Tag: Indigenous Mothering

Enjoy your stat, Canada

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Today, I’m planning to do the same thing I strive for every day, although a bit more intentionally. It started off waking up at 6:05, like every day, but I didn’t get out of bed right away.

I whispered truths to my co-sleeping child about how smart, funny, kind and brave he is. I thanked him for choosing me to be his mama. I thought about my absolute privilege to be an Indigenous mother in 2025, and the beauty in filling my children up with goodness.

I laid in bed a bit longer, before getting up to make coffee, and starting peach cobbler that 2/3 children enjoy (the third eats cheerios, banana and milk every day).

I’m just going to be slow and intentional today, me: a little love light burning for all Indigenous people and mothers and children fighting for sovereignty and the ancestors by existing, thriving, loving and living.

Each moment with my children today will be an intentional prayer for every child who never made it home, and for those parents and communities who miss them, past and present.

Colonialism is system operating as intended, that Canadians continue to uphold and benefit from. I think today is simultaneously important and also at the same time a shallow, topical non-solution.

Memories of Maplehood

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I’ve been thinking about memory lately, trying to hold onto every shred of baby time with the 3rd and last small human of my creation. Memory is fleeting, fickle, finite. My memories are unique to my perspective, and I filter them through my present lense as much as I shaped them with the filter of my past thoughts and emotions.

Maplewood Plaza, December 2021

I felt a memory here. My mother and my aunt, there may have been other people there too. Lionel was my aunt’s boyfriend and he lived in these apartments. There was a Panago downstairs, but it was probably still called Panagopolous. I think I am 10 years old, maybe 9. We had pizza and the adults were drinking. My aunt was in rare form, a kind and jovial drunk, instead of the sharp and suspicious angry drunk she mostly was.

“Who loves you, Baby?” She said that night, pulling me into a rare embrace. “Who loves you, Baby?”

“Who loves you, Baby?”

“You do, Auntie,” I replied, not sure if it was the correct answer. I remember her face, large pores, the lines around her eyes when she smiled, the feathered bangs parted strictly and framing her forehead. The smell of cigarettes, beer, sweat and men’s deodorant because she refused anything soft and sweet smelling. She was strong and took no shit. She was an unintentional Indigenous feminist.

“Who loves you, Baby?” And I thought it was just a simple, rhetorical question. She said it to me on several other occasions, her affectionate expression. Sifting through these moments of memory inspired by place, I think maybe the question was more. Physical affection for kids in my family was rare. I hugged my mother once a week, before I left to go to my dad’s house. Love was unacknowledged but often conditional.

Probably “Who loves you, Baby?” Was the easiest way for her to say “I love you,” without the absolute commitment. I wonder what terms of affection my IRS survivor grandparents offered their children. I have no one to ask because my mom would never answer.

Thinking through this and realizing that announcing my love to my children has more meaning, is a proclamation, feels very definitive. “I love you.” Me. Mama. I love you. No doubts, no conditions. No alcohol obscuring my intergenerational trauma. I’m here feeling it. Loving all of you.

Ontological Security and existential Birthday Angst

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From the vaults: August 24, 2016:

“Ontological insecurity refers, in an existential sense, to a person’s sense of “being” in the world. An ontologically insecure person does not accept at a fundamental level the reality or existence of things, themselves, and others. In contrast, the ontologically secure person has a stable and unquestioned sense of self and of his or her place in the world in relation to other people and objects.” (Jackson & Hogg, 2010)

Rob Brezney’s Freewill Astrology http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/20160818.html provoked thoughts of my own ontological security as I experienced a moment of existential birthday angst this morning when I woke up.

So yes. The passing of years is a comfortable constant. Life delights me daily when the sun warms my flesh and the wind brushes my hair out of my face or the rain joins my tears, both the visible and the spiritual. When I feel tired, I take off my shoes and I squish my toes in the grass. The grounding energy of the earth energizes me.

Life is a miracle that sometimes I take for granted, caught up in feeling the feelings as deeply as I do. Feeling is the uncanny power I possess. I feel deeply and ruthlessly and more than normal. I fall in love with a senselessness, an easy empty headed joy; as easy as loving a breeze on a hot day, or sticky sandy hugs from a toddler. I love roses and orchids and berries and the sacred geometry of all plants. I love the provocative nature of bees and sexy flowers and the miracles of tasty fruit.

