Mornings.
We wake around 8:00 a.m. All of us late in waking because bedtimes are pushed back too late, or stirrings in the nights interrupt our much-needed sleep. Gabriel stands in his crib and begins cooing, and chatting to his older siblings. Usually his one-way conversation is punctuated with sharp "no's", just because he can. The older two are wakened fully by his jabbering and make their way to our bed where, once Gabriel, too, is gathered up into bed, they all remain for another 40 minutes or so. I love this part of the day, and will be sad to see it go once Caelah has to be up and off to school. My three kids just smother me with affection. They mill about on the bed burrowing themselves into my neck and my arms. They compete, good-naturedly over the best spot, which happens to be directly on top of me. And I keep a mental tab on the baby within me, making sure there is no damage being done by knees and elbows.
Hesitantly, I eventually extract myself from my pile of cuddlers and set about getting something into their bellies. Our food, at the moment, is piled haphazardly into a storage shelf up here in the loft, while the rest is down in the fridge at the bottom of the stairs. I despise making the trip down those stairs in the morning. If I only stay up here where the floor is new and shiny and everything is cozy, I can forget that below is a dirty, dusty, bug-filled den of chaos filled with tottering piles of things I care about which are likely being invaded my spiders and centipedes. Often, I have managed to convince one of the kids to run the noble milk-fetching errand, showering them with high praise when they return. But the novelty of this will not last long I'm sure. We eat. Aidan, by now, at his desk a few feet away beginning his work for the day. And I muse about the many ways to fill up our own day.
Daytime.
Much exploration has been done this past month. My motivation for being off this property is strong. First, I feel helpless here. Second, Aidan needs to be able to hear himself think. Third, there is only sand on offer, and it has only been good for filling my children's noses, ears, diapers and eventually their bedding. This, I would rather do without.
Discoveries I have made while exploring:
*Arnprior beach. A beautiful beach off the Ottawa river in Arnprior. There isn't enough shade, and the shore line is very pebbled, but the sound of waves and the smell of water are things that were hard to come by in downtown Ottawa, and being a water-baby, I find it incredibly appealing and plan on getting my fill. Plus, it keeps this kids busy for hours.
*Bonnechere bakery. Everyone should have access to a good bakery because sometimes fresh bread and warm croissants taste better made by someone else. This particlar bakery is not a five out of five, but it's the nicest one I have found around here so far. It is beautiful, first of all, with exposed brick everywhere, and warm coloured accents. The baked goods are expensive but tasty. And the lunch items I have sampled are respectable. Most important, perhaps, the bread is excellent. But why don't they have an espresso machine? Why does this town not appreciate a good cappuccino? I met a woman at the beach the other day who summed it up for me; "We're just Timmy's kind'a people."
*Morris Island Conservation Area. I actually hesitated before adding this one, because when I happened upon it, it felt like a secret place just for me. Ridiculous, I know, but I have already begun to emotionally take possession of it. It will be one of those places I begin to think of as Mine. I first saw alluring signs for it along Galetta side road, without understanding what they indicated. The sign showed a symbol composed of water and trees cupped within a 'C'. It's obvious now that this is the standardized symbol for a conservation area, but to me it just looked the kind of sign I wanted to follow. So I did. And I was not disappointed. The 5 Km road spat me out at a place on the river that is so broad it looks like a lake. A beautiful treed picnic area awaited as did a map showing a series of trails that weave across two or three little islands. I got so excited. Hiking! Swimming! Cross-country skiing! Now I just need to find someone who shares my enthusiasm.
*Pakenham beach. A tiny secluded beach area off of the Mississippi river that is perfect for killing time. The river flows by lazily. The far bank thick with trees and only a stones throw away. Here we have shade, and a less intimidating expanse of water for the kids. Although, it is not hedged in by bouy lines, and rarely supervised, so this is up for debate. I like it because it's quiet. Very few kids come here at a time, so mine can take over the place. I can see it being a good place to wind down crazy kids at the end of a summer day.
*Almonte. I know. It's not like the town itself was a big discovery. It's just that I didn't know how easy it was to get to from here. So, I plan to make it my hub. They, at least, know the value of espresso. And it's just a nicer town than the Prior.
*Carp Library. If ever there was a library that fit my ideal, this would be it. It is full of light, clean and friendly, and completely devoted to children. Half of it is designated to little people, with bean bag chairs and puzzle tables and a drawing center. I love it there. And I have tested the patience of the librarians with three loud, smelly, and havoc-wreaking children, and they have been shown to surpass expectations. No hint of annoyance could I detect.
So, daytimes have been pleasant here. More so than I had expected. And I imagine this will only increase as I grow to know the area and people better with time.
Evenings.
Evenings are a bit less varied, and much less fun. We have yet to be able to bathe our children with any normalcy here. There has been one attempt in the kitchen sink. And another attempt in the bath upstairs the old fashioned way; boil twenty kettles of water and hope it gets warm enough for them to bare. Note: It never does. So, there have been shuttle runs into the city for baths and showers.
Also, all three kids are sleeping in an 8x8 space, forcing us to put them down for bed at the same time. This is a lenthy affair. Gabriel is truly ready, and tries to settle while the other two chat and giggle, or fuss and fight, their way to sleep. It takes an hour from start to finish.
As for social time. Ha! We can't have people here easily, because kids are sleeping, and neither of us can leave. Aidan, because he always has work to do. And me, because someone needs to supervise children while Aidan gets that work done. This is one of the hardest aspects of life here for me. I just want people time. I'll either get creative in seeking it out, or I will learn to be content with only my man and little people as company. And they are good company, just very familiar company, you know?
Nightime.
Nightime fills me with dread. If not for my God who miraculously upholds my body and keeps my mind intact, I would have gone crazy a few weeks back already. I have never before experienced allergies like those I am experiencing now. During the day, I suffer explosively messy sneezes and mild itchiness, but at night. . . I can usually fall asleep, but sometime in the night I awaken to a head so stuffed that I can't hear or see or breathe. And I am so itchy I just have to rub. And the moment I do, I begin to sneeze. Not once, but anywhere from 6 to twelve times, trying to contain it with rolls of toilet paper. And when than subsides I can then focus on the rawness of my throat. It aches and itches. And if I start to cough, I will not be able to stop. These sessions of misery last for two hours at a time.
Add to this equation crickets. Even now I can hear one of those evil critters chirping like an alarm clock with as much infuriating regularity as a dripping tap. And there's nothing that can be done about it. (Except squishing them, of course, but 1:00 a.m. is hardly prime cricket-squishing time.)
Finally, Gabriel troubles. Of all the times for him to begin testing his boundaries, he has chosen now. We made the grievous error a week ago of letting him into our bed one night. He had begun to fuss, and we didn't want him to wake the others. But the kid learns fast. The last few nights he has begun to howl, not for any other reason than to get himself back into our bed. He howls and howls. We check his diaper, give him water, check that he isn't feverish and yet he howls. Our strategy with all of the children, to the horror of some of you, is to let them cry at this point. We know our kids. We know that God, in His divine wisdom, has given us stubborn children, each and every one. So Aidan and I snuggle together in our bed, tense and alert, and together we stand against the noise, which sounds so much louder at night. Even the crickets can't compete. Last night's record was two hours. And folks, we know the kid is genuinely putting it on when we call out; "Gabriel lie down and sleep," and we hear him throw himself down on his bed and holler "No! No! No!" I can ever hear him jabbing a finger at us in the dark. Accusing.
Sleep. Blessed sleep.
And so go our days here in Kinburnia. All are welcome to interrupt with a visit at any point, and to infuse our life here with even more variety and colour.
