Today Baby J turns nine months old, so he’s been out in the world for as long as he was growing inside of me. In celebration, I am finally posting his birth story. Read on if that kind of thing interests you!

Warning: it is not a cute story, but it’s also not terribly graphic or scary. I hated this birth, though technically everything went fine. There is some swearing, because I am a 35-year-old woman with a shit-ton of trauma and I am done sugarcoating things.

But first, to set the stage…

This pregnancy had been unplanned. I did not want another baby. I was not excited to have another baby.

The pregnancy was awful. I had gained almost 60lbs over the course of nine months. My hips ached. It was hard to breathe. I had a crap-ton of trauma from my last child’s infancy — I was having regular panic attacks that wiped me out emotionally.

Both my other labours (stories here and here) had happened around 39 weeks, so I expected the same this time, especially since my midwife had estimated that the baby was already about 8 lbs at my 38-week appointment. So starting around week 39, I woke up every morning expecting to go into labour that day. That week stretched to 40 weeks. My estimated due date came and went. And then another day passed, and another, and another. My midwife performed a “stretch and sweep,” which was excruciatingly painful. Nothing happened. She did another one at my next visit, and it hurt just as much. We started talking about a possible induction if labour didn’t start in the next few days.

I didn’t feel particularly passionate about having a home birth, but it was familiar to me, and I hate hospitals, and it was still the middle of a pandemic, so I decided to go for it. It’s just one day of grisly suffering, right? I’d done it twice before, I could probably do it again.

It was now a full week past my due date, but since I had expected to go into labour around 39, it felt closer to two weeks. I woke up miserable, as usual. No signs of labour in sight. I did not want to do this anymore. I was SO. DONE.

The first thing we did as a family that day was go for a walk to see if it might get labour started. We only lasted about six minutes when I had to turn back — I was huffing and puffing, everything ached, my swollen feet were jiggling with every step. 

Felix didn’t have school that day, so I spent the day waddling around the house after him, cleaning up his messes as he ate puffed rice out of his sensory table and splashed in the water fountain on the deck. Eventually my sister came to help with Felix and I made supper. By then I was completely wiped out. I went to go lie down on the couch to rest before eating because I couldn’t move anymore. I was still standing and talking to Ben when I stopped mid-sentence: water was leaking out of me and running down my leg. Oh shit. My water was breaking. 

Labour

I had a history of short labours and my midwife lived an hour away, so I called her right away just to let her know what was happening. I called my mom. I put on disposable incontinence underwear. I ate supper. Finally, I rested. I planted myself on the couch.

I was finally having regular contractions, but they were mild and painless. My sister left, and Ben brought the kids to my mom’s. I figured I was probably in early labour, and I’d be able to sleep most of the night, and in the morning either I’d go into active labour or I’d go to the hospital to be induced. I was looking forward to a good rest before I started the marathon of birth. I was SO TIRED. Ben and I both laid down on our sectional couch to see what would happen.

Around 11pm the contractions started to be painful. Ohhhhhh, shit. This was going to happen at the worst possible time, wasn’t it? I was not going to get that sleep I badly needed, was I?

After just a few regular, painful, one-minute-long/five-minute-apart contractions, I called the midwife back. We both knew this was probably going to happen soon. Ben set up and started to fill the birthing tub we’d rented.

By the time the midwife arrived around midnight, the contractions were painful enough that I had to breathe and rock through them to cope. I had just changed into my bathing suit, but I dropped my bottom where I stood so my midwife could check my cervix. I was at 7 cm.

I got into the tub. The backup midwife arrived.

UGGGHHH, the contractions hurt. I leaned my head against the tub and breathed through them loudly and ritualistically, and then tried to float in between contractions. I was already so tired. How long was this going to take? The midwives set up their stuff and then stayed out of the way, chatting quietly on the other side of the room.

The contractions got harder and stronger, and soon I couldn’t help but moan loudly through them. The moans turned into bellows. Oh GODDDDDD they hurt. Why the HELL had I opted to do this unmedicated again?? I could be on an epidural by now. My midwife noticed the shift in my sounds and said I was probably getting close. But the tub water was too cool to deliver in — we hadn’t quite figured out how to get it to the right temp quickly enough. She told me I should probably get out. That was fine, I was finding it chilly and wanted to get out. I’d been labouring hard for about an hour.

They helped me lay down on the futon and checked my cervix again… Not quite ready to push. Another cm or more to go. On their recommendation I tried sitting on the toilet — I HATED it. I stood and rocked through a few more waves — TORTURE. I laid down on my side, back on the futon, and my midwife pushed my hips together, which made it a little better. But every contraction was still agony. I ROARED through each one. I wished it would stop. I regretted every decision that had led up to this horrible moment.

Suddenly I had to puke. I said, “I’m going to throw up,” and then immediately did, onto the floor. They cleaned it up and put a garbage can there in time for me to puke some more. The vomiting took over my whole body and was almost a relief — I didn’t have to do anything, my body just did it all for me. I was covered in sweat, completely disgusting. And the excruciating contractions just kept coming and coming. I was so, so tired. 

Finally my midwife said if she manually stretched my cervix just a little more I could start pushing. I said okay. I pushed a little with the next contraction – I hated it. No. I said I couldn’t do it. It was all too much, I could not do this. Nope. 

She told me plainly that I had to.

Birth

The next 25 minutes were just absolute hell. The midwives had Ben sit behind me and prop me up; they had me hold onto the backs of my knees and push with all my strength. I cried, I wailed. I said I couldn’t do it. Then with every contraction I held my breath and PUSHED, until it was too much and I screamed in agony. Over and over and over again. I screamed “NOOOOOO!” and called out for Ben. I crushed his fingers, I begged it to stop. My whole body was going to explode. My face was going to explode. I was SCREAMING. Finally, I could feel the pressure of the baby’s head through my cervix and it was unbearable. They said I had to push HARDER even though I was already beyond capacity. So finally I just fucking did it. I PUSHED.

All of a sudden the head burst through, and soon they were slipping an entire goddamn body out through my vagina.

And suddenly there was an ENTIRE baby between my legs, and the midwives were deftly unwinding a long dark cord from around his body. I started to hyperventilate and was momentarily blinded, but then they were plopping that warm, slippery little body onto my chest. HOLY SHIT, he had The Hair!! The dark head of hair that Ben, Lydia and I had all daydreamed about. Oh my god, suddenly I was euphoric. I had somehow done it! I made it through that eternal miserable pregnancy, pushed through that hellish labour and delivery, and the beautiful baby boy of our dreams was here! He looked healthy and perfect. It was about 2:15am.

