A Happy Goodbye...

~ by Emi and Kendal

So, how's everyone been?

Kendal and I thought we'd fill you in on what we've been up to in January, and then share some news with you.

So, my life... Where to begin? Let's start with Ru and Pixie.

Pixie has been pretty unwell with horrid cough after horrible cold, with Ru catching some of it too. This has pretty much been Snot House, I can tell you. On the positive side, she's had her first haircut, started Mama-Baby ballet lessons, and her speech has EXPLODED! We've had spontaneous cuddles accompanied by a cute little utterance of "Aaah voo!" - love you. If there's ever a moment to make your heart melt, that's it. There is a lot of new-found love for dolls, spending hours dragging Petal (her Mama-made Waldorf doll) around with her. Every animal is a horse and oddly, they all say 'miaow'. I also discovered that at 16 months old, Pixie's hair is long enough for me to French plait. More than that, it has been amazing to watch her learn. Such a different child from her brother, such a beautifully separate entity, such a delightfully unique soul. I am blessed with being able to see her life unfolding little by little every day...

Ru is just... always so completely Ru. His bright, effervescent self shines startlingly brilliant light into all the dark corners of my life. I am thankful for him. He is loving nursery, and loves to talk about his friends at school, especially Alfie, with whom he has a special bond. He's completely toilet trained... well... was toilet trained. We've had a couple of accidents this week, I think due to him being on the back end of a bad cold. He'll get it when he's ready, I just know it. We've had some fantastic new outbursts, learned from school including "That's not FAIR!", "If you keep doing that, I won't be your friend!" and "That's a pain in the ass."

Oh ok, that last one he learned from me.

Seriously though, I am exploring the new world that is fledgling friendships, learning the Small Person politics with him... It's tough to hear him say "So-and-so says that he won't be my friend anymore" but we're slowly getting a grip on it.

He's also really loving his role as Big Brother and Protector of his little sister. During half-term, a little boy pushed her over on purpose at a group we go to, and he was straight over, stood in between them declaring "That's my Pixie. You are NOT allowed to push her!". He adores her, just as much as she loves him. She has a serious case of idolisation.

As for Stephen, he's enjoying his job as a delivery driver for a big supermarket. I think he's relishing the pride of working hard to support his family. He's a good man. Our relationship is as strong as ever.

Myself... well... that certainly is a different story.

From a business point of view, MamaPixie is exploding with wonderful things! We have a photoshoot for the May/June 2013 release collection, 'A Whimsical Summer'. I'm also going to be attending several fairs, including one with my lovely friend Sarah. Stephen has joined me too, taking over the wooden side of things. On top of all that, we also have an expanded product list, including some VERY new quilted wings. I am always grateful for the brilliant customers we have, as each one brings Stephen and I closer to our dream of buying our own, very special home.

From a personal stance, things have been... difficult.

The reason we decided to take a break over January was at my request. I have mentioned before my on-going struggle with depression and during the latter part of 2012, I started taking anti-depressant medication. With the depression being dealt with, a lot, a LOT, of anxiety has come to the surface. Previously, I didn't *want* to leave the house. Now, it's terrifying to even consider going to Kendal's house 3 minutes walk down the road alone. I am unable to leave the house without Stephen being with me. I felt so bad that I even cut off my long pink hair and dyed it brown. I think that's the point I knew something was more than a little off.

Some incredible support, not least from Stephen, has been helping though. I've been reminded of the existence of amazing souls. Emma coming all the way from Derby just to spend a few hours with me. Hannah being a wonderful rock. Offers of help and support and love from my wonderful online Green Parent family too. There have been other good things too. I finished Ru and Pixie's handmade Waldorf dolls. I completely re-sorted and reorganised the attic and my storeroom. I taught myself to knit. I painted.

Most of all, I'm VERY proud to say that after not leaving the house alone in months, I have attended two half-hour Mama-Baby ballet classes with Pixie this year, just me and her. Fair enough, Stephen dropped us off, and picked us up, but for me, this might as well have been climbing Everest.

Tiny baby steps.
Just one.
Then one more.
Then another.
Then another.
And then one more.
I'll get there.

My word for the 2013, my focus if you will, is the word 'build'.

Build.

Not only to build up MamaPixie, but also to build up myself, to be the best that I can be.

In order to do this, I need to refocus my life. With MamaPixie being so successful, I simply cannot see a way to fit Crafty by Nurture in there as well. Without this blog, I will have more time to devote to my business, to my husband and children, and maybe even a little to myself. *Definitely* some for myself. I know that similarly, MamaMake's success has Kendal very busy too, both of us scuttling around like little industrious bees, (even though preggy Miss Kendal should be taking it easy... tut tut and a finger-wagging for you. *stern face*)

For the large part, it has been a pleasure sharing with you, whether that was baking and cooking, crafting or just speaking from the heart about something personal to me.

You will be able to catch up with me on the MamaPixie Facebook page, as well as over on my own personal blog, if you fancy it.

I wish all of you the best for 2013, along with more joy and happiness than you can handle!

Much love,

Emi, x

***

Well, the last two months have really flown by. Time has no meaning anymore to me - my pregnancy hormones have completely distorted any sense of what day or even month it is. But it has been a busy, busy time, that's for sure, and one that has led Emi and I to figure out what our priorities are for this year onwards, what we do and don't have time for, and sadly, what we have to let go of to make a little more room for the things that are most important.

I am pretty much as busy as I have ever been. Which is somewhat crazy considering I have a toddler and am nearly 7 months pregnant. But, such is life. There is a lot of it. Life, I mean. And I know that in two months time I simply won't have a choice but to stop, to rest, and to enjoy that strange, unreal newborn haze that lasts quite some time.

Aside from enjoying getting to know the newest member of our family, our goals this year are simply to move ever closer to the kind of life we imagine for ourselves. Namely, an unschooling, homesteading kind of life. Our evenings are spent filled with conversation about it and our days are spent working towards that. We hope that soon, Howard and I will both be able to 'work' from home. For me, that means MamaMake and writing, and for Howard, that means being a full-time author/writer.

I started MamaMake just over a year ago, two months after I'd learnt to sew, with the idea that maybe, now and then, I might sell some things I'd made. Looking back on the last year I was totally surprised to tally up just how much I'd ended up making for others - how many orders we'd had - and how busy it had kept me. When you love doing something, it truly doesn't feel like work, and I couldn't believe, for example, that I'd knitted nearly 40 elf hats in one year. How on earth did that pass me by? Are there really 40 little people walking about with something I've knitted. What a heart-warming thought!

Joining ranks with Sam has meant that MamaMake has become a proper business - We launched our Spring Line at the beginning of January with the same intention as we've always had - to add a little 'handmade whimsy' to people's lives, and since then have been kept very busy sewing, knitting, talking to customers, planning our seasonal items and coming up with new ideas for the future.

I've been writing more at Ava and the Snowman which gained an unexpected amount of support last year and which has led me to a variety of other writing ventures which I am so excited to be a part of this year. Writing will always be a huge part of my life and with AATS, I feel like I finally have a lot to say on a topic (parenting, unschooling etc) that I never, ever get bored of.

