The Importance of the Vessel

Here's something no one knows about me. Chris, if he is very, very observant of my daily patterns might know it . . . but I don't think he does.

Anyone who knows me, does know that coffee is extremely, perhaps unreasonably, important to me. They may know, too, that since Chris became an avid home brewer and undeniable beer expert, beer has become, if not deeply important to me, at least highly respected and greatly enjoyed. A few of you likely also know that I love bowls and treasure a small collection. But here's what perhaps no one but me knows:

If I am kicking off my morning coffee routine with drip coffee, I always drink it from this. This is the only suitable vessel for my cup of drip coffee:

A set of four, given to me by my mother, made at Mud & Fire Studio in Little Meadows, PA, my hometown.

If, instead of drip coffee, I decide (as has been the habit of late) on coffee made in my Italian stovetop espresso maker, then I always drink it from this:

One of two Denby mugs given to us as a wedding gift by friends who now, like us, have three kids, live far away, and who we never get to see.

If Nespresso with cream, this is my cup of choice:

Mass produced somewhere; purchased at a mall in a "mom needs some work clothes and some alone time" outing. It's actually a set of measuring cups, but I thought they deserved to have something wonderful savoured from them rather than just dumping their measured contents and being tossed aside.

But if I'm frothing or foaming milk to turn that Nespresso into a latte or cappuccino, then I will always choose this:

Purchased from Ikea because it was the perfect size for a cappuccino and the perfect simplicity to let something wonderful just be what it is.

Just about every evening, when the kids are all finally in bed, I make myself a hot chocolate--not one of those sicky-sweet-yet-terribly-thin instant mixes. No. Mine is cocoa, milk, and honey warmed on the stovetop, and I always, always, always drink it from this:

Also mass produced and purchased at a mall (the same "mom needs clothes and alone time" outing referenced above). What can I say? The design strikes me as a little bit Russian, a little bit Asian, a little bit 70s Retro, a little futuristic. I love it!

When I paw through cupboards, I can't believe the amount of tea piled in my home. I don't drink it very often, but when I do, I sip it from here:

Two mugs that came to us when Grandma Kay was moved out of her house and downsized to an apartment. Origin unknown, but I love the understated beauty of these and imagine them to be some unappreciated masterpiece that I alone see the greatness in.

Wine is another rarity, but when I do pour myself a glass, it's always in one of these:

Actually, this is sort of a lie. I always drank wine from another set of wine glasses, but the last one broke in a sink full of dishes right before Christmas. This new, equally wonderful set, was one of Chris's Christmas presents to me, and this is now the new wine vessel.

Beer is not a rarity at all, and most frequently, I pour that beer into one of these:

When Chris really got into craft beer and homebrewing, the search for good tulip glasses (that would not cost us $100 for a set of four from The Bay) went on and on . . . and on. And then I happened to walk by a specialty kitchen store on the last day of their going-out-of-business sale. Practically the only things left on the shelves were these tulip glasses. "Chris! Look what I found!" I called as I walked in the door. I was a hero!!!

But if it's a Hefeweisen or a west coast pale or something very crisp and clean. Then I'll pour it into this:

From the first set of beer glasses I bought for Chris in the great beer glass search; it's the soul survivor now, so must never be left to languish in a sink full of dishes.

But this . . . particularity?. . . peculiarity?. . . of mine doesn't just apply to beverages. Even on a busy weeknight, it at all possible, I serve dinner, not from the pans it was cooked in, but from something like this:

From an antique store in Wisconsin.

or this:

From a tree somewhere.

or this:

A wedding gift from another close friend we now rarely get to see.

or this:

Another antique, purchased in Wisconsin.

And even our compost convalesces, and then journeys to its final resting place, in this:

From Lindgren Pottery near Huntsville, Ontario and a decision Chris and I made to prioritize art and beauty in our lives.

I seem to be somewhat OCD about the above (and perhaps a few other things in life, too). It's really not that I just prefer to have drip coffee in a Mud & Fire mug or my hot chocolate in my Russian/Asian/Retro mug. If these things are dirty, I won't just say "Oh well," and grab another mug. I will locate the missing object, wash it, and then proceed with the treasured routine. Even when I am visiting family or traveling, and these chosen objects are not available, I seek out the "right" vessel from what they have available . . . and if there is nothing "right," well, it kind of bothers me. I'll still drink my coffee or beer or whatever, of course, but the experience is just not . . . whole. 

