Somewhere along the line I became one of those people who only blogs once a month. When I first started blogging, I was so into it and would easily pound out five posts a week, loving every minute of it. Then, life happened. And here we are, with a (not so) long-awaited monthly post that all three of you have been waiting on the edge of your seats for.

Anyways, life has been good. Filled to the brim, but good. I’ve been busy selling houses (yay!) and working and trying to balance it all with three little kids, which is a never-ending challenge but I am up for it. Working outside the home actually makes me appreciate my time with our kids more and when the free moments hit, we head to the ice cream shop, the park, to visit some horses, or to meet up with some friends. I just have to try not to think about how messy the house is. Which is basically what I have always done, so yeah, no big change there.

Karenna is as obsessed with horses as ever and asks to visit some everyday.

Mud pies: it’s what’s for dinner.

It has only taken three and a half years, but sometimes Avelyn and Karenna actually play together now. Weird.

Spinach smoothies have been a real hit around our house. In case you couldn’t tell.

Lots of baths needed to rinse off all that spinach smoothie, mud pie and horse dung. Nice.

They are all growing up entirely too fast.

Karenna has been on a bit of a horse kick lately and she has this funny costume she loves to wear and gallop around the house in. She was having her quiet time and it was, shockingly, actually kind of quiet so Steve walked in and found this:

Our little horsie, fast asleep with all her equestrian figurines littered around her, probably dreaming about vats of oats and apples.

Love that kooky kid.

Our cute little town hosted its first annual Easter Egg Hunt this weekend. They were expecting about 100 folks to show up, but the crowds topped out at over 500. In short, it was mayhem. No one knew what was going on, there was a creepy bunny in a crane dropping plastic eggs from the sky, the line-ups for face painting and attractions were miles long. So, we got our obligatory photo with the skeeviest Easter Bunny ever and started to walk back to the car.

I was with my friend Krista and her three girls and as she weaved through the crowd with our little ones I ran ahead to the perimeter of the park, away from the throngs and dropped a dozen little foil-wrapped eggs (I had secretly packed in my purse) by a quiet tree trunk.

I ran back to find all our girls and I told them, “You guys! I just saw the Easter Bunny running that way and it looked like he dropped something! You should look and see if you find anything!”

They all sprinted to the spot and when they laid eyes on the secret stash of chocolate eggs they fell to their knees and scooped up as many as they could, as fast as they could, shrieking in delight. “No one else knows these are here!” they called. “He probably dropped them by accident and now they’re ALL OURS! This is the BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!”

Being a mom? Nailed it.

Then we came home and painted the kids’ faces at my place.

It was one of those days where I felt like we brought a little magic into our kids lives and it is all so worth it.

I went to Victoria last weekend, the lovely capital of this fine province, and it was beautiful. I really had been pining for a weekend away from the stress of life, the demands of it all, so I called up my dear friend, Christy, who was also in dire need of a break (she has four kids, and she homeschools and makes her own freaking almond butter) and basically told her I had booked a room for us at the Empress Hotel and it was in her best interests to join me for a couple days of resting, shopping, and (most importantly) eating.

It was actually spring there: no snow, tender daffodils reaching for the blue skies, cherry blossoms on every corner.

Christy and I used to live somewhat similar lives: we were both at home full-time with a gaggle of children nipping at our heels. Then she moved to Pender Island with her brood and they are pouring their hearts and souls into a beautiful camp out there, while she homeschools her kids, mills her own rice flour and leaves the rat race more and more behind each day. I, on the other hand, have sent my kids off to public school and become a real estate agent. Slightly different paths, hey? And yet, at the core, we still connect in the same way we always did, we still value the same things and it was so amazing to get that undivided time with her after so many years.

It’s her birthday today, and I hope she knows just how much I still love her and cherish our friendship. Thanks for the memories, Teet!

Motherhood hasn’t been easy for me.

And that’s OK.

Some of the best things I’ve ever done have been really, really hard.

I had three kids in four years, all of whom turned out to be really lousy sleepers and exceptionally strong-willed. In short, I didn’t sleep for six years, I dealt with more ear-shattering tantrums than I can possibly count, and I sure didn’t love every minute of it. I wished away a lot of days, yearning for a time when things would get easier, when I would finally get some rest, when my kids wouldn’t be so demanding. But then I had my last baby and my perspective changed a little, knowing she was our family’s final installment. I was still bone-tired, but instead of just wishing the fatigue away, I slowly moved into a more mindful state of  it, saying to myself, “Right now I am so, so exhausted. My body and mind have been sucked dry and I am weary. But I won’t always feel this way. I am feeling it, living it, passing through it, and it’s all going to be OK.” I gave myself permission to truly feel The Tired, and by doing so, I found myself focusing less on the exhaustion and more on the curve of my baby’s brow, the sweet smell of her freshly-bathed head and her rosy cheeks, thankful for the beauty she brought to my life.

