Petit jardin des gilles

bedtime tonight

The little one is in bed. We've recently started rocking. With the girls, I rocked them to bed every night of their little baby lives, often to a beautiful CD of music, Martha Stewart's 'Sleepytime' (slightly tangential note: I went to post a link to this great CD here, and, lo and behold, it's no longer widely available AND a new copy costs $89.00. How crazy is that?). With the little guy, we have always lain down and he's gone to sleep.

He's a little wiggler now, though, so we have started rocking and I put him in his crib to start the night. So, just now, rocking him, I realized that there is a peaceful moment at bedtime, when everybody is settled in, the girls reading with Charles (right now it's Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis), I am with Romain. The rocking is so soothing, to the baby of course, but also to me. And I realize why it came to pass that I have rocked someone to bed probably 2000 nights in the last seven and a half years. The rocking washes away the day, puts it in order, I can shut my eyes and put my head back, and I, too, am rocked to a different place. 

The chair I use Charles bought for me at the flea market at Place de Jeu de Balles in Brussels, a few months before Ines was born, almost eight years ago. Its nothing fancy, just worn wood, with a slightly uncomfortable back that I wouldn't change for the world, and by now it's absorbed so many moments and memories, and nighttime thoughts and baby sighs, that it is surely priceless.

our seafood expert

Yesterday, after a long-awaited (and fortunately not too painful) dentist appointment, Charles and I took the little ones to the Red Lobster. I hadn't been to a Red Lobster in years. It was near the dentists' office, and, with the rain pouring buckets, we decided to have lunch out before picking Ines up from school. 

The restaurant was really crowded. There were a lot of people out to lunch on a Friday, and many retirees. Manon was fascinated by the lobster tank in the waiting area. "Mommy, there's the mommy lobster!" she said. "There's a big one!". The baby just gazed at the slightly bubbling tank. If it's shiny, even just a little bit, he loves it.

Finally the host brought us to our table. "Your seafood expert will be right with you." I laughed a little. Soon enough, a waitress with long dark hair pulled roughly back off her face came up. She seemed to be in her mid or late twenties. "Hi, welcome to Red Lobster," she said, pretty friendly. I joked with her, "Are you our seafood expert?" She looked at me quietly, smiled and said, "Yes, I guess so." And so we ordered, got the kids settled. I kept lifting the baby up to see in the mirror that was right behind our table. Manon was really excited to be there too. There was a lot of chattering and babbling in our corner booth.

After the waitress brought our lunch, she came back to help crack Manon's child portion of crab legs. She looked at the baby sideways and then turned to the cracking, but she said "How old's the baby? Four months?" I told her he was six months, then asked her if she had any children.

Then she turned to me and said, really slowly, "I had a little boy." Then she went on to tell us that one morning in March she had walked into her little boy's room, and found him dead. He was only 14 months old. "They don't usually seat me parties with children," she said. "But we were really busy." Then she pulled out her black waitress pad, the kind with the guest checks overflowing, and lifted up all the mess of guest checks and put it on the table. There were two pictures: one a beautiful baby, maybe a year, crawling on the floor, smiling a wide dimpled grin. The other was of a small family, hours after a birth. "His name was Jamison."

"How do you cope?" I asked her, not knowing what else to say. "I don't know." She stared off, at the back wall of the restaurant. "He was too good for this place, that's what I keep telling myself. I'll see him again." And then she left, to cash out another table. But later she came back.

"You will always be his mother." Again, I couldn't think of anything else to say. And then she said, "For a whole month I couldn't even go into his room. Now I go in, and sit on the floor and play with his toys. I smell his diapers, I just want to feel him around me. He was my love, my best friend. I know I'll see him again." 

I think there's a reason we went to Red Lobster yesterday. I don't think it was to comfort a woman who had just lost a child. You can't really do that. Maybe it was for us to have a lesson in keeping things in perspective. Maybe. I'm not sure. 

I looked at my children in a different way yesterday afternoon, and held them close.

outside update 3

Yesterday it was in the mid-30s. I was tired. I took the little ones to storytime at the local library, which was fun, and - of course - inside. The first outside time I had with Manon (and the baby) was in the afternoon. Charles had to give a special presentation at school, so we were there one hour before pickup. Though I would have been happy to sit inside with the kids and my coffee, I decided to push for 'outside'. So I bundled up Manon (and the bambino) into all her snow gear, snowpants, boots, hat, gloves, extra sweater, jacket, etc - my goodness that's definitely the most trying part of the whole process!) and I let her romp in the playground. There were snow mounds and the schoolchildren had carved tunnels in them. She was happy as a clam to putter around in the snow, going in the tunnels, rolling down the snow hill, all by herself for nearly an hour, and joined by another little friend for a little while too. I sat on a little carved bench and nursed the baby and drank my coffee.