Perhaps I get this from my mother. If you know my mom, really, really know her, you probably know, or have heard someone say, "Well, Joyce is very . . . particular." And its true. She's also very aesthetic and creative and loves beautiful objects and has a close connection with things that are important to her. I love this about her, and I like to think I have some of these tendencies as well.

A few of my mother's more playful things.

It would be easy to think we are this way because we are shallow people, putting far too much value in, and assigning far too much meaning to, goods and products and material things.

Well, maybe. But I really don't think so. Chris and my other family members might laugh at me when they read this, but the truth is, I really don't care that much about things. 

. . . Except for the things I care about. Those things, I care a lot about. And most of them seem to be related to those fundamental pulses that the rest of our daily lives are oriented around: the morning waking ritual, the family sharing of food, the evening relaxation.

Now, I'm not going to go out on a limb and say that the flavor of my coffee or beer or food actually tastes objectively different because it was served in one of these objects I seem to care so much about. But I will say with absolute certainty that my morning coffee, our family meals, my evening hot chocolate are altogether experientially different for the vessels in which they are served.

And this experiential difference is not simply because of the way these objects look, although in all of the above cases, I do think they look very nice and very much enjoy looking at them. Nor is it due to some symbolic value assigned to these objects because of the individual stories of how they came into our possession and the connections to other people in our lives they therefore represent, although that is also certainly important to me and a joy to remember. But (and here you might think I'm a bit on the wacky side--but, hey, I can only drink my coffee out of one particular cup, so maybe so) for me, the experiential difference comes from the objects themselves and something intrinsic, yet mysterious and ultimately unknowable, carried in them from their creation.

Each of these objects--even the mass produced ones--comes from a person, an individual, a creative human. It also comes from a human craft, tradition, history. Someone, somewhere conceived of this object, imagined its design, drawing both on their own creativity and on accumulated knowledge and tradition to do so. In some of these cases, that same person carried out its creation with their own hands, investing, immersing, and expressing themselves in creating the object long before I ever engaged in the experience of using it. I think objects carry something of their creators in them; they are of them, and when using these objects, we are connected in some way to their creators, even though we cannot know those individuals. We are connected, too, to those other creators who contributed to developing that craft, that human tradition, over time.

And for some of these objects, all of the thought and care and tradition of the design is, somewhat amazingly, put forward, not for the object itself, but to pay homage to the creation it will hold and to enhance that creation for the person partaking in it. These are both beautiful in their simplicity and brilliant in their form, form that at once cradles and offers up the beauty and artistry of another. I appreciate this attention to design meant for honoring other crafts every time I look, sniff, sip, and marvel at one of Chris's fermented creations and wonder at his ability to explore, learn, analyze, experiment, and participate in a craft people have been developing for millennia.

I certainly don't consciously think about this every single time I drink my coffee, pass a bowl of food around the table, or lift the lid to drop carrot peelings into the compost. In fact, I'm not sure if I ever really consciously thought about it before writing this post. But I don't think I need to be consciously considering it to be enriched by another human's thumbprint purposefully placed where I will grip my coffee cup, another person's finger tips spun into ridges on the outside of the bowl I grip then pass to my children's waiting hands, another person's consideration and decision on the smoothness of the glaze and the swirling of the pattern across the lid I lift. Whether I'm consciously observing it our not, the experience is better, the pulses of daily life are fuller, connection is deeper, for the human hand that contributed to my small, seemingly mundane, moment of living.

Eating, drinking, breathing, sleeping, gathering our loved ones around us, nourishing them, holding them close, sharing joy with them, and doing our best to secure them: these are the unchanging things that life always has been and always will be. And while there is an impulse to categorize existence into sacred and profane, to view life as important special moments separated by long expanses of mundane, and to assign value to the rare and wonderous but to discount and discard the normal and everyday, this is a limiting and, to my mind, ultimately unfulfilling approach. Life, the sacred, the wonderous, the meaningful, is in the everyday. And those people who put such care and energy, such craft and artistry, into the simple creations we use for the most regular and routine activities, can help us experience something larger than the swallow of that coffee, be connected to something bigger than ourselves and that one routine moment.

