… and bringing joy to the Neigh-borhood after a package arrives from Texas.

Technically, this is Leena’s costume, but Sonya simply had to wear it. She’s like a show pony― that went galloping around the park, jumping off stumps, and rolling through fall leaves.

I am imagination. I can see what the eyes cannot see. I can hear what the ears cannot hear. I can feel what the heart cannot feel.

— Peter Zarlenga

I recently came across this old advice column by Carolyn Hax from The Washington Post. My favorite excerpt is this bit:

When you have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to keeping them out of harm’s way; to answering their coos, cries, questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys, and supplies for even the quickest trips… to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored…

It’s needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.

It’s constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.

It’s constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends, well-meaning and otherwise. It’s resisting constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone’s long-term expense.

It’s doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything— language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy. Everything.

If you get a chance, you should read the whole column. It’s pretty funny, even though Carolyn Hax may have gone a little overboard.

I’m grateful that I have friends with and without kids. Non-parents especially add a wonderful brand of sanity and balance to my life. Thank you especially for my non-parent friends who make the extra effort to come to the three-ring circus, because you know it’s hard to get the show on the road.

{lovely dreamy night portrait by Drex— on our way home from one amazing toddler birthday party}

Sonya recently went to a “pumkim patch” with her friend Ella. Sonya picked out the large warty specimen behind the little decorative gourds. I really love her choice. There’s something very counterculture about that pumkim. In fact, I don’t think it even needs to be carved into a jack o’lantern.

While I made lunch today, Sonya and Leena collaborated on the Halloween cat craft from yesterday’s Fun Box. Leena held onto the markers until they were needed. Sonya doodled on the front and back, then liberally coated the cat with stickers. I think its name is “Tricker Cat” which is short for “Trick-or-treat Cat.”

Last October, Troy and Ivy came to Montreal and went trick-or-treating for Sonya’s First Halloween. Too bad they won’t be able to join us again this year for Leena’s First Halloween— but they thoughtfully sent a package of treats.

Sometimes Sonya’s affection as a big sister can be overwhelming. Leena loves it, though. Really.

The girls got matching headbands, a feather boa, a pack of stickers, some Halloween craft kits, and…

… PEEPS! Little marshmallow ghosts and pumpkins. Drex was a little too excited.

Seeing Daddy’s excitement, Leena tried to pry open a pack immediately. Thanks guys! I especially enjoyed the matching headbands.

YET is a word I use often these days. I recently started going to the gym again. I’m not as fit as I’d like to be YET. I’ve been writing, mostly fragments and exercises, but I haven’t had a chance to work on the rough draft of my book YET.

Disappointingly, the position at McGill that I applied for is no longer being created because of budget cuts and departmental restructuring, so I won’t be going back to work YET.

Despite all the YETS in my life, I’m growing up. With my daughters’ constant coaching, I’m learning to live in the moment— to focus on the YETS and not the IF ONLYS.

I’m being taken back in time to when I believed that I could never fail at anything if I tried really hard, that the universe would take care of me despite the occasional setback, and most importantly, that I AM important and worthy just because of my existence on this earth.

My mom sent a package over a month ago, hoping it would arrive in time for Durga Puja, an autumn Bengali festival honoring Durga, a fierce and powerful Hindu goddess. She has eighteen arms and rides a tiger.

Don’t know who she is? The Sanskrit root of her name (the Dur- in Durga) give us English words like durable and endurance. Durga is tough, invincible, and very very ancient. There are a lot of stories written about her, but I don’t know them.

Like Christmas, you get presents. And you’re supposed to wear new clothes. So better late than never! Thanks Dida!

Two different college friends (who now live on opposite coasts) e-mailed me today. They both commented on a photo of Leena from yesterday’s post with exactly the same observation— the picture reminded them of Girl with a Pearl Earring, the masterwork by Dutch painter Johannes Vermeer.

Obviously, I was struck by the bizarre coincidence, and it made me wonder whether or not there actually was a powerful similarity?

October keeps catching me by surprise. The cold weather comes and stays. Then I’ve got to excavate the fall and winter clothes from storage and pull out my favorite autumn recipes. I flip the page on the wall calendar and start thinking about Halloween costumes, pumpkin carving, booking holiday travel, and buying a new snowsuit for Sonya.

Since moving to Canada, I discovered Thanksgiving sneaks into the middle of October, a month earlier than in the States. Just like last year, this year I wish I had more time to prepare. I feel very rushed into Thanksgiving.

However, I think it’s a really important holiday, and we’ll celebrate it twice each year! Why not? Thanksgiving provides a chance to be together as a family— to be grateful for each other in our home and reflect on all the wonderful people and opportunities in our life.

I remember a cheesy saying from my childhood: “Gratitude is an attitude.” My daughters are watching me. They see how I handle different situations and how I speak about and interact with others.

Do I complain about life? Do I pause to appreciate the things and people around me? Do I take time to express my thanks on a regular basis? In other words, do I surround my children with the language of gratitude?