He immediately squalled. He was not happy about his circumstances. I held him and kissed him. He was exactly right. He was incredible. He cried so loudly. It was just…surreal.

While I was taking him in I had to deliver the placenta. They kept asking me to push but I felt like my muscles were all gone. After a few hard pushes I could feel it slip out — GROSS. My midwife surveyed the damage, and said I could opt out of stitches if I promised to take really good care of the area. I said yes please — I didn’t think I could manage any more pain.

The midwives left me and Ben to bond with the baby while they did the paperwork. I surveyed the scene around me and was horror-struck: it looked like a scene from a horror movie. The sheets under me were bloody and slimy. I turned my attention back to the baby on my chest. Bloody goop oozed from his mouth and nose. I wiped it up and asked Ben to take a picture. The baby clearly wanted to nurse — he was already rooting around — but I wasn’t sure if I should wait until the midwives gave the go-ahead.

At one point the midwife came to check my uterus — she unceremoniously jammed her fingers in the center of my belly and hot liquid gushed out of me. I yelled in pain and surprise. “Perfect,” she said, and went back to her paperwork.

The other midwife finally came and helped clean things up — she and Ben removed all the gross bedding and gave us clean towels and a warm blanket. Then she weighed and measured the baby: 9 lbs 4 oz, which wasn’t as big as I’d feared, but was still big. He wasn’t particularly chubby. They pointed out that he was long — almost 23”.

Finally I asked if I could start nursing because he was eager. They helped me get set up on the couch and I got him latched on. He got right to it! I realized how much I had missed that feeling.

Other stuff happened, but the memories are fuzzy…. The midwife had to stay for a certain amount of time to make sure we were well, and chatted idly for a really long time and I had zero interest in participating, but I knew it was required so I did my best to engage until she left around 4am.

FINALLY, I could rest. But first, I showered — I was absolutely repulsive, and starting to shake violently. The warm water helped. I ate a bowl of cereal, and went to sleep on the futon with my new baby snuggled next to me.

In the end, was I glad I had another home birth?

I don’t know. The pain of labour was horrific, but as Ina May says, the thing about labour pain is that unlike an injury, when it’s over, it’s over. It just disappears. It was dreadful during the four hours it was happening, but then it was just gone, never to be felt again. I did like being in my own bed that first night, taking a shower in my own bathroom and wearing my own pajamas, eating my own cereal. 

The experience didn’t feel as empowering as it had the first time, but I was like, well, I guess I feel proud of myself for doing this. Yay me! I’m kind of a badass.

I would never discourage someone from getting an epidural if they wanted one, but I was proud that I had managed to do it all by myself a third time.

Baby #3

Anyone who follows me on Instagram already knows that Baby J has been the greatest, most unexpected blessing for our family. He is an absolute ray of sunshine. I mean, he keeps me incredibly busy, and I haven’t had a moment’s rest since he was born and feel like I will never feel rested again as long as I live; but he brings us immeasurable joy.

I’m glad I didn’t have a say in whether or not he would join our family, because I would have said no, and I would have missed out on knowing one of the most delightful human beings I’ve ever known.

(I share a bit more of my feelings here).

Other than a few close friends, most people in my life don’t realize that over the last month I’ve been on a complicated, intensely emotional journey of self-discovery.

I’ve discovered that I have ADHD.

Part One: The Journey to Diagnosis

ADHD isn’t something I’d ever even contemplated before, because like most people, I understood it to be a disorder you mostly saw in hyperactive little boys. You could identify a kid with ADHD because they couldn’t sit still or focus on lessons, they had boundless energy, and they got in trouble at school all the time. They were “problem children.” That wasn’t me at all. I excelled in school, loved reading at a young age, and was an all-around model student.

Sure, in recent months I’d seem some funny ADHD memes and tweets floating around and found them weirdly relatable, but thought it must just be a coincidence. Everybody occasionally leaves a burner on and explodes their hard-boiled eggs on the stove while they take a shower, right? Having twenty hobbies and buying supplies for all of them just for most of them to sit in boxes for years was a common quirk, right? I didn’t know what these things had to do with hyperactive little boys.

It all changed when a relative happened to ask me if anyone in my family had ever been diagnosed with ADHD, because she recently had, and she knew it was hereditary. I said no, but I was intrigued, and asked her to tell me more about it. She told me about some of the struggles that led to her diagnosis: being chronically disorganized, distracted, forgetful, and losing things, to the point where it interfered with her ability to work and parent effectively. She explained how girls and women tend to go undiagnosed because they usually don’t exhibit outward hyperactivity. Until recently, many clinicians didn’t even think to consider it in female patients. She also pointed me to research that showed a link between giftedness and ADHD in children, which often made ADHD harder to spot.

This all sounded alarmingly resonant. It felt like she was describing me. I was assessed to be “gifted” as a kid, but struggled to function in just about every other aspect of life. I had spent my whole life losing and forgetting things, and failing to stay on top of everyday tasks, always feeling buried by everyday responsibilities.

The spark was lit. I need to learn more. So I dove headfirst into research. (Well, okay, it started with watching hours-worth of Tiktoks from people with ADHD describing their experiences, and me silently weeping as waves of validation washed over me. There are so many other people like me! This is an actual Thing! Over time it gave me the vocabulary to start to do actual research).

A few weeks later I called my family doctor and asked to be referred to a psychiatrist. A week after that, I was in a virtual appointment talking to a doctor about ADHD meds. (Spoiler: it’s contraindicated in pregnancy, so it’s not happening anytime soon.)

This new information is changing how I look at my entire life thus far. It explains so much about why I am the way I am, why I struggle with things the way I do.

Part Two: The Emotions

It’s been so emotional for me because it turns out that all these parts of me that I’ve always been ashamed of (I’m forgetful, disorganized, lazy, clumsy, unproductive, distracted, absent-minded…I suck at being an adult, I can’t keep a job) have a neurological explanation.

I’m not a shitty person, I’m just neurodivergent.

(Just writing out this sentence made me sob with relief.)

I have a whole new vocabulary for explaining and describing my unique struggles, and it has changed everything.

I’m not stupid, I just have executive dysfunction, which makes it hard for me to prioritize tasks, keep track of personal items, manage my time, and remember instructions.

I’m not lazy, my nervous system just doesn’t produce enough dopamine, the neurotransmitter responsible for motivation. So I struggle to work up the energy to complete everyday tasks, no matter how important I know they are. I have atypical wiring — something called an interest-based nervous system – meaning I simply cannot be motivated by ordinary rewards/consequences, or understanding cognitively why something is important. I just CAN’T make myself do something unless I encounter very specific and stimulating circumstances to trigger that release of dopamine and get me off the couch.