So, yes, as my friends and family all know, my morning coffee is extremely, perhaps unreasonably, important to me. And so is the cup I drink it from. The experience, in its entirety, is something I savour every day, day in and day out, and no day would be quite as good, quite as fulfilling, quite as as whole, without it.

The essentials for living.

Need Last Minute Gift Ideas for a Little Boy in Your Life? . . . Also known as "Autumn Writes a Blog Post"

If you clicked on this post to get straight to those last-minute Christmas gift recommendations, better just scroll down . . . way down . . . now. 

Need a gift idea for someone like me?

If, however, you actually enjoy become mired in my ramblings while I make my way (we hope) to a point, start right here!

What? There was a faster way to get there?

Lately, we've been spending a lot more time at our local library branch (I promise this does become relevant to Christmas gift ideas . . . eventually). As some of you know, Edmonton is a boom/bust town, and the last ten years, driven by high oil prices, have been boom years. We're now in our fifth year in this city, and I have to admit, the changes over five years have been pretty dramatic, and some have clearly been for the better.

EPL - Edmonton Public Library - is a prime example. When we first arrived in our new (rather crappy) neighbourhood and ventured out to our local library branch--one of the very few things within walking distance of our two-bedroom, poorly insulated, basement-flooding, formerly drug-dealer-harbouring (or so we were told) bungalow--I can't say I was very impressed. In fact, I'm pretty sure I used the library more than once as one of my examples of why cold, flora-murdering Edmonton was a generally undesirable place to live. Sorry Edmontonian friends . . . if you didn't already know I had trouble warming to this place, I guess the secret's out.

With the library, my angst started with the library card, which cost $18 and had to be renewed every year!!! What???? Even the children's card has a fee? Who ever heard of a city of a million people charging for library cards? Did they want inner city kids NOT to read? I was fairly appalled. Then there was the proof of address for obtaining the library card. Having just moved, I didn't have a qualifying proof of address yet. Ugh, this was becoming an unexpected pain in the ass.

Then there was the children's section. I was used to taking Owen to the library and having him play happily for an hour at a Thomas train table before pulling him onto my lap and reading some new books. This small (but admittedly newly and nicely renovated) branch had a lovely fish tank that captured Owen's attention for 2 to 3 minutes. But after that, he was looking for something to do. We turned to the shelves. Disappointing. I turned to the library catalogue. Also disappointing. I turned to the adult fiction shelves . . . perhaps this experience could be salvaged by finding something good for Mom to read. Hmmmm, no--no line of sight into the children's area, but I could hear the young one running amuck. No time to peruse shelves--just collect the poorly supervised child and leave.

We tried some of the children's programming as well, but after two attempts, didn't bother going back. I complained to Christopher that, if you have to shush children and ask them repeatedly to sit down to listen to the story, perhaps you've chosen a boring and age-inappropriate book and/or have unreasonable expectations for the behaviour and attention spans of the under-five age group. Likewise, if your craft involves scissors and results in the adults cutting and assembling everything while children crawl around poking each other in the eyes, perhaps it was a poor fit for the infant to 24-months program.

Yes -- EPL and I got off to a rough start, which (although I prefer not to admit it) I'm sure had at least as much to do with my expectations as their performance. But regardless, soon after our arrival in Edmonton, something interesting began to happen.

We wouldn't begin noticing it for some time, but the same month that we arrived in Edmonton, EPL launched a new and innovative marketing campaign called "Spread the Words." We took note when the clever marketing slogans took over the city buses. First things like, "We make geek chic," "Information Ninja," and "Chicks dig big brains." Then, as the library's 100-year anniversary approached in 2012, the campaign expanded. In honour of the centennial, EPL decided to offer free library cards for the year. The marketing slogans began to push the card: "This card makes you smart," and:

I like to think I'm fairly immune to marketing messages. Ummm, but I'm not. From the start, the clever, snappy messages had me smiling whenever the Edmonton city bus rolled by, and before long, they had me, I had to admit it, generally feeling kind of warm and fuzzy toward the library. But, as fun as the messaging was, the thing that really turned me around was the free card. "Yes!" I thought, "Sanity! Positive evolution! Much needed change!"