I could certainly do a better job.

The way I explained gratitude to Sonya is— you say thank you when someone or something makes you feel happy. When we feel and show gratitude, we feel happy. If we thank someone, it makes that person feel happy, too.

“I’m thankful for all the time we spend together, Sonya,” I told her. “I’m thankful for you and Leena and Daddy— that we’re all part of the same family. What makes you feel happy, Sonya?” I asked.

“Apple juice!” she responded immediately.

As a Thanksgiving craft, we cut leaf shapes out of paper and hung them from a branch as a table centerpiece. On each leaf, I wrote down something that makes Sonya feel thankful. Like apple juice. And people. And Flynn Rider (the Disney character she wants to be for Halloween).

Happy Thanksgiving! I’m tremendously grateful you’ve come to visit me in this space. I draw a surprising amount of happiness and fulfillment from this blog, and I appreciate your sharing our daily adventures, and offering your warmth, humor, and insights with me. I feel like we’re on this journey of life together, and that we’re not alone, you know?

We found some capsules Uncle Justin and Auntie Melissa sent. You put them in water, and (surprise!) they turn into little sponges. I thought it might be fun for Sonya to paint while I cleaned the kitchen (which, yes, is like shoveling in a snowstorm).

She painted a blue road.

I wonder where it leads? She wouldn’t tell me.

Sometimes I feel like a little sponge car hatched from a capsule. I’m being steered down a blue and uncertain road by some very small fingers. Where? Where am I going? 

As each day passes, I feel more certain that leaving my career in medicine for my adventure as a mom and a writer will eventually prove to be one of the best decisions I could have made with my life.

The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.

— Steve Jobs

I had one of the best moments at the playground today— an older woman with a boy who had just learned how to walk (I’ll assume she’s his grandmother) started talking to Flynn Rider.

“Tu t’appelles comment, toi?” she asked.

“Germ apple Fin Rider,” Sonya replied in Sonya French. I explained who Flynn Rider was.

“Quel âge as-tu, Flynn Rider?”

“Two years!” she said, triumphantly holding up two fingers on the same hand (a new skill).

The woman turned her attention to Leena, strapped to the front of me in a baby carrier.

“Is sister Leena Leena,” Sonya said.

“And who’s this?” the woman asked, pointing at me.

“Mommy name Mi-tah-lee,” Sonya said slowly, the way I say my name to people.

“Mitali?”

“Oui, exacte,” I said, nodding. (Of note: in Québec, French and English are fluid. Some things are said in one language, some in another. There’s a lot of back and forth).

“Mommy apple Mitali,” Sonya repeated, trying out some more French (Mommy s’appelle Mitali). “Mommy cry sad a pay peer.”

“Why Mommy crying? You make Mommy crying?” the older lady asked in an older lady scolding voice.

“What, Sonya?” I asked. “Can you say it again?”

“Mommy cry sad a pay peer.”

“Sonya, are you talking in French?”

“We yes, Mommy,” she answered. (Oui yes).

“Can you tell me in English?”

“Mommy write paper.”

Mommy cry sad a pay peer. Mommy écrit sur du papier.

“Mommy write stories,” Sonya added for clarity.

Her world is so simple. She puts on a blue vest and boots and she’s Flynn Rider. Why can’t I believe in myself the same way?

I pretended to brush some sand out of my eyes. It might be strangely appropriate that the words cry and écrit (she writes) sound the same when Sonya says them.

{This recipe} Eight apples, peeled, cored, and coarsely diced into chunks and tossed in a tablespoon of lemon juice to keep from browning.

Put into a large pot with a half cup of sugar (a little less for Leena’s batch) and a cinnamon stick.

Along with a cup of nice apple cider. Don’t worry, moms— the alcohol boils off.

Twenty minutes later, I left the sauce fairly unmashed, so there’d be interesting textures.

We tried the first batch, warm and fresh off the stove, before making another one. The apple sauce was fabulous.

“Try it Leena Leena,” Sonya said. “Good apple sauce, Leena Leena.”

“I think Leena Leena needs a bib,” I said.

We made a second batch so we’ll be able to enjoy this as a snack all through the week. 10 cups of tasty tasty homemade applesauce.

Sonya wanted to add a little flair to the photography.

“Moose climbing tower. Oh no! Here comes fish. Hi, Moose!” Sonya said.

Yup, she’s becoming very good at stringing together sentences and expressing ideas. Very exciting.

The other minor accomplishment of the day includes organizing my kitchen measures while the apple sauce was cooking on the stove. (I used these hooks). Then I practiced opening and closing the cupboard quickly to see if I could send a teaspoon flying. Nope. They stay put. Excellent.

Ah, life’s simple pleasures. In the summer heat, I didn’t want to be near the stove. Now that the days are colder, it feels good to be in the kitchen with a pot simmering. Just hanging out. The Ruths Girls. Waiting for Daddy to come home tomorrow.