Howard has just finished his novel and is working diligently on the editing stage, and we are both trying to prepare ourselves for what it will be like to have two (two!) children. Even if that is only painting some furniture and sorting out our garden. (Oh if you only knew how little I know about gardening and how thankful I am I have a friend who is going to tell me exactly what I need to be doing come Spring!)

As for Ava, she is blossoming into this amazing little two year old who continues to be the best person I've ever met. This is such a great age. I know she may yet go through a tantruming or rebellious phase but so far our days are filled with the most incredible conversations and delightful time together. Hearing all about her thoughts on things (this morning she requested a 'tin of tomatoes' for breakfast!), her memories (I never knew a two year old could remember so much) and the things she learns every single day, is just the most incredible parenting experience so far. She is completely smitten with the idea of Ezra, draws pictures of him constantly, talks to my tummy and gives it cuddles, and is obsessed with watching birthing videos and trying to figure out how Mama is going to 'poo Ezra out'. Hmmm.

She is a very sweet, very gentle and very creative little soul and I count my lucky stars every day that I get to be her Mama. With little over two months to go until we meet Ezra, I am finding myself getting a strong idea of who this little man might be, in the same way I did with Ava (and was oddly right, too). I really can't wait to meet him, to see our family fill out a little more, and to get on with living together and moving forwards in the ways we want to.

When I am not doing MamaMake things, or writing, I am trying to give myself time to practice hypnobirthing, to do meditations and to enjoy the pregnancy yoga I've been attending. To prepare myself for, fingers crossed, a homebirth, and to just make room in my head and heart for what is going to be a huge and life-changing experience for our family.

Like Emi said, it has been a true pleasure to share this space and parts of my life with you, and it has been amazing to receive your support and feedback in return. For now, I will be busily sewing or knitting away at MamaMake (I've become obsessed with knitting of late - and discovered I am a complete and utter yarn snob!) or at Ava and the Snowman, where I will be writing a lot more, trying to articulate what it's like going from one to two children, and continuing to explore our unschooling adventures.

Thank you, sincerely, for being here with us.

Wishing you all love and happiness,

Kendal x

'...and it was nearly done, this frail 

Traveling coincidence; and what it held 

Stood ready to be loosed with all the power 

That being changed can give. We slowed again, 

And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled 

A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower 

Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain.'

from The Whitsun Weddings, by Philip Larkin

Seven Days of Yule

 ~ by Kendal

Today is Yule – that is, it’s the Winter Solstice. Not being pagans, we’ve never celebrated Yule before last year, when we began to take more notice of the passing seasons and the varying ways we could celebrate their influences in our unschooling life.

Like many people, we found our own way to celebrate both Yule and Christmas – for us, the days around this time of year are about celebrating what has passed and what will come, and more than anything, it’s about giving thanks for as much as possible.

Yule is traditionally celebrated as a symbol of joy and hope amongst the darkest days of Winter, and it often signifies a passing over from one year to the next – when the days will get longer and more light will once again come into our life.

It appealed to us for many reasons. We too wanted to find a way to acknowledge the darkness and beauty of Winter, whilst looking forward to the light and possibility of a new year. The emphasis Yule has on simplicity and on handmade gifts, and on giving thanks for those around us, held a particular attraction

And so this year, since we wanted the whole of December to be as magical and festive as possible, I came up with the idea of Seven Days of Yule, where we would, as a family, spend the seven days leading up to the Solstice taking time to consider all the things we are grateful for – whether that be things in the past year, or things happening right now. Everyday we would try to make something – something simple or handmade, and every day we would take time to talk about what we are most excited about right now.

Today, I’d like to share our Seven Days of Yule with you, in both words and images.

Saturday 15^th December

On the first of our seven days, I was grateful for the time to make for those I love. It was a busy, full day and I was so thankful for that – for the time spent listening to music and sewing. For my husband whose endless patience and generosity allows me to have as much time as I need, whenever I need it. To Sam, the other half of MamaMake, for guiding me through more knitting and for throwing around more exciting ideas about our new line.

Sunday 16^th December

On the second of our seven days, Ava was rather unwell so we had to cancel the plans that we’d made. I was disappointed at first – the gifts I’d made were undelivered, the food I’d bought uncooked. But I spent a lot of the day snuggling my little one and getting some rest – not something I have been giving myself a lot these days – and I was grateful for that. Thankful for the quiet moments, which were unexpectedly needed today.

Monday 17^th December

Today, the third day, was such a good day. Ava’s cold disappeared by lunch. I gave my house a good, deep clean (much needed after the making and lurgy of the weekend). In the evening, we saw good friends and exchanged some Yule gifts with them. We ate delicious food and talked about our babies and how ridiculously nuts we are about them. It felt perfect to be with such people in this kind of time, when the warmth and comfort of your home provides the perfect setting for laughter and the excited frothing of ideas. Ava got to play with Ivy, who she adores, and I got to snuggle with baby Billy. And my Yule gift from them was 43 vintage patterns from the 60’s and 70’s. It was a perfect night, all in all.

Tuesday 18^th December

On this day, my quest to be mindful was a challenge, for sure. But I was thankful for the opportunity to be productive, for the three bubble dresses finished and handed over to customers. For the reversible trousers for a lovely little girl finally completed. For the cloak wrapped and crown made in the evening. And I was grateful for the in between moments with Ava, where we played and made. Yes, it was busy and oh so tiring, but nothing is as satisfying as the feeling of producing something you’re really proud of.

Wednesday 19^th December

On our 5^th day of Yule I was thankful for time spent with friends. We played and talked about our growing babies (the ones who are toddlers, and the ones in our tummies) and I discovered how hard it is to hug another pregnant lady. It was a much needed break from all the making that has been happening.  In the evening I did nothing but eat chocolate, talk to Howard, and write. My body needed to rest, and I needed to listen.

Thursday 20^th December

Today we watched Mary Poppins and danced, ate butternut squash, chickpea and spinach dhal for dinner, then I made Ava’s Solstice jammies out of some warm fleecy cotton. I finished her apron to go with her Christmas gift – a wooden kitchen – and I made list upon list of all the things to get done before Howard’s two week holiday begins tomorrow.

Today we played a lot and painted and drew.

And I was thankful that, for the first time, Ava felt Ezra kick in my tummy. And thankful for the two weeks we will get to spend together, over this magical time, as a family.

Friday 21^st December

Today we lounged in bed for a while and snuggled.

Then we came down, made tea and Ava said hello to the world.

Soon, we will be going for our Solstice walk, where we will gather twigs, berres, pine cones. We have plans to see friends in town and to collect some bits and bobs for our Yule feast tonight. We will bake this afternoon and I will do as much cleaning and sorting as possible. We will light a candle when Howard comes home from work that will burn through our Yule meal, which we will share with good friends. We will light this candle every day until Christmas.

After dinner we will give Ava her Solstice present – Mama made jammies, a new mug and special hot chocolate, and her Solstice book this year – ‘A First Book of Nature’

Today I am thankful for the past year, the first half of which was incredibly hard and challenging, and the second half of which has been exciting, lovely and full of hope.