We began returning to the library (by this time, we had moved out of the health-hazard bungalow, so it was a different branch now) and found the changes were more than nice words. The new website was solid and very easy to use. The collection still frequently left me disappointed, and when books I wanted to read were in the collection, they were never at our branch. But the interlibrary loan system proved awesome. With just one click on the new, user-friendly website, a desired book was delivered in just days. And, perusing the catalog, it was clear a huge investment in e-books was unfolding. Personally, I still wanted to hold a board and paper book, but I couldn't deny this was a wise way to exponentially expand the collection, and make it widely available to the inhabitants of a high-sprawl city, on a limited budget.

And now I had not one little boy to educate and entertain, but three!!! We looked again into the children's programming and found options like "Lego at the Library," "iPad fun for Kids," and "Tween Lounge." The only downside to these programs? The demand was so high, many times you had to arrive at least 30 minutes early to get a spot. A bit of a pain for me, but undoubtedly a very positive sign for the library. And other changes that might seem small made a big difference, too. Movies, games, and music no longer required going up to a desk and waiting for the disk to be retrieved from its safe location. These multi-media offerings were now right out on the regular shelves and available for the fast, self-serve check out like the books. And they also no longer had the short borrowing periods that, at least for our family, always resulted in late returns and hefty fines. Due to these changes, we've learned that the boys of this family really like to fall asleep to Chopin, but no one in this house cares much for Vivaldi.

EPL had us back, and now the library is a regular part of our routine. Last week, I decided it was time for Peter and David to have their own library cards instead of using Owen's, and it turns out, even though the library's centennial is now long past, the cards are still free. You can also pick from the various snappy slogans, and the card comes with a bag for carrying your books. But far more important than all of that, was the experiential difference this time around. The last time I signed up for a library card with EPL, I felt like I was being regarded as some sort of criminal as I explained I had no proof of address yet and that, yes, my son is really my son, we just have different last names.

This time, the enthusiastic young man assisting us distracted my crying three year old by showing him he could choose whatever colour he wanted for his library card and allowing him to march his new card to the self check out and play around scanning it while we corrected the card information. "Oh, their last name is different than the one on your account? Woops! No problem. That will just take me a second to change. Sorry about that. How is the last name spelled please?"

A new EPL card then.

New EPL cards now.

Cards all set, the busting-at-the-seams four and three years olds scanned their books and DVDs excitedly . . . multiple times, which did not cause any hiccups in the new and apparently very advanced checkout systems. And as we headed home with our loot, I thought about how different our Edmonton Public Library experience was now and how, it seemed to me, that what started as a small "Spread the Words" campaign had not only inspired library users to think about the library as more than just "a library", but had actually inspired the library employees and administration themselves to look at their library and their jobs with fresh eyes. Ultimately, they did not just rebrand the EPL; they reinvented it. And this year, the transformation was recognized, not just by families like ours in Edmonton, but by Library Journal magazine when they named Edmonton Public Library the 2014 Library of the Year. Congrats EPL.

Now we have a regular routine that includes discovering new books at the library and, upon reading them, taking a boy vote on whether the book was "just okay" or "super duper great"! The super duper greats are chosen for bed time again and again and, occasionally, cause a few tears when it's time for them to go back to the library. And here, dear readers who did not scroll straight to the Christmas recommendations, we finally get to those last-minute gift ideas for little boys. Books make great gifts. Here are some of the "Super Duper Great!" discoveries we've made lately at our local library that we've liked so much, we want to share them with you. Maybe you'll decided to share them as well:

Boy Pick #1: Shark and Lobster's Amazing Undersea Adventure by Viviane Schwartz 

I love kids books that the parents can also enjoy. This is now one of our all-time favourites, so much so that having it at the local library wasn't enough. We had to have a copy for always.

Boy Pick #2: Thelonius Monster's Sky-High Fly Pie by Judy Sierra

Another one that both the kids and the parents can love. We had to read this one again and again . . . and again.

