aaaaah!

this week, the postman brought this. so good. so very very good.

so i was sitting on the bed this afternoon, embroidering flowers on Isabelle's princess coat (yes, that would be the one that might actually be finished not much longer than a year after i started on it), with Antoine playing with my left foot, and Isabelle reading to herself. and then... 'mama, can i embroider too?'

the tooth and the fairy

you can't see it, hidden as it is by a most delicious little tongue, and guarded on both sides by 'mess-with-me-if-you-dare' cheeks, but it's there. sharp as a sable. white as the dawn. the end of the toothless grin. step 1 in the breaking of my mamma heart.

on a lighter note, i got married this week. to a fairy.
with princess feet.
the wedding was attended by many, most of them wearing fake fur. beautiful wooden cakes were served. the master of ceremony was drooling and leering from behind the bars of his cage.
the bride was delightful. the music classic.

... and the big news is...

... that we are sort of somehow in the process of very probably buying this:
... which happens to be located kind of here... and from which you can look out on to this:

belated Ostara footage

close

sometimes, antoine ends up on somebody else's lap. at dinner, for instance, when it's my turn to eat. i look across the table at him, and every time, it's a jolt: 'is that what he looks like???'. me, i know the shape of his ear. i know that little bit on the left side of his right cheek. i know the way his eye-brows slant. i know how his eyelashes grow out of their lids. i know the toes. the big one. the little one. i know the shape of each of his nails.

but i don't know what he looks like.

and then i remember, it was like that with isabelle too. in fact ... that's what a baby is, at least for this here mama, the essential definition of babyhood: a permanent close-up.

peter and the wolf: the cat

soft spot

she fell and ripped her tights. i offered to mend them (with a heart, a flower, a bird, a princess...). she said she would think about it. then came back to say she'd changed her mind about the mending... because she discovered that right there, where the hole is, there is a very very very soft spot of skin. and if i fix the tights, she says, she won't be able to feel the very very very soft spot anymore.

a few times a day, she walks up to me:
'mama, do you want to feel my soft spot?'
'yes, darling, i do'
'...soft, he!'
'yes, my sweet, very soft... you have no idea how soft...'

shenpa

(there is something i am simply dying to share with you, but i can't, because it's not quite sure yet, and exhilarating, and it might get jinxed if i spread it around too early, but i can't write another word without at least mentioning it in passing, so filled am i with IT. so, probably big news soon!)

i have been listening to Pema Chodron's series of teachings on 'Getting Unstuck', which i warmly advise to anyone interested in buddhism. she spends some time discussing the Tibetan word shenpa, which is usually translated into English as attachment. yes, that one. and attachment, in me head, is in turn closely related to detachment, because i've always figured much of this buddhism business is about getting detached from one's attachments. which, to be honest, i've been having some problems with, because the thing is: i don't actually want to be detached. in fact, much of my life's work of late has been about re-attaching and re-connecting: to my mate, to my children, to my friends, to my family, to my intuition, to the rest of the universe. and it's good work.

on the other hand, i know buddhism is also all about connecting, so i figured i wasn't really getting it, the whole attachment/detachment thing...

...until shenpa came along.

now shenpa is something i have no judgment about (partially because it's a foreign word, and the only thing i really know about it is that it's NOT to be translated as attachment) (partially because its very foreignness completely blocks my automatic 'good/bad' evaluation machine) (partially because it sounds funny, as in giggly funny, and giggly doesn't go with judgmental).

shenpa is also something i don't feel the urge to classify/analyse/trace back to its origins. and that is such a relief (not to mention massive savings of time and energy).

the way i see it, shenpa simply includes all the times when my response to a situation is not based on the reality of that situation but on something else ('i don't dare to do this': shenpa. 'what will they think?': shenpa. 'why doesn't she like me?': shenpa. 'if only he/she/they could see me now!': shenpa. 'why can't i have that?: shenpa. 'careful, sweetie! you might fall/break/die/disappear/spill some milk': shenpa. father issues: shenpa. mother issues: shenpa. melancholy: shenpa. falling-in-love: shenpa. gypsy music: shenpa. insomnia: shenpa. apathy: shenpa. the basic insecurity: shenpa. the underlying deep yearning: shenpa).

shenpa is pre-verbal, it's almost pre-emotional, it's visceral. it's the tightening, the closing, the escaping. you can't stop it. but you can accept it. and let go.

so i have much much shenpa. and the thought just makes me smirk.

good things

- making brownies with Isabelle. we used this recipe: excellent, except we had to halve the sugar (had to because we ran out, and just as well, as they would have been inedible otherwise);
- a walk on the beach;
- waking up from an excellent afternoon nap and enjoying this view:
- discovering a great new-to-me writer;
- hanging the wash to dry in the sun;
- Small Magazine (where have you been all my life????);
- the prospect of spending some days away, visiting lovely friends.

