Spring Oyster Roast at the Farm

Fin's cousins Aaron 16, Gavin 4, and Noah 2, are also born in April. We celebrated the kid's birthdays with an oyster roast out at our Brother in law's family horse farm in Baily NC.

Finley driving the gator.

Gavin & Finley

Me and my nephew Aaron

Me and my nephew Noah

Jumping in the new trampoline.

Oysters!

Ryan and the oyster feast

Ian and Aaron shucking oysters

I made this "Very Hungry Caterpillar Cake" for the kids.

Broom Ponies and Afternoon Delights

Steve is a shift worker. He has been on afternoons and then nights for the last few weeks. It's a tough shift for him and it's pretty tough on Fin too. She misses her Daddy. Late in the day when it is time for Steve to wake up and ready for work I like to send Finley into wake her Daddy. She says Dada over and over as we climb the stairs and when she sees him she squeals with delight and says "Hi Daddy!" It's pretty amazing to hear.

Here are some stolen moments with Daddy on his day off work yesterday.

We make the best of each day we have together.

Our family life and time on earth are too important not to.

Finley calls the swing a "Weeeeeeee!!!!"

Fin's FIRST Birthday Party

A Photo Essay of Fin's Party.

The Invite & The Table

It's strawberry season!

I made a spongecake with a strawberry jam fresh berry filling.

Steve made the real whip cream.

Fin's cake was french vanilla. YUMMY!

Strawberry cupcakes with cream cheese icing.

(Yes, Heather I'll make them for your 40th bday party!)

I decorated a few with little gummie animals.

They were a hit with the kids.

Fin playing UNDER the table.

I used to do the same thing at parties when I was a kid.

Opening Presents

Finley & Ike

I think they played hard to get with each other for like 5 seconds.

Mmm Cake. Steve serving up cake to Uncle Ryan.

Happy FIRST Birthday!!!

The year has flown by like everyone told me it would. Our lives are so much brighter with Finley. We love you Happy Birthday Sweet One!

Momma is not sitting on an ice pack this year - YAY!

Ladies Who Lunch

Finley and I were in Ottawa Ontario Canada - my home town - for Easter week. We had an awesome time visiting our family. On Easter Monday we had lunch with my mom's seester, my Aunt Dianne. Finley's great Aunt Dianne. She is Canada's answer to Paula Dean!

Aunt Dianne made little cream cheese and salmon sandwich fingers for Miss Fin with rice pudding and peaches for dessert.

Fin is waiting for lunch, she is taking in all of Aunt Dianne's beautiful house decor. So many treasures to see!

Aunt Dianne always has her aantique bears taking tea somewhere under a special piece of furniture. It's fun to look for them when we come to visit. The bears were replaced with bunnies for Easter and Finley had a blast tearing through the tea party. She broke two of the chairs...sorry Aunt Dianne!

Next time we visit I'll arrive with crazy glue.

Finley was all abut taking the Easter eggs out of the bowl. Most of them were marble...

The Easter tree to rival all Easter trees! Finley left with a gift of a little basket holding two chicks from Aunt Dianne's tree.

Thank you Aunt Dianne! It was an awesome visit and a DELICIOUS lunch! Finley was so BUSY I didn't have time to steal anything from your house this time! Or did I?

Kisses!

The Countdown Is On!

Our Finley Mae is turning ONE on Saturday April 10th!

Where has the year gone?

All I can think about is how fat I was this time last year, how I drank two litres of soy milk a day with a box of Shreddies. I wondered if my mother's instinct telling me I was carrying a daughter was wishful thinking or accurate. I wondered what our birth story would be, and if I would be terrified. I wanted a Natural birth and in a state where 76 percent of births are C sections I wondered how feasible my natural delivery would be. How would Steve and I get through it? Would our baby be okay? Would she look like me or Steve?