I’m absent-minded because I have an inconsistent attention span. I can hyperfocus if my attention is activated by a momentary sense of interest, challenge, novelty, urgency, or passion; but I’m unable to focus on everyday details that don’t trigger these responses.

I cry all the time because due to my unique wiring, I regularly experience emotional hyperarousal, another feature of ADHD.

I’m messy and forgetful because my kind of brain struggles with object permanence and working memory. So I forget that things exist the minute they’re out of view, and I can’t recall basic instructions minutes after I’ve received them.

Having this new vocabulary helps me to understand how my brain works and why I behave the way I do. It explains how I can be a star student my entire life but then struggle to perform basic everyday tasks like keeping track of personal items, creating routines for myself, and keeping my house tidy.

Why a diagnosis was so important for me

Self-compassion.

It’s easy to be disgusted with myself when I misplace something important, come to the end a day without having accomplished a damn thing, or stumble upon yet another half-finished task that got abandoned when the dopamine ran out. Now I can offer myself some compassion, reminding myself that my brain has certain barriers in place which make these things hard for me.

If you’ve followed me for a while, you probably know I consistently struggle with feeling like a garbage person because I can’t seem to accomplish half of what a normal person seems able to accomplish in the same amount of time. Going forward, hopefully I can show myself a little more kindness.

A way forward.

Now that I am starting to understand what those barriers are, I can look for tools to help me overcome them. That could mean medication, and/or it could also mean seeking out apps, strategies, and therapies that are specifically designed to support neurodivergents (or just happen to be really helpful for us).

An opportunity for loved ones to have compassion.

Of course I can’t control how other people are going to react to any new information I can provide about why I am the way I am. But I hope it might help.

The other day, in a moment of frustration, Ben accused me of “not having any motivation, not being a go-getter,” and it really hurt me. These are real sensitive spots for me. Later he apologized, understanding (because I’ve explained it) that this is due to a real deficiency in my brain, not some kind of moral failing. “I know it’s not your fault,” he said.

Community.

I’ve recently connected with a couple of friends with ADHD, and started following ADHD Tiktok, Instagram and Twitter accounts. It has been so incredibly validating to hear their experiences that are so like mine. We send each other memes and share our latest ADHD mishaps (burned food we forgot about on the stove; important paperwork we left on the counter for months) and share tools we’ve found helpful. It just feels so good to be seen by others who get me.

Fun side note:

One of the hallmarks of ADHD is hyperfixation, which is an intense, prolonged (many would call “obsessive”) fixation on a certain subject or task; and my hyperfixation over the last month has centred on everything related to ADHD. I’ve hardly been able to think about anything else for the last month.  I have filled pages of my notebooks and journals with facts and observations about myself and the disorder. I could talk for hours about all the things I’ve learned over the last few weeks about brain chemistry, neurodiversity, motivation, and attention (but I will try to spare you most of it. Unless you ask. Then I will be HAPPY to talk your ear off.)

Hey! I haven’t written anything here in forever! I’m kicking it old-school with a stream-of-consciousness blog post.

It was 2008. I was 23. I’d been married for three years, I was just wrapping up my MA in English lit, and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life.

I wanted to be a writer. I’d always wanted to be a writer.

I was also a very “on fire” Christian, and was specifically interested in being a Christian writer, like breakout star Donald Miller (Blue Like Jazz), or maybe Jonathan Acuff (Stuff Christians Like).

But how did one even begin to break into something like that? So I did what any millennial in the late aughts would do: I googled it.

I stumbled upon the CEO of Zondervan (the most prominent publisher of Christian books), who had a whole online business teaching people how to get into the Christian writing scene. He advised that if you wanted to get into the business, you absolutely needed to have a social media presence. At the time, that meant you needed a blog and a twitter account.

So I devoted myself to blogging. I dabbled with a Blogspot blog, but soon made the move to WordPress. I knew I needed a niche, so I decided to focus on the topic of Christian marriage. I thought I had a unique perspective, having married at 20 before I even finished my undergrad degree.

Over time I did manage to get a little bit of momentum. My readership grew to include people I didn’t know IRL. It was exciting.

After a couple of years I grew dissatisfied with my chosen limited topic, and eventually started a different blog exploring topics that were becoming more interesting to me: the ethics of being a follower of Jesus. I was especially interesting in such areas as caring for the earth, gentle parenting, and radical nonviolence. I was interested in how to be a good person, not just believe the right things. More than a little bit of self-righteousness crept in as I started to get involved in minimalism as a lifestyle, zero-waste living, and “natural” living. I wrote about organic cooking, sustainable shopping, and the like.

I had my first child, and I had less time to devote to my writing, but I tried to still post a few times a month.

My readership continued to grow evvvver so slowly. I was collaborating with other bloggers. I had a modest Facebook page, with a few thousand followers there. I was starting to contemplate bigger projects.

And then Felix was born. And absolutely everything fell apart.

My family, my faith, my confidence in myself and my work. The little bit of free time I’d had for creative expression was completely obliterated as all my energy turned towards keeping this fragile creature alive.

One crisis followed after another. Just as he was recovering from treatment for his life-threatening disease, his other disabilities became more obvious, demanding more and more time and attention. Therapies, assessments, appointments, mobility tools, you name it. Caring for him took over my entire life. The trauma I experienced also completely mangled my ability to create.

And since then, I’ve just…never recovered. Not after six years. I’ve never recovered my vision. Never got back into the groove of creating content.

Meanwhile, the Internet changed. Blogging all but died. Facebook changed, and the page I’d diligently built up became basically useless. Instagram increased in prominence, and I found I like the platform better, but it’s not suited to long-form writing, and I never managed to get much of a following there.

And so here I am. Still no closer to being a writer than I was 13 years ago.

And honestly? In some ways, I’m GRATEFUL.

I knew so little about how the world worked, back when I was dispensing advice. But I was so confident. I thought I knew stuff. I was healthy and thin and had read a lot, and I had a healthy, smart little girl. Surely I must know stuff? I was still in love with my husband of eight years. I cooked everything from scratch and I was killing it at minimalist and zero-waste living. I was in a position to be a guru, right?

Looking back on my smug little self, I’m so glad no one gave me a massive platform to share my tiny, limited perspective. I would be so ashamed now of everything I would have put out into the world in my twenties. It would have all been tinged with misogyny, ableism, white supremacy, homophobia/transphobia, snobbery, and ignorance. Thank goodness that never got released into the wider world.

I honestly have very little confidence in my own wisdom now. I wouldn’t dream of advising other people how to live their lives. I know nothing. In fact, I’m rather allergic to anyone giving life advice en masse. I have no faith in self-help books any more, especially if they’re written by privileged people like me.