wishing you a nice weekend!

local witch (by Marc and his holga)

8 march

to all our women, on this day, a wish of lovingkindness:

may we be happy

may we be safe

may we be healthy

may we be peaceful

... and may we be strong enough and gentle enough to carry our horses ...

mum, is the pink flower thing really necessary???

wise (and unrelated) quote from inspirational book: "The number of things just outside the perimeter of my financial reach remains constant no matter how much my financial condition improves. With each increase in my income a new perimeter forms and I experience the same relative sense of lack. I believe that I would be happy if only my earnings were increased by so much and I could then have or do these few things I can't quite afford, but when my income does increase I find I am still unhappy because from my new financial position I can now see a whole new set of things I don't have."

one of the consequences of un-home-schooling is that someone has to be home. at least some of the time. and since i have taken the great burden upon myself (i.e. although it was our decision, it was a tiny itsy bitsy more mine than Marc's), it means we had to re-consider our finances and we have come up with a new revised figure concerning how much we ACTUALLY need. the conclusion is that if from now on we NEVER do ANYTHING and NEVER go ANYWHERE, we can afford for me to work two days a week instead of the current four.

you can imagine this is not a happy thought. no matter how you turn it. on the other hand, it is also just that, a thought. all it takes is a new definition of 'anything' and 'anywhere' (i can still walk on the beach, cycle to the market, enjoy the occasional shopping spree at the thriftstore, go to the library, the park, the forest, eat and cook all organic food, visit museums, art galleries, browse in book stores, visit my friends, listen to music, dance, laugh, meditate, do yoga, drink lovely tea, eat raspberries, hug my children, sing at the top of my voice, play the guitar, take photographs, write, sew, love my husband, smell fresh flowers, water my plants, pet my cats, live in my house, greet the little spider in the kitchen, plant seeds, read, talk, move, walk, and breathe...).

so what was it i needed money for again?

my people

can't get enough of these...

colour therapy

hope is such a little thing

in my kitchen, under the top cupboard, just to the right of the left-most lamp, dwells a little spider. she is not particularly particular, in either shape or size, or mood, or faith. just a regular little spider. sometimes, she carries on her mysterious spidery business in her little spidery web. sometimes she strolls over the under-edge of the cupboard. once, i found her making a hasty retreat up, up, up a silvery silk thread, from the fruit bowl on the counter back to her web. 'maybe she's a fruit spider, mamma...'. maybe. Isabelle has picked up on my interest and now we are two to be delighted, every morning, as we enter the kitchen. 'look, there she is! our spider'.

for some reason, some evasive, silvery silky thread of a reason, the existence of this little spider, and the fact that she lives in my kitchen, makes me insanely, delightedly happy.

(and that, my friends, is a clear sign that we have made it to March).

us

self-portrait with orange scarf

the bottom

this february thing (and it really is a february thing, as a quick glimpse at last year's february entries confirmed), it does always end up ending. my yoga teacher (i mean the friendly man on the DVD) says that you can only remain in a state of depression for a few 'minutes' at a time. and although clearly that was an oral typo, and he must have meant 'weeks', i agree that the dip is a finite state. it's a pit with a bottom. i know, because i just hit it.

two days ago. i bought 2 kilos of mussels from the local supermarket. (and for those of you who wonder why i would do such a thing: because we love mussels, because they fall under my vegeterian level 1 diet, because they are very very easy to prepare, healthy, and fun to eat). i was standing in the kitchen in front of a sink full of cold water and mussels. shuffling the mussels around. Marc walked in and wanted to know how i could tell a good mussel from a not-so-good mussel. i held one up for his inspection, it was slightly open, i pressed on its shell and the mussel closed with a swishy snap (yes, that is possible). 'see,' i said, 'this one is alive, so it's good!'. there was a silence. a watery swishy mussely kind of silence. 'they are alive?????' asked my rather ignorant husband. 'yes'. 'and you put them in boiling water????'. more of that silence. and then my stomach turned. it was as if the floor had shifted under my feet. i felt dizzy. there was a buzzing sound in my ears. 'i am sorry, i can't do this', i said. shook my wet hands over the sink, and walked out of the kitchen.

well, he couldn't 'do it' either. so we decided to free them. and ate a veggie burger instead. the mussels spent the night in a bucket filled with water on the kitchen floor (actually, not any old bucket, but the special diaper bucket we bought for all those organic cotton diapers we were going to use for Antoine and which i still haven't had the time/courage to put up for sale on e-bay, pristine and unused as they are) (but that's another bottom altogether). they (the mussels, not the cotton diapers) were supposed to be freed on sunday morning, first thing. Marc was to cycle to the beach with the diaper bucket and do the happy deed. but sunday morning was busy, sunday afternoon busier, sunday night too dark, monday morning too sleepy.

