. I had taken a 30 year sabbatical since leaving university to raise 9 children and I just couldn’t seem to start. Perhaps I could have started seven years ago when everyone was in school full time but realistically there was simply too much physical work involved in running a household for eleven people and helping with the farm animals and our large vegetable garden.

There is a lot of work on a hobby farm with a family of 11.

Instead of writing, I told stories. The Irish side rose to the surface as I entertained family and friends with the latest exploits of my kids and the farm. Their escapades really were legendary because some situations can only occur with the combination of 9 kids and a hobby farm. I told the hilariously true stories of our family in true Irish form, with wry wit and dramatic flourishes. As an oral story-teller, I discovered that the tales rose up from deep within me because I had assimilated them and made them my own. In fact, my creations were the products of my right brain; they were imaginative, intuitive and alive. I did not know ahead of time exactly what I would say. I did not memorize a script with my logical left brain. No, the very act of speaking words aloud was part of the creative process. The stories were alive, full of joy and humour and that spirit was infectious.

My adult offspring encouraged me to start writing again.

For years, my children badgered me, “When are you going to start putting our stories down on paper?”

Acquaintances tentatively suggested, “I really think you should start writing.”

Strangers at conferences challenged me, ”You are very articulate, you can think on your feet, have you ever considered writing?”

Once four people approached me and said, “You are a natural. You are called to write. What is holding you back?

I froze inside when I sat down in front of a computer

However, when I closeted myself in a room to sit down and write, I froze. I considered writing to be a solitary craft but looking at a blank screen or talking into thin air was a sterile exercise in futility for me. I could not translate the same creative energy that I experienced telling a story verbally to the keyboard. My intuitive, imaginative side stayed buried and my logical intellect wrote boring drivel.

Somehow I heard about the existence of blogs, blogging sites and blogging directories and I snapped to attention. Suddenly, I was thinking up a username, a title for a blog, looking at templates and design and layout. All these activities loosened up my creativity while I sat typing

It was like an invisible barrier slowly melted, allowing my imagination to bubble up in a stream of written words that felt just as exhilarating as my oral tradition. I was excited to start sharing written stories with other people, people who would read them, respond, comment and give me feed back on what I had written. Within weeks, I was no longer an island but part of a community of other writers who had the very same insecurities and problems as I did.

It was spring time in my writer’s soul

At first I felt like I had just stepped off a spaceship into an alien world. I did not know how to do anything. Reading directions on-line was useless; I couldn’t understand half the words they used, never mind how to follow their directions. I still struggle with uploading, downloading, back linking…..

Early on I read that bloggers, on the whole, are supportive and unselfishly helpful, rejoicing in each others success and offering free guidance . Well, I discovered that this statement is true. So if you are tentatively wondering if you will fit in, fear not. If a 58 year-old, computer illiterate, web dummy and green writer can learn while having loads of fun, you can too. Trust me.