It’s not the hours I’ve put in to diaper changing in these early years, nor the co-sleeping positions I compromised my sleep over.

I wasn’t given this role for the temperament I’m gifted with. (Though I know I can summon up a little Calm Parenting a la Carol Nasr when I put my best foot forward.)

Motherhood is a volunteer job.

The proverbial gig takes one giant requirement: Yourself.

Please learn to nurture yourself.  Volunteering cannot rely on the faint of heart.

Rule number one is show up ready to give.  When, where and how long aren’t specified.  At first what to give may seem trivial.  There are cues for that.  Luckily you’ve been equipped to learn a few.

This mothering to young children stage isn’t all fun and games. There is plenty of fun and a great number of games.  However, I choose to show up daily, hourly, and, currently, every split second or thereabouts after with or without red light- green light.  Earning a badge on a Brownies’ vest and making a pledge would be so easy.

Rule number two is hang in there!  I’ll be the first to admit I’ve failed miserably on past occasions and hope to pad the grade at some point for the years ahead.  I’ve spent a fair share of blood, sweat, tears (and dollars) on the job (and God knows you need not have a biological child to contribute to this part).  This volunteer position takes heart and hugs.  A lot of hugs. Thankfully those are free.

In 7 years of Mother’s Days I’ve bragged on this hard work without shame.  Let them adorn you with flowers and cards, trinkets and gifts, hugs and kisses. I hope it fuels you.

The rewards are beyond your wildest imagination (generally speaking if you aren’t already a mother, it’s another mindset’s wildest imagination). Mind you, the pride of being called mother may be worn like an immunity necklace on Survivor. You should consider the same with the preschool craft jewelry you are gifted come Mother’s Day.  Trust me, it tends to get better in years.  You’ll love it all regardless of talent anyway.

Rule number three is find rest.  At the end of a day, love beams inside of me irregardless of the fuel tank reading.  Even if bedtime has been a disaster, the sweet tiny human beings at rest assure me my involvement has made an impact.    A truly divine unconditional love resonates from the least of all likely sources- a volunteer responsibility chosen to take on. It’s always a count your many blessings type of moment. You are blessed to be chosen for this title.

This is a position I’ll never outgrow and a badge that will not fall off.

Though I’m curious about the road ahead as many share the triumphs, the trials and the hormones, I take it day by day. “There will be a day when you are not needed near as much,” I’m told.

It’s nurturing, this mother title.  If you’ve got the gig, take a big deep breath and exhale.  Without ego I’m pretty impressed to reflect on my efforts. Chances are you’re doing just fine as well.

Remember to choose to show up and give tomorrow.  It’s what counts the very most.

Happy Mother’s Day.

One of my Nurtured moments of late.

There’s been a small lock of hair tucked into Sweet Potato’s baby book for a year now.

Each haircut [the fourth!] reminds me how much he’s changed and grown.  Outward appearances have etched away shadows of great change and growth.  Physical movement requires little concentration.  A cry accompanies a mastered pout; a shriek, a roar, a laugh have their own practiced look.

I traded in the locks to see his face transform into the toddler he’s become. The pictures remain like the folded onesies and sleepers of the baby stage he’s growing out of.

When he’s awake I see him thinking. His brow furrows as he tests how far blocks can be thrown and where a ball can roll.  It then lightens to wonder and amusement.

I may hold on to SweetPotato a bit longer as he falls asleep.  I can still catch him dream feeding with pursed lips or smiling as a simple reflex.   We dance in temperament now by exchanged glances and read cues more than ever.  His face shows he’s still very much in need of me for protection and comfort.  Though I haven’t had to sweep the hair away from a ticklish ear this week, I’m near to kiss the bumps and bruises colouring his forehead.  

So much life! So much light.  One haircut to the next, I’m nurtured in seeing the world transform my tiny baby boy.

Ancora Imparo. I’m still learning.

Many thanks for an amazing 2012!

Nurtured has had an amazing six years online and three years in our storefront and looks forward to 2013 with a grateful outlook for the natural parenting community.

We’re also one year past knocking down walls and opening up more floor space- what a difference it’s made!

Winter 2012 Nurtured was chosen as a Boutique of the Month for The Canadian Mother’s Resource!  Special thanks to our local following for suggesting us! It was such a treat!

Recently after a good romp around the playground I decided to treat my children to a treat from a local coffee shop.  Crisp fall air and a chilly mist invited cozy warmth of hot chocolate just steps away.

It was becoming dark and near closing time but the cafe was lively and set up for entertaining a small crowd.  A sign was posted advertising folk story telling called What the Folk led by the Helen Creighton Society.   My 6 year old was notably intrigued.

It was a great ambiance.  Though not quite targeted at the elementary age set.

An artsy crowd made up of mostly baby boomers and retirees mostly made up the room but all were welcoming and genuinely interested in my two young companions.  Junebug begged to stay.

A guitar was tuning up and a low hum of a harmonica could be heard in the back.   A man in a top hat soon arrived and a woman with a devil horned headband found their place. It was a room of characters to a six year old.  I knew I would need a clever trick to convince him to leave at all and I’ll admit, my own curiosity had peaked. You don’t need to live in Nova Scotia to know a folk story telling group in the Maritimes is certainly capable of a good time.  Skipping the trick we chose to take our chances on a treat so close to October 31st.  Parental supervision in mind we grabbed front row seats.

Indeed this happened upon group proved our community is a wonderful backdrop for storytellers.  An artform in its own right Junebug’s wonder of poetry, song and rhyme was enchanted that night in the storytelling sung, chanted and played out by this lively group.

The first guitarist and singer admitted he didn’t know many songs to fit the theme of the evening’s spooky storytelling.  I was glad for the PG rating after a fellow attendee had warned me of his upcoming plans to end with a “frightening demonic laugh”. It was more an episode of Glee as the entire room filled the nostalgic refrain than a haunted house side show.

Even with the creepy lyrics of The Ghost of Anne Boleyn, my Junebug found laughter in the silly chorus. The frightening laugh was nearly inspiring to a 6 year old just learning how to sneak up on people without giggling.

Interested in joining in the fun and prolonging his night out Junebug asked if he could add to the lineup.  

A little quieter than usual but with the same gusto that I see at home, Sam sang an elementary classic:

Have you seen the ghost of John?

Long white bones and the rest is gone?

OOOO, wouldn’t it be chilly

with no skin or bones?

Boo!

And with that my 6 year old expressed a fantasy of joining a folktale society.  At least for the night.  A new storyteller in our family is born.

In the meantime, we’re choosing a classic Barefoot Books storybook of folktales and other favourites such as Herb the Vegetarian Dragon and the Nova Scotia set Terrible, Horrible, Smelly Pirate. 

Who’s the storyteller in your family?