now i have a diaper-bucket full of dead mussels in the middle of my kitchen floor. and every time i think about them, i feel like crying.

and that. is. a typical. february. bottom.

musing

truth is a slippery bar of soap in a warm lavender-oil-filled tub: you can try your best to hunt it down, or you can just lie back, relax and enjoy. and who knows, it might just drift straight into your hand.

there is this little big piece of truth that i have been diligently trying to catch for some time: what is it that i'm missing in life? all i want is to enjoy time with my children and to feed my soul (by giving the artist in me some time to work, some time to play, some time to move, some time to muse, some time to snooze). and the ingredients are right here: the children (two, loveliest of the loveliest, truly magnificent adorable, fantasmagorically delicious creatures), the time (boh with the children and without them), the tools of the trade (a pen, a notebook, a handful of wonderful friends, some yoga dvds, meditation cds, books and books and more books, a beach, a forest, a sewing machine, a stereo, a computer, two hands, two feet, one heart). and yet...

why is it that i spend most of my days with my children wondering how many hours there are before evening comes and i am free, and then spend most of my evenings missing my children like crazy and talking about what i will do with them the next day (or, alternatively, eating chocolate in front of the telly)? why do i spend entire child-filled weeks fantasizing about the miracles soon to come out of my busy sewing hands, only to spend my sewing day listlessly leafing through some magazines and wishing Marc and the children would come home soon? why am i constantly coveting other people's lives, bodies, homes, camera's, backyards, professions, creations, nationalities and blogs? why does it seem so often like the thing that i'm looking for is 'just around the corner'? like the truth, the final and absolute truth that will set me free is lurking in the very next book, the one i am just now, at this very moment, ordering from amazon.com?

when really, all this time, it's just been floating around in my bathtub.

it's that living-in-the-moment thing. AGAIN. and that acceptance thing. AGAIN. the walls this donkey loves to bang her head upon. here is a little experiment i'd like to try. just for a few days. it's called 'groundFog day'. in the days to come, whenever i find myself wishing i were someplace (or sometime) else, instead of counting the seconds/minutes/hours to freedom, i will imagine that in fact, i'm stuck in this moment, the one i don't seem to be liking that much, forever and ever and ever. this is it, this baby-with-the-massive-cold-who-just-won't-sleep-at-three-hours-past-his-bedtime-but-instead-is-destroying-what-is-left-of-my-left-breast-and-singing-happily-to-himself-while-clawing-at-me-with-nails-that-should-have-been-cut-a-week-ago. this is my life. this moment. forever and ever.

feel the despair. get past the despair. relax. breathe (AGAIN? yep). and then, weirdly enough, start enjoying. or at least, accepting. off we go, then. on to deal with the chirping next door. wish me luck.

you only live once...

... and life is short. so should one:

a) enjoy it all as much as possible?
b) do as many great/useful/good things as possible?

the lapsed-catholic, azerbajdzhani/belgian-bon-vivant, gypsy-festival-dancing-queen, mango/mint/vanilla/cardammom/citrus/tomato/fig-obsessed, moon-gazing/star-struck/sunshine-absorbing, tree-hugging, nonsensical-poem-writing and utterly-enamoured-with-every-breath-my-children-take part of me votes for A.

the hard-working/dedicated/ecologically-aware/feminist/serious/idealistically-enclined/ever-self-improving and slightly deranged calvinist in me votes for B.

the jury is still out.

meet the other ballerina

my girl

she's still into The Jungle Book (every day begins with: "let's play that you are walking through the jungle when suddenly you see ...")(we still listen daily to the soundtrack, although now in English, rather than Dutch)(since English is another thing she's into)(due to a slight misunderstanding (ahem! who, me???? incredulous expression), her English rendition of Shanti's song is somewhat less offensive than the original ('mother's hunting in the forest, father's cooking in the home...'))(... and she does brilliant bum-wriggling imitations of Balloo, as well as fantastic yoga-inspired imitations of Colonel Hathi's walk).

she is also into ballet in general and Peter and the Wolf in particular, in which she performs all the characters, except the wolf (because bad), the wall (because boring) and the grand-father (don't dare to guess...)("mama, lie down here and put your feet up in the air so you can do the pond!").

finally, she's into high heels. which we as the powers that be fail to approve of. to her great disappointment ("mama, let's say i am seventeen now and my feet have stopped growing... so, you're walking through the jungle, when suddenly you see a beautiful dancing princess with high heels... and then you say...").

besotted

Miepie Papoen...

