Domestic Dream

 

I’m living the domestic dream. 

Of a good Holdeman woman.

All except for the milk cow. I still don’t have that. Sad face. 

This Domestic Dream hasn’t always been my dream, and I have long fought the stereotypes that accompany it. Nevertheless, here I am, and I’m actually quite happy here. The part I’ve long feared about embracing wife life/ stay at home mom life/ good Holdeman woman life is that it seems like an irreversible decision. Nevertheless, here I am, and I am happy to be here! 

Here’s how the domestic dream is playing out for me:

The puppy is perfect. Yes, she peed on the floor at first, but her adoring puppy dog eyes made it all okay. She’s better company than our current cat Ladder Kitty (rip, Worangey😢): more cuddly, less hairy and much more down to earth. No, Rebel is not a house dog, but she thinks she should be on these really cold days and on the nights when a coyote pack  decides to feast on her deer. Her adorable husky face is picture perfect sitting straight up and perfectly still in the front seat of the tow truck beside Brent or me. She’s a perfect silent companion for me on my quiet house days and long bitterly cold walks. She’s never happy/ relaxed in the mornings until she’s said a very lively good morning to both Brent and me. I have to remind myself sometimes that I actually don’t even like dogs. 

We have long term house renovation projects. Is there anything more Holdeman Woman in Rural Saskatchewan than that ? Progress is slowing the further into winter and pregnancy we get. We are both trying to be patient and optimistic, and having moderate success with both. In fact, I think our families are more depressed by our construction (also destruction) projects than we are, but as winter wears off in the next couple months, we hope to pick up where we left off when the snow started flying.   

Long leisurely walks with my dog and my bébé (and once, on the day after Christmas, with my husband!) in the sparkling winter sunlight, or more often the winter twilight and sometimes even under a full moon, are a part of my daily life. On the coldest windiest days we don’t wander much past the sheltering rows of trees, but, when the weather cooperates, we sometimes walk miles across the lonely prairie. 

Parts runs for the mechanic version of my husband (not to be confused with Version Tow Truck Operator) happen so often that I recognize the front desk employees in Napa, Olsen Diesel, Canora Automotive, etc. Consequently, I also know which ones I want to avoid when I walk into each place. Possibly they all despair when they see me coming, but I have unwittingly become much more well versed in the lingo of injector cores and thermostats and spark plugs, etc, so I think I am an easier customer than I used to be. 

I talk on the phone a lot and give a lot of receptionists and health care workers my health card number and date of birth. Why did nobody warn me that being pregnant would mean a lot of phone calls with strangers ? 

This week I help cook hot lunch for the school children. This will be our first time ever doing this. For so many years we were on the receiving end of this deliciousness; being the one doing the cooking and serving makes me feel like a real life good Holdeman adult woman. Maybe someday the feeling will be reality.

After moving to the next town over and then spending Christmas holidays with their dad a few hours away, our neighbor girls have started coming over again. Lexis spent her hard earned money to buy us a Christmas gift, and I feel so honoured, especially because I could tell she put some thought and debate into what to get us. She bought Brent some gummy worms and me a Christmasy green mason jar with starry string lights inside. She wanted to come to church with us last night so I quickly altered one of my skirts for her to wear; she doesn’t wear dresses normally, but it’s very very important to her that she wears a dress or a skirt when she comes to church. The service was too long for her and she basically fell asleep near the end, but she was adamant that she was happy she came. All the girls are super excited about our bébé and feel like it’s partly their baby, which is fun for us to see. They are convinced it will be a girl so we can all have lots of girl parties; BTT likes to argue with them and say he’s sure bébé will be a boy. Lexis went around yesterday telling all the Ladies at Church that she wants a girl and Brent wants a boy, Which made me giggle to myself. It should give the Ladies at Church a day small nugget of gossip, anyway. haha 

Byeee. I gots to get back to my domestic dream and clean my floors and cook supper so we can go back to church for more reviving. 

Why are You a Princess?

I’m a princess, my dear, because shein sells cheap dresses with wide fluffy skirts, and that must make me appear somewhat magical to you.

I’m a princess because it’s Christmas and I have just about everything I want and need.

I’m  a princess because I’m unreasonably happy tonight with my not so perfect life. 

I’m a princess because I have so many people who love me. 

I’m a princess because even though I haven’t deserved it or planned it, good things keep happening  to me.

I’m a princess because, unlike you, I can have a safe home and a safe loving family to go home to.

I’m a princess because I found out that Christmas miracles are real.

I don’t know what made the wee red head think I was a princess. My dress, my voice, my aura, something else entirely. It was probably mostly the dress. It was the sweetest compliment a 4 year old could give, and made me fall in love with him even more. Later, after he was sound asleep under his paw patrol blanket curled up with a gentle giant of an accidentally therapeutic kitty, I went home feeling like maybe I really was a princess, just not in the way he thought. 