Now Steve and I have a little darling who plays peek a boo, runs a car across the floor making the bruuuum sound, points at the vacuum and tells her daddy rrrrvvvvuuuum, she signs (ASL) about 20 words and says DADDY clear as a bell. She is the light of our days. She is my greatest joy and Steve and I marvel daily on how spirited , bright, funny, smart and loving she is. Sometime we stop and look at each other and say: We made her.

And now we are planning a PARTAAAAAY! YIPEEE! I LOVE parties!

37

Me. I'm 37 years old today. I got to do 25 minutes of power yoga ALONE and take and shower ALONE, not rushing either and then arrive downstairs to a beautifuly cooked breakfast by my sweet hubs. Fin was in her highchair -she raised her arms up overhead and squeeled a greeting to me then tried to share her scrambled eggs with me. How's that for a birthday morning!?

The best part about this birthday is that it's my first one as a MOM. From here in it's all home made cards, macaroni necklaces and gifts of tacky shirts, I'm gonna have to wear, because Fin gave it to me. I can think of NO BETTER GIFT!

My friend John said:

You have reached your age maximum... from now on, this will be your age forever... happy birthday!

I think 37 is a perfect age to reside the rest of my life in don't you?

From The Mouth of Babes

This holiday I spent a lot of time with toddlers. They are pretty funny to watch. The way they interact with one another is wild. These little ones are my niece and nephews. Kaylee is 3.5, Gavin is 2.5 and Bastian is 2 years old. They are all in the MINE phase and sharing is a concept forced upon them. Playing (when I say playing I really mean clobbering each other, pushing each other off chairs, grabbing toys from one another's hands and biting one another) is a skill not yet mastered in a group setting. They do play very well on their own and with their imaginary friends. Don't get me wrong they did play well together sometimes. They participated in arts and crafts projects while under strict supervision quite well and for their ages their attention spans are excellent better in fact than most adults I know.

Here are some GEMS from the holidays:

On New Years Eve I decided to take the toddlers to my Yoga studio to teach them some yoga in an effort to keep them entertained so that they were not under foot in the kitchen while the seafood feast was being prepared. I rolled out four mats. The three children took their places on the mats facing me. I asked if they were all ready to begin yoga. All three faces smiled at me and then they began to follow my verbal cues and imitate my gestures. We all sat cross legged and then began to inhale and exhale while raising our arms over head. This was going swimmingly and next I asked the kids to make their hands float around their heads like butterflies. It is then that the 2.5 year old's expression changes. He starts to look worried and then begins to cry.

Michelle

Gavin what's wrong sweetie?

Gavin

I want to do yogaaaaaaaat.

Michelle

We are doing YOGA honey - it's an exercise.

Gavin (cries harder)

Then Gavin's Mom comes into the studio to see how we are making out with our yoga class and sees her son dissolving into a puddle of tears.

Dawn

Gavin what's the matter?

Gavin

I want to do yogaaaat.

Dawn

Oh honey, it's not yogurt- its yoga. They are different.

Gavin

But I want yogaaat.

Dawn and I try not to laugh too hard and then I say there is some in the fridge. Dawn takes Gavin away to the kitchen to eat some Yogggggggaaaaaaaaaaat. And the rest of us continue for a while with our yoga.

NEXT:

On Christmas day Steve's Mom and Aunt and I took the kids up to the bonus room to chillax for a while. We put on the Rudolf movie and the kids rested while watching and played a little really nicely. Everything was calm and peaceful for 50 whole minutes. Then the attention spans shifted, the boys left the room grandma chased after them, aunt was sleeping on the couch and just Kaylee and I were left upstairs. I picked up Finley and took her over to execute a quick diaper change. Kaylee came along to watch. She was pretending to be Princes Lillis a character from her repertoire of her imaginary world. (Some of these characters she transforms into others are just hanging around and you have to be careful where you step lest you squish one.) This when Kaylee's mom Jen arrived in the room.

Jen

Hi whats going on up here?

Michelle

Well Princess Lillis was just dancing for us.

Jen

Princess Lillis show me your dance!