Boy Pick #3: Ugly Pie by Lisa Wheeler

Now if you're slightly dirty minded like my husband and I (apparently) are, you'll probably do a little adult snickering to each other while reading this bed time story to the kids. Luckily, it's toddlers, not teenagers, enjoying this rollicking rhyme, so they won't catch on to why the parents seem to think this story is extra funny. One word of caution, however, if you're concerned for your child's language development. This story has incorrect grammar usage that drove Chris and I crazy and that we felt the need to correct while reading.

Boy Pick #4: My Monster Mama Loves Me So by Laura Leuck

Just plain fun and great.

Boy Pick #5: The Fort that Jack Built by Boni Ashburn

Now as far as parent ratings go, I rated this one as just okay. But, very surprisingly, parents apparently don't always know what kids like. Peter wanted to read this one over and over, and in the mornings, a lot of fort construction occurred in the living room before this book went back to the library shelves.

Boy Pick #6: Epossumondas Plays Possum by Coleen Salley

This one was another surprise to me. The illustrations were super cute, but the book looked so text heavy, I didn't think the boys would stay engaged. Wrong again! Silly Epossumondas turns out to be quite captivating. However, we did make some grammatical adjustments while reading this one to the boys as well.

 Boy Pick #7: Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs by Mo Willems

Hahahahaha. Owen thought this one should be rated higher up the list.

Boy Pick #8: The Somethingosaur by Tony Mitton 

Just a sweet story that everyone enjoyed.

Boy Pick #9: The Beasties by Jenny Nimmo

What? There's really something under the bed? The boys listened with rapt attention to the very end.

And if one of the books above doesn't strike you as quite enough for a Christmas gift, we'd recommend throwing in a library card.

Unemployment 30 Days In

This Wednesday evening, I was on a plane returning from California. It was December 3rd . . . the one month anniversary of T-Day (see It's T-Day for reference). We were flying fairly low, and with little cloud cover, the view was amazing. This perspective on the world, glimpsing it from in-between--the moon above, the mountains below, the clouds between highlighted by the fading light--was undeniably a small gift. I fished the iPad out from below the seat in front of me and tried to capture the moment:

My chief complaint with the iPad: Compared to the iPhone (returned to former employer on T-Day), the camera really sucks!!! And no flash! What the f@*!? But anyway . . . 

Bah! Stupid iPad. It was immediately apparent the picture could not do the scene justice. I returned to my worry: an admittedly illogical fear that, any moment now, death would begin at 30,000-feet-with-no-where-to-go and end with tuna-can-sized scraps of metal strewn over a mile of earth, possibly with a scorched black smear in the centre of the debris field. 

Yes, I have one of those irrational fears that boarding a flight will result in my children being left motherless. Despite my somewhat atheistic leanings, I spend a large portion of any flight praying to be returned safely to my family. Those who wish to help people like me seem to think the best strategy is to site statistics proving your everyday trip in an automobile is a million times more likely than a plane ride to end with your children becoming motherless. Stuff like this:

Oh phew! Now I can relax!

Since I live in Edmonton, so far from everything it requires a plane trip any time we wish to see family, friends, or weather without the threat of snow, and so sprawling it requires a car trip for even the most minor of daily tasks, this is wonderful news: my completely irrational fear of flying can be legitimately augmented by a statistically supported and rational fear of death in an automobile accident! I looked out the window again and consoled myself: It's very unlikely this plane ride will end in a fiery demise. Far more likely I'll be smashed on the road in the taxi ride home.

Surprisingly, the remainder of the flight was quiet. As the ground loomed up to meet us, the plane landed smoothly and with no issues. Another plane did not ram into us on the runway or fall on us while we taxied to the gate. But when I got in the cab, the driver informed me the highway was shut down--seven-car pile up, ambulances on the scene, we'd need to find another route home. Apparently, this should have come as no surprise (see fatalities by mode of transportation above). Now I worried the whole way home that my husband and children, who travel that route every day at this time, might be in one of those cars. 

The normally 20-minute trip took over an hour on the snow-covered city streets, jammed by traffic that would typically be on the highway. Pulling up in front of the house, a good sign: lights on means people are likely inside. Through the front door, only Charles, tail thumping and fur quivering with exciting, rushed up to greet me. But a glance down the hallway put my mind at ease. In front of me: winter coats and snow pants strewn across the floor. To my right: pizza boxes flopped open and abandoned on the dining room table. At the end of the hall: the glow of a computer screen and the dim flicker of a movie beckoning from the darkened living room. Ahhhhh, a sigh of relief, all's well here.