Adrenaline Detox

October.

October has truly been an adrenaline detox, at least for me. Our summer of busyness merged into an autumn of calm. We’re in our new house, and the majority of work on the exterior that we had planned to get done before winter is complete -we surprised even ourselves at how we met that goal. The garden is harvested. My work has slowed down, my husband’s too, somewhat. We’ve kept socializing to a minimum due to the illnesses spiralling through the congregation in recent weeks. It’s been quiet. 

Involuntary Detox

Like all ddetoxes, it hasn’t been painless. I chafe under the weight of too many days of getting nothing accomplished. I pine for the faces of the children I cared all spring and summer. I even miss the adrenaline high of chasing a runaway 8 year old across the city of Yorkton when he took off in anger after a fight with his auntie. 

I certainly didn’t plan to spend half of September and most of October motionless. I didn’t plan that I would have no work in the last few weeks, although to some extent I am grateful for that. I do know from other years that there is almost always a few weeks of lull between finishing up the last outside jobs and starting the rush of winter work. This year I’m hoping that lull lasts a little longer than usual so we can get more things done in this house before the busy towing season starts. 

I still get the occasional adrenaline rush. 

Sometimes I have to race the sun. Like the night I needed to get to Pelly to unlock a difficult dodge truck before daylight ran out. I lost that race. I also forgot my step stool. Luckily Mr and Mrs Ukraine were kind enough to 1. Find me an ancient chair to stand on and 2. hold a flashlight so I could see what I was doing. #amateurbreak-inartist 

I juggle the children, which can be exciting. Especially when they’re used to following their own rules, but they’re at my house so I have to enforce my rules to keep them safe. Example #1: we don’t take off walking across the field without telling anyone where we’re going. When I figure out where they are I practice not yelling frantically at them that they knew better. Also, BTT and I get to practice our parenting. (We’re bad at it) Him: “I though we’d decided only 2 kids on the quad. Why are you letting 3 of them ride at once?” Me: “I told them only 2 on the quad. I thought you were the one who let them all ride together!” Clearly we need to up our communication game. 

I play midnight chase vehicle to ambulances with a little brother and my husband inside. BTT and I take turns sitting anxiously by an emergency room hospital bed watching our child transition slowly back to reality and squinting into the neon lights of the hospital parking lot hoping for some epiphany to come out of this long sleepless night. (I never asked Brent if he was hoping for an epiphany, but I was.) Morning finally came and with it discharge; we heralded the sunrise by feeding the baby bird tiny bites of still-warm doughnut and half a can of Pepsi on the drive home and also venting frustration at the lack of answers /help we had received for him. (This is the same little brother I wrote about in the post No One Talks About the Days.) 

Conclusion. 

I have spent days trying to come up with the concluding paragraph I used to teach my students about. I’m continuously blank about how to complete this post or even how to edit it for readability, typos, grammar and interestingness. Okay. Thanks. Bye. (This ending is for you, Sister.) 

Berry Coconut Smoothies (dairy free)

BTT and I had to create a dairy free version of our 
smoothies for an event today. This is what we came 
up with and we were quite happy with the result. Better 
yet, the women who ate them seemed happy, as well.

INGREDIENTS 

 •Splash of almond milk, 1/4-2/2 cup 

•1 can coconut milk or equivalent amount coconut cream  

•1 pint of canned peaches, drained or fresh peaches (frozen could work too but you might have to adjust the amount of liquid)

•3-4 cups of frozen berries: raspberries, strawberries, and/or blueberries

•Whipped coconut cream for topping (optional)

•Chia seeds

•Toasted coconut 

DIRECTIONS 

Dump the milks and fruits  into a blender and blend well . You can check/ taste the finished product and then adjust it to your liking. See below for ideas. Top with whipped coconut cream, and a sprinkle of chia seeds and toasted coconut. Even if you don’t have the coconut cream don’t skip the other toppings. The toasted coconut complements the coconut milk in the smoothies beautifully. 

A FEW IDEAS FOR A BETTER SMOOTHIE 

•Use the thickest coconut milk, the stuff that’s more like coconut cream than coconut milk. You can tell the difference by shaking the cans; the thin stuff will slosh around and the thicker stuff won’t move much or make much sound. Personally I like the stuff from Dollarama because I’ve found it to be consistently thick instead of runny. Also, drain off the coconut water and only use the creamy stuff off the top. If your coconut milk is thickened there should only be a tablespoon or two of water at the bottom to drain out. 

•Add more almond milk for a thinner consistency, but be careful not to add too much. BTT found that adding too much more almond milk made it too runny. 

