gratitude

Autumn came early

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I know that autumn is actually a few weeks away, but in my heart of hearts, as soon as September 1st hits, it’s already autumn. For me, it’s a feeling of change, rather than a mark on a calendar or a change in temperature or colours.

Autumn is my favourite season, not only for its natural beauty, but especially for the essence and wisdom the season brings. It shows us the fleeting cycles of life and moments; it reminds us that there’s a time to do and be busy, and a time to stop and retreat; and it teaches us that in the end, there must be balance in nature and in the universe, just as there must be balance in our individual psyches and selves. As an introspective person, I appreciate how autumn ultimately leads me back home to myself.

Lately, I’ve been finding bliss in decorating our home and in doing little art projects with my husband. As insanely busy parents with very little time and rest, going out on dates has become a faraway dream. Nevertheless, I really love our quiet moments at home together when the kids are asleep. Actually, I prefer these more than anything. Presence is the ultimate sublime gift.

Paintable projects from Dollarama

My spoooky haunted house

My husband’s dancing skeletons

The other day, my husband had found some paintable Halloween-themed art projects at Dollarama. We painted them together the same night, and I had a great deal of fun. No skill or expertise was involved — just enthusiasm, will, and concentration.

It was a simple little project, but I was still proud of our work, because when I look at our Halloween art boards, I feel that I’d had the most peaceful time in a long time. And it didn’t take much. In fact, it was the most amazing date night, for only $4 or so a piece.

Pick-your-own produce at Rideau Pines Farm!

Luscious tomatoes in their tomato field

Strawberry field

The sweetest strawberries I’ve ever tasted!

Raspberries

My husband had a spontaneous week-long vacation, so another simple activity we’ve been enjoying are mini road trips. Since going on vacation and travelling isn’t feasible for us right now, we do mini vacations instead, which may consist of road trips to a nearby town, suburb, or city. And especially to farms.

I think we spend most of our time at farms. I’m not sure if it’s my tickling dream of living in the countryside and being self-sufficient — I’m aware that it’s difficult and that hard work, resources, and dedication are involved — or if farms are simply my happy getaway place. Whatever the case, I’m happiest there, and the kids as well.

Since Keaton loves tractors and construction vehicles, farms have always been a good source of education for him (of course he’s swayed by their play structures and toys, too). He’s also been appreciating picking his own fruits and veggies there. In fact, he’d always get so excited when we’d tell him our plan of the day was to go to a farm.

Recently, we’d spontaneously stumbled upon a farm — Rideau Pines Farm — that offered a variety of pick-your-own options. They had both fruits and veggies to pick! I was in absolute awe, as I didn’t know there was a farm where we could pick our own produce. It tends to be the case that pick-your-own farms offer specific seasonal fruits only.

Rideau Pines Farm was heaven-sent. They had a myriad of produce to pick: garlic, kale, tomatoes, strawberries, raspberries, currants, peppers, you name it. The day we went they offered pick-your-own tomatoes, peppers, strawberries, and raspberries. Friends, their strawberries were the sweetest babes on this earth! Did they spray sugar water?

Despite the random downpours — I’d managed to pick only a few raspberries before we had to go — and violent gangs of mosquitos, I was in my happy place. Not only was everything healthy, but there was something deeply spiritual for my soul to be picking my own food from its source — it had felt like I was one with nature rather than a mere consumer.

Pumpkin patch at Fallowfield Tree Farm

Gaia was fascinated by the black cover and all the overlapping dirt and leaves

Keaton was really adamant about picking this lil pumpkin

We also did something naughty: we went to a pumpkin patch! It’s still early in the season, and most farms don’t open their pumpkin patches until mid- or late-September, but Fallowfield Tree Farm was very kind to have welcomed us with such warmth when we gave them a dingle.

We were very lucky. In fact, when we’d driven by the their fields the day prior, I was just telling my husband how this very pumpkin patch was already looking plump and invitational, and what a bummer it would’ve been if they’d kept it hidden and inaccessible until their grand opening day like other farms.

Lo and behold, this lovely farm didn’t withhold the love. They were the most easygoing, kindred, heartwarming folks I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. It’s funny how the universe works. The day prior, I’d looked at the pumpkin patch longingly as we drove by, and the day after, there we were, spontaneously picking pumpkins.

Bonnie was a gem. She had the bouncy castle ready for Keaton by the time we’d finished our time at the pumpkin patch. We had no clue that she was preparing this treat for us. He was her special little guest of the day. We were all her special guests — she’d sent us home with corn, too. My motherly heart almost exploded with gratitude. I couldn’t thank her enough.

Something I’ve been very grateful for as well is our backyard, which I’ve recently transformed into a little oasis. I love the string lights; they make the space cozy and magical. This is thanks to my husband who’d spent time making it just right for me (even in the heavy downpour).

This year, I’ve added mums and pumpkins again. I hope my mums don’t die on me, and that squirrels won’t eat my pumpkins like last year (we’d added white vinegar around them, so, fingers crossed). The addition of scarecrows and Halloween characters also set the tone for an autumn-y and Halloween-y vibe.

There’s a bit of all of us in our yard: there’s the punching bag that belongs to my husband, the mums and flowers that belong to me, and the playhouse and general toys that belong to Keaton. As for Gaia, the trees are very much her muse. I love that it tells a story of us all.

Home sweet home

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Dear Readers,

It’s been some time since I’ve popped in, but I have some lovely news to share: we bought a home and are expecting our second Mini Potato, who’s due this coming festive December.

Now that we’ve settled into our new home, life feels vastly different from what we’ve known beforehand. Sometimes, everything still feels surreal. It’s a big world of a difference transitioning from renting a high-rise apartment unit, to owning a house where we have our own entrance, appliances, and backyard. How freeing it is to not have to share laundry appliances or to tip-toe around others in shared entrances or elevators. I was wrought with anxiety at the height of the pandemic; the extra mental gymnastics involved when sharing common spaces with others was taxing. There was also very little privacy.