Today I will think of those hard times and let them go. They belong to another time now. Today I will think of all the things we have to look forward to next year. The things I might write. The things I will make. The excitement of working with a talented friend to propel our business forward. I will think of what it will be like to be a bridesmaid heavily pregnant, and then to be a bridesmaid with a small baby, celebrating the weddings of both these dear friends.

More than anything else, I will think of the people I am thankful for, and the hope that I have more time to spend with them next year. I will think of who Ezra might be, and how incredible it will be to meet him and to watch him and Ava grow together. I will give thanks for the gift of family and friends and the people who are constant in my life, who remains close, no matter how far they may travel.

White-Eyes 

In winter
    all the singing is in
         the tops of the trees
              where the wind-bird

with its white eyes
    shoves and pushes
         among the branches.
              Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,

but he's restless—
         he has an idea,
              and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings

as long as he stays awake
         But his big, round music, after all,
             is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.

In the pine-crown
         he makes his nest,
              he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,

I only imagine his glittering beak
         tucked in a white wing
              while the clouds—

which he has summoned

from the north—
         which he has taught
              to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall

into the world below

         like stars, or the feathers
              of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
    that is asleep now, and silent—
         that has turned itself
              into snow.

Mary Oliver

***

We’d like to wish you all a wonderful Yule and Christmas, and give our sincere thanks to you for reading these past few months. We will be taking a break in January to restock and regather ourselves. In the meantime, you can catch up with Kendal at her other blog, Ava and the Snowman or see some sneak peaks of MamaMake’s new line launching in January. You can catch up with Emi and see what she is working on at MamaPixie.

Father Christmas? No thank you!

 ~ by Emi

The Christmas tradition that I remember most vividly from my childhood was to do with Father Christmas. On Christmas Eve, we would put out a mince pie, a glass of milk (we don't want him drinking and sleighing now!), and a carrot for Rudolph. Oh, and a blue Smartie for the mouse. You didn't leave a blue Smartie for the mouse who shrinks, climbs through the keyhole, unlocks the door, and lets Father Christmas in? Well, how else does he get into houses that don't have chimneys, eh?

My little sister and I would wake up in the morning and discover that only crumbs remained of the mince pie, the carrot and Smartie had been nibbled and the milk had been drunk. Proof, in our eyes, that Father Christmas had truly been. That, and the massive pile of gifts under the tree.

This would happen every year, even long after my sister and I knew the truth about the man in red. It was one of those things that I planned to do with my children.

That is... until I actually had children.

I remember my first conversation with Stephen about the big man, and tentatively saying "I don't know if I want to tell Ru about Father Christmas.". To my surprise, Stephen agreed with me.

As parents, we try to lead by example to our children. We try and be calm in the face of crisis, whether that be a broken washing machine or a broken crayon. We try to be gentle with others, affectionate to those we love, giving Littles positive behaviour  to model their own on. We don't tell untruths either. Herein lies the issue.

Whilst I loved the magic of Santa sneaking into the house and delivering gifts when I was a child, the prospect of telling what is effectively an extended lie to my children for what could be upwards of five or six years seems very wrong. It just doesn't sit comfortably.

Don't lie, children, it's wrong. But a man in red delivers your gifts every Christmas.

How can I expect my children to be truthful when I am telling them a pretty massive lie? It really is a difficult one, as we want to encourage and embrace the special magic of this time of year, but do it in a way that doesn't involve telling a child about the absolute real existence of a fictional character. But also doing it in a way that doesn't then upset other children who do believe. And that's just the start of it. What then of the Easter Bunny? The Tooth Fairy? Any fairy? How far do you go with being truthful about what's real and what's not? It's a toughie, I can tell you.



Then we have the bribery side of it all.

"Be good or else no presents for you!"

I was regularly threatened in November and December with the prospect of no gifts. I was made to eat all my dinner with a swift comment of "Well, I'd better phone Father Christmas then and tell him not to bring you anything.". I was coerced into tidying my bedroom with a "He doesn't bring presents to children with messy rooms.".

Scary stuff.

It really is bribery. Do it or ELSE.

Don't get me wrong, I am so not above bribing my child on occasion. We've all done it. However, this whole thing of only good children getting presents seems like an awfully scary threat to a Little. Even his nursery teachers have used it to get him to 'sit tidily' and to clean up.

When you really think about it, it's not bribery... it's actually a threat. And the prospect of threatening my kids isn't a fun one, I can tell you.

I think, what makes me most uncomfortable though, is this withdrawal of gifts. We tell our children that we love them, and that gifts are given with love but woe betide you if you are naughty! No presents for you. And their little head links no presents with no love.

Stephen and I are finding it especially difficult this year as Ru is really at an age where he understands that Christmas and Yule are special. He's also 3, and very impressionable. We've already had him ask "Who is Father Christmas? So-and-so at school says that he gives presents. Will he bring me some? My teacher says I have to be good or I won't get anything."

Oh, my Small Boy.

In the end, my response to his question was very simply... no.

My Small Sweet Boy, some people like to believe that Father Christmas brings presents for them on Christmas. And that's ok. It's a lovely story and a lovely idea. Yule and Christmas are about being kind to those we love, and letting them know that we care about them very much. We give presents to remind them that they are very special to us. Your presents come from your Mama and Daddy and Pixie who love you SO much.

For me, the idea that we give gifts to those we love, but that those gifts, and thus our love, are conditional really makes my stomach churn.

My love for my child doesn't diminish when he refuses to tidy up. Nor does it diminish when he pushes his sister, or sits on the cat, or throws his trains at the window.

I want him to tidy up, because he knows that we take pride in our home and it makes us all happier when we have space and room to play and create. I want him to not push his sister because he knows that it makes her feel sad and could hurt her, the same for why he shouldn't sit on the cat. I want him not to throw his trains at the window because he knows that he could hurt someone or break something, and know that we treat our possessions with respect and kindness.

I don't want him to do these things out of fear that he won't get presents. That doesn't seem like an awfully good life lesson to learn at all. I don't want him to keep the idea in his head that gifts, and our love, are conditional, based only on his behaviour. All children need to know that they are loved unconditionally, no matter what they do.

I have absolutely no doubt that in many homes, Father Christmas is welcomed and celebrated as the Bringer of Presents, and that this person is both magical and benevolent, loved by all. But the argument that by not 'doing' Father Christmas, that I am taking away the magic of Christmas for my children, then I have to say that, with all due respect, I think that that argument is wrong.

The magic of this time of year, whether you celebrate Hannukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa or Yule, is in US. Yes, it is great to get presents, but the real special magic is in seeing the joy on someone else's face when they open their gift that we made specially for them.

It's in those bedtime hot chocolates with extra marshmallows.

It's in sitting in the dark with only the twinkling tree lights for company, sharing what our favourite part of the day was.

It's in making decorations together as a family.

It's in seeing birds in your garden enjoy the feeders you made them.

It's in being woken up to look out of the window at the spectacle of a world made unfamiliar by snow.

It's in sleepy snuggles under a cosy duvet, and secret present wrapping, and a new dress made by your Mama, and special books, and a trip out to see the lights, and making cinnamon cookies and gingerbread men, and the sequin you find in your hair from crafting earlier in the day, and celebrating one another.

