Welcome Autumn! No - wait - don't go yet - wait! WAIT UP!

I don’t know if it’s a farmer thing, a country thing, or just one of his lovely little quirks, but around the first week of July, my husband looks out the window with a mournful sigh and says, “Well, Kimmy, summer’s almost over.”
We were zooming down a concession road the first time I heard my husband say this. It was a glorious sunny day; the wheat was yellow, the sky was blue, the trees were green. I looked at him suspiciously. “Are you nuts? Summer’s barely begun!”
Another big sigh from my man. “Look at that field over there.” I looked. The wheat rippled under the unseen hand of the wind. “When the wheat begins to turn gold, that’s how you know summer’s almost over.”

At the time, I thought my husband was pulling my city girl leg, so I rolled my eyes and ignored him. But after hearing this doleful mantra every July for the past five years, I’ve come to accept the fact that the seasons really do change a little differently up here in the country.

I looked out the window the other day and realized with some surprise that not only was it autumn, but that autumn was already making way for the bluster of winter. When the heck did that happen?

Our newest addition, six-week-old Dylan, has a penchant for 3am partying. This has taken a toll on my ability to notice the world around me, let alone what's going on in the next room. I haven't taken in my solar lamps, dug up my garden or planted my bulbs; in fact, there aren't any leaves left on most of the trees and I don't even recall seeing them fall off. I feel a bit disappointed, because watching the seasons change is one of my favourite parts of living in the country.
During the ten years that I lived there, autumn announced its arrival in Waterloo by turning the giant sugar maple in my backyard a ravishing shade of scarlet. City gardens, once resplendent with their displays of frilly annuals, started to wither, and elaborate leafy wreaths began appearing on doorsteps. Even if I’d missed all these signs, getting stuck behind big yellow school buses on my way home from work was a dead giveaway that the season was changing.

Of course, trees turn colour and school buses zip by in the country, too. But somehow, up here there seem to be even more poignant signals that autumn has arrived. The lake loses its serene turquoise hue and becomes a fitful sapphire blue. Robins gobble every last orange berry off my ash tree, leaving it stark naked. Poplar trees shiver and show the bright white backsides of their leaves when chilly breezes tickle them. Squirrels from over the hill risk suicide to scamper across the road and steal corn, black walnuts and chestnuts from our place. And ads for fall fairs and country bazaars start popping up in the newspapers and on grocery store bulletin boards.

The arrival of cooler weather is always a relief to me, no matter where I'm living. This year I’m even more thankful to finally notice autumn has descended upon the Bruce after the unbearably hot summer I suffered through, heavily pregnant and busy chasing an exuberant sixteen month old. And with the return of cooler weather, I've experienced a renewed urge to cook slow, hot meals: borscht, chicken chili, tuscan bean and bacon stew, carrot and potato soup. There's something so cosy about chopping vegetables and concocting something steamy while looking out the kitchen window on a stark fall landscape. And it's immensely satisfying to hear my husband, that lover of summer and barbecues and hot weather, say "Kimmy, you make the best soup I've ever tasted." (That's right people: even better than his mother's! There is no higher cooking compliment, in my book.)

My bulbs may not get planted this year, and my garden gnomes and lanterns will likely taste a hint of frost before I find the time to safely stow them away in the garage, but Jade and I managed to get our pumpkins and 'mums in place just in time for Hallowe'en. And we've got a few more weeks to breathe in the crisp, leaf-scented air on our walks before winter knocks on our door with a frosty hand.
Summer might be over more quickly in the country, but the advantage is that I feel as though autumn envelops me completely. At Someday, I’m surrounded by the season instead of simply observing it through my windows. Well, I’m sure I’ll feel that way again next year when life isn’t a happy blur of nursing and diapers.

Welcome James Dylan Edward Lowry!

Well, I guess the poor wee man really was feeling squished and cramped in mum's belly, because my water broke at 12:30am on Sept 19th - a few days shy of my planned C-section on the 22nd. You can imagine the look on our faces. And then...the contractions began. EEEEK!