So while a part of me (okay, a BIG part of me) still craves the validation that a real writing career would (theoretically) give me, I’m kind of glad I never got one. I did not (and probably still do not) have the wisdom to use it well.

Postscript:

Okay, in all honesty though, while everything I said above is true, I still struggle EVERY DAY with feeling like a failure in life because my writing career never took off. Many of the other bloggers my age who started out around the same time as me now have multiple books published, are hosts or regular guests of podcasts, have flourishing email newsletters, and tens of thousands of followers on social media. I have absolutely nothing to show for my early work. I still make zero dollars, which is something I joke about regularly, but actually makes me feel like garbage.

I still kinda wish I was a successful writer.

Note: I shared this on my social media the other day, and thought I’d share it on the ol’ blog as well.

Friends: I want to talk for a few minutes about politics. But not in a way I’ve heard much. I want to talk about government done right. I want to share a bit of my personal experience with the province of Ontario.

Our province has its problems, of course. Our country has its problems. I don’t want to diminish the ways our government has harmed and continues to harm certain marginalized communities. But I also want to talk about how the province of Ontario has cared for this little boy from day one.

Felix was born without a functioning immune system and with an atypical brain. Of course this was not his fault. But it means he was born incredibly vulnerable in every way possible. He was born with a body vulnerable to illness and infection, and as a disabled person, also to abuse and neglect. He was born with complex needs, and Ben and I absolutely could not have supported him through his life all on our own. Not in ten lifetimes could we have acquired all the necessary resources to care for all of his unique support needs. Thankfully, the systems in place in our province have managed to support our entire family through his first five years.

First there were the six months in the hospital, and the experimental medical treatment that gave him a functioning immune system, which came at zero cost to our family, thanks to Ontario’s health insurance plan (OHIP). We have continued to have his health monitored and supported by excellent local doctors all these years later. I have never stopped feeling awed gratitude about that.

But it didn’t stop there. When his intellectual and developmental disabilities became evident, we were immediately granted access to all the therapies he needed. When we discovered he had hearing loss, the system made it possible for us to get him hearing aids and audiology support, again at no personal cost to us. When we realized he was going to have long-term mobility issues, the system made sure he had orthotics and a wheelchair/stroller to get around. Even though he can’t walk, he can go anywhere that anyone else can go — parks, zoos, stores, forests, the beach.

We’ve seen dozens of specialists in multiple fields to make sure he has access to all the supports he needs, all paid for by the system. All his medications have been covered. And recently, we started to receive funding to employ a respite worker and housecleaner to support me as a mother, who has struggled with the added labour of caring for a medically-complex, multiply-disabled child with disordered sleep and eating.

Now he’s school-aged. The doctors and therapists taking care of him made sure he got into the necessary programs so that he got into the right classroom, where he would continue to get the support he needs. He gets picked up by an accessible bus, even though for the first few days this year he was the only kid on the bus. He’s in a wonderful classroom with caring adults who have tailor-made a curriculum just for him. He’s surrounded by other kids who love and accept him, because they’re loved and accepted, too.

I know that governments have to power to commit incredible atrocities. But they also have the power to do tremendous good. I have seen it myself.

I realize that government systems doing the right thing is not as sexy or exciting to hear about as, say, wealthy individuals volunteering to do grand acts of kindness. But I believe a strong democratic government can do infinitely more good than any individuals can, no matter their character. Vulnerable people like Felix NEED strong systems in place to protect and support them. They can’t rely on the power, wealth, or goodwill of their parents or do-gooders alone.

I used to not care that much about politics because I didn’t see what it had to do with me. I figured I could take care of myself, and others should be able to, too. But I have learned in the last five years that not everyone can take care of themselves or their own children, and no one can take care of themselves all the time, and that’s okay. Collectively, we can and should take care of each other.

We still have a long way to go in Ontario. We need to keep fighting until every vulnerable person has access to the level of care that my boy has had, regardless of age, ability, race, or sexuality. (And I hope to see humane policies spread to other countries as well. Looking at you, USA). But I have seen what we’re capable of as a community. I know what’s possible.

It’s been a fun unschooling year for us so far, and I thought I’d do a round-up of some of our favourite resources of the last season.

DragonBox Math Apps

It’s no secret that I hate math. I had some terrible early experiences with math in school, and I now believe that the way schools teach it is completely wrong and awful. I have been very cautious with how I’ve approached math with my own kid — playfully, and with no expectations.

One of my favourite resources so far have been the DragonBox games. They’re available for purchase for $5-8 each. We’ve bought them and played them on our Kindle Fire.

I find them very intuitive and they just make math come alive. Each game starts off incredibly simple, and slowly gets more challenging and complex. Interestingly, they are designed without verbal prompts — it’s all just the language of math, with some cute character symbols thrown in. Before you know it, your child is playing with advanced math concepts without even knowing it (including algebra)!

As their website explains: “The DragonBox Method . . . uses motivation-based learning techniques to give children a deeper understanding of how and why things work.”

Lydia tends to turn her nose up at any games that smell remotely educational, but she asks to play these games and can spend hours at a time at them, and I find myself magnetically drawn to them when she plays.

So far we’ve tried Numbers, Big Numbers, and Algebra5. Next up: Magnus Kingdom of Chess!

Narwhal and Jelly Books

I want to back up by saying that I am becoming increasingly convinced that graphic novels are the best tool for learning how to read. Even better than traditional picture books, good graphic novels are more distilled: they don’t waste space on distracting “he said/she said;” they break up text into manageable voice bubbles; and they give more visual clues about what the words say, granting the young reader more independence. (I don’t have to sit next to her and verify that she’s sounding out the words correctly; she can look at the graphics to self-correct.)

But I’ve had a bit of a hard time finding super-simple beginner books in this format that are interesting enough to keep my brand-new reader interested. She started with Elephant and Piggie, which are PERFECT, but I was looking for the next step. Enter Narwhal and Jelly.

The graphics are cute and the stories are short and silly. It doesn’t feel like these books are trying to teach you how to read, because they’re not. They’re just fun. Lydia has been delighted every time I’ve taken out a new book from the library, and immediately sat down to read them through on the spot.

(Do you have any suggestions for the next step? Graphic novel-ish books that are just a touch more challenging?)

Manga Shakespeare series

On the subject of graphic novels: we found some really exciting ones!

For some background: I enrolled Lydia in a once-a-week Charlotte Mason enrichment class, where she was introduced to Shakespeare via Twelfth Night. I could tell she was getting really into it, so I began to seek out materials to build on that interest.

In my search for accessible Shakespeare retellings, I came across the Manga Shakespeare series. Lydia loves the aesthetic of manga/anime, so I gave Twelfth Night a try. It has the full/original Shakespearean text, adapted to the graphic novel format.