It's in experiences.

It's in memories that he and his sister will remember and share with their own children one day.

It's not in a portly gentleman in crimson who breaks into your house, eats your food and leaves presents.



It's in LOVE.

That's real magic.

“We do not need magic to transform our world.

We carry all of the power we need inside ourselves already.”
  ~ J. K. Rowling

Have yourself a mindful little Christmas

~by Kendal

We get out of bed and put our feet on the carpet, pulling on cardigans, slippers, dressing gowns. We tear through the cold morning air until we are down in the kitchen, heating on, kettle on, porridge on. The cold blue light of winter mornings spills across our living room floor and we huddle up to keep warm.

My mind runs across the usual thoughts. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. What we have on that day. And then, because it is December, and the countdown to Christmas has begun, it also flits through all the many, many things we have to do still. My elving list is long, and for everything I tick off, another thing or two is added.

Such is the way at this time of year, with all the pressure of Christmas and with the added pressure of hoping to make this another homemade one. It is easy to get carried away, and I say this as a person who quite gladly lets herself get carried away when excited. Because although I find it relatively easy to buy less than I was bought, and, to concentrate on fewer, good quality, open-ended toys, as opposed to a multitude of fillers, I don’t find it easy to remain calm and centred at this manic time of year. It just doesn’t happen without effort when you have children, especially when you do your best to make as much of the presents, decorations and general festive warmth that fills your home.

We start our days with the best of intentions. We go to town, and we get hot chocolates. I try not to think of all the things waiting to be done, the lists I write over and over (as if list writing itself will somehow reduce all the making that waits for me). We go to the library and I do my best to just focus on Ava, running around organising books into piles only she can figure out. I try to relax.

But there, in the back of mind, I have what appears to be a rather incessant inner voice that keeps repeating things like… felt, lace trimming, lilac yarn, what size needles?, sweet potato dhal for dinner, maybe I could finish X’s Yule present tonight, I have to send off those orders tomorrow, more brown paper, oh-crap-when-are-we-going-to-the-farmer’s-cart-again?, I need to print out photos for X’s album…and so on and so on.

It is always a challenge to stop this barrage of thoughts and focus on what is actually going on in front of me. It is the most challenging thing in the world to be present and mindful at the best of times, but in December, with all the pressures of Christmas and present giving, it can be downright impossible. Howard says I don’t know how to relax. I tell him that sitting on the couch and embroidering a Yule gift is relaxing. After all, I could be sewing, or painting, or cooking, or making salt dough ornaments, or….and there my mind goes again, spiralling in on itself and drowning under a weight of ‘must-dos’ and ‘have tos’.

Yet, here’s the alarming thing. I know that what Ava will remember most about this time of year, if I get it right, is the true magic of winter – the cold frost that blankets the ground as we walk into town, the warmth of a hot chocolate sipped inside a coffee shop covered in Christmas lights and playing yet another Dean Martin Christmas track. It might also be the stockings hanging on the fireplace, or the Winter Tomten that graces our Seasons Table and will every year from now on, but these things will be incidentals.

I know this, because what I remember about Christmas is not the sacks of gifts I was given with the best of intention (honesty, I can barely remember a single one now aside from the ‘big’ gift I actually asked for and wanted each year). What I remember is Christmas at my grandparents, the smell of honey-roast hams and roast beefs resting in the pantry. The special chocolate truffles made every year upon my request (Okay, a lot of these memories are food related – what can I say? I love food). I remember the conversations around the dining room table late into the night, and the card games we played – my grandpa through in the living room watching TV.

I remember all the making that happened, the busy fingers that sewed and knitted and were constantly moving alongside the chatting. The warmth of fleecy pyjamas and books in bed. The Christmas films I’d always watch and the feeling of being completely wrapped up, completely warm, safe and cherished. And that is really what I want for Ava, for all my children. I want her to know the deep magic of being part of something that is all about family and togetherness.

I know that all of the things I need, or want, to get done, are not really for her at all – they’re for my idea of what Christmas should be like – a kind of picture perfect, Martha Stewart ideal that looks glossy and always smells of cinnamon and spices, with a freshly baked tray of something always ready to come out of the oven.

So I remind myself, gently yet forcefully, that what is more important, is the time Ava needs to me to snuggle her under a duvet on the couch watching Lost and Found. I remind myself that if I don’t manage to knit everyone I know an elf hat for Christmas, it’s okay. People like gifts in January too. And if I don’t manage to make Ava the three pairs of fleecy trousers I have cut out, all in time for Christmas day, she won’t care at all. She won’t even know.

I try to prioritise. I try to take a breath. If I can (and I should, always) I do a mindfulness meditation, reminding myself how much easier everything as a parent is having had that small amount of time to meditate on what being mindful is all about. I bring myself back to the present. I study Ava’s face. What is she thinking? What would she like just now, what does she need?

I make her a cup of tea and bring her through some grapes and oatcakes, without being asked. (I remember how lovely it was as a child to be looked after without having to ask for it) I let that voice with its ongoing list occupy my mind for a second, long enough to acknowledge it there, to pay it heed, then I let it go. I breathe it out. I tell myself the list will be there later, when I need it. Or, if I’m finding it hard to let it go, I write it all out again for the millionth time. It’s there. I’m here. I can just be, for a moment or two.

And once I start this, it becomes easier to see the bigger picture. All the things that need doing are mostly just things that I’ve invented. There’s something else more magical, more quietly spectacular to do – and that is just to be with Ava. To relish these passing moments we have together.

Sometimes, the best thing to do is to ditch the list. To remember that perfect isn’t the goal, and nor is it even attainable. What Christmas and Yule should be about is all of us, who we really are, coming together and celebrating each other. And in those moments of being together, of being present with one another – I know that it will be as perfect a Christmas as it can be.

Because there is time, yet, to think about the fullness of this year, so nearly behind us, and to contemplate what it is we want from next year, within the long slow days of January and February. There is time to do more making, in a moment. Time to figure out the meals, the parties, the festivities ahead of us now. But there is only this moment, this very moment – ‘the still point of the turning world’ - to give to the ones who matter most. 

Why Handmade?

~ by Emi

I love December. It is such a wonderful time of year, with a beautiful and strong focus on family. This emphasis on something so important is also expressed when we give gifts to those we love.

In our home, we don't give many gifts to one another. We use the following saying to guide our choices;

Something you want

Something you need

Something to wear

And something to read

On top of this, Ru and Pixie are given a larger joint gift, which last year was a wooden gnome house with little gnomes I had made, and this year is a dressing up trunk filled with handmade costumes. They also get a stocking each with a few little trivial things that we'll have picked up during the year and stored away.

Whilst some gifts are bought, we do love handmade.

There are a myriad of reasons that we do this, and not just because of my own fledgling business, MamaPixie. I know many, many brilliantly creative people who spend time, effort and money in making bespoke items that any one with a modicum of sense would be proud to gift to someone they love.

There are a million reasons why we should give handmade, and I'd like to share a few of mine and Stephen's.