It feels ever so sweet to be in a home — our home. Yet I’ll always be grateful for having lived in a high rise apartment, especially as a family with a toddler. There were undoubtedly more challenges in daily life, but that’s why the experience was ever more rewarding: we’d experienced adversity and growth before tasting sweet victory. Not only has the experience brought us closer together as a family and strengthened us, but it has also taught Keaton to be appreciative of all the things he already did have: a roof, food, safety, a family, and all the basics of life that aren’t always granted.

Emotionally, I still miss our old apartment. I remember us settling there as a family over a year ago, when we just moved to Ottawa. It was quite heartwarming; after all, I was back in my hometown after years away, and I was reunited with my parents, whom I missed dearly and worried about immensely during the pandemic. I also recall being so excited to decorate our little space and make it homey and inviting. But the sweetest memory and journey of all, was witnessing Keaton’s growth and integration into his new city.

In over one year, he’s grown a whole lot — from babyhood to toddlerhood. I loved watching his bond with his Kong-Ma grow into unwavering love and friendship. Moreover, although all the park time for us parents was depressing — it was a pandemic and we didn’t have a car, so there wasn’t anywhere we could really go, except for the same old parks — I really appreciated watching our son’s growth there nevertheless, especially how he learned to relate to his immediate environment and social surroundings. For a little dude who’s never attended daycare or group settings, I’m very proud of him for his kindness and deep capacity for compassion.

I’m equally proud of my husband and I for overcoming numerous obstacles. From becoming first-time parents in the midst of a pandemic, to losing family members and lacking support, to facing financial struggles and the uncertainty of work, to living in a small apartment with no balcony or fresh air, to having no car for even the most practical of purposes, to dealing with months of constant dynamite construction right outside our window, to experiencing floods inside our bedroom, to having a high-energy toddler that never gave us a moment of respite, to handling inconsiderate folks on a daily basis. Every detail added up. The constant crippling stress and anxiety weighed heavily on our hearts and lives. Within me lived a constant turbulence of both rage and sadness. 

The process of searching for a home while my husband worked, of communicating with our mortgage lender and real estate agent, of preparing documents, of corresponding with our lawyer, and of making all financial decisions — while pregnant and with a toddler — was mentally and physically debilitating on top of everything. But we made it. We did our parts, held on to each other, trekked forward, and utilized any support we could get — I deeply appreciate my parents for all their help in take caring of our little one during challenging moments — and here we are, with a house of our own and even a car, too. 

Yet, I can’t say that I feel overwhelming joy and happiness being in our new home. It feels more like a deep relief, and more than anything, I feel immense gratitude mixed with a lot of sadness. I’m happy, yes, but now that we’ve made it, I feel rather exhausted — as if I can finally fall down on the floor and let myself slither into a deep sleep of a thousand years. As I look back, I can’t believe how we survived everything in the past few years, when it was much easier and more tempting to break. But human beings are resilient. We’re resilient. Even our son is resilient.

Having fun playing with his toys in his own room

Kids are adaptable and they’re able to appreciate the little things in life, whereas us adults are often stuck in our somersaulting patterns of thoughts that we create for ourselves. What I do see now, is how much happier Keaton is in his new home. There’s no baggage like the ones we adults carry. He has his own room, a backyard to play in — for me, it’s a dream come true, especially during summer days when I have no energy to take him to the park — and many rooms and nooks and crannies to explore. He’s even getting more exercise with all the stairs in the home. (I’m breaking my hip, on the other hand.)

It’s still always so sweet and comical to drive by our old apartment. Keaton would often say, “No dis! No dis!” Now that he has his own room and knows of a better life, he doesn’t want to return. I don’t blame him. I understand him completely. But I’d still tell him to say thank you and to wave bye bye as we’re passing; and he does just that, because he understands. My husband and I would often joke that our son has lived through all the craziness of life, whereas our daughter will be born into princesshood. We laugh about it, but for us, it’s important to instill character and integrity in our kids, and to teach them to appreciate all the little things.

I’m fond of our new and current home. It’s a perfect humble size for our little growing family. I love that now, Keaton has ample of space to run in and a backyard where he can play with his trucks and toys or simply watch birds and squirrels. I remember feeling emotional the first morning I sat outside with a coffee. Just birds chirping and a light breeze sweeping my cheeks. It was a stark contrast to our apartment days wrought with blasting and construction. This was freedom to me: peace and quiet. They were basic human needs and soul nourishing food that not everyone is privileged to have in this world. And I hold this knowledge closely to heart.

Now that we’re in our new home, I also feel the motivation to take better care of our space. I’ve been loving my plants; they add so much colour and life to our home. Perhaps it’s my OCD or my mama nesting urges, but I also feel deeply that cleaning and organizing our space frequently helps me de-stress and relax. Home is both a family space and a spiritual realm for me. I must take care of it, nourish it, and love it, just like I would my own.

Blogmas: Mwuah, Rudolpho

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Here’s our Christmas tree! It will be our first Christmas here at the apartment, and adding a festive tree adorned with sentimental ornaments and lights really makes our abode cozy and warm. We did resort to moving all the candy canes to the upper half of the tree, though, because Keaton will grab them and run off into the sunset otherwise! If not by reaching up for them himself, then with the swift movement of his sassy broom.

This year will be extra fun because Keaton is now a bit older, so he’ll be able to enjoy Christmas and have a better understanding of the festivity. When we put up the tree, he even helped us put up the ornaments. But he didn’t want to do it himself. He just wanted to hand the ornaments to us, and demand where they go with unswerving knowing and conviction. I have a feeling that by the time Christmas rolls around, the tree will either be naked and the ornaments missing, or it will have gone through many identity crises thanks to Keaton.