Friends: she LOVED it. She spent hours and hours looking at the pictures and reading as much of the text as she could. (Remember: she’s eight, and currently at Narwhal-and-Jelly reading level.)

The wonder of graphic novels is that even if you don’t completely understand the text, the images help you get the gist of the story. I am now convinced that if you can’t watch actual performances of Shakespeare’s plays–which is obviously the ideal introduction to the Bard–the second best way to experience them is in the form of a graphic novel.

So I searched out Shakespeare’s other comedies in the series, and found A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and then Much Ado About Nothing. Same result: she begged me to read them aloud to her, and then spent hours upon hours going over them herself, over and over again. She even had her Barbies act out the plays!

(We also watched the 1993 Kenneth Brannah movie adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing and she adored it, and has been asking to watch it again. Guys, this is a word-for-word adaptation of the original play. WHAT.)

Thanks to this series my eight-year-old can now quote her favourite lines of Shakespeare and I am HERE for it.

Olympians graphic novels

I forget how or why I introduced Greek mythology, but Lydia was enthralled with it from the start. She really liked the illustrated D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths, and I would read the stories to her before bed.

But then I happened to come upon the Olympians graphic novel series by George O’Connor and she was ENAMOURED.

The illustrations are captivating and full of detail, with a classic superhero/comic book aesthetic, and the text is snappy and smart. They’re bursting with energy.

Just like with the Shakespeare books, she proceeded to spend hours inside these books. I took them out of the library one by one, starting with the most appealing goddesses (Athena, Aphrodite and Artemis) and then moving on to the gods, and she ate up every single one (even notoriously boring Hephaistos!) (My personal favourite was Hermes, who is hilarious and charismatic).

(Be warned that these books were created for an older audience. There is partial nudity, graphic violence, and lots of vague references to sex that went over her head. But, I mean, that’s Greek mythology for you.)

Crash Course World Mythology

While on her mythology kick, we tried a few relevant Crash Course videos on Youtube. She loved them so much we went through the whole World Mythology series, and she’s been rewatching her favourites.

I find Mike a charming and hilarious* host, and Lydia loves the Thought Bubble animations. I love that she’s being introduced to a wide array of mythologies, from Indigenous to Hindu to Norse.

*I am a huge dork and was the kind of student who always genuinely laughed at the teacher’s jokes, if that helps you discern whether you’ll like them

The Toys That Made Us

Netflix has a documentary series on the most explosively popular toys from the 70’s-90’s called The Toys That Made Us, and we’re obsessed.

My favourites so far have been on Barbie, The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, LEGO, and Transformers.

I go back and forth between awe of these creators’ genius, and disgust at the blatant commodification and commercialization of childhood. The series does not shy away from the baldly capitalist motivations of the toy corporations, and isn’t interested in nostalgia. It’s super fascinating. And for some reason Lydia loves it, too. (Yay history!)

(Again, it’s made for adult viewers, and can occasionally have some crude language. Sorry, that’s how we roll around here. My kid just isn’t generally as interested in media geared specifically to children, which can often be patronizing; and I’m comfortable with her being exposed to some more mature content, as long as I’m nearby to discuss it.)

That’s it for now! Have any suggestions for similar materials we might love?

A lot of people are talking about weighted blankets these days. They are said to ease anxiety, help you self-soothe and help you sleep better. And what’s more appealing than snuggling under a big, heavy blanket to help ease your worries? It provides deep pressure all over your body, mimicking a hug.

There seems to be some scientific evidence to support these claims of improved sleep and relaxation. And there’s definitely a lot of anecdotal evidence from people who say that weighted blankets changed their lives. Some claim that these blankets can be particularly beneficial for people with autism, sensory processing disorder, or anxiety.

And even if the science isn’t 100% there yet, well, using a weighted blanket (in addition to whatever you healthcare provider recommends) can’t hurt, right? It’s a low-risk, relatively low-cost, fairly accessible tool that has potential to help anyone struggling with negative feelings or sleeplessness.

If you struggle with any of the above issues (anxiety, sensory issues, troubled sleep), a weighted blanket is worth a shot, right?

My Story: The Hunt for the Perfect Weighted Blanket

When my autistic son was really struggling with sleep, I was anxious to try anything that might help. Naturally, I became interested in trying a weighted blanket. I did some preliminary research into different products, but ran into various problems:

1. The options were all quite expensive. A child-sized blanket was typically at least $120 USD. That felt like a lot of money to spend on something that might not do anything. What if he didn’t respond to it?
2. There weren’t any options available locally – they were all online. Which meant I couldn’t touch and feel the blankets myself before purchasing. I didn’t feel comfortable laying down money for something so intrinsically tactile when I had never been able to physically interact with it.
3. Most of the options were made from synthetic materials. They used synthetic fabrics like acrylic and polyester, and were weighted with plastic beads. This sounded both uncomfortable (I hate to sleep on and under non-breathable fabrics!) and not ideal from an environmental standpoint.
4. Most of the options were kind of ugly. Again, if I was going to put down that much money for something, I didn’t want it to be an eyesore. Most had childish patterns and/or looked like therapy tools, not bedding.

Ideally, I was looking for a relatively inexpensive product, that was made from natural, breathable materials, that was available locally, and that looked nice, too.

I came across one company that made a product which met almost all my desires: Sheltered Co, a small business in California that made gorgeous hand-crocheted blankets from deadstock (leftover) fabric (mostly stretchy cotton jersey). They bought bolts of fabric, cut them into strips, and crocheted them into densely-woven blankets that weighed 13lbs or more.

The resulting blankets were environmentally-friendly, beautiful, and breathable. They weren’t local, though. And the biggest problem? They were expensive. I’m talking $335 USD plus shipping minimum for a child-sized blanket (+$100 for an adult-sized). Yikes! We’re a single-income family, we don’t have that kind of cash to spend on things that might not work!

The moment I first saw one of their blankets, I was blown away by their simple, elegant beauty. And the moment I saw the price, I thought, “I bet I could make that.”

If you can single-crochet a giant rectangle, you can make one of these blankets.

Making my First Blanket

My journey towards crocheting my own weighted blanket had its own problems. I didn’t have access to deadstock cotton jersey fabric like the folks at Sheltered Co, for starters; and I didn’t have a way to easily cut fabric into strips if I had. So I decided my first step would be to find pre-made cotton jersey yarn (often called “t-shirt yarn”).