The benefits of loving this life are found in my family and also in the friends that I have manifested, for moments or years or lifetimes, friends I haven’t met yet, friends with whom I nurture varying degrees of intimacy. In addition to my physical village, I have a larger digital village which I am also thankful for.

The freedom of being uniquely me makes me feel at home in the world. The ability to do exactly what I dream of everyday. That I can manifest the blessings to combat the sorrows. That I challenge dominant discourses simply by existing, by “doing” me. The electric shock of communing with my Ancestors through their material culture which is not intangible. Looking into the sky to see eagles waiting, allowing me to witness their playful sky dance. Soft sighs of “mama” in the night. These things nourish me, and my ontological security.

Thanks, if you’re reading, for all you do everyday, for being you.

Self Isolation Diaries, Day 13

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Today the kids slept in until 7:45am!

We ate breakfast and then went outside to hoolahoop. In these weird, stressful and completely absurd times, (STOP SAYING UNPRECEDENTED, it’s annoying!) moving the body helps. We don’t need to be couch potatoes, we can maintain a social distance, no one is out as early as us anyway!

Phae can keep it up for about 45 seconds, while Fox had fun chasing a hoop around the parking lot. I am a bit rusty, but I impressed the kids and the neighbours with my pre-child hoolahooping skills, hahaha. The day revolved around meals and snacks. We put away laundry, it felt like an achievement. Phae and I did origami while Fox napped, she chooses complicated projects and I make them.

Origami has actually been a great distraction, in that it is a tiny momentary exercise in trust and faith, where I can surrender to outside instructions and have them work out as something cool and constructive and of value. Such a weird metaphor, I know. Today I made a little stationary storage multi-level box (Phae’s choice), a cactus in a pot, a diamond, a star and some weird triangle boxes with Tony.

We had an awkward conversation where I was frustrated with him about his choices with working. Like, he has some weird, patriarchy hang-up that AS A MAN, he needs to be working. If he was worried about money, I make more, but we’re certainly not going to argue about whose job is more important. In the face of a global pandemic, neither seems very essential. The job that is important is parenting, the kids need to be loved. I am the motherish, default primary parent and I am actively trying to choose connection. I am trying to surrender my capitalist slave mentality to just be present with my children and do some child-led and place based learning.

In our present reality while earth is in the throes of a global pandemic,
“real archaeology” (whatever that is), shitty settler developers, anthropology, my masters degree, it all seems pretty fucking inconsequential.

I love the land and the Ancestors, but I don’t really like my job, and it seems so fucking skewed to put the job before my family. I am letting the work at home stuff stress me out, and I’m barely keeping on top of my work emails. If I could manage more, (while juggling children, cooking and planning every meal, rationing the food we have, budgeting and trying to keep the household somewhat not a sty) I wouldn’t be making much of a contribution to the discipline. Yes, let’s write a boiler plate report for some questionable settler development so they can check their archaeology box on the list of requirements issued by settler colonial governments for a permit to destroy/redestroy/disregard Indigenous cultural heritage and territory.

So I worked my ass off for 8 years in post-secondary to get a couple of degrees, yay I achieved a couple of things valued by a few segments of settler society. I made many sacrifices to do it. I fucking did it. I joke about being the reluctant anthropologist, but truth be told, anthropology has ruined me.

From My Family, To Yours

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Haha. So I vacillate between enthusiasm for Christmas and an extreme distaste for the consumerism. My older child has fully embraced the Santa Claus myth so we’re letting her enjoy that while she can. We emphasize food and family and fun for the holidays.

Living on campus in family residence across the city from the rest of family is isolating sometimes, mostly because transit with 2 kids is daunting. We do try and lure people to the edge of the city for visits, but I know we are out of the way.

We are working to establish our own little family traditions, one of those is family pictures and snail-mail Christmas cards. Photos by Derek Stephens Photography

I’m pretty grateful that Christmas is done, hopefully we lived up to the Santa hype. Thankfully the baby is not contaminated by the Santa cult yet, but probably will be next year 😁 I have one week of winter break left to write 2 papers, polish my overdue thesis proposal, keep the kids alive and not bicker the spouse to death: wish me luck.

Find joy and love where you can!