Then I started saying the same thing to myself about my older kid’s frustrating tantrums and outbursts. “Right now? THIS SUCKS. She is screaming again, about absolutely nothing, and I am so tired of it and I am worried she will never grow up to become a decent human being and it feels like I am failing. But she will not always be like this. With consistency and patience, her older sister outgrew a similar phase and now she’s really spectaular. It’s going to get better, and it’s all going to be OK.” And by taking the time to truly acknowledge the emotions I was feeling, instead of just stuffing them down or bracing hard against them, it gave me a sense of peace about it all, and the strength to keep going.

It reminded me of my first labour experience. The contractions started coming hard and fierce and all I could do was clench my fists, stiffen my body and try to resist the pain, praying it would pass quickly. Then my doula showed up and whispered in my ear that I needed to work with the contractions, to breathe with them and let them take my body where it needed to go. After that, it still hurt, but I was teamed up with the pain, trusting it, knowing in the end it was all for good.

The same was true for my messy house, my flabby stomach, my wearied marriage. I allowed myself to really acknowledge their state. “Right now things are not ideal: there are dishes piled in the sink, gobs of flesh hanging over the waistband of my jeans, I haven’t been on a date with my husband in a year. And I don’t have the energy to change any of that right now. It’s extra hard today, but it won’t always be. So just keep on loving your kids, your spouse, yourself any way you can. It’s all going to be OK.” And it was.

I have a friend who is in the thick of life with young kids: no sleep, a baby who won’t stop crying, a strong-minded preschooler, a tired marriage and she wonders if things will ever be OK again. And all I want to do is wrap her up in my arms, tell her she is doing such a great job raising those babies, and that it will. It’s all going to be OK. She is beautiful and loved and amazing and giving all she’s got.

If that’s what I want to tell her, shouldn’t I extend the same grace to myself?

Life might not ever truly slow down. The kids will get older and the challenges will keep on coming, just in different forms. And I don’t want to miss all the good that’s wrapped up in the pain. I want to ride it like a wave, let it take me where it needs to, because I know it’s all going to be OK.

This weekend was a gooder: we celebrated St. Patrick’s Day (which is also Rolo’s birthday…can you believe he’s EIGHT?!) with a houseful of loud children who were all hopped up on green food colouring.

As I watched them all play, I felt so thankful for the wonderful friends in our lives, for the chance our kids have to grow up together in this nice little town.

Life is good.

Sunbeam, window seat, full bottle. This is where she sits when I vacuum. Such a helper.

Brinley is so fun these days. Well, when she’s not beating up kids who are smaller than her, refusing to sleep through the night without 18 bottles and 43 snuggle breaks with mom, or screaming bloody murder when I make her sit in her high chair for a meal. She’s got a nice head-start on the Terrible Twos, is what I’m saying. Just following suit, I guess. It seems like all our girls are hard-wired to be extra challenging for TWO YEARS STRAIGHT, then slowly show signs of the capacity for being decent human beings when their fourth birthdays near.

2014 is going to be awesome.

Twice I dreamt of positive pregnancy tests, and twice the morning following the dream I peed on a stick and saw a plus sign. Avelyn and Karenna first appeared in my unconscious. True story.

Imagine my delight, then, when I vividly dreamt of rolling up the rim of a Tim Horton’s coffee cup and winning a new car. Totally a sign, right? Look at my record of prophetic dreams! So, I bought the coffee, drank it quickly and rolled up the rim.

“Please Play Again”

Jerks.

What I’m about to show you is an oldie, but a goodie. Last winter I was stuck at home with a newborn who didn’t sleep, a toddler who had daily multiple tantrums of rage, my butt and gut and boobs were huge and drooping, and I was clawing my way through the Real Estate course. It was a long few months. I listened to a lot of Mumford & Sons that year and their songs will always take me back to that time: when I was soft and weary, trying my best to make it through. I look at this now (it’s long, you don’t have to watch the whole thing but things get real about 40 seconds in) and see how much has happened in a year: Karenna doesn’t fit in those jammies anymore, those jeans are four sizes too big for me now, I am a Realtor. The time passes so quickly, which is why you’ve got to take the time to dance.