Kaylee aka Princess Lillis

F#ck, F$CK, F*CK, F******CK

Jen and I are shocked and look at one another. I tuck my face into my shoulder so I don't give away my smiles because clearly this is not funny.

Jen

That is not a nce word we don't use that word Kaylee.

Kaylee aka Princess Lillis

F#ck, F$CK, F*CK, F******CK

Jen

Where did you hear that word?

Kaylee (points at me)

Aunt Shell!

Michelle

You DID NOT!

Aunty (who has now woken up from her nap on the couch)

She most certainly didn't hear it from anyone in here in the last hour.

Kaylee aka Princess Lillis

F#ck, F$CK, F*CK, F******CK

Michelle

I admit it's one of my favorite words but I have not said it even under my breath since I was getting in the car this morning to come here.

Jen

You were just the closest in proximity to blame. She could have heard it days ago.

So there ya go - a couple of little gems from our holidays... There s another cute one please check back ad I'll post it soon.

QUESTION???

What do you do when a toddler starts spewing out curse words? I remember having my mouth washed out with soap. How do you guys deal with it? I need to know before it comes up!

Finally, It Looks A LOT Like Christmas

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Our front door even says, Welcome Christmas!

It's TRUE! It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, which for me is a Christmas Miracle in itself. I have to admit to being quite a Grinch over the past few years. What I have not allowed myself to write or speak aloud until now is this:

My mother spent 8 years dying of Breast Cancer. Every Christmas had the underlying, unmentioned feeling that it could be mom's last one. She spent her last 4 Christmases either undergoing or finishing treatments. We nick named it the annual Christmas Chemo like it was a seasonal holiday treat like egg nog. And then she died just before Christmas December 12, 2000. Yup. That was the worst Christmas ever. I spent the whole day in bed in a rental house in Nags Head NC with Steve's family. I got up to get very drunk then I went back to bed. Sad really, but, it was my way of coping. On Boxing Day I woke up and carried on.

The Island of Misfit Toys sit on top of my painting.

Each Christmas has passed since then without it's luster. I believe it was because we didn't have my mother's home cooked meals, our Christmas morning rituals sucked because we were missing our matriarch. We tried to hold fast to them and replicate them. On Christmas morning I didn't look across the room to see my mother in her burgundy velour housecoat, her eyes filled with anticipation as we opened our gifts from her. There was just awkward silence and then my voice making stupid jokes to sever the tension. We tell a few "remember when mom" stories then look at the floor, choke back tears and leave the room.

Our trees graced our wedding table. They make me happy.

The wrapped gifts under our tree came from; Santa, the elves, Mrs. Clause, the birds in the back yard feeder and even from the dog. Her tourtieres were always made with fresh ingredients, she made her crusts cutting out holly leaves and berries to decorate the tops, she woke early to make her stuffing from scratch, we would always have to beg her to stop or hurry up so we could open our gifts. Our stockings were filled with the best things in them and even into adulthood included a toy of some sort. Crumbs were left on window sills and carrots were half eaten in the snow. As kids we never clued in that it was always mom or dad who discovered and brought this wondrous Santa evidence to our attention. These are the things I think of every year. These Christmas memories are my mother.

A girl is never ready to lose her mother no matter how old we are. I found out my mother was sick when I turned 20, she died a month before my 28th birthday. Those are the formative years. When a girl discovers her mother is a person, a woman, not just a mother. It's in that time I wanted to know about what my mother thought, dreamed of and wanted for herself and for my sister and I. I know some of these answers. They are pieced together by what my dad, and my aunts have shared, they help fill the hole that mom's passing has left. But, they aren't her words.

I have been angry that my mother never wrote a letter to my sister and I telling us her thoughts. She never pulled out her Christmas cookie recipes to make sure we had them, she never went wedding dress shopping with us just to make sure she saw us in a dress. Other mother's have done this with their daughters when they new they were terminal. Not ours. I can only surmise that she was optimistic to the end that she would beat her cancer and not have to leave us. I hang onto the fragments of my memories of her. I pause when I come across her hand writing on a birthday card tucked away in her makeup case in my drawer. It used to smell of her but has long since faded away.