After pickup we brought the girls plus a friend to an outside (free) ice skating rink in Madison - they were all outside for a good hour and a half, skating, playing 'hockey'. Again, the friend factor was key - many children at school have started to go to this rink on Friday afternoons, so there were lots of friends and moms and dads and snacks. We didn't leave until after nightfall.

So Ines was outside for 2 hours 45 minutes, Manon for 2 hours 30 minutes. A good amount - they were beat (in a good way) at the end of the day. Manon fell asleep around 6PM and that was that. I still wonder what I would do to get them outside for five hours a day. 

Speaking of outside, I realize that this is something that my mother is lacking in her life. She lives in a lovely assisted living with ample terraces and patios, etc. But in snow or inclement weather nobody uses these. However, even in good weather, she is not inclined at all to go out. The only time she feels fresh air is if I am taking her out to an appointment, or to have lunch or get her hair cut or something. And in these cases, fresh air is fleeting, because we are getting into the car or going into a building. One big exception was in September - my sister and I wheeled her up to the farmer's market at the capitol square. I was thinking she'd hate it because of the crush of people and all the stimulation. However, she loved it! She was probably outside altogether for an hour (we walked around the market and then walked to a restaurant for lunch). But she never had a better day the whole fall. 

I wonder how I can get her outside more, once the weather gets better....

outside update 2

So...the outside crusade has started in earnest. Perhaps my desire to do this is related to the New Year and the January-ness of life right now. It's nice to have something to count.

Anyway, yesterday (Thursday), the girls were outside a fair amount - but still nowhere near five hours! Ines: 2 1/2 hours (1 1/4 hours at school, the rest at home after school); Manon: 1 hour 50 minutes (20 minute walk after school drop-off, 30 minutes at playgroup, and the rest after school). We were joined after school by some friends for some play and chat time. It was lots of fun. Then the kids spontaneously wanted to go outside...all was well until we had the mitten crisis. Manon wanted to wear Ines's backup mittens, because her regular mittens were so wet from playing at school. Tears, tearing off of snowpants, flinging off of boots....so Manon was out a little later than the other three kids. I thought we'd go sledding but after a bit of this the older girls wanted to go back into the woods. So they headed out there, and a little later the moms and various other kids joined them. Charles brought Manon down a little later still. For the two little ones (three-ish) the snow was deep and hard to navigate - they definitely needed help.

We made completely new tracks in deep deep snow through the garden and into the back pasture, and down the hill. Ines and her friend were deeply involved in teepee making with various branches and twigs, and some digging of snow. As we tromped down to join them I realized how little time we had spent back there recently: there were no tracks or path already beaten into the snow. But it was nice down there. Our Enchanted Forest is tucked into a little hollow and mostly shielded from the wind. 

Everybody played while the adults chatted. 

The experience reinforced for me that getting outside (the actual getting - putting on snowpants, finding hats, securing mittens, scarves, etc. and then actually walking out the door) is the most challenging part of the whole outside thing in winter. Once outside even the little ones just adapt, and seem pretty happy, even when it's moderately cold.

The other thing I realize is that outside is infinitely easier when friends are over to play....

Still, five hours is going to be a challenge in this kind of weather!

outside update

How much can I get the kids outside? Let's see:

Monday: Ines 2 1/2 hours; Manon 2 hours

Tuesday: Ines 2 1/2 hours (1 1/2 at school, including a little time just after school, and the other hour at home before dinner); Manon 1 1/4 hours (30-minute walk after dropping Ines off at school; outside with Charles for 45 minutes before lunch)

Wednesday: Ines 1 1/4 hours (1 1/4 at school); Manon not at all (we took Grandma to an appointment so were gone much of the day)

The rest of the week's update to come over the weekend....

five hours a day: the crusade for outside

The girls are outside playing with a friend....yeah! It's been surprisingly hard to get them outside this winter, especially Manon, who's three. Today it's sunny, around 34 degrees, a perfect day! After getting everyone bundled up and out the door I went out myself, for a walk up and down our road and into one of the adjacent fields. It felt so good, the sun on my face, the snow crunching lightly underfoot, the beautiful white vista. I think it's the first time I've had a walk by myself since the baby was born. Then I hiked through our field to the back door, brought a quick snack of dried fruit along with a water bottle to the girls, and took the compost up to the garden. All little things but I felt liberated from being inside far too much! Here is the garden path in winter:

 

Danish educator and early childhood specialist Helle Heckman came and spoke at our school a few months ago, shortly after Romain was born. I didn't get to hear her, but heard afterward that she recommended that children be outside for - you guessed it! - five hours a day. Five hours a day! It makes sense and somehow seems impossible to accomplish. I think she's the one who also said that there is no bad weather, only bad clothing. If that's the case, we should be able to get the kids out no matter what. My little goal this year will be to try and achieve the five hours a day, if not every day, then at least regularly. I'll write about it here. 