This doggie or “meh meh” ornament is special — it makes me smile so much — because it’s Keaton’s first ornament, which he chose himself. When his daddy showed him the display of ornaments at the Nutcracker store and pointed to them one by one, he made a sound to gesture that this was the one he wanted.

The doggie is a West Highland Terrier. When I look at it, it looks just right — as if it really is Keaton’s doggie and buddy. It looks and feels like his personality, and he knows it.

My husband, Bruno, and I also have our annual special ornament for Christmas, and this year we chose this Jack Skellington and Sally ornament, which symbolizes the early days of our dates — the sweet cusp between Halloween and Christmas — and the fruits of our relationship.

My husband and I are renowned elves. It seems that every year we spread the Christmas cheer by putting up a tree in someone’s house, who otherwise wouldn’t have bothered. This time, we chalked up my parents’ holiday spirit and brought this tree — once in my work office — over to their home.

When we began setting up the tree and decorations, my parents’ faces lit up with joy. Mom even went to the basement to take out my childhood ornaments and other decor. Dad himself helped put up the ornaments — I could see that he was at peace. They really enjoyed this moment of shared family tradition — this time with their grandson. It had also been a long time since they put up a tree, probably since their children were living with them.

We also gifted them this special mouse ornament because it symbolizes Keaton, their grandson.

Besides putting up Christmas trees and decorations, another fun part about the holiday season is taking out Christmas mugs. These are two new ones that we recently added to our collection. With their Christmas-y nature, they make coffee ever more tasty and soul-satisfying! (Or bitter, if you’re a morning coffee Grinch.)

A cute-as-a-button gingerbread cookie from the Christmas Market! I told my husband that my ultimate goal this year is to find and eat a classic gingerbreadman cookie that’s been decorated, and here it is! Keaton also had his own cookie that day at the market. It was so heartwarming that he ate his gingerbread cookie as he was holding my hand and walking around.

The next evening, my husband and I returned to the Christmas Market. While the day before we’d done a family trip there with our son, we also wanted to have our own date night there, especially after dark when the fairy lights begin romancing our souls. It was a cold night, but oh so beautiful. The music, the smiles, and the celebration — I felt happy. For the first time in a long time since Keaton’s birth, my Love and I had a date (thank you to Kong-Ma), and I felt like myself again. I also couldn’t help but start dancing to the music, too.

Today, we also adopted Rudolpho, our new reindeer friend, from our local Christmas Farmer’s Market. Keaton loves him with such sweet gentleness. When he arrives home, he’d greet his new buddy with a hug and a kiss. It warms my heart to no end!

All the boops

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The sweetest sight of my life

My husband and I held hands and tip toed quietly to take a sneak peek at Keaton while he was sleeping peacefully. It was surprising for us to see him fall asleep so early after arriving home from Kong Ma’s (my parents). After screaming in the hallway three times — it seems to be his tradition to tell the world that he, the Little Lord, is home — he fell asleep on his daddy’s shoulders shortly after he picked him up from the stroller. This was so uncommon for us because we expected him to grow fussy and cry for milkies, since it’s often the case that he gets overtired after a long day of fun with his grandparents, and therefore cranky at home.

But tonight was different. He accepted his daddy holding him, and even cuddled against the nook of his neck and shoulder. “Is he okay?,” we pondered. And for good reason: earlier today, he fell face forward at the park and hit his face on the cement. His forehead was badly scratched with spots of blood; a little bit of blood trickled from his nose; and later, a big bruise ensued in the middle of his forehead. When I saw him fall and heard his harsh cries, I wanted to die. I felt the rush of anger towards myself and the self-blame, while lovingly and gently patting him on his back, dancing with him, and assuring him that he was OK, all the while also pointing to his beloved plants and trees so as to distract him from his current pain.

I wish I hadn’t taken him to the park today. After all, it was a rainy day and perhaps we both needed a break, since I do already take him out on walks or to the park daily, sometimes for hours on end. So a day like today would’ve been ideal to just go to my parents’ and nestle inside. But therein lies my weakness and downfall as an individual, and therefore, as a parent: I refuse to take a break or let things go. If I hadn’t taken him to the park and just accepted that today would be a day to rest, he wouldn’t have slipped on the slippery cement. But it was my obsessive thought that he needed to be outdoors every single day, which stemmed from a place of fear, that, in the end, hindered my judgement. If I may psychoanalyze myself, I’d say it’s a major source of anxiety and stress in my daily life.

The greatest hardship right now for my husband and I is seeing him hurt. Yesterday, he also had a rough fall off the wagon in the playground, that ended in him falling forward and banging his chin and jaw — his head jerking back. The scene is still fresh in our minds — a nightmare. “What if he’d broken his neck?,” my husband cried. As parents, we always blame ourselves, even if 99% of the time we’re present and with him. With Keaton, however, we can never drop our guard — not even for a split second, because he’s scarily explosive and quick. All it takes is one second for anything to go wrong. I’m a walking tremor for this reason. Every day my mind is filled with constant worry. My husband and I joke that it might be genetics, for his mother also had to put him in a harness when he was a toddler. We laugh about it, but I do feel a lot of empathy for her and for all parents whose children are the Usain Bolt(s) and David Blaine(s) of toddlerhood.

Little Keaton has experienced many falls on his head and face over time — almost daily. His face is constantly covered with cuts and/or bruises, and often times in the same location. I worry that all the hits and falls might cause damage to his brain over time. So far, though, I feel it’s safe to say that he’s never displayed any symptoms of abnormality. In fact, even after having experienced hard blows, he’d continue playing and smiling. He even hugged his Kong Kong (grandpa) today when we arrived at their house, as if life for him was all sunshine and rainbows. It was an endearing sight and such sweet relief to see him act like himself. I’m always in awe of how resilient and mentally strong he is. Yet there’s something sad about this powerful sight: that even a little toddler has the will to go on, when we adults sometimes don’t. There’s much wisdom in it.