The mantel in our dining room.

This is the first Christmas I feel Christmassy. It's because of my little girl. It's because I can now share in the delight my mother and father must have shared in as they readied our house for the arrival of old Saint Nick. It's in every cookie I bake, ever gift I wrap and every little bit of decor I place around the house. It's in Finley's face every time I look at her toothy smile shining up at me from her favorite spot at my feet. Christmas is back! It's here in my house as I take from my mother's ideas and replicate them in a way we do when we take on customs making them our own.

Cookies I baked. Not mom's but Joy's (of cooking)

Finley's little shining face looking up at me. Then the Grinch's heart grew and grew!

A beautiful glass ornament from a new and dear friend hangs in the kitchen.

Finley opens a gift from her Grampy (and his new finace') Grammy.

And so this Christmas marks a new chapter. I'm having my Christmas cry while I write this post. Saying goodbye to the last decade of sorrow and hello to new beginnings. Wondrous new beginnings. As evidence by the signs of Christmas all around my house. The fact that I have allowed myself to write this means only one thing. I am finally healing. I am letting mom go and keeping only the very best parts of our story together. Merry Christmas Mom and thank you.

The ORIGINAL Elf On A Shelf. If Only My Folks HAD Marketed It.

When we were young before the “secret” was out, my dad and mom would tell us they could see Santa’s elves. All grown ups can- they would say. The elves are Santa’s eyes and ears they help the parents and Santa with the naughty and nice lists. Long before the Christmas lights indicated Christmas was around the corner my mom and dad would use Santa and his elves as a way of bribing us into good behaviour. Santa Clause’s naughty and nice list was yearlong leverage for the management of behaviour of children in our household.

Dad:

Oh I just saw Santa’s elf. He’s watching you Michelle.

Michelle:

Where?

Dad:

Over there on the kitchen window sill.

Michelle:

I don’t see him.

Dad:

Only good grown ups can. You had better be a good girl and clean up those crayons and put away the paper then come and help your mother by setting the table or the elf will report to Santa that you are naughty.

Mom:

Susan! Stop eating out of the bird feeder, put your clothes back on and get in the house before you catch a cold! I guess since you are not listening I will have to dial up the big guy…

My mother headed for the phone on the kitchen wall – dialed some numbers and proceeded to conduct a very loud one -sided conversation with Santa Clause’s wife about how Susan likes to run around naked in November and surely this would be a check on the naughty list.

Then she would ask Mrs. Clause to put Santa on the phone for a word. At this Susan dropped the moldy bread left out for the birds, collected her clothes to run up the stairs toward the back door of our house. Susan, running, the back steps and door were never a good combination.

On a regular day without the threat of Santa’s Naughty list Sue could be found trying to right herself after losing her balance falling backward into my mother’s rose garden. It always occurred to me that my mother must have derived some kind of masochistic pleasure from having children topple into her rose garden – why otherwise would she plant thorn bushes beside a set of stairs with no railing?

Since Sue’s hands were filled with articles of clothing, and Santa was on his way to the phone, Sue made haste. The rose garden and a naked Susan seemed doomed to meet. She had a hard time with the door. Losing her balance she fell into the garden but this time she did not cry she didn’t have time. Santa was on his way to the phone. She picked herself up navigated the stairs with a little more caution entered the house to get dressed in a real hurry. Incidentally, Sue was never hungry for a home cooked meal following the bird feeder buffet and another phone call would be made to Santa.

Since Santa was on speed dial and the elves lived on our windowsills year round you can imagine how paranoid I was in the days leading up to the 24th of December. Even after the tree was raised and decorated and the stockings were hung I would sneak into the living room each morning to make sure they were all still there. I was terrified the elves would come in the night to take them away as this year might just be the year Santa was skipping past our house.