After a quick check up with my doc at Kincardine hospital, D raced us - and I mean RACED us - to Grand River Hospital in K-W (setting a brilliant new speed record from Kink-KW of 63 minutes - go D!). My labour had progressed significantly, but luckily we had a crafty nurse in our corner and got to go ahead with the C-section as planned.

The marvellous Dr. Anstett delivered our boy at 4:19am on Sept 19th. Dylan weighed 7lbs 2oz and was 20 inches long. He came out sporting furry little shoulders, long monkey toes, a black eye, bruises on his head, a cauliflower ear and a squashed nose. No wonder it felt like I had a kick-boxer inside me this past month. He's gonna be a fighter, folks!

Apart from his various beauty marks, a 12 hour session under "the lights" to combat jaundice, and being called the "no-name baby" by the nurses for 3 days, our Little Fellow was in excellent form by the time we packed up to go home on Wednesday.

It took us a while to pick a name...but we both kind of thought we were having another girl! We finally decided on James after D's father and brother, Dylan because it means "son of the wave" (we do live near the lake, after all), and Edward after my Dad and D's great-grandfather.

D has this week off which is wonderful, as my recovery from surgery has been a a bit trying, especially with crazy Jady Lady bouncing around. She seems to like her brother so far and has added yet another word to her ever-growing repertoire: "Bayyyyybeeee!"

Thanks to my bloggy friends for your support and kindness during my pregnancy and all your well wishes for Dylan. Now the tough part begins - sleepless nights and breastfeeding blues - along with the blissful moments of baby love, floppy cuddly afernoons and all the "firsts." Wee D smiled on his second day in the world, so I think he's destined to be a happy little fellow.

A day of simple pleasures

Ahhhh, Saturday. Misty, rainy, lazy Saturday. And my last lazy Saturday for a while, methinks, considering baby Lowry version 2.0 is due on Wednesday. Yowzah!

So I took advantage of a day with no real schedule and did a whole lot of nothing. Jade slept in until 8am - usually she's a 7-7:30am kind of girl - so we had a leisurely breakfast while Daddy got a rare chance to snooze.

Then I left Jady with Daddy and headed off for a massage. I can't say enough about the rub-down arts; I recommend massage to anyone and everyone. Even if you don't think you have aches and pains or knots and tight spots, trust me: a good massage therapist will find 'em and fix 'em. I felt like a new woman after my session today.

After my rub-down, I meandered over to the farmer's market that pops up with ten or twelve stalls every saturday by the pavilion. It's nothing like the St. Jacob's market I used to frequent in my Waterloo days, a sprawling venture that's become more commercial every year. The Kink farmer's market is more like a little community that mushrooms up every week. It's a great place to buy locally grown veggies, not to mention baked goods and seasonal stuff. For example, today I loaded up on decorative gourds - 5 for a buck, way cheaper than the grocery store's offerings - late-season raspberries, green beans, perfect little red peppers and the most gorgeous, heavy, sweet Mennonite doughnuts...all while sipping an organic coffee from a real china cup. The Ark's stall encourages you to buy a cup of their delicious coffee and enjoy it while you shop, provided you return their cup before you leave.

I devoured my doughnut in the car, then headed back to Someday for lunch with D and Jade. (Yes, I saved a doughnut for D.) I made a simple pasta with the peppers and heirloom tomatoes I'd bought at market, along with some garlic-flavoured olive oil, onion, feta and olives. We ate it together and after lunch, D took turns feeding Jade and I the last of our Kawartha Dairies vanilla ice cream. No more until next summer!

D walked Jade up to Grandma's for the afternoon, which afforded me the chance to have a luxurious nap. I fell asleep listening to the rain trickle off the maple trees outside our bedroom window and woke up just in time to meet everyone at Grandma Lowry's for supper. On our way home, Jade and I drove down to the shore to revel in the peach-and-melon coloured sunset.

Really, a day of simple pleasures often beats a day of excitement. Especially when it contains Mennonite doughnuts!