A sight to warm a mother's heart.

Turns out no one else was particularly worried that we might not be reunited, but I was hugely relieved to be home. I snuggled in between the little boys on the couch. "Who wants to have a mommy day tomorrow?" "Me! Me!" There we go; some excitement regarding my return.

I had not realized on the not-doomed-after-all flight that it was my one-month anniversary of unemployment. In fact, I didn't realize it at any point that day or the next. Turns out "real life" can keep you far too busy to keep track of such things!

But now, home from California and settling back in to daily routines, it seems like a good time to reflect. I had plans for my unemployment; I didn't realize it before, but they were BIG plans. And in truth, the last few weeks have made me feel very, very bad about myself. How on earth can I be getting so little done??? How can I stop spending a minimum of 55-hours-per-week on a job, and suddenly be unable to accomplish anything more than getting my kids where they need to go and getting supper on the table . . . at 7:30 pm!!!

Here were some of the things I was supposed to do with my suddenly copious amounts of free time:

1. Become a prolific blogger: I would blog everyday, and in each post, manage to find something interesting or humorous or insightful or delightful in the mundane happenings of daily life . . . and if not, I'd just share a recipe. Here's how that plan has panned out so far:

Tada! 30 days of "prolific" blogging progress!

And if that archive wasn't impressive enough, I have a post about procrastination that's been sitting in draft mode for 22 days:

See? It's true.

2. Become an awesomely productive do-it-yourselfer: This house, purchased two years ago with dog-urine-soaked carpets and walls that had not seen a drop of paint (or even just a wipe from a moist sponge) in 30 years was going to have new paint, new tile, new trim, new lights, all with my newly acquired home-renovation skills.

It's not that I've made zero progress on this one. But holy crap. Apparently when you decide to embark on your own home renovations, you are deciding to learn to walk all over again!!! I very quickly realized, I don't know how to do ANYTHING! Every seemingly tiny task is a giant production with an incomplete cast of characters--either the skills are noticeably absent, or the required tools have gone missing, or the necessary tool simply isn't owned at all. In the last 30 days, I've become very familiar with aisles of Home Depot I've never set foot in before, but my house doesn't look all that much different for it.

To do: Remove odd, non-functional box from wall. Replace with wall lamp or patch hole. Accomplished so far: Staring at odd box and confusing number of associated wires. Looking at every wall lamp at Home Depot, but purchasing none of them.

3. Reduce costs starting with food: This was going great! For a while there, I was the creative leftover queen! Here's an example. Chris says this looks disgusting. But not only did I like it (I am not ashamed), this lunch used leftovers that normally end up in the compost and cost only about $1. It could have been significantly less, but I'm still insisting on buying cage-free eggs.

Poached eggs and kim chi on leftover scalloped potatoes. Yum!

Unfortunately, about two weeks ago we had friends over for dinner, and not only did I fall off the savings wagon completely with the food purchases, now I can't seem to climb back on. I'm sure our recent, and ultimately heart-stopping-and-never-to-be-repeated, trip to Planet Organic is worth a future post.

4. Uhhhhh . . . you're going to get a new job, right???

Well . . . that was the original plan, but now I'm really on the fence about it. In fact, I've pretty much climbed over the fence and planted feet firmly on the other side . . . the stay-at-home-mom side. Here's a screenshot of just a handful of the jobs I've applied for--the provincial government jobs where you can actually log in and access evidence to base your job-searching depression on:

Date of application: Feb 4. Status: Offer in Progress. Hmmm . . . this is just a sign that you don't update your website regularly, right?