I don’t think my folks ever equated my anticipation of Christmas morning with the shear dread I had that Christmas was just not going to happen at all. They had just assumed it was excitement. “Oh Look at Michelle she is bouncing off the walls.”

Dad, who had seen a sketch on either SCTV or SNL starring Martin Short playing an over excited child the night before Christmas, had dissolved into fits of laughter at how representative this sketch was of my behaviour. He reenacted it for me the next day and each subsequent year until I too finally saw the sketch and had to admit – the producers of SNL or SCTV must have been watching me – that or the elves really had reported me and in the off season must have been in the business of making comedic television. Was Martin Short just excited about gifts from Santa? Or had he been brainwashed into thinking he may have more strikes on the naughty side of the page than the good side and that the jolly fat man in the suit was likely passing by his house too? I will never know.

By Christmas Eve I was dying to slip into the living room to see if any treasures were left under the tree. Each year I was truly amazed at what would be there waiting, not just for me but for my whole family. Each year the set up was different, the crumbs left by Santa were in a different place, the carrots left out for the reindeer strategically placed by an exterior window were gone, and it never occurred to us that it was my parents who discovered these things and pointed them out to us…

My usual MO was to wake up around 4:30 AM to go on a recognizance mission up the hall of our bungalow past my parent’s and sister’s bedroom doors toward the living room just to have a peek to see what might be there. Completely unaware, I held my breath, my hands clenched into tiny fists and I pause just a moment before I peer around the half wall into the living room. There before me stands the Christmas tree sparkling and beautiful. There are presents everywhere! The cookies we laid out for Santa are gone! All faith in my behaviour is restored. He was here! I am good! I am good.

I gravitate toward the stocking, which is and has always been my favorite part of Christmas presents. And then I hear;

“Get back to your room before I call Santa and have him come back here to pick up all these presents! Do you know what time it is?”

I whip around to face my Mother.

Michelle:

He was here already mom!

Mom:

Yes, I heard him leaving, he was very noisy, must have woke you up.

My hands still behind my back carefully take an item from the top of my sock, hide it in my hand to take back to bed with me - this small item was the evidence that I had been good all year. Despite all the threats that the elves were watching me and would report back to Santa if I didn’t eat my Lima beans – the big man had come.

A giant sigh of relief heaved my tiny chest as I settled back into my pillow – I could go back to sleep until 7 AM - at which time I would announce confidently to my whole family it was time to get up to enjoy the delights of Christmas by crowing like a rooster. A rooster. Martin Short never did that.

I laugh when I think about that. What an odd kid. Who crows like a rooster but a rooster? Me - I did.

I was taught to believe in the magic of Christmas even once the giant lie of Christmas was out of the bag. If you can’t believe in the magic of Christmas, then Christmas will never be the same, was my mother’s explanation. So, I believed.

The Christmas Stockings

To this day stockings are my favorite part of Christmas and lucky for me my sister Sue has inherited my mother’s gift for creating the perfect sock. This is great news as one year stocking duty had fallen in the hands of my father. Not that this was a bad thing it actually proved to be the shining bright spot in the first of a string of rather dark Christmases.

To back fill a bit - I need to describe to you the physical attributes of the Shipley women. I have and under developed bosom, where my sister has (had -they are gone since she began running) an over developed bosom, and my mother had one bosom – the other removed in an attempt to eradicate breast cancer.

It was tradition now for me to crow like a rooster to wake the family to gather for Christmas morning festivities. But on this particular Christmas morning I did not crow to call the family to Christmas. It just did not seem appropriate. Mom had been in the hospital undergoing another round of Christmas Chemo so she was feeling pretty punchy. We the Shipley’s are quietly nestled in the living room opening our stockings well past the 7 AM usual time in fact it was erring on 11 am before Christmas morning was underway. Sue and I were feasting on a Christmas tradition of the Christmas Eve party’s left over chips and dip for breakfast while drinking coffee and Bailey’s. Christmas stockings were being passed around and we were all feeling less than jovial.