Firstly, you are often supporting work-at-home-Mamas and Papas, like myself, like Kendal. You are providing a vital supplemental income that clothes our children, pays our bills, or in Kendal's case, save up to buy a much-needed car! Not only that, when you buy handmade, it gives the sellers the opportunity to then spend that money on handmade items from others, and the chain continues! This makes great sense from an economic point of view, supporting small, and often local, businesses.


Secondly, quality. How often have you bought something from a large chain store and the item simply falls apart within days, much to the frustration of parent and child alike? Artisan crafters have spent hours designing, perfecting and tweaking their products. They've handpicked the materials. They've made each item with love and care, something that certainly can't be said for all larger businesses.

Tied into this is the fact that as Melissa from Holmes-made says "As an artisan, I take loads of care to produce exactly what the customer wants and to go beyond in terms of customer service. You just don't get that on the high street." I take great pride in my work, and will go that extra mile to make something just right.

You know what else is brilliant? We actually LIKE our jobs! We don't turn up to work and complain the whole day with a face like spilt gruel. We enjoy what we do.


Our third point is the wonderful fact that custom items are exactly that. Custom. You can adapt the item in question until it is perfect. You as a customer often become one of the designers, and it makes us feel good to know that our input is value, something very often lost in modern retail. For example, I worked very closely with a lovely woman to create a unique Hobbit-style wool cloak, even down to tiny details like the drape of the hood. Collaboration is a wonderful thing.

You are also honouring the creative in others, something I personally strive to encourage in my children and value in myself. To quote Sarah at Felt so good, you are "supporting individuals and individuality, not corporations who often dodge their social responsibilities."



Number four, handmade items can often have a lower impact on the environment and have greater levels of sustainability. Handmade items aren't from a large waste-producing factory and shipped round the globe using fossil fuels.  Buying handmade items with a smaller carbon footprint benefits everyone. Not only that, many crafters reuse, repurpose and upcycle items that may otherwise end up in landfill.


Number 5. You don't have to deal with the hell that shopping in a city in December. You know, that time of year where normally sane people think nothing of shoulder-barging you out of the way in order to get their sweaty grasping hands on the last must-have plastic crap on the shelf? The fractious children who want to go see the lights and not be dragged and crushed in department stores? The harried mothers? The bored, impatient fathers?

Surely this is reason alone?!



And lastly, my favourite and I think the most important.

Number 6.

It helps us teach our children the value of something, not the price.

It tells the ones we love that we care enough, that we know them well enough, to choose something as individual as they are. I know that I would feel more thrilled with an item that someone has taken time to pick or make themselves, knowing it will be cherished, than something grabbed off a shop shelf at the last minute.

In a world where our children are becoming more and more focused on the 'need' to Have ALL The Things, handmade is an even more vital part of the festive season. You are sharing, giving, something special to others. Not in order to get something in return, but simply for the joy of letting someone know you appreciate and cherish them, which surely is the point of the season, no matter what religion you are part of.

At this time of year especially, children can become over-whelmed with well-intentioned but ultimately pointless gifts, swamped, drowning in a mess of mass-produced sparkly tat that rapidly loses its polish and attraction.

I refuse to let our home be a part of that.

“That's the thing with handmade items.
They still have the person's mark on them,
and when you hold them,
you feel less alone."Aimee Bender

So, I share with you some of my most favourite artisan, British crafters. These are all people whom I have done business with and know that their work is of the greatest quality with the highest customer service.

I hope hope hope that you'll 'like' them on Facebook, peruse their Etsy stores and maybe buy the person you love something unique and special, something that will be cherished... just like they are.




My own shop
MamaPixie on Etsy
MamaPixie on Facebook
 - bespoke children's clothing, costumes and playcloaks, felt Waldorf crowns, wooden trees and more


Kendal's shop
Mama Make on Etsy
Mama Make on Facebook
 - beautiful childrens clothes, hand-knitted elf hats, family hearts, and the most gorgeous bloomers you've ever seen!


Washed-Up Family
 - unique sea-glass jewellery


Holmes-made
 - stunning papercuts and Christmas cards


ArwenMakes
 - speciality custom-dyed wool, knitted goods and jewellery


Button Pocket
 - the coolest custom, handmade bags you'll EVER find!


AislingDezines
 - bespoke bunting, woollen goods and tie dye


Serendipity
 - handcarved and perfectly pyrographed wooden boxes, fairie doors and more


Felt so good
 - imaginative felted playmats and items


Earthworks Journals
 - handcrafted, hand-tooled journals (quite honestly, the best I've ever owned!)

Snips and snails, and puppy dog tails.

~ by Kendal

When it comes to finding out the baby’s sex, there seems to be two types of people. There are those who are patient, who relish the surprise at the moment of birth, who find bonding with their unborn child easy, regardless of knowing whether they’re a Timmy or Tania. I am not one of those. I am the other kind of person – the kind that could not bear the idea of being able to know something so exciting and yet choosing not to.

I am simply not a very patient person. This seems to come as a surprise to a lot of my friends who have an idea of me as a super calm, super zen Mama who never gets cross. Of course this isn’t true, but when it comes to surprises, I genuinely have absolutely zero patience. None.

I am the kind of person who would rather watch a series of something back to back, over an intense period of time, than wait week by week. The kind of person who will buy a lovely big bar of Lindt and have eaten it by the time she’s left the shop and crossed the road.  So you can imagine, when it comes to the possibility of knowing what gender my baby is, there is simply no question. I want to know. Of course I want to know!

Those that do not find out, frankly, confound and impress me. I do understand the logic and I have contemplated what it must be like, at the moment of birth, to suddenly know whether your baby is male or female, but I just don’t understand how anyone can possibly wait so long.

After all, a surprise at 20 weeks is just as good at 40, no? And what’s more, the moment of birth is so monumental and overwhelming that the added surprise of gender seems superfluous to me. But the main reason, impatience aside, that my husband and I are both keen to know what the baby is, flavour wise, is because we both feel it makes it so much easier to round out this little person in our imagination.

To stop calling them it, or them, or Pillywiggin, as we have been, and start referring to the baby by name, seems like no small thing to us. With Ava, we started calling her Ava the moment we left the hospital, and by the time she was born, she was very much Ava to us, complete with an imagined personality which, strangely enough, turned out to be pretty accurate.

So, on Wednesday, we found out. We are having a boy. A boy! And funnily enough, I knew, without a shred of doubt, that this little one was going to be a boy. Even during the scan, when the sonographer was slowly going through his anatomy, measuring, analysing, I kept referring to him as ‘him’. I just knew. And I know how that sounds…because whenever I’ve heard someone say that in the past, my inner sceptic raises her head and eyebrows and thinks, ‘Hmm, well, sure, you think you know, but you have a 50% chance of being right so…’

I can’t even explain how it is that I knew. When we found out the baby was due in April, my first thought was that he was going to be a boy. (I’m a bit of an astrology nerd, and family astrology is of particular interest…Howard and his sister are October/April babies, as are Howard’s parents, and since Ava is an October baby it wasn’t a surprise at all we were due an April one next…)

Partly, too, it was down to how different this pregnancy has been. I have been a lot more sick, and that lovely second trimester surge of energy kicked in about two weeks ago as opposed to at 12 weeks when I was pregnant with Ava. I have been craving meat as much as I was disgusted by it with Ava, and I have generally just felt …different. It is hard, of course, to know whether that’s down to carrying a boy instead of a girl, or simply any number of other variables, like the fact I am looking after a toddler this pregnancy and am much, much busier and much more active. Or the fact that I am two years older. Or…well, you get the picture.