Our little Keaton is a tornado of sorts, on all levels. He’s physically agile and explosive; he’s mentally sharp with an impressive ability to problem solve and utilize his wits; and he’s also very caring and loving. He’s a lot to handle in a small package. In fact, I’d often faint when I was pregnant with him. There were times when I fainted on the street or in my office at work, and those around me had to call an ambulance. As expected, all hospital results turned out normal. Back then, I made a joke to my husband that his energy level in my belly must’ve been so high that it was causing me to faint. Lo and behold, my assessment was quite accurate. After his birth at the hospital, the only cries that the staff and floor heard, were his. No other baby was as vocal as he was, and thus I knew: this child of mine would turn out a tad extra. And every day after that day has been a testament to it.

I’m oh so tired. Sometimes I secretly wish he was more calm like other toddlers his age — whose parents have the freedom to actually talk to each through dinner or enjoy a coffee — but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t appreciate his very essence. I love him so much, more than life itself. I’ve gone through much pain to see to it that he’s healthy and thriving. The mastitis was the worst pain of my life — worse than labour itself. I felt like my breasts were being cut and sliced open with knives, over and over again. I cried breastfeeding him and scrunched my toes and bit my tongue throughout those days and nights. I also grew a debilitatingly high fever that left me feeling lifeless — I felt like I was going to die. All during a time when the pandemic had just begun and hospitals and clinics were in a panicked frenzy. At a time when I had absolutely no help. No physical or moral support. It was my husband who fed me back to life. But I kept going and going, and never gave up on breastfeeding. When I looked at my son, I knew there was no pain in life that I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, endure.

And 16 months later, today, I feel no different. There’s nothing in this world that could weaken my knees when it comes to my son. Sometimes there are days when little Keaton makes me want to bang myself upside the head with a frying pan so that I could perhaps see stars and retire from life for a brief moment, for want of peace, if anything. There are also days when he exhausts me so much that I want to just hide in the closet and sleep, and not come out for another three decades or so. But as difficult as he (and parenting) can be at times, when I see him sleeping peacefully or smiling at me, I thank life and the universe for this blessing. I feel so incredibly in love with him. And the sweetest blessing is knowing deep in my heart that he was born mine for a reason.

***

To Keaton,

Being your mother has been, by far, the most difficult yet joyous feat of my life. You’ve shaken me from the inside out, and in the process, you’ve brought me forgiveness, strength, and healing. I smile in the midst of it all because I have a very cute little teacher by my side, and every day I feel humbled that you have the power to transform me, just by being who you are. The unwinding road of motherhood and of self can sometimes be unforgiving and ruthless, but never unfair. Don’t you agree? Thank you for continually bringing me back to myself.

With your innate perceptivity and compassion, you bring healing, growth, and love to all that cross your path. I hope you’ll grow to honour your light and soul’s purpose; the world needs it. It’s already more colourful and vibrant with you in it.

Colour me pretty

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It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged or done any journalling, or taken the time to ponder my thoughts and emotions. To those of you who’ve liked my posts, commented, or followed me, thank you kindly for your love and support.

It’s been almost two months since we moved to Ottawa — my childhood home. Sometimes I do miss Montreal a great deal, and wonder if we’d made the right decision. I miss our small cozy apartment, and balcony that’s adorned with fairy lights and colourful plates; I miss our neighbours and the children that we befriended since they were tiny peas; and I miss the parks that we used to frequent with our son. Most of all, I miss the memories. Especially memories of Keaton’s first steps and first explorations at his beloved playground.

Yet somehow, life is as it should be. I left Ottawa at a time when I was wounded and thirsting for life — longing for my sense of self and identity. Now, I’m back, in what I can now call my thirties — more seasoned and grounded, with a child of my own. (Still not any less clumsy.) I’m also reunited with my parents — I missed them dearly in the midst of motherhood and an unmerciful pandemic — and now, they’re able to build daily connections with their grandson, and he with them. I feel like I’ve come full circle in my life, and that I’ve had my closure.

I’m forever grateful for my parents’ role in our lives and how much love and support they provide us. Motherhood has been both challenging and rewarding — and doubly so during a pandemic. Fortunately, ever since we arrived, I’ve begun having some space to exist. My son is vibrant, perceptive, expressive, highly inquisitive, and amazingly helpful. But he’s also full of energy, demanding, and relentless. In Keaton’s 16 months of life, I can’t remember a moment when I truly felt at peace in my heart. His energy level and temperament is comparable to handling at least three children at the same time — and everyone can attest to it. Might I add that he’s the love of my life, and also the death of me?

Recently, for the first time, I noticed my hands visually shake when I reached out to grab my son’s smoothie and napkins at the counter. That day, since I was going to take a long walk with him to grab scones, I stopped midway to buy a fruit smoothie to entertain him — he loves smoothies — so that he wouldn’t grow fussy on our long journey. When I realized that I couldn’t control my shaking hands, even if I’d consciously tried to, I felt both self-conscious and heartbroken to see myself in this state — to viscerally witness my own struggle. “Is this what motherhood has done to me?” I ask myself as I feel my throat constrict.

Motherhood has gotten pragmatically easier in certain ways, and harder in others. I’m learning that the road to raising children is long, sweet, rewarding, clumsy, arduous, and full of mishaps and mistakes. And that most of all, Keaton needs a happy mother that takes care of herself and her needs. After all, I’m worn out to the bone and have raccoon under eye circles; I feel like a dried squid that’s hung out to dry for too long in the sun; I’ve lost all butt, with only skin and bone for some cute loving; and my sagging breastfeeding boobies might just hit the floor walking tomorrow.

But in the midst of all these comical adventures, I’ve found peace, solace, and gratitude in the daily moments. I’m happiest when I see my son in his swimsuit enjoying the waterpark; I’m happiest when he gives his daddy a reluctant but successful kiss on the cheek; I’m happiest when I see the unyielding love between my parents and son, and how much he laughs when he’s with them; and I’m happiest when Keaton grabs his Giorgio monkey and a towel for me, to signal to me that it’s time for milkies.