I spent a lot of time hunting down the right kind of yarn. I knew I wouldn’t be able to find yarn as thick as what I’d seen in those photos, but I thought I could still get some good results with a super-bulky weight. But just as with the blankets themselves, I couldn’t find a local source, so I ended up having to purchase the yarn online without being able to touch and feel it. (At least in the case of yarn, the cost was much lower than a whole blanket, so it was less of a leap of faith.)

I ended up going with Hoooked Zpagetti t-shirt yarn. It’s made from recycled jersey fabric, so it’s environmentally friendly. It’s generally made from at least 90% cotton, so it’s natural and breathable. (Because it’s made from leftover fabric, the contents vary). I got it from Lovecrafts, but a number of sites sell it. I continued to run into problems with the yarn, but I won’t get into that here — I’ll just share my tips when I tell you how you can make your own blanket.T

My first blanket was . . . okay. I tried mixing colours and discovered that when using recycled yarn, sticking with one colour is better to get a more consistent result. I also misjudged the sizing a bit, and ended up with a narrower blanket than I wanted.

I also learned that there is no attractive way to tie t-shirt yarn end together or weave them in. So for my next blanket, I would have to bust out my sewing machine and actually sew all yarn ends together, which added a step.

But gosh, it felt good to wrap around my body. And it looked pretty good, too! Even if it didn’t help my son sleep, it would make an attractive throw blanket for the family room.

I made three more blankets (one for my daughter, one for a friend, and one for my sister) before I finally felt like I’d hit on a good formula.

Testimonials

Here’s what one friend said about the one I made for her:

I use it every single day! I find it really comforting, especially when my body is feeling uncomfortable. I even feel like my sleeping has improved since I started using it as my blanket at night. Even though it’s summer, it’s still cool enough to use at night, and in winter I just double it up with my usual blanket. Plus it’s cute!

And her roommate:

[My friend] has used it more than me, but honestly I love it whenever I do use it. I find it really soothing, and because I tend to be really restless when I’m anxious, the weight is comforting and reminds me to relax. It just helps me feel more secure? Kind of like I’ve been tucked in, haha. And if I’m sitting up to read or whatever, I can double it over and lay it over my legs, which are usually the most restless part of me. We are often arguing over who gets to use it! So yeah, it gets a lot of use out of us!

I personally took my daughter’s weighted blanket with me when I got a root canal, and I found the pressure of the blanket soothing during the stressful procedure.

The Blanket: Details

These guidelines are for a child-size blanket. It will be approximately 3×4 feet in size and weigh around 6 lbs. This is generally considered a good size and weight for a child (weighted blankets are recommended to be about 10% of the person’s body weight). For an adult, you’d have to make adjustments (buy an extra ball or two of yarn and add chains/rows).

This blanket has a very open weave. You can put your fingers right through the holes. Some users like this feature, and find comfort in lacing their fingers through the holes.

It does not provide significant warmth (which is a huge advantage in a warmer season or climate). If you want warmth, you can layer it with another blanket/comforter.

Cost: a ball of Zpagetti yarn is typically around $11 USD. Five balls (what I recommend) then comes out to about $55. However, look out for sales, and check different websites for better prices. I got mine on sale once and only paid about $41 for all the yarn I needed for a blanket. If you’re buying a jumbo crochet hook for the first time, they generally run you about $5 each.

Construction:
The whole thing is made with single crochets through the front loops only. Crocheting through the front loops creates an attractive texture and also makes the blanket stretchier. (Click here if you need a refresher.)

Ready to make your own?

DIY Weighted Blanket Instructions

Important Note on the Yarn:
One thing I learned the hard way is that because most (all?) t-shirt yarn is made from leftover jersey material, every skein of yarn is different. The makers cannot guarantee an exact weight/thickness for the yarn, and the stretchyness also varies. This means I can’t give you exact instructions on what size hook to use, how many chains to start with, or how many rows it will take. I can offer general guidelines, but you will have to do a bit of experimenting to get the exact size and drape you want.

Also, even if you buy the same colour from the same place, you might get varying shades. I was disappointed once by mismatched yarn, all ordered from the same site. For this reason, if at all possible, get this yarn from a brick-and-mortar store so you can see for yourself that it all matches. Or buy directly from the manufacturer site (which is easier/cheaper to do if you’re in Europe).

You want to use a much larger hook than what the yarn manufacturer recommends, because they are expecting you to be making something sturdy (like a rug or a cushion cover), not something that drapes and hugs. A blanket is an unconventional/unexpected use for this yarn.

As I mentioned above, you will run into knots in your skein where fabric yarn ends were tied together. These do not look nice in your blanket. The best way to deal with them is to untie them and sew them together yourself. I will give a bit more detail in my instructions below. However if this is not an option for you and you’re not that picky about the look of your blanket, you can ignore them and leave them in. It wont affect the durability or function of the blanket.

Materials:

• 5 skeins of matching Hooked Zpagetti yarn (or similar extra-bulky t-shirt yarn)
• 19mm or 25mm hook, depending on thickness of yarn and personal preference
• measuring tape
• sewing machine (optional)
• thread to match yarn (optional)

Step 1: Make a test swatch.

I would recommend doing a couple of large test swatches to gauge what size hook you need to give you the look and drape you want.

(The bigger the hook, the drapey-er the blanket. As a general rule, I’d say err on the side of bigger/drapey-er. If it’s too stiff it will feel like you’re sleeping under a rug.)

To make your test swatch:
1. Chain 25 or so.
2. For the fist row, single-crochet into every stitch, working into the bottom or the top of the chain — whatever you prefer/are used to.
3. For the next few rows, single-crochet into the front loop only. Once you have about 25 rows, you can stop.

Spend some time with your test swatch to gauge if you like the look and feel of it. You might decide to start over again with a different hook size until it’s the way you like it.

Calculating Size:
When you’re happy with your swatch, count how many stitches your yarn and hook combo take to make one foot in width. You’ll want to triple that to get a blanket that’s roughly three feet wide. (Feel free to round up — better to get it a little big than too small.) In my experience, it takes roughly 50-65 stitches to make three feet.

Next, count how many rows it takes to get one foot in length. Quadruple that number to get a blanket that’s roughly four feet long. In my experience, it takes roughly 75 rows to make four feet.

Step Two: Start Your Blanket!

You’re just making a bigger version of your test swatch, using the numbers you came up with above for the full size.

I start with a chain of between 50-65 stitches.

Then I single crochet into every stitch through the front loops only.

Then you keep going until you have your desired length!

When you come to yarn knots/end in your ball (and you will), you can leave them; but it looks MUCH NICER if you undo the knot and sew the ends together with a sewing machine. With matching thread and a zigzag stitch, just overlap the ends about 1/2 inch and sew together.