•more coconut milk/cream will make it creamier 

•a dash of maple syrup could be  added for sweetness, although we didn’t try it. 

•if it’s too thin add more fruit to thicken

•these aren’t the sweet milk-shake -like smoothies of your childhood. They’re actually pretty healthy and not super sweet. Adjust your expectations accordingly. 

Just the Punctuation

Just the Punctuation from a few things I can’t or don’t want to or haven’t gotten around to posting. A couple lists. A sarcastic but loving tirade. A recipe. Some lengthy life stories. And a few more things. 

There are some fun writing tools on the internet. Although this one isn’t specifically useful, I think the end result is beautiful and probably profound. 0040 is not the best time to analyze what this  says about me or my writing. But do I really use that many commas? 

Self-improvement September

Dont lie to me, he tells me. 

And then, Women always say that:

I don’t need anything. 

I wasn’t hungry anyway. 

I’m okay. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

You go, I’ll be fine. 

People experience similar things, but rarely, maybe never, are two experiences/emotions identical. Close enough to be relatable, absolutely. Identical, I doubt it. So. when my husband plays the women always card I usually get upset at him. This time I looked into his eyes and laughed, because in that moment it felt like he spoke the truth about me, and he spoke it in the kindest way he knew. I knew he was clumsily trying to help me realize something about myself and our relationship. And if it’s a truth about people other than me, women or men, great. If not, it’s still me. 

Tell me if you can relate to me. If you’re Someone who says she’s okay, she’ll manage, when in reality she probably won’t. Someone who sacrifices the things she needs for the people around her, when it’s not healthy for anyone involved. Someone who apologizes for her personality instead of apologizing for the things she can control -her words for example. Someone who pushes away the people who try to listen to her. Someone who says no when someone wants to help.  Someone who hides her weaknesses behind responsibilities and commitments. Someone who refuses to admit to being incapable.

I’m all about being an independent, capable, strong woman, about being unselfish (but you know from my last post how hard that is for me.) and sometimes life doesn’t leave me a lot of choices. But frequently my stubborn independence and strength alienates people close to me, and my unwillingness to admit weakness makes it difficult to be realistic. 

I’m saying it like it is today. 

I was too chicken to post this when I wrote it, but after my post earlier this week I decided I have nothing to lose. September seems to be the time for personal growth essays. Readers, do you have any of your own to share ? 

Maybe in October I’ll switch from self improvement to house improvement stories. Who is interested in reading those ?

No One Talks About the Days

No one talks about the days when you sit on a gravel pile beside your brother in law and try not to cry.* Tears Because. All the things. But Basically because you’re a selfish person and can’t muster up the patience today (and yesterday and the day before that, and beyond) demands. Also Because you’re tired of his passive aggressive attempts to hurt you every time he gets within kicking or shoving distance.  Also because you can’t listen to one more of his continuous inane questions without screaming. Also because there’s one slice of pizza in the fridge that’s calling your name really loudly, but you know that as a semi-loving semi-responsible adult you’ll have to share it with him. At least he kept the swearing for his mother. 

In the moment, I just see behaviours. The agression. The whining. The not listening. The calling his mom a string of expletives. The crying dramatically if he doesn’t get what he wants. The purposely doing things to annoy people. The endless endless endless talking. 

In the moment I don’t think about how his life has been. The first few weeks of school this year  have been hard for him -a favourite teacher quit after the first few days because a not so favourite teacher isn’t cooperating to make his school days happy and successful. Home Life is a little chaotic right now with people working crazy hours on harvesting and meals happening in random locations and fields. Further back, he has struggled for most of his life with illnesses, seizures, and physical handicaps. Further back yet, before he was belonged to this family, he was a tragically neglected baby who was never removed from his car seat for the first months of his life and had minimal human interaction before coming to live with our family.  

Life with a child with handicaps is difficult. He’s not my child, but he’s spent a lot of time at our house lately. (Remind me again -why did we move so close to The Parents?) He can be precious, adorable, loving, even helpful. These qualities have been scarce recently. When he was in bed tonight, the last battle of the day over, I was finally able to get some perspective -to think about the tragedies of his life and how they have impacted him, to remember that he does not have to tools to communicate his feelings, emotions, or even physical pains through words. “Every behaviour is a message,” says my mil after he’s finally asleep. His behaviours are so much easier to process when he’s sleeping. 

An admonition. Treat people with handicaps with respect. Treat their caregivers with respect. You may not be someone who knows what it’s like, and that’s okay. A former student who is growing up fast told me some wise words today about how to treat “our” child, and this applies universally. “Treat him like you treat everyone else,” she said, “kindly.”

*i realize this specific situation is not a universal problem. however, selfishness and reacting badly in difficult situations are. if anyone has suggestions for ways to be a better adult in these situations I would love to hear them.