I’m happy when I see the sunny skies and trees towering above me; I’m happy when I exchange a smile with strangers and passersby; I’m happy when I’m able to lie down and rest my heart, body, and soul, and let it all melt into the comfort of my couch; and I’m happy when I cook meals for my family. I’m also happy right now, as I type this, because I’m creatively exploring the inner workings of my heart and mind.

I’m happy when I paint, too. When I do have some downtime late at night, I appreciate letting loose and being creative. I painted the two paintings above recently; it was relaxing, calming, and fun. I even listened to music and lit a candle. I forgot the feeling of adventure, creation, and possibility until then.

While I’m just starting to explore the world of paint and colours — I’ve got much to learn — I find that these paintings turned out quite cute and pretty. They’re meaningful to me because they symbolize, in many ways, my coming home to myself. I can’t wait to put them up on the wall above our couch, for some character and feminine presence.

Petit bout de chou is twelve

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Keaton turned a tiger-esque One!

“If people ask how old he is, we’ll just say he’s twelve,” we both laughed.

There’s a joke my husband and I share about our son: he’s not a baby, he’s a pre-teen. Not only does he sport the physique, but he’s already sassy enough to be one. Oh, how he asserts his individuality and independence. As for us, R.I.P. We’re exhausted — just picture old dishevelled alley raccoons with missing hair on their tails from a street brawl. We’ve got dark under eye circles and we’re pitifully half-baked, but are we ever happy and appreciative.

Parenthood is a comical and mercurial thing. How being miserably depleted of any remaining mental faculty can co-exist proudly with butter-like feelings of immense joy and satisfaction, is a mystery to me. It’s like being slapped upside the head repeatedly yet still finding yourself smiling and wildly whispering, “Yes… yes…give me more.” It damn hurts, who wants that? Let’s be real: parents are nuts. We’re nuts. And I love it.

It’s surreal to think that one year has passed since our son’s birth. Between motherhood, debilitating fatigue, and my suspected depression — and, an unpitying pandemic — there’s a feeling of having lost my awareness of time. There’s a sense of amnesia I experience where every day feels strangely different yet familiarly the same — when each day rolls out into the next unscathed. Life has been far from normal — our identities, core values, characters, relationships tested through it all — but when I look at our son and see how happy and vibrant he is, I know that everything is worth it and as it should be.

Keaton is now a tiger-esque One, and it’s been a real treat to watch him grow and thrive. I adore how obsessively analytical and perceptive he is; how stealthily and quickly he prances like a tiger; and how his soul emanates compassion and sensitivity. When I look at him, I know that he’s truly ours. There’s much I’d like to write about him here — I wish the world knew and witnessed just how wondrous he is — but at the same time, I wish to reserve him for the private recesses of my heart. There’s a certain injustice in attempting to paint a portrait of him — I feel as though I’m doing him a disservice. My goal as his mother isn’t to try to convey to the world who he is; rather, it’s to provide him with the necessary tools and guidance that will enable him to reveal himself to the world, on his own terms, in due time.

Yet that’s our catch-22, and the most emotionally-charged part of our current experience. It wasn’t the isolation and lack of support throughout the pandemic, nor the crippling fatigue of caring for a baby. It wasn’t the mastitis that felt like razors to my breasts, and that provoked cries of agony. It wasn’t even the emotional trauma of motherhood — the other side of the coin that’s rarely discussed. If you harbour wounds, and are aware of it, you know that something unexpected happens when you have your first baby: unresolved and repressed pains surface. The journey to motherhood is all-encompassing: sweet and joyful, and also dark and traumatic. Yet there’s no healing time between diapers, meals, and laundry.

Nevertheless, none of that could’ve weakened my knees in the grand scheme of things. I was the child of parents who’d survived a genocide and forced labour, and who’d lost children in the process. I was also the child who was fearful of the sound of roaring thunder, but when my father told me that bombs were twenty times louder and scarier during the war, grew to understand that fear was a state of mind. And thus was my mantra from a young and ripe age: if my parents had survived the worst of life, there was nothing in this world that I wouldn’t be able to overcome. My silhouette was my own to meet and greet over many times, under different circumstances, no matter how menacing it may appear.

As a mother now, however, I realized the following: I may be unyielding and resilient as an individual, but as a mother I was vulnerable. I had something to lose that was beyond myself, just as I had something to love that was beyond myself. Keaton was that whom I loved beyond myself, and therein lies my deepest heartache: we were never able to share him — our greatest pride and joy — with our families and the rest of the world since he was born. He was our first baby, our first love. Yet no one was able to see and experience him as we had. The pleasure of sharing our first bundle of joy would’ve been just as paramount as acquiring support from loved ones in times of distress, and through it all, I felt robbed of my most natural need.

Many of us had been struggling in some way, shape, or form. Throughout my transition to motherhood, I realized just how much I needed my family and support network — to feel their reassuring touch and warmth. And I knew that throughout this pandemic, they needed us just as much. When I look at our parents who’d lived difficult lives and are old and vulnerable, I come to feel ever more that time is indeed of the essence and that every moment counts. Life doesn’t wait for anyone, especially not when you’ve reached old age — and more so when you’re a real victim of COVID-19. In one year of our lives — the young and healthy — life has remained relatively stable. In one year of our elderly parents’ lives, whether they’ll ever see their grandson is a gamble in a spec of time.

Yet I could no longer wish for a world that wasn’t — that was unbearable, and insanity to say the least. The only way out was through. And that was to make amends with the current situation of our lives and to accept without reservation that being happy and grateful was a matter of adapting to the present moment, and to the ever-evolving whims of life. All of life was, after all, but perception, attunement, and a comedic and lighthearted dance with the cosmic forces of nature and humanity’s collective psyche — if one so chooses. There’s immense power and healing in yielding. Keaton’s birthday became one of the happiest memories of my life, because I willed it to be. And so it was.