To finish off, just tie a really tight double knot, and trim the yarn. It doesn’t really work to weave in the ends with t-shirt yarn.

Optional: for a more polished look, once your blanket is your desired length, you may choose to single-crochet all the way around your blanket (i.e. across the top, down one side, across the bottom, and then up the other side.) I omitted this step in three of my four blankets and liked the look without. Tie a tight knot and trim yarn.

Postscript:
You may be wondering, “What about your son? Did the blanket help him sleep??” Unfortunately, he didn’t really take to the weighted blanket. He’s really teeny-tiny (at almost five years old he weighs only 32lbs!) and has poor coordination, so a heavy blanket wasn’t the right fit for him right now. He ended up requiring prescribed medication to help him sleep through the night. But maybe he will like it when he’s a bit bigger.

Hi friends.

No, I haven’t finished my series on the crunchy community, and honestly, I don’t know if/when it will ever get done.

I’m just writing in to say that I haven’t forgotten about the blog, but I don’t know if/when I will ever continue.

Life has been hard these last four years, and has just gotten harder in the last few months.

If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last few years it’s that when things are hard, buckle up, because they’re only going to get harder.

Maybe someday things will get easier. Maybe someday I’ll be able to follow my dreams and create art and beauty and new life.

But today I just have to get through the day. And that’s probably how it’s going to go for years to come.

(To be clear, nothing dramatic has happened or changed in my life. Just all of the same — no sleep, no answers — but a little bit worse.)

If you want to know what I’m up to, I’m sometimes active on Instagram.

The other day I began my story of how I fell in love — and then out of love — with the crunchy community. I said I wanted to explore some of the dangers and pitfalls of the wellness industry.

But before I spend too much time discussing the negative sides of “crunchy living” and alternative medicine, I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge that alternative healing practices definitely have their strengths and benefits, and I totally understand their allure.

Many of us turned to alternative medicine when conventional medicine failed us.

Because the truth is, the conventional (Western) medicine model can be very disempowering for patients.

The doctor typically holds all the power: it’s their office; you go in on their time. They tell you what to do. They decide your prescription and the dose, and tell you when to come back.

They often use unfamiliar, infantilizing jargon that leaves you feeling overwhelmed and belittled. And they often shame you if you admit to googling your symptoms or trying out alternative healing practices. It can feel like they don’t want you to have any agency in your own wellness.

No matter how old, intelligent, or experienced you are, you often leave a doctor’s office feeling like a child. It’s a relationship where the doctor knows everything and you know nothing.

We often come out of a doctor’s office feeling like we weren’t heard or taken seriously. We often feel like there is nothing we can do to aid in our own healing. And we feel like our doctors don’t take into account our whole selves: we don’t feel like our spiritual and emotional selves are acknowledged.

And that’s if we can even get ourselves to step through the door. Hospitals and doctor’s offices are often cold, sterile, unwelcoming places. They tend to be crowded and busy, and we feel anonymous. Monitors beep, we stand in lines, everything smells antiseptic. Most of us will do just about anything to avoid going there in the first place.

Compare that to many holistic wellness centers, which are typically more welcoming and empowering. The floors are often carpeted and you’re encouraged to take off your shoes. There is often soothing music playing, and diffusers bubbling with calming essential oils. The lights may be dimmed and there is probably a potted succulent on the receptionist’s desk.

Your alternative healthcare provider often listens carefully as you discuss not only your source of pain, but your daily routine, your diet, your emotional responses to you suffering, and alternative remedies you’ve tried. They take you seriously when you say you’ve tried acupuncture or cutting out gluten. They typically use language you understand. They often offer a number of options and encourage you to find a dose that works for you. They might give you their email address in case you have additional questions for later.

You typically leave a wellness center feeling like a whole person who is actively participating in finding a solution.

And sometimes you don’t even have to leave the comfort of your home. The Internet offers an infinite number of ideas, suggestions, and solutions. There are millions of people out there telling you that you can take control of your own health. You just have to read the right books, eat the right food, do the right exercises, or take the right supplements.

Who wouldn’t want to go that route over the medical route if possible?

Well, unfortunately, I’ve discovered firsthand that there are some problems inherent in the alternative health model as well.

For one thing, alternative healthcare is not as well regulated, so a lot of nonsense – often dangerous — can slip in. There is often not enough accountability for peddlers of alternative medicine.

And sometimes the burden of figuring things out for yourself can become overwhelming rather than empowering.

And when alternative healing doesn’t work, you can wind up feeling like you didn’t try hard enough, or that you’re just too lazy, or any number of self-defeating things.

And it’s these problems that I want to explore a bit more in future posts.

Thanks for following along!

My crunchy journey started around 2010, when I found myself unable to get pregnant after a year of trying. I found my family doctor completely and utterly useless in the matter, so I turned to the Internet.

There, I discovered a world where toxins are everywhere, trying to sabotage our health. The Standard American Diet is leaving us sick and disordered. The medical community is keeping secrets because it profits from our lack of health.

I bought into it completely. Vibrant health (including fertility) could be achieved with knowledge, hard work, and and the right foods and exercises.

And, I mean, why wouldn’t I buy right into it? After another year of trying — this time armed with traditional foods, supplements, and nontoxic cleaners and body products — I did finally get pregnant. I gave birth (at home, of course) to a robustly healthy little girl. I fed her all the right foods (including breast milk, of course) right from the start, ensuring a healthy future for her.

It was an incredible victory.

I did all the same hard work to get pregnant a second time, two years later. This time I gave birth to a beautiful, nine-pound boy with blond hair. A miracle. My dreams had all come true. Because I had done everything right.

Until I found out that my beautiful baby had been born with a genetic, life-threatening disease, and would need every conceivable medical intervention to survive, from tube-feeding and antibiotics to genetically modifying his white blood cells. And even if we saved his life, he would probably deal with health and developmental issues for the rest of his life.

I learned something very hard in that first year with my second child: nothing can guarantee vibrant health. NOTHING.

* * *

To be honest, I still have a crunchy soul.

I still believe there is healing power in good food and nature. I still believe there is a lot of toxicity in our modern world, thanks to greed + industrialization. I still believe there are limits to what the medical community can offer, and that answers to real health and wellness may often come from outside that world. I still see incredible value in turning to more traditional ways of living for healing.

I still buy mostly organic food, I cook from scratch as much as possible, and I try to avoid pharmaceuticals unless absolutely necessary. I don’t use anything with synthetic fragrances and I avoid plastics.

But I have come to better appreciate what the scientific and medical community can offer us.

And even more importantly, I’ve come to see that there are dangers hidden within the crunchy community, too.