Here they are today, out for about two hours already:

 Three hours to go...I wonder how we'll fit it in.

the center of what

A few days ago I started reading the book "An Imperfect Offering" by James Orbinski. (You can see it here.) James is a doctor who for many years worked with Medecins Sans Frontiers (Doctors Without Borders), eventually serving as the international president of the group from 1998-2001. I worked in the international office of MSF when he was president and enjoyed working with him.

When I picked up the book at the library after a friend mentioned it, I thought it would be 'just another MSF book', and that I would just skim it. However, I am absorbed by the book for a few reasons. One, James is a good writer and the story - about how he came to medical humanitarian work and how he evolved within it - is compelling. With Romain in the baby sling and trying to make dinner and entertain Manon at the same time, the other night I couldn't put down the chapter detailing James' work as head of mission in Rwanda during the genocide in 1994. I knew more or less about this horrible chapter in human history from my time at MSF, but to hear it retold from James' point of view (a story I never heard from him personally when I worked at MSF) really moved me. From my time in Brussels I also knew a few other people who were very involved in Rwanda. One person was an artist, a photographer named Alain Kazinierakis, who spent several years photographing and putting together a book of portraits of survivors and perpetrators of the genocide. Through him I also met an amazing woman, Yolande Mukagasana, who had survived the genocide and, despite losing her whole family (including her children), wrote a book and was as positive a person as anyone I'd ever met.

Reading the book has made me think about how my life has changed over ten years. I was immersed again in my work at MSF (though my job, as a writer in the international office, was very peripheral to the hands-on medical work). At that time, I remember having a feeling of being at the centre of everything - not me, specifically, but my daily work touched the major hot spots around the globe, and all the key international debates and questions filtered through our office, which included the organization's secretary-general, for whom I worked, and the international president. This was also partly true at UNICEF, where there was a sense that you were taking a global, high-level approach to making life better for children around the world. It all seemed very important. In both places, I was working for organizations that were at the center of it all.

Reading the book has made me consider what I am in the center of now. My life is so different. I am in a much smaller universe now, by choice. But, small or large, it is just as important as that other universe of humanitarian action and international development. However, I am still discovering how to navigate this world. I understand now that it is sometimes easier to think and write in a high-level global policy way than to get hands dirty and organize mealtimes and bedtime better for the family or figure out how to visit my mother in her assisted living more than once a week - or to understand why sometimes I don't want to. I was pretty good at thinking and writing about humanitarian action and international development but sometimes taking care of the family has me asking me many more question of myself.... 

lustre and sledding

Yesterday I went sledding with the girls...it was a blast! With the baby sleeping inside, we went out around 4:45, just as night was falling. The nearly full moon made our snow-covered prairie hill glow, it was magical to be out and playing in the glowing dark. Trudging up the hill, sliding down with the little one, while Ines went on her own - it was great. We came up with a new sport, too - snow ballet. While sliding down the hill, you put your foot down on one side to make the sled twirl around in a circle - that's snow ballet. And it's great. My sister-in-law and her little girl of nearly two also joined us, a real nighttime sledding party.

After an hour we came in a to a hungry baby. The girls' bright red cheeks made me happy. And I couldn't stop thinking about the light, and that part of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' about the moon creating the 'lustre of midday on objects below'. Lustre is lovely! 

a little time

Well, it's been awhile since I have posted, after all the good intentions I had! A few things have happened in the intervening months.....a new baby! a party with sisters! applying to graduate school! the arrival of winter at our new place! preparations for Thanksgiving! and Christmas!

Our son was born all in a rush on an early November evening....the girls adore him, his grandma enjoys him, and his father and I wonder about that sleep we used to get. But little Romain is a Zen baby, as far as I can tell (I am knocking on wood right now). He is a sweet little creature who actually manages to sleep more at night than during the day (though I have to say he is pretty zonked out right now).