His chalkboard of milestones

Keaton’s first birthday was the climatic point of my pride and joy, and this post, so heavily charged, pays honour to it. His birthday, and the elated happiness I felt, wouldn’t have been what it was without the past and current context of our lives. It was at once a celebration of him and a testament of our resilience and strength as a cohesive unit and family. One year later, I was still breastfeeding my son — a point of pride because I’ve lived through much pain without help or support at a time when the world fell into a state of chaos. My husband and I also became all the wiser and stronger, and our son grew beautifully into our beloved kindred spirit. As my husband would say, “We’ve struggled, but we’re doing something right.”

Thank you to my dearest husband for all of his love and support. For loving me gently and kindly at a time when I didn’t have the strength. For his utmost patience and dedication as a father and a family gentleman. For the smiles and laughter he’s brought to Keaton and me.

I’ll always remember Keaton’s first birthday, even if he most likely won’t remember it himself, much less babyhood in a pandemic. The day was ever so sweet. He immediately noticed the “Happy Birthday” banner on the wall of his play space as soon as we walked into the room in the wee hours of the morning — the curtains still hiding the morning light outside. I could tell that he was observing the banner intently, and the cutest part was that he kept smiling while looking at it. It’s as if he knew that a surprise was awaiting him later that day. I couldn’t wait for him to see the kitchen — the real birthday setting. Yet when we walked in, rather than react with surprise and excitement, he quietly analyzed and assessed his surroundings.

The afternoon was young, and Keaton was in a good mood throughout the day. (Phew, such sweet relief for an anxious event planner like mommy.) Auntie Mel Mel arrived at the scene like Santa Claus at a birthday party — bags and boxes of gifts weighing her down as she walked up the stairs to our apartment. I was just as surprised as Keaton when we witnessed fun orange and green helium balloons slowly emerging from the bag that sheltered them — the colours paying homage to our jungle theme, and orange to his spirited personality. In fact, I joined my son in sheer excitement and clapped like a happy seal. (I’m a big kid, I must admit. And I have no shame.)

Peek-a-boo flavour: red velvet with cream cheese

My favourite token of his jungle-themed birthday was his custom cake. Since we often refer to him as a baby tiger, due to his fearless and determined nature mixed with a sassy tint of stubbornness and charm, I asked the cake decorator to create a baby tiger fondant as the centerpiece to symbolize him. It looked so stinkin’ cute. We even kept the tiger fondant in the freezer, with the intention of showing it to him in the years to come. Funnily, his grandparents really had a kick watching him eat his birthday cake slowly but surely on video. As with everything he does, even eating his cake was done with careful tact and calculation.

The heartwarming part of it all, was that in spite of the pandemic and lockdown measures, our loved ones and those that mattered most to us got to be present — we celebrated Keaton’s birthday virtually. When it came time to singing “Happy Birthday” and cutting the cake, we video-called our parents and siblings, and while I comically thought we’d lose one or two along the way — imagine old parents using technology — the event was much more smooth-sailing than I’d anticipated. I couldn’t be happier than seeing Keaton studying the screens, curious of his grandparents’ many facial expressions, even if he didn’t really understand who they were or what they were communicating, only that they were cheering for him. There was something honest and beautiful in that moment: his grandparents felt his presence, just as he felt theirs.

That was his first birthday in quarantine: fun, thematic, and fit for a little guy with a big personality. Even if the world was imperfect and his grandparents and relatives couldn’t be there in person, we were blessed because we still had technology. Our parents had the opportunity to see him smile and laugh, which was enough to equip them with courage and strength. As for us, we were surrounded by love and support. Keaton is so deeply loved, and seeing him burst with laugher on his birthday while delighting in the sight of all the decor and treats, was all I needed.

Mr & Mrs

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Our Mr & Mrs mugs ft. Jack Skellington and Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)!

Dear Readers,

Bruno and I are officially married and husband and wife! October 9th marked our special day. The day was simple and practical: we made a hearty brunch together, we shared fun giggles with our baby boy, we video-called our parents to share our excitement, and later we got dressed while my sister entertained Little One. Then we were on our way to the notary’s to be wed at 3PM.

When we arrived at the ceremony room at the notary’s office, we felt an immediate sense of relief, safety, and joy. It was finally happening. We were finally getting married after our wedding in May had been cancelled due to COVID-19 — and in the midst of a second lockdown that had coincidentally begun right before our second set date. The thought that we’d be obliged to cancel our wedding a second time due to another lockdown was an emotional rollercoaster. Nothing was going right in the world — and in many people’s lives — but all we wanted to do in the midst of this chaos was to get married. And finally, the moment was ours to keep.

The ceremony room at the notary’s was intimate yet simple and elegant. Fit for a bride and groom and their celebration of love and unity — fit for us that day. There were six of us in the ceremony room: myself, my husband-to-be, our baby, my sister (our witness), and the notary and her assistant (our second witness). Due to COVID-19, we were all required to wear masks and social distance during the event, all of which was smooth sailing. (We’re thankful for the notary and her team for taking necessary precautions while still providing marital, and personable, services.)

Never in my life had I envisioned getting married this way, with just us and our witnesses for company. I had always envisioned a wedding celebration — albeit a very small and intimate one — with our parents and loved ones present to celebrate with us. But we were sans our loved ones on our wedding day. Yet paradoxically, despite a relatively empty room, the moment felt so good and right. Like all was as it should be. We were grateful for the moment to finally happen, for my sister’s presence and her relentless help in our lives, for our baby boy being present on our wedding day, and for the notary and her assistant who orchestrated our ceremony.

The ceremony was short and sweet — a mere thirty minutes with all the logistics taken into account — but it was very emotionally charged. Bruno and I cried the whole time we held hands and exchanged vows, from beginning to end. Life hasn’t been easy on us; the pandemic has brought about a series of challenges to our lives, alongside being new parents. But we had been raised by wolves who equipped us with resilience, determination, and spirit. And our wedding ceremony was both a testimony and a celebration of our perseverance and conviction.