Taking the lead I dove into my stocking and pulled out a pair of socks and a magazine then my sister says:

Sue:

A lime?

Dad:

Put your hand back in there.

Sue: Another Lime?

Dad: Shell what have you got.

Michelle:

A grapefruit?

Dad:

And?

Michelle:

Another grape fruit!

Dad:

Carolyn what’s in your sock?

Carolyn:

A Florida Orange?

Sue:

Dad what’s going on?

Dad just sits there with a straight face. We all exchange glances and then look back at Dad. His face contorts, he grunts and then erupts into laughter. We all stare at the crazy person who is clearly breaking down in the strain of the holidays and the hospital visits in the past month. Finally he regains his composure long enough to say:

Dad:

Well Santa thought you could all use a little help to fill your brassieres!

Then dad bursts out laughing again. The kind of laughter that turns his whole face red, the kind of laughter that takes his breathe away and makes him have to leave the room to blow his nose making the off key high school symphony trumpets section sound, the kind of laughter that no one in their right mind could hear and not join in on. But before he leaves the room in search of a Kleenex he fires his hand into his own stocking drawing back to reveal two lumps of coal and a banana. And just like that normalcy is restored to the Shipley Family Christmas.

Two Too Many?

Can you even imagine our lives before Finley? Steve asked me the other day. Truth is I can't! I absolutely adore her! In the last few weeks my hubby has been talking about adding to our family AGAIN! Ohhhmygawd are you serious? We just got our baby girl. My body finally feels normal again. I am finally thinking straight, the baby brain fog has lifted. I have words and I am seriously enjoying the routine Fin and I are in and you want to throw a monkey wrench into all of this? Do you want to have another baby I asked him. Yes, he said. I think we should.

We always said we would have no kids or two. At my 6 week check up I told the midwife I would be back soon! I had a good pregnancy and delivery and wanted to have another baby in close proximity to our first born -largely due to my age I didn't want to wait.

That was before colic.

That was before she wouldn't take a bottle.

That was before a LEEP procedure.

That was before Finley made strange with everyone but me.

That was before Finley cried for an hour solid in her car seat several hundred times.

That was when I still thought I'd have time to garden, write, develop new TV projects all while the baby slept. Hardy Har Har.

That was before we decided to sell our house and move onto our sailboat.

That was when I was still wearing my birthing afterglow. By three months in, our darling baby had secured herself as an only child in my mind and I had become quite okay with this idea. In fact I'm still okay with this idea. I think. I know plenty of only children who are well adjusted, good people.

We can adopt my hubs said. Which is something I always wanted to do, but, we make cute babies so maybe we can do it just once more. Hmmmm. I'll think about it.

Can we compare our kids and pets for a second? Hubs made this argument the other day. Look at our dog he's high maintenance and suffers extreme separation anxiety with him we learned our lesson. We should have gotten two dogs to keep each other company. After ten years we can't add another dog to our home- our dog is too old to accept another dog and he is too set in his ways. Will this be the problem with only one child? Steve and his sisters get along great, my sister and I are besties, should we deny our child the chance to have a sibling?

But what if?

What if we have twins this time? Multiples are more common in older mothers.

What if our second baby is not healthy?

What if I'm too old and too tired to give my kids the kind of mother I want to give them?

What if we can't follow our dream of getting on a sailboat and sailing around the globe?

The first child changed our lifestyle, we're already broken of the old single person wild child ways. It's replaced with a new lifestyle - is it better - no - it's equally good but different. One child is portable. Two is more complicated for sure, but, only for a couple of years...right? Once they are walking and talking it's good -no? I love my new family. I'm adaptable, kids like me and I like kids and it is different when they are your own. I do want to continue with a career and I want to be able to do so without compromise to the family. Is two too much to take on?

Opening up the comments line: Let me know your thoughts!