So, there we were on Wednesday, in a dark room. Me on a hospital bed with a rod poking my belly whilst Howard did his best to make the baby on screen seem interesting to a tired two year old, and as soon as the sonographer said, ‘See that, there? That’s a willy’’ and I thought, ‘Yes! I knew!’, I was also flooded with a whole wave of other emotions and thoughts which surprised me somewhat.

Things that, given my dislike of stereotypical gender roles and my attempt to discard them at any opportunity, I was surprised I was occupying. ‘What will I do with a boy? I don’t know boys. I can do girls. I have a girl. But boys?’ And, ‘What will he wear?’ ‘What toys will he play with?’ …and so on, and so on.

Every time I thought one of those thoughts, I also realised how absurd it was to think it. How some habitual, learned part of my brain was bombarding me with things I didn’t really think. With stereotypical gender ‘norms’ that I have never bought into and certainly don’t want to now. As a dear friend wrote to Ava when she was born, ‘There’s no such thing as ‘for girls’ and ‘for boys’. There’s just what you like and what you don’t.’

And I know this. I do, of course. I genuinely had no preference when it came to what sex this baby was, as sure as I was that he was a boy. But if I’m being totally honest, the reason I didn’t care is because I already have a girl, and in the film that has played out in my head since I was a child, the one where I fantasized and dreamed of being a Mama, it was always to a little girl. I’ve always felt relieved that we had a girl first, because on some basic level it ticked a box I had waiting to be ticked. I had always wanted a daughter.

And now, I also can’t pretend that knowing this wee one is a boy doesn’t add an extra level of excitement to this, my second child. After all, we’ve never been parents to a son, and whilst his anatomy might be totally irrelevant to what kind of person he will be, it’s still different and new. Something we haven’t yet experienced.

Recently, a friend pointed out that it is almost impossible, now being a Mama to both a girl and a boy, to tell whether the difference in their personalities has anything to do with their gender or simply personality, and a whole bunch of other factors in their environment. The fact that a second child is generally more chilled out (or so I’m told by friends and parenting books), because they don’t get the kind of 24/7 microscopic attention a first child does, or the fact that, as a second time parent, you are not quite as freaked out by everything, not quite as paranoid and nervous….these are all things that are bound to have a huge impact.

When I think of all the little boys and girls I know, it is certainly hard to make sweeping generalisations, although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see some small, but common differences at times. For example, in general, the little girls I know are less likely to become aggressive in times of frustration than the little boys. I’ve read that this is, indeed, in part due to hormonal differences between girls and boys. Likewise, it’s always funny to be in a big group of children and notice that, as someone pointed out recently, all the little girls had found dolls or teddies and were playing quietly, whilst most of the little boys were running around, making more noise, and even banging things with sticks.

Yes, it was quite a startling difference that particular day, watching how very different the girls and boys were behaving. But of course, once again, it’s impossible to tell whether or not that’s down to gender or down to the way they are treated by parents and friends. If a boy is always encouraged to rough play, he will be more comfortable doing so. If a girl is always handed teddies and soft toys, she will most likely go to do the same. I suspect, of course, that like most things, it is a combination of all these factors. That gender may well play a role, albeit quite small, I think, in defining a person’s characteristics, but that it is other factors that have more of an impact on a developing personality.

The boys I know (like the girls) who are gentle and kind and introspective have parents who are like that, themselves. Or who, at least, are encouraging of them to be as emotive and sensitive as they would with any girl. And if you’ve met my daughter, you’ll know that she can be extremely energetic and boisterous. Whilst she seems to have next to no aggression in her (most of the time she is pretty calm and chilled out) she can be as physical and as excitable as any boy I know. She loves nothing more than throwing herself off chairs and down slides.

I’d like to think that by the time our son is born, I will have had enough time to contemplate how silly some of my learned gender assumptions are. Any time I think something about having to buy ‘boy clothes’ for example, I can remind myself that Ava dressed mainly in blues and reds and that so will he (until he is old enough to decide what colours he wants to wear) And not because those colours are gender neutral, but because there is no such thing as gender neutral colours since all colours are gender neutral. I just happen to dislike pink.

I am lucky enough, and very grateful, to know some exceptional people who just happen to be male. Some of them are young and are incredibly kind and gentle souls, some are full of energy and excitement and curiosity and I hope that we are the kind of people, with Ava and our son, who will always be able to look past what gender our children are and to take account of the whole person, whoever they may be. To encourage them to be whoever it is they want to be, without the need to behave ‘like a girl’ or ‘like a boy’, whatever that means.

Knowing that we are having a son won’t change anything about us. It won’t make us decorate his and Ava’s bedroom differently, or buy different toys. At most, it allows us to imagine what having a little boy is like, and to imagine what his personality may be, but really, this has little to do with gender and more to do with acknowledging that, although he may still be in utero, he is, after all, a whole, definite, important and unique person.

It is nice to be able to say to Ava that the baby is a boy and to hear her refer to the baby as such. It’s lovely to see her ‘draw’ four different spiders – Mama Spider, Daddy Spider, Ava Spider and Baby Boy Spider (she likes to draw spider families at the moment). And it is easier for me to carve out a space, mentally, emotionally and physically, for this new person, being able to refer to him not just as Pillywiggin but by his name. Ezra. Or, as Ava says, Ezzzzza.

'What are little boys made of?

Slugs and snails

And puppy-dogs' tails,

That's what little boys are made of.

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice

And everything nice,

That's what little girls are made of'

What NOT To Say To Pregnant Women

 ~ by Emi

There are several pregnant women in my life right now, and Kendal chief among them. I am a real baby person. I simply love pregnant women. I ask before touching bumps but if given permission, frankly, I could sit there all day squealing and going "There's a baby in there! It's so amazing!". I have to say that Kendal puts up with this beautifully. As does our friend Laura, currently pregnant with her third. My lovely stepmama, on the other hand, whilst pregnant with my little brother kept telling me to chill out and stop harassing her!

I was thinking, earlier this week, about the things I miss about pregnancy, like the kicks and movement, the special feeling of carrying life inside you...

Which inevitably led me to thinking about what I HATED people saying to me whilst I was pregnant.

So my post today is...

EMI'S GUIDE TO WHAT NOT TO SAY TO PREGNANT WOMEN

1. "Oh my goodness! You're so big!"

For the love of all that is wonderful in this world, when speaking to a pregnant woman, DO NOT use the word 'big' or any derivation thereof to describe her. This point includes (but is not limited to) the following words;

hefty
large
huge
humongous
enormous
colossal
elephantine

You don't need to tell her that her bump is enormous. SHE KNOWS! She's been living with it every second of every day. It doesn't matter that she's so big that she's doing that 'wheelbarrow' walk. It doesn't matter that she's so big she can rest a cup of tea on her bump. It doesn't matter that she's so big that she has her own gravitational pull and small objects are orbiting her.