Three Major Problems with the Cult of Health and Wellness

Over time, I’ve noticed a few major problems that can arise from the being active in the crunchy community. These are all things I’ve experienced personally:

1. It offers a false sense of control over our health.
2. It puts unreasonable pressure on individuals to pursue unattainable health.
3. It ignores and demonizes the very real and good gifts that medicine and science have to offer.

Over the next couple of weeks,* in a short series of posts, I want to explore each of these issues separately.

These issues around being “crunchy” are things I’ve been wrestling with for the last couple of years, and I just felt it was time to try to articulate them, for myself if for no one else.

I will be very interested in hearing your experiences along the way!

*Or months, if I’m being realistic. I have drafts written already but they are a mess. And I have no idea when I’ll get another good night’s sleep.

Winter has always been hard for me.

Seasonal affective disorder runs in my family. Every winter we Friesens all turn into those sad, shriveled little plant creatures in Ursula’s garden in The Little Mermaid.

But it became doubly hard when I had a non-ambulatory child. Navigating a stroller through snow and slush is challenging on a good day; and when said kid fights every step of the bundling-up process the whole thing starts to feel completely futile. We end up spending every day indoors.

And winter became triply hard when said kid decided that sleeping at night was irrelevant.

No sunshine + no exercise + no sleep for months on end = not a good recipe for my mental health.

(The meds and respite care I was so excited about a couple of months ago both ended up not working for us so that’s a bummer.)

BUUUUT we did go on a vacation (which was a bit of a mixed bag — see below) AND we started getting a bit more sleep in these last couple of weeks so it’s not all bad!

Anyway, I’m joining Emily P Freeman to share a few of the things I learned this winter.

1. Family vacations are better with friends when you have young kids.

Last year we went to Florida for ten days to escape the miserable Canadian winter and it was wonderful. The only thing that would have made it better was friends (especially for Lydia, who got bored and lonely without anyone to play with.)

This year we decided to go again — but this time for two weeks, and with another family with young kids. And it was so great!

For one thing, when we all got hit by a violent stomach bug in the first week (EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US), it was really helpful to have another pair of adults to take care of things when one of us was puking our guts out or cleaning toddler vomit out of our hair.

There were four whole adults to take turns with dishwasher duty or to grab diapers from the grocery store, or to google the best route to the zoo. I felt it gave us all a chance to relax a little more than we would have on our own.

And it was so lovely for Lydia to have a playmate around the clock! She was so much happier with a friend.

(Also? We saved so much money! We were able to split the cost of the villa and groceries, making it a very affordable vacation.)

2. I love owning a Kindle Fire.

Our family has never owned a tablet or e-reader before this February, so I didn’t know what I was missing. (We tend to be very late adopters of technology, mostly for financial reasons.)

Anyway, we already owned two laptops and a smartphone each. What else could a tablet possibly offer, I wondered?

Turns out, a lot!

A sweet and generous Internet Friend intuited that I would enjoy having a device on which to read e-books, and decided to gift me a Kindle.

(She consulted me about other e-reader options, but we decided together that a Kindle Fire would probably be most beneficial because I rely heavily on the library and wanted to be able to borrow books using Overdrive and Hoopla. Most other e-readers, including the Kindle Paperwhite, unfortunately, aren’t compatible with those apps, at least in Canada. A Kindle Fire, I learned, is basically just a regular tablet, on which you can link to the Internet and download all sorts of apps; but you can also read e-books on it. I worried at first that it would be uncomfortable to read books off of a screen, but friends assured me they did it all the time and loved it.)

So I got the Kindle Fire. And I can’t believe what I was missing!

One of the first things I did was install Hoopla and download the Avatar: The Last Airbender graphic novels I’ve been pining over ever since we finished the TV series on Netflix. And it worked so great! And looked so beautiful on the screen! I was smitten.

I can finally borrow e-books from the library! I can take advantage of those Kindle deals I’m always seeing! I can read with one hand while holding a cranky Felix! YAY!

3. A Kindle Fire (or other tablet) is an AMAZING resource for homeschooling.

So the NEXT thing I did after tracking down the Avatar books was to download a few free educational games for Lydia to play. And wow! They’re so great! She loves them, and learned so much within the first week! I am just blown away.

As you know, we unschool, and I believe the best and most meaningful learning happens in real life (e.g. the best math learning happens when you save and spend actual money, or take measurements for an actual project, etc). It also works best when it’s self-directed. But sometimes I still wonder if Lydia could benefit from practising traditional math equations and things like that; but that is just not something she’s interested in doing.

Well, there’s an app for that! Or more like, a few dozen!

For example, Pet Bingo has Lydia doing the equivalent of six sheets of math equations to earn a “pet” that she can name and feed and play with. She’ll happily sit and do math for an hour just to find out what cute pet she’ll get. She begs to play! To do MATH EQUATIONS.

These apps are so great for assuaging any worries that she’s not learning enough “school-ish” stuff. (What if she has to take tests for higher education in the future??) And they’re fun enough that she chooses to play out of her own free will.

I feel like an hour of Khan Academy Kids on the Fire is roughly the equivalent of a day at school. Throw in an episode of Wild Kratts and some time at the park/forest/pool/ice rink/etc, and BOOM: you’ve got a pretty well-rounded education for an elementary-school-aged kid.

They’re so accessible, too: the new Fire HD 8 costs about $100 CAD (or less in the US), and I haven’t spent a dollar so far on apps. For that one-time cost you get a whole world of educational material at your fingertips.

I can’t wait to see what else we discover together!

4. Salt Matters.

I guess this was the season that people either felt really sorry for me or just really appreciated me (HA!) because I got another gift in the mail from an Internet Friend: The book Salt Fat Acid Heat by Samin Nosrat.

It’s a beautiful book jam-packed with cooking wisdom, and so far I’ve only gotten through the the part on salt. And it convinced me to splurge on some more expensive salts. (She suggests that the two things worth spending more money on are salt and olive oil).

I’d been buying Real Salt for a number of years, but recently decided I should try to save money and just buy some generic sea salt. Salt is salt, right?? But I was surprised to find I was consistently dissatisfied with the results.

Turns out, not all salt is created equal. And different salts work better for different things. The texture of the crystals has a surprising effect on how we experience the flavour. Samin explained it all to me and I suddenly understood why I wasn’t loving the salt I’d bought. (It’s fine for some things, though.)

So I bought another bag of my beloved Real Salt (Really, it’s an extra $9 every six months or so, and it’s a saltier salt so it goes further; and also some fancy fleur to sel for really special occasions.

In fact, I used the fluer de sel for finishing some edamame last week and it elevated the dish from pretty good to sublime.

Who knew salt could make such a difference?

Well, that’s about it for today!

What did you learn this winter?

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