“We did it, we’re finally married!” We exclaimed with pride as we walked back to the car. During this period of uncertainty and hardship, getting married felt like a major accomplishment for us, and we were adamant to celebrate it. The night was young; we returned home with my sister, video-called our parents again to share our news, ordered sushi takeout, toasted to our wedding with champagne, and had cake from Rockaberry. I had my usual divine pumpkin pie!

My first ever pumpkin pie from Rockaberry. It became my all-time seasonal favourite. So divine!
Cakes to celebrate! ^__^

Our wedding day was imperfect — we got married in the midst of a pandemic, our families and friends were absent, I didn’t walk down the aisle with my white gown and bouquet of flowers — but it was the most beautiful, raw, and genuine moment we could’ve ever dreamed of. And for what it’s worth, it was the perfect experience and memory for us.

A special thank you to Melody, my big sister and confidante, for always being there for us and for making our special day happen. We couldn’t have done it without her. I love you so much and am so honoured to have you walk by our side every step of the way.

Before we got married, Bruno and I chose the Jack Skellington and Sally mugs from The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) to serve as our Mr & Mrs mugs. We had coffee in them the next morning, and it was so much fun and Halloween-y! These mugs are meaningful to us because they symbolize the early fruits of our relationship. The Nightmare Before Christmas was one of the first movies we had seen together, sometime after Halloween and before Christmas, when we started dating in 2017.

Besides being the perfect Mr & Mrs mugs for us, these Jack & Sally mugs are also ideal for the month of October, with Halloween sneaking up around the corner. In fact, on Halloween night we’ll be watching The Nightmare Before Christmas while sipping an autumn-friendly drink in our mugs. We’ll also be indulging in our candy bags and treats. I’m super excited for us to be kids again! (Hopefully, our son will let us enjoy some ‘us’ and movie time.)

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) film was such a warm memory for us, that, on our wedding night, my husband gifted me The Nightmare Before Christmas Pandora charm, along with the Baby Yoda charm from The Mandalorian. These two charms are very endearing because they highlight some of the sweet memories we shared together over the years. While The Nightmare Before Christmas was one of the first movies we had watched together, The Mandalorian was also a TV series we had enjoyed together when I was pregnant a few years later. It’s a little detail in my day, but wearing my charm bracelets makes me so merry and giddy.

Surprise bouquet from my husband (my then fiancé) for our 3 year anniversary!

October has always been, and will always be, a special month for us. These days, when I walk around our little abode and see autumn and Halloween decorations that adorn the nooks and crevices, I’m reminded of the charm of the season and the playfulness of life. Moreover, I’m reminded of my husband and I, and the celebration of our love and devotion.

Turquoise summer

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my sweet keurig

It feels like it’s going to be a turquoise summer. It’s a warm and sunny afternoon, and here I am, sitting on the balcony with my delicious iced coffee and my laptop and headphones — basking away in my sweet and much-needed bubble.

There are certain burning moments in life when you appreciate the small details with every atom of your being, as if they’re the catalysts that fuel the deep inhalations that you require but can no longer humanly muster. This is true for me presently, especially now that we’re in a quarantine and the world around me feels strangely deserted and lifeless, and now that I’ve become a first-time mother which itself produces a set of challenges.

“Remember when you used to enjoy quiet mornings and staring out the window while contemplating life, with a cup of coffee for sweet company?” My mom would comment and laugh, with both a comical reality check and empathy, as she watches me scurry around with my shaggy lioness hair that hasn’t been brushed in weeks. It’s true, life was no longer about me and my whimsical longings for silence, solitude, and reflection. Coffee mornings were no longer existent, and if they were, they were inundated with anxiety-filled thoughts that the Little Lord would wake up and feed at any moment. (If I can’t poop in peace, forget drinking coffee in peace.)

I bow down to my mother’s feet with gratitude. I’m forever thankful to this beautiful woman, mother, wife, and soul who’s been pregnant with five children, and who’s mothered us with dignity, strength, and uttermost compassion and kindness. 

Motherhood is currently, and always will be, my dearest life journey. Yet it can be clumsy and challenging at times, especially when it’s your first experience. And when you give of yourself fully and relentlessly and finally receive something in return — a little something that’s enough to re-ignite your soul — it almost feels as if you’ve been gifted the sky and the mountains. It feels that good to me — and increasingly so — now that something as simple as going out for a serene walk has become an abnormal occurrence in our everyday lives during this quarantine and for the most part we find ourselves cocooned inside our small apartment, and now that I’m a new mother that rarely has time to herself.

Then came this Keurig machine by mail this morning. The excitement and anticipation grew as I watched Bruno carry in the box from the stairs, and I felt like a little kid who was just given an ice cream cone. It gave me a reason to be giddy and cheerful. A different reason. One that wasn’t about the world out there in its state of chaos and neuroticism, that wasn’t about my family and dear son, and that wasn’t about the pile of laundry that needed to be folded. It was about me, if only for a brief and candied moment. This coffee machine would become a place of solace.

This summer will be short and arduous if the coronavirus lockdown persists, but knowing that I’m fully equipped with my sweet love and son, and knowing that there’s a world in which I can always slip into the kitchen to make myself a cuppa coffee during my little one’s late morning naps — and knowing that there’s life and beauty in that fleeting moment of great escape — makes it all the better and the more bearable. It’s enough to cheer me up and grow fluttering butterflies of joy inside my belly.

My vintage vanity is another turquoise piece that’s my happy place. (I do have a fiery and passionate love affair with turquoise.) I fondly remember sitting there last summer — I was in the early days of my pregnancy — and putting on my makeup and getting ready to go hand-in-hand with my love to the market or to a vintage bazaar. It was my very own personal space and soulful corner of the home where I could bask in my femininity — and that felt refreshing. Even if I won’t be dressing up to go anywhere anytime soon, and life may feel like a surreal dream, it will still be my happy place alongside my coffee machine. A turquoise summer is most definitely in order.