We are preparing for the arrival of family (some of his, some of mine) next week for Christmas. What better time to paint the entryway and piano nook than a week before Christmas? Ahem...But we are, in a fit of 'let's get everything ready for our guests and the holiday'. I guess ready is a state of mind, because the more 'ready' we get, the more unready everything looks and feels. Chaotic is more like it. I am trying to achieve a patient zen-like state of my own. Perhaps handspinning a present of yarn should not be high on my list at the moment, given that you need two hands to spin yarn, and that two hands are not typically available to mothers of newborns (not to mention the other children). But I am ambitious. Spinning is my new hobby (perfect one to pick up just before having a baby?), it is relaxing, tactile, satisfying - all in all, lovely! And even lovelier because we made our own drop spindle (you can find out how by googling 'how to make a drop spindle'!)....

Spinning with a newborn looks like this:

 

Now it's a week later. At our Christmas gathering, the little ones and the teenagers really got into spinning. Two seven-year-olds spinning looks like this:

 

What better activity to engage in during the ice storm, freezing rain, rain and slushy period of the holidays? That was last week. Today, however, is beautiful. In fact, it's perfect sledding weather....

 

Today some of our guests left, which made me a little sad. Our little farmhouse has been so wonderfully crowded and lived in for the last five days! (Think 13 people sharing a modest three-bedroom house...). There were mittens, hats, scarves, bags and, of course, shoes, everywhere.

 

That's all for now.

the first visit

Around a week ago we brought my mother out for her first visit to the house. It was a big occasion for us, and for her. Charles and the girls went into town to get her, while I frantically cooked and set the table and tried to make all the unpacked boxes and undone projects miraculously shrink. That didn't work.

I picked a few recipes from my favorite cookbook, Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells. I love this cookbook. I chose the chicken bouillabaisse with fennel, a nice yummy stew that would be easy for my mother to eat. The only problem was that when I was looking for the last few ingredients the day before, I found out that the grocery store in our town does not carry fennel, nor does the liquor store stock Ricard, and anise-flavored liquor that was key to marinating the chicken overnight. Oh well. Let's just change the recipe! Do it exactly the same but change a few things - no fennel, no Ricard, how about carrots and Belgian beer instead? No problem. I also made tarte tatin aux poires, a family favorite dessert that involves nearly two sticks of butter, pears caramelized in sugar, and a homemade crust.

The first thing my mother said, when they pulled into the driveway a little before noon, was "I wasn't expecting this. You have a lot of work, a lot of work." She had that mother-disapproval expression winding up her face. "Hi, Mom!" was all I said. The first 45 minutes were rough, as they always are when my mother arrives in a place she's never been to (except a doctor's office). When she is out of her comfort zone, which is nearly everywhere except her apartment, she retreats into herself, gets very grouchy and negative, and is no fun to be around. And this was way out of her comfort zone. And I can understand some of her difficulty: She is in a wheelchair, and she had to use her cane to get up a few steps to the path to the veranda door. We managed that, which was a little difficult because of the overgrown grass. Once on the path the girls were shouting 'Grandma! Grandma! Look at us!" They were on their rope swing, happy as clams....and Grandma couldn't even look their way, she was so consumed with herself, and needing to get inside and go to the bathroom. As we were getting inside, she said, "I'll never do this again." She always says that, it's very hard to hear, but I know it will pass. It was too bad she couldn't enjoy the girls swinging for a little while.

My sister Kathy and her husband also came for lunch, which turned out to be delish. We ate out on the back patio. That was also quite a change for my mother. She is never outside! She doesn't go out on the patios where she lives. She won't let you just take her for a stroll outside in the wheelchair. Anyway, we had a nice lunch, but my mom was pretty quiet and negative the whole time. She didn't seem to like the chicken but loved the tarte tatin. But of course there was no enthusiasm. Then she wanted to escape, back to the inside of the house, where we sat in the living room and I mended the little pillow she likes to rest her right arm on. A little while later she told me she wanted to go back, she was very tired, and she looked it. So we had a nice talk as I drove her back to her assisted living, about 30 minutes away door to door. She was very enthusiastic about us stopping at Walgreen's on the way back for a few supplies she needed, more animated than she had been the whole time at our house.

Even after five and a half years, I still find it such a challenge and extremely exhausting interacting with someone who has brain damage. Later that night, in the middle of the night, I woke up with a horrible rash on my face, and a swollen face, and very high blood pressure...now that I look back, I think it was due to the stress. The stress of preparing for a visit, which everyone feels from time to time, but also the stress of trying to please and do something nice for someone - someone who is not the person you expect them to be, each and every time.