Seasons change and so do I...

What song is that lyric from? Darned if I can remember. But that's my MO lately - absent-minded as the proverbial professor. And let's not forget clumsy and awkward while we're searching for deprecating adjectives. Yes folks, these days, I'm a real treat!

As the summer draws to a close, so do my days as a pregnant woman. We've decided that this will be our last baby, so I'm trying hard to make the most of the time I have left as a swollen-bellied waddler. I'm savouring every bump n' grind going on inside my stomach, gazing affectionatly at my inflated reflection in the mirror when I brush my teeth and enjoying my cute maternity dresses while I can. I'm trying to stay positive, put my feet up whenever possible, think me some pretty pink and blue thoughts and above all, not freak out.

Which has been a challenge, because it seems as though the moment the summer threw off its sweltering cloak of heat and humidity to reveal a moody, cloud-curdled fall sky, my pregnancy also swung itself into a distinct change. Baby has crept downward in the last week or so, and baby's latest hobby is repeatedly head-butting my pelvic region like s/he's trying to batter his/her way out. My legs have begun cramping with such fierce intensity that massage and stretching don't even help any more. I could care less about ice cream and freezies; even Coke won't whet my appetite. To top it off, I'm prone to fits of weeping for absolutely no reason while Jade watches me with a look of puzzlement. Good grief!

I keep reminding myself I only have a few weeks to go and that most of what's ahead is beyond my control. I have to trust to the goodness of the universe, the medical profession, the care of my family and friends and to my husband's steadfast love that things will be okay, no matter what happens on (or before! GAH!) September 22nd. Fingers, toes and legs crossed...

Five Things - from a preggo point of view

I know how darned lucky I am to be pregnant and relatively healthy, so far be it from me to moan and complain too much. There are so many folks who would kill to be in my situation, regardless of the sometimes unpleasant parts of pregnancy.

That being said, I feel compelled to say the following:

Five things I will deeply miss about being pregnant
1. The squirmy, kicky, hiccuppy feelings of new life swirling around in my belly.
2. How nice complete strangers are to me. Last week a guy helped me load my groceries into my car; this week two ladies stopped to tell me all about their pregnancies and how they had their kids really close together too.
3. Having boobs.(Seriously! A-cup girls will understand.)
4. The delicious, almost surreal quality sleep takes on...for the first 7 months, anyway. Sleep becomes as pleasurable and tangible as eating your favourite food.
5. Talking and singing to the little being inside me.

Five things I will be happy never to have to experience again
1. The bizarre "restless leg" syndrome that strikes every night around 3am. I feel strong urges to kick something - the bed, the covers, my husband - and I have to roll out of bed and do stretches to alleviate the weirdness.
2. Uterine cramps. Bloody hell, do they hurt! It's like baby has a little penknife and enjoys occasionally jabbing it into my abdomen. MD says I "have an educated uterus" and it's simply stretching and preparing for labour, no matter how many times I've told it we're having a C-section.
3. People who enjoy saying things like, "My God, you're huge!" or "Huh, you guys didn't wait long to get at 'er again."
4. Not being able to put cream or polish on my toes. Or pick up anything I drop. Or bend over to smell my roses.
5. The endless nightly marches to the bathroom. It's so unfair that pregnant women have the thirst of camels without the helpful storage humps.

But you know what? It's all good. Honest.

So yeah, we've got less than a month to go and no names yet. Gah! September 22nd is looming large and I am counting my blessings since I can't count my toes anymore. (0:

Sorry for the long absence from bloggy land folks. Hope all is well with y'all out in cyberspace.

Bittersweet

Last week, D was doing chores and Jady was asleep. It was still and quiet in the house and I felt lonely. So I snuck upstairs, tiptoed over to Jade's crib and did something I never do: I eased her out, tucked her into my arms, crept over to my bed and cuddled with her for an hour.

She barely stirred - thankfully she's a sound sleeper! - and it was so good to feel her warmth, her heartbeat against my breast again. She's been weaned since May, and while I don't miss the middle-of-the-night feedings, I do miss the easy intimacy nursing afforded us.