***

I showed a photo of this turquoise Keurig to my sister in passing, and as usual, she made it a dream come true with my parents’ tribute and support. She scoured the market to order it for me. I’m head-over-heels crazy about it! It’s as cute as a button. Thank you, Mel, and mom and dad for this thoughtful Mother’s Day and birthday gift. 

Thank you to my big sister who’s always been there for me since I was a shrivelled little prune, and who knows my heart well. And thank you to my parents who’ve been deeply loving and supportive, even from afar, and whose familiar faces through a video call never ceases to warm my soul. 

To Bruno, my sweet love, cheers to many romantic coffee mornings on the balcony this summer. Cheers to coffee made for you with love and joy by your Tiffipoo, with her dainty coffee machine that’s enough to make her glow. 

To Keaton, my sweetest gift of life, as you grow older, just as mommy learns the map of your soul, you’ll in turn learn mommy’s idiosyncrasies and little moments of joy. 

To Keaton ♥️

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I’m officially a mommy, and my heart is elated. Baby Keaton was born in early March, and he is, and always will be, our greatest joy, accomplishment, and adventure. We’re deeply and wholly in love with our sweet baby boy — a sacrificial and wholesome love we never knew before.

He’s grown much since his birth, and it’s heartwarming to learn the maps of his heart, mind, and soul on a daily basis. I have mommy guilts already — I’m learning to be more compassionate with myself as a new mother — but something I’ll never regret, is not having been present enough with him. I can say that so far, I’m proud of myself for being relentlessly present with him with each passing breath he takes.

I love him so dearly, so tenderly, so compassionately that my heart could explode. I love that his personality is shining through evermore each day; I love the way his toe beans curl around my finger; I love the way he throws his arms up with glee as we change his diaper; I love that his hair’s growing fuller and into a light ash brown shade, that I myself have always dreamt of; I love pondering if he looks more like me or his daddy; I love the sense of safety and exuberant joy he feels when we place him between us in bed and attack him with kisses.

I love him to the moon and back, and beyond. 

2020 has been bittersweet. The arrival of our son was the climatic point in our lives, both individually and as a cohesive unit. Yet what was intended to be a celebratory time, became a trying moment. Therein lived an inescapable lesson in life: there was no light without dark, and no dark without light. Both were inextricably linked — the yin and yang of the cosmic law, and the Romeo and Juliet of our human existence. This was the dance where tragedy and romance fell in love and became forever intwined.

Shortly after the birth of our boy — the happiest time of our lives — the coronavirus pandemic began, my grandmother passed away, and we cancelled our wedding. It felt as though the universe was mocking us, and laughing at the naiveté of our all-encompassing joy. An all-time high was followed by an all-time low. Life was no longer the same, and sometimes I found myself shaking my head as if to try to wake myself up from a dream.

Hopes to take our newborn to a farmer’s market on a warm spring day to pick up fresh flowers to adorn our home, felt light years away. Instead, we were now watching the trees and birds and bees from the confines of our windows. Grieving my grandmother’s passing also became an individual experience within the confines of our walls, when what we needed was to be with family, and to hold and be held. Everything felt impossibly surreal. Possibilities felt so close yet painstakingly far — a dream within a dream.

Yesterday was our scheduled wedding day. Reminiscent, I looked at our wedding decorations and fairy lights, and there they were, nestled in the closet — coated with memories of the past. Soon after, it was 4 PM and I turned to Bruno and said, “It would’ve been the time of our ceremony, when we got married.” He began tearing up and I felt my heart twist and churn. Yet we knew that the only sane thing to do during an insane crossroads of our lives, was to simply be. To simply be present with each other — with what still is. We had our love and our strength to celebrate, and best of all, Keaton.

All was as it should be. Timing was always right in the grand scheme of life. Baby Keaton was proof — a small and cute one at that — of the synchronicity of events. He arrived at an uncertain moment in all our lives, and for good reason: he was needed. He was the uplifting joy to his grandparents’ day, and the smile that made life a little more bearable in the midst of unpredictability and darkness. He was the bearer of love and light, of strength and courage, of will and resilience.

In the end, we had our son. He was the emblem that married us, that tied us together evermore intimately and sweetly. No, life is never as it should be. We never had the chance to introduce my grandmother to her great-grandchild for the first and last time, nor have we had the chance to show him the world, nor did we ever get to walk down the aisle together hand-in-hand. But then again, yes, life is always as it should be. And every day, I thank the moon and the stars for our son, for he’s the greatest blessing in our lives.

Sweet processions

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Nostalgic summer dinners with Mom and Dad, and celebrating a surprise early birthday for Mom; roaming about the city on foot in the summer sun, with the Ottawa Race Weekend and annual community garage sale event for sweet company; returning to my happy place at Jo’s, and enjoying a maple scone at my usual spot by the window, whilst people-watching; and finally, lots and lots of flowers wherever I tread. Happiness, joy, and butterflies like childhood’s excitement and zest for life.

Suddenly, I fell in love with Ottawa — longing to stay, at least for a little longer. It took just the sight of enchanting blooms, the quiet, familial and happy atmosphere of the city, and smiling passersby roaming the streets, basking in the sun with loved ones, to make me wish I could live in my once-upon-a-time-ago city again — absence and fondness playing the Trickster.

What was important became increasingly clear. Daily inhalations and exhalations were wrapped with an unforgiving noose of ‘doings’ and ‘go-gettings’; goals had to be achieved, and a vision for the future awaited its timely fruition. Yet, time and time again, spending time with those I loved most, trumped the most wondrous of worldy possessions and milestones. Now, and only now, with love, appreciation, and gratitude.