In recent months, I've applied for at least thirty jobs, received one telephone interview, and zero job offers. This is frustrating, of course. But I graduated from university in 2002 (the world was still reeling from 9/11, and it was not a great time for new university grads and job hunters), and my husband finished his graduate degree and returned to the labour force in 2009 (the worst time ever for finding a job!!!!). I'm well aware the world is different now, and no matter how good your qualifications are, 30 applications really aren't that many, and the job hunting road can be long and defeating. But really, the reason I'm going over the fence towards stay-at-home-momdum has much more to do with what has been accomplished in these last 30 days than what hasn't. Those things are much more fun to review:

1. Mommy Days! Even though I'm supposed to be using this time to blog, apply, and renovate, I've been frequently keeping the two little boys out of daycare and having mommy days instead. We do stuff like this:

And like this:

And like this:

2. I've read . . . books! Not picture books or parenting advice or business white papers. Real books with developed characters, plots, more than 100 pages, and everything!!! And in the evenings, I usually drink a cup of hot chocolate, homemade and sweetened with honey, while I'm doing it!

Old nightly routine: a beer and a computer. New nightly routine: a hot chocolate and a book . . . But I admit, occasionally the book is about beer.

3. Ending indecision, starting home renovations: Sure, the amount of progress I've made hasn't been nearly what I was expecting. But recently, a breakthrough! After days of looking at trim and baseboard options, debating the merits of stain vs. the merits of paint, worrying that Chris or a future home buyer won't like anything I choose, I realized something. Every day I don't make a decision is a day I just decide to live with plywood floors, unpainted walls, and rooms without trim. No matter what I choose and no matter how good (bad) I am at installing it, it's going to look 100 times better than what we have now. So stop thinking and start doing! I consulted my father regarding miter boxes, marched back to Home Depot, actually put wood and trim (and a miter box) into my cart, and got to work getting creative with the corners of my windows. This is going to take some dedication to complete all the windows on the first floor. And the first day proved there will be plenty of incorrect cuts and poorly constructed angles. But the world also has a lot of wood filler, and I'm pretty sure the end result is going to be awesome!

4. Family and friends: That flight back from California? I had been in LA helping my sister with a new baby and with my little toddler nephew. This is the type of thing I could never do while working. There were plenty of people--my husband, my mother-in-law, my sister--flying here and helping hold my world together so I could work and travel for Yahoo. But I was never the one able to go off and help others.

Slow down wild little nephew man, and let me take a picture of you!

While working for Yahoo, daily life was a merry-go-round of work->child pick up->dinner->bedtime->work->sleep->work->breakfast->child drop off->work. Now I sleep until 6:20am (so lazy!), I hang around chatting with other parents at school pick up, I grab the little boys early from daycare (instead of arriving in a panic minutes before closing), I took the kids to visit great grandma, not because she was sick, but rather because everyone was in good health and it seemed like a great time for family to get together, I occasionally sit with a neighbour who is feeling unwell, and I took a few days out of my own routines and responsibilities to help my sister with a new arrival. After years of working in sales operations for a corporation in desperate need of a turnaround, these everyday, normal, human things are a gift and a much-needed return to a different kind of reality.

5. Putting the kids first: I did one other big thing while I was in California. I gave the daycare the required 30-days-notice that I would be removing the little boys. So that's it -- no point in continuing the job hunt. By the time 60 days of unemployment rolls around, the wild little guys will be with me full time.

And this is something I have to thank Marissa Mayer, Jackie Reses, and their HR policies for. The fact is, my job was too good, and I was far too committed to it, to make the decision to leave without being pushed. That's not to say I think all that happened was right. A global internet and technology company deciding it's employees can't work remotely? Unconscionably wealthy executives deciding exceptions won't be made for things like family, partners' careers, and economic realities? It's all highly questionable. But these decisions forced me to look at my children and their fleeting childhoods, at my husband and our partnership, and realize that nobody needs me more and nothing could be a better use of my time than my family and relationships.

Now, every time I apply for a job, I think to myself, is this really worth the little guys being in daycare from 7:45am to 5:30pm every single day? Is this worth the big guy languishing in after-school-care every afternoon? Would I rather do this than be with my kids? The answer is always no. We are incredibly, incredibly lucky and should be able to get by (at least for a while) on one income alone. Sure, I won't be able to afford more flights to California; everything left in the savings account will have to be vigilantly protected. But people get by on much less, and we can, too.

At the end of the day, business process management, new product launches, corporate strategy, CEOs, HR policies, strategic initiatives, these all sound very important. They all can wait. Owen, age 9 and counting, Peter, age four and counting, David, age three and counting: they won't wait. So decision made: I'm going to make these days count before they're gone.