... en haar kalkoen.

not spring yet

sewing II

... the thing about the sewing machine is, once i start moving, i just have to keep moving, so i decided to make us all some placemats and matching napkins. two down. two to go. her set is all pink flowers (surprised?).

sewing I

in the end, i temporarily parked the hurdle/shyness/paralysis thing and went ahead and sewed something. a jumper/dress item. which i would have loved to show you, except the delighted, pink-hairband-(jane-fonda-style)-wearing recipient/model refused to stand still long enough...

lunch on the beach

arpège

mon bouchon
mon bout
ton
mon
buisson
mon bruit
son
bruit
semant
(un frisson)

mandibule
(m'en dit bule)
somnambule
mon bidule
mon bébé

lent

my therapist sent me an idea for a 40-day sobriety spin for lent. between february 6 (today) and march 16 (far, far away), one is meant to:

1. Do something good for someone every day (financially or otherwise)
2. Meditate, chant or do mantra for at least 30 min. every day
3. Listen to (part of) the Mathheus Passion (Bach) or some other inspiring piece of music every day
4. Refrain from killing any living creature (including flies and mosquitoes) and therefore eat vegeterian
5. Refrain from speaking ill of others, lying and swearing
6. Refrain from consuming candy, alcohol, cigarettes and drugs
7. Refrain from stealing, in the widest sense of the word
8. No TV
9. Limited internet (only if necessary for work-related and other unavoidable reasons)
10. No purchases (except the strictly necessary)

i read it and thought: YES, i'm on!

... and then quickly became depressed.

the thing is, i'm already doing most of these things most of the time, and the other thing is, it has recently come to my attention that all these great wise principles, i haven't been applying them very greatly wisely.

i have not been gentle. i have not been kind. i have pulled the strings too tight for too long, and the beautiful ideas have turned to ash in my hands and ash in my mouth. in other words, i am oh so virtuous, but i've lost the joy.

and that is a terrible terrible thing.

so here is my adapted list, entitled "Joyful Guilt-Free Lent":

1) do something good for someone every day, in thought, word or deed.
2) meditate. every day.
3) listen to beautiful music every day.
4) limited TV (nourishing, not depleting)
5) limited internet (ditto)
6) limited purchasing (ditto)
7) eat what you want to eat, but eat it consciously. and be thankful for it.
8) dance. every day.
9) sing. every day.
10) be thankful. every day.

Aaaah! that's better. large stone removed from chest.

singing to his frog

lesson in unschooling 2

wednesday morning, 10 o'clock. three hours away from her second ballet lesson.

- so, you're going to ballet again this afternoon... that's nice!
- i don't want to go.
- why not?
- i want to learn to dance.
- ... well, that's why you're going to ballet...
- ... but when do we start learning to dance then?
- you already did, last week...
- no, we didn't, we just had to sit, and walk and stand. that's not dancing.

(i was about to point out that sitting and walking and standing are all necessary preliminary steps, that you first learn that, and then you learn to dance. but i stopped. and pondered. was this really true??? i knew exactly what she meant, and i also knew she was right: sitting and walking and standing because somebody tells you to has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with dancing...)

- well, why don't you try it one or two more times, and if you still don't like it, you can stop.
- ... ok... but then you speak to the juffie, and ask her when we will learn to dance!

(i swear to you, unschooling is going to help me get over many social hurdles... flying over them, as it were, face first, straight into the mud...)

want to help me hang up the wash?

sure, you do the wash, i'll make a drawing...

imbolc

shy

i have been shy of writing on my own blog: how crazy is that? granted, it was january, never the best time of year (too little light, too much wind, too much rain, too much flu, too much time before spring), and i had just happened to take this massive paradigm-shift decision, unschooling, the ripples of which will continue to follow us through many years to come... but still, what's there to be shy about?

too shy to write about the doubts, the fears, the panick attacks. too nervous to write answers to the questions those of you who know me 'live' have been asking (mostly 'WHY???????'), the concerns you have been expressing (mostly 'WHY????????). that bit of shy is understandable: taking such a funny, out-of-the-way turn, everything shaky and open, unsettled, that makes it hard to share the underside, the underbelly. it feels too vulnerable, too new. you might snatch it away from me.

but too shy to write about the victories, the YESSSS moments, the hours of complete and unshaking confidence in the truth and rightness of this particular path for us right now. too shy to share the amazing freedom sensation, the reclaiming of our own territory, of our own lives, snatched at the last moment from the jaws of the inexorable machine. free now, to explore, and have fun, and enjoy and learn, learn, learn, until we collapse in a pile, sated. the exhilaration, the happiness. the power of it all. too shy to write about that????

yes. too shy.