Just don't comment on it.

You also don't need to ask her, even jokingly "Are you *sure* you're not having twins?!"

(And if you feel the need to give your pregnant friend a 'cute' nickname, stick with Preggy or something similar that is non-offensive. DO NOT, under any circumstances, come up with a name like... oh, I don't know... 'Preggo The WonderHorse'. And yes, my husband *did* call me this.)




2. "Kiss goodbye to your sex life!"Also known as You'll Never Have Sex Again or the variant You'll Lose Your Sex Drive Whilst You're Pregnant.

These are all lies.

With Pixie's pregnancy, I was simply too tired to have sex. Poor Stephen would look at me with yearning eyes, only to see me fast asleep, snoring away, honking like a walrus with a cold within seconds. With Ru's, I was hornier than a teenage boy who just simultaneously discovered that his parents have gone out shopping and that his internet browser has a private browsing function.

And you will have sex again because sex, frankly, is AWESOME.

And if we didn't, the human race would be doomed. Which is bad.

It might take a few days, a couple of weeks, or months, but it will happen. I have noticed that it seems to be that the general consensus among crunchy parents is that we don't tend to wait as long as non-crunchies after birth.

You never know, you may end up like me after Ru's birth. So hopped up on love for this tiny being that you made with this amazing manandisn'thebrilliantandlookwhatwemadetogetherilovehim
andiloveoursonandwowmyhormonesaregoingcrazyandbloodyhellI'mhornygetupstairsintobedrightnow.

Or something like that.



3. "You won't have a full night of sleep ever again!"Okay, so this one is sort of true. It may well be a while before you have a full 8 hours of sleep in one go, but your pregnant friend will have heard this a thousand times, and if she has kids already, she is likely to be a pro at managing on three hours. It's just not helpful.




4. "You're not having pain relief! *laugh* Just you wait, you'll be begging for an epidural!" aka. 'Birth plan?! HA!'You may be right. She may end up begging for pain relief (me during my labour with Ru). She may breeze through it in 2 hours and 37 minutes from start to finish (me during my labour with Pixie).

Let her write the no-drugs, water-labour birth plan. It's not hurting you.

And if, in the end, you were right, you don't need to mention it. Be smug on the inside!





5. "Babies are so expensive!"This usually goes hand in hand with "You *NEED* this £500 pushchair/£200 cot/£30 babygrow/other over-priced item!".

You know what babies need? Milk, love, cuddles. That's pretty much it.

Kids can be expensive... if you let them be. It's up to you whether you pick Marks and Spencers to do your monthly food shop, or Asda. It's up to you whether you buy a £100 sling or a £500 3-in-1 travel system. It's up to you whether you choose designer baby clothes or charity shop finds.

Make your choice.





6. "Are you getting married before the baby is born?"This is a personal bug bear for me. By all means, if you feel the need to get married before having children, so be it. But having the same surname as your partner and a piece of paper saying 'Hey! You're married!' *doesn't* automatically make you a better parent. I feel like that's an old-fashioned notion, and on a par with other gems of 'wisdom' like A child needs a mother AND a father.

Stephen and I didn't get married until Ru was a year old. I like to think we've done ok as parents. We didn't magically become SuperMum and SuperDad the day after the ceremony. In fact, I remember my dad being very clear about the fact that he'd have preferred us to be be married before Ru was born. Stephen's parents even offered to pay for a wedding for us whilst I was pregnant. (We politely declined.)

Make no bones about it, I LOVE being married, but really, it is much the same as before our wedding day, only now I have a dress I'm unlikely to wear ever again in my wardrobe.


7. "Wow, you look rough."You are only allowed to tell pregnant women that they look beautiful and glowing and gorgeous and oh-doesn't-pregnancy-suit-you and so on.

Do not tell her she looks rough.

Do not tell her she looks exhausted and tired.

Definitely don't tell her she has cankles from water retention.

Best not to mention varicose veins.

Oh, or stretchmarks.

If you MUST comment on her physical appearance, tell her that her boobs look cracking. Comment on how healthy her hair or skin looks. Or, my personal favourite "Oh my god! You can't even tell you're pregnant from behind!".

She might be stood there sweating like an overweight man in a cake shop (or my husband after consuming an enormous steak) but lie through your teeth. She'll probably respond to your "You're positively glowing!" with "Nope, that would be sweat." but it's better than telling her something negative and having her look at you like this...




8. "I/my friend/my sister/my aunty's friend's third cousin once removed had *insert scary birth story here*"I have been known to respond to people who say this to me with a polite 'Fuuuuuuuck you.'.

This is the BIGGIE. Your pregnant friend does NOT want or need to hear your negative birth story.

I'll say it again because it is so important.

Your pregnant friend does NOT want or need to hear your negative birth story.

She doesn't need to hear that you were in labour for 75 hours, that you had to have 18 stitches because you tore so badly, that you had an episiotomy or ceasarean or whatever. Keep it to yourself. I'm truly sorry if you had a rubbish experience during your own labour, but your scary story isn't going to help right now.

The amazing woman who ran the pregnancy yoga class I attended explained that often, when women share their traumatic birth story, it's because they've not completely dealt with it themselves. This is often very true, and if you need to deal with the fallout from a less-than-perfect labour, and/or seek a sympathetic ear then I urge you to do so... but NOT to pregnant women.

Positive birth stories ONLY please.

(And every time you do hear a negative one, head over here for an antidote.)




In the end, pregnancy is truly a miracle. And yes, by the end of it, we women are enormous, sweaty, shambling, wheelbarrow-walking creatures whose natural enemies are flights of staircases and shoes that require tying up. But don't say that.

Just smile sweetly, and hand your pregnant friend some more cake.




We'd love to hear what some of the most ridiculous and hilarious things you've been told whilst pregnant are!

The Feminist Mother

~ by Kendal

(This article will also appear on www.TYCI.org.uk/wordpress - a brand new collective run by women, for women, exploring and celebrating all things femme)

Many times in my life I have contemplated whether or not I could call myself a feminist. It has played on my mind a lot, and none more so than after becoming a mother, and questioning the way this new role defined me as a person, and the ways in which I did and did not want to raise my daughter.

But this week something happened. After several long discussions about feminism, about what it is and isn’t and what it means to different people, I realised I am, without a doubt, staunchly, unequivocally, a feminist. I told this to my husband who looked at me as if that was the most obvious thing I have ever said to him.

I also realised that feminism is and should be an inclusive, flexible ideology – one that is still fighting hard for women to gain equality in a male dominated, male normative society where all of us, women and men, are often defined by our gender and confined to the roles that go along with it.

Perhaps you yourself don’t identify as a feminist, or maybe the term has too many negative connotations and makes you feel uncomfortable. I understand that. Here is why I do call myself a feminist. Because even though I do not personally face great oppression or insubordination every day in my daily life, millions of women do.

If you are a woman and you work then you most likely get paid lower than your male colleagues. Across Europe alone there is a 25% pay gap in like for like work. If you are a woman and you vote, then you may notice that your gender is still ridiculously under represented in the House of Commons. Only 19% of MPs are female. Women account for over two thirds of the 1.2 billion people living in poverty worldwide, own less than 1% of the world’s property and yet do two thirds of the world’s work.