Jade is a busy girl. The only time she's content to sit in my lap without wriggling around like a fish out of water is when she's tired (or asleep!). And then I'm in Mummy heaven. Her downy blonde head smells like honey; her chubby toes curl and uncurl when I stroke them with my finger. She still sucks two fingers and sometimes she looks up at me with an undescribable expression her sapphire eyes. And to think that ten years ago, I was convinced I didn't want children...

Lying in bed with Jade the other night, I was struck to my core with a strange blend of deep joy and profound grief. I couldn't help but think of how my other two lost little ones should be there with us, cuddled in my arms with as much right to be there as Jade. So I allowed myself the luxury of closing my eyes and imagining their presence - what their scent, their warmth, their own personalities might have been like. I think those few minutes of fantasy defined the term bittersweet for me; I'm learning that so much in motherhood is exactly that.

Sanford & Son at Someday

When my older sis was here visiting at Christmas, I proudly showed her around the farm, as she'd only seen it through Facebook photos. She ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the house, the apple orchard, the proximity to both beach and river. She loved the hayloft and the old horse stalls in the barn. But when I took her to the shop, she started laughing.

"What?" I said, puzzled. "I know, it's a mess."

"It's not that," she said, still giggling. It was only when she started singing the theme song to Sandford & Son and doing her unique chicken-wing dance around the boat, motorbike, snow blower and tractor that I got it.

Sandford & Son, for those of you too young or too cultured to have ever seen it, was a show about a crusty old junk dealer who lived in a ramshackle, cluttered shop so full of "treasures" that people could hardly walk around without knocking something over. Ahem.

It seems that the more room one has, the more stuff one accumulates. After watching my sister's performance in our shop last winter, I've come to realize that the barns, garages and closets of Someday Farm are no exception. To put it bluntly, we have a lot of crap.

When I lived in the city, my house was often described by other people as "charming." When someone says this about your house, what they're really saying is that it's small and old. Charming houses have unlit, cramped closets, and cupboards too deep and too high to be used properly. Charming houses have teeny little vestibules with doll-sized spaces that laugh at your attempts to hang bulky winter gear or store your vacuum cleaner. Their garages are barely wide enough for one car, let alone bikes, sleds, lawn mowers, etc. And the backyard sheds are mostly decorative, seeing as how entering them means risking severe head injuries.

So on our first offical walk-through of Someday - before it was ours - I was delighted by the car garage, shop and two barns. I'd finally have room for my gardening implements, my skis and my BBQ! And I was over the moon about the 12 cupboards, pantry and various handy drawers in the kitchen. But the bedroom closets were horrific: a single door opened onto a long, dark hallway with a few shelves and no place to hang clothes! How did the poor previous owners LIVE?

A few discussions with our renovator gave me the closets of my dreams: double doors, excellent light, lots and lots of room to hang stuff. I was in closet heaven. We had oodles of space. In fact, we had so much space that we'd never use it all. Or so I thought.

As slow as a rising tide, my magical roomy closets began to fill up: my sister stored a few of her outfits while she went to Russia; comforters and blankets began to accumulate; and then came the mountains of baby clothes. One day I suffered a severe case of deja vu as I attempted to stuff a box into an overflowing closet. It was my house in Waterloo all over again. I'd been blaming the size of my old house for my space issues, but really, it was ME and my squirrel-like accumulation issues.

My husband is no different; his shop is piled high with a jumble of tools, errant farm equipment, defunct snowmobiles and lawn tractors. Our garage is packed full of strollers, wagons and other baby mobility equipment, offset by paint cans, snow shoes, and apple tree bug spray. It's a wild mix.

But I don't consider all our accumulations junk, no matter how many times my sister sings the Sandford & Son song to me. I don't think we've entered "hoarder" territory (yet); everything we have, we use (except for the snowmobile). When I look around at all the stuff, I swell up with a feeling of thankfulness. We have space, and we have stuff. How lucky are we?