Here are some things that as a feminist mother, I do face on a regular basis: I face the challenge of fighting for my right to birth freely, of refusing inductions and unnecessary vaginal examinations during labour, or refusing flu and whooping cough vaccinations during pregnancy should I not want them, and I face the challenge of fighting for the right to bond with my baby after birth as I see fit, without constant interruption and interference.

I face the challenge of breastfeeding in a society that is still largely uneducated about the benefits of breast milk, that doesn’t understand or support the need to breastfeed a child beyond the very early months, and that would like me to cover up and be discreet when I am out and about, God Forbid they should see a flash of breast when I feed my baby. (Although, on Halloween, should I want to dress as a slutty nurse, I am welcome to flash my breasts all I wish)

I face a culture that is more concerned with getting me back into shape, getting rid of those stretch marks and getting me back into the office than it is about me bonding with my baby or giving me the time and space necessary to adjust to bringing a new life into the world.

I face a society that tells me, constantly, not to trust my own body, because everyone else knows better. Because even though my body has carried and nurtured a baby for 9 months, it can’t possibly detect the presence of that baby sleeping next to me in bed or feed a baby on breastmilk alone for the first 6 to 9 months of a baby’s life. I face a society that tells me I dress my daughter too much like a boy because she wears navy and red instead of head to toe pink, or T-shirts that say, ‘Cute Little Princess’ on them.

In fact, there are many people, including a number of feminists, who think that stay at home mothers (SAHM) or mothers who practice attachment parenting are somehow betraying those feminists who worked hard to ensure that women do not have to stay at home and look after their children.

This year, a family member actually told me what a shame it was that I’d never done anything with my degree, after studying so long and hard. Aside from the fact that this kind of thinking is infuriating at the most basic level (I did an English degree – I read and write every day), it also implies that the only way to be successful, or productive, is to have a career, a high paying job or at least some sort of job at all.

This is not something I agree with. And it relates directly to my decision to be a SAHM. The idea that money must indicate someone’s contribution to society or define your sense of self worth is of course a ridiculous notion. The fact that I am not ‘doing anything’ with my degree – even though I write regularly, sometimes even making money from such writing – is testimony to how so many people still think.

It doesn’t seem to matter that I have chosen to be where I am, that I have put a lot of thought into the life I am living. To some, still, because I am not out there and working, because I like to sew and cook and spend my days with my children, I am positively backward and frankly, a smack in the face to radical feminism.

But here’s the thing. Feminism must be a flexible ideology if it is to continue to fight for, and achieve, the freedom for women to choose their lives. I understand that in the 60s and 70s, the second wave feminists wanted to throw out their aprons and challenge the status quo as it was then because they really were expected to do nothing but be happy little homemakers, but now we are surely at a place where what we are fighting for is the right to be exactly the kind of person (and woman) that we want to be.

I can be a SAHM and still be productive. In fact, in my new role as a ‘mother’ and, specifically, ‘stay at home mother’ I read and write more than I ever did – more than I did when I was studying English at Durham or creative writing at Goldsmiths, and I certainly feel like I am contributing more to society now than I did in any of my previous employed positions.

Furthermore, I feel as if my choice to have children and raise them in the way we raise them – as attachment parents – is entirely feminist. Like feminism, attachment parenting deliberately refuses the idea of perfection and instead seeks to educate women and encourage trust in their own bodies and instincts. As Mayim Balik writes, ‘We have empowered ourselves and refuse to endure a male-centered obstetric history that has taken women’s bodies and molded them to their preferences for their convenience, their comfort and for their world view.’

My choice not to work was not the result of having my own expense account, courtesy of my husband and his high-flying job. It does not come without sacrifice and without effort. We get by, because we find ways to, but having one salary instead of two means that we do not do several things we used to – like travel abroad twice a year or eat out on a regular basis. We have chosen to live this way because for us, it feels like the best possible thing for all concerned. But it is, make no mistake, work – 24/7, without holidays or lunch hours, and it should not be frowned upon or dismissed as somehow less of a contribution to society.

When I am filling out a form, or asked by someone what it is I do, I shudder at the response I often give – a Stay at Home Mother. The phrase is so reductive and so far off from describing what my life is actually like. I hate that it symbolises an idea of woman that I work hard personally to avoid.

But I was raised never to think of my gender as a barrier – never to even consider it as an issue at all, which is perhaps another reason that the idea of it possibly being an obstacle was one so hard to get my head around. Coming to do things long associated with an antiquated view of woman and their role in the home – cooking and sewing and quilting – I found a great comfort in the thought of generations of women before me having cared for and nurtured their family in these different ways. I did not feel tied down, but liberated by the thought of such skill and workmanship and dedication.

In fact, learning these skills makes me feel empowered. I hope that my daughter grows up to equate learning with empowerment too. To understand that she need not look beyond herself to feel empowered or accepted. Yet every time someone tells her that she is a princess or asks her if she is a daddy’s girl, every time I am asked if she is a little madam or diva, I am reminded that gender roles exist all around us from the very beginning and that it is my job to teach my daughter she is none of those things unless she chooses to be.

My daughter will grow up in a society where the idea that women’s bodies are primarily, if not only, sexual, entertaining, titillating and provocative is everywhere. It is so pervasive that most of us have become somewhat numb to the ‘raunch culture’ we live in. I don’t even blink when I pass Ann Summers and posters of women in teeny tiny spandex outfits, handcuffed and pouting, stand six foot tall in the window.

We are plagued with such images everywhere, and it seems to me that one of the subtlest forms of patriarchy is the idea that women can be powerful as long as they remain sexual. It is something we are taught from an early age. If we do not actively challenge it, we are often implicit in upholding these restrictive gender norms.

My daughter should feel able to celebrate her body in ways that go beyond its ability to be sexual or sexy, in ways that embrace honest sexuality instead of perpetuating the more oft than not male heterosexual fantasy of what ‘sexy’ is. Although my daughter is likely to see thousands of images of women being objectified by the time she is a teenager, she will probably not receive anything close to a comprehensive sex education unless I provide it.

In her book, Female Chauvinist Pigs, Ariel Levy talks about how real lust and eroticism are feared, and instead women are encouraged to ‘reclaim’ their bodies by continuing to use them in perfomative ways. Bell Hooks, in ‘Feminism is for Everybody’, says, ‘If any female feels she need anything beyond herself to legitimate and validate her existence, she is already giving away her power to be self-defining, her agency.’

I want more for my daughter. Yes, feminism is about striving for equality with all people, and celebrating a woman’s right to do and be whatever it is she wants. But it also has to be about resisting the subtler forms of patriarchy that we all, men and women alike, face every single day. The ones that tell us it is okay to be whatever we want as long as whatever we want still fits into a larger patriarchal framework where racial, gender and sexuality status quos are maintained.

If I am a Feminist Mother, it is because I want everything for my daughter, I want the world to be one of endless choice and possibility, and the thought that her gender might ever prevent that seems an impossible injustice that I will fight with every ounce of my being to eradicate.