Laugh with me

Since my family and I moved from Alert Bay to Victoria, all I’ve been thinking about is how much I miss laughing with my friends up island. My first week back in the city I was texting them and telling them that people weren’t laughing at my stories. I was never much of a story teller but something in me changed. I learned a few things about living in a small community during my three years in Alert Bay, and the most important teaching that I picked up is that shit happens and we are all in it together so let’s laugh about it.

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I remember the laughter of my relatives in Saskatchewan. Most of the time we laughed because someone was being teased. I close my eyes and I can see my aunties with their eyes squinted, heads titled up to the sky with big smiles, I hear their cackles and I smell their cigarettes. It didn’t matter who was being teased; we all laughed, especially the one being teased.

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When I was little, my dad was always away working up North and my mom didn’t have very much time to herself, between cleaning other peoples homes and taking care of my sisters and I. She had to bring us along to do everything with her. There were the lawyers and doctors homes that our mom cleaned while we vacuumed or daydreamed about living different lives. We went to the the bank where we were told to behave while all four of us stood and waited in the line, and eventually one of us would start to swing on the stanchions (my husband had to look that one up) and we’d either get a scowl from a back teller or our mother. And now I have the convenience of an ATM or doing my banking from home without distractions. She brought us along to the grocery store (I need to practice deep breathing to avoid loosing my shit when I take the boys to the grocery store) where we would be told that if we behaved we could have a free cookie from the bakery. In the days of no iPads or iPhones my mom would visit her friends at their homes and tell us to sit and behave, there were no electronic distractions. I remember that as I got older, I enjoyed listening to the adults talk and laugh. Their was Milli, who was like a kohkum and we all called her Milli Vanilli. She lived in a small apartment where we would look at the most recent items that she knitted or beaded. There my mother would learn how to make moccasins. I would listen to them talk about their week and notice when their voices became quiet which was when I tried harder to hear what they were talking about and then suddenly they would erupt in laughter. In the evenings we would go visit Leah. She was such a tiny lady with a huge personality, great hair and a big heart. She was always, always laughing; it was infectious. We would go to her place to visit but also to do some shopping. It was her place where my mom bought my very first and only pair of brand new Guess jeans, the pair with the ankle zippers. They were so cool and I wore them with my favourite purple silk blouse. Leah was earning her money on the side while my mom was trying to please her eldest daughter who refused to go shopping at the Sally Anne. Years later I learned that Leah died while being held in a prison cell in Saskatoon.

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In my circles we laugh, sometimes too much and I am told by a three year old that -we are too loud and that it is not funny. My laughter had always been loud but after living in Alert Bay, it is even louder. Not too sure how that is possible but it has happened. I always knew how to laugh but living in Alert Bay awoke something within me – I learned how to laugh like my aunties and grannies used to. We were always laughing. We laughed at everything and anything. If you were hurt, we laughed.  If you were sad, we laughed. If my husband told his “wing wing” joke, we laughed but not always. And its that laughter that allows us to survive even when we are hurting.

-Amanda Laliberte

it’s in the quiet times…

I did something extreme this summer – something that has caused me a lot of grief, guilt and shame.

I know… what an intro.

My parents are taking care of my kid for the summer.

There, I said it.

I feel wrong just saying it.

There is so much to unpack here.

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It started in the middle of June. I went to Vancouver for two weeks for two academic conferences and my Mom was watching my baby at my place in Saskatoon. And we chatted about it – and she agreed to watch Aerie for the summer up North. I’m still studying for my PhD (one day I will write more about this) and I am working hard on passing a big test that will determine whether or not I continue in academia in two freaking weeks. So much pressure, and on top of all this – blogging, photography, and a new book out to promote. Mom saw all this and was offering to come stay with me in the city, but she hates the city. And Aerie loves the North. It was easy to see that Aerie going North would help me out so much, and that it would be easiest for my parents.

Let me say this right away – I am so blessed to have my parents around to be able to do this, and the only person feeling guilty about this is me. My parents love having Aerie, and she loves being up there. There are no problems there at all.

So this guilt, this shame, and this self-loathing – it’s all internal.

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I like to say that this is an example of a community raising the child, which is an idea that I have taken to ever since my ex and I broke up. Although he and I are still friends, I am the primary parent of our child. And I do need help – and help is here. My brothers and their families, my parents, my best friends, my friends, and so on. If I need help, I just have to ask. Aerie is loved by many, and that is so good. She has a million aunties, just like any rez kid.

So she is doing amazing. She swims, boats, fishes, road trips, eats all the foods, makes all the friends. She is having a dream summer. We talk everyday and I make the trip down to see her very 7-10 days or so, even if it’s just for a night. But this was the longest time we have ever spent apart, and everyone has a comment.

Taking the summer to focus on my academic needs and myself gives me insane guilt, and that’s ok. I know – I KNOW – that this is the best for her and I right now, and that I needed this extra time to focus. But it’s hard.

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It’s hard when my own brothers make “you’re like an auntie to her ha ha ha” comments, while they sit in their two-parent relationships. It takes everything in me to not verbally cut them down because Mama raised me better than that. And I react because I fear what they say is true. Which is insane, I know, but I’m still teary just thinking about it.

It’s hard when I get asked by friends who don’t know the situation – “Where’s Aerie?” I drown in guilt and massive explanations when I don’t need to. I want to justify this to everyone, and I’m the only one who needs that.

It’s hard when it’s quiet at night, and I turn on a cartoon, just so I can feel like she’s around. It’s hard when I wake up in the middle of the night, thinking she called for me, and I remember she’s not there. When I go grocery shopping, and she’s not there, trying to sneak in her favourite snacks. So many moments where I miss the every day feeling of having her by my side.

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But there is a light – we are coming down to the end of summer. Her days at the beach are getting shorter. Her hair is getting longer. Her tan is incredibly dark, and she is thinking about her Grade 1 class and who will all be in there. My exams are coming up, and soon after that, she will be home with me. Those early morning cuddles where I have to convince her to get up – I can’t wait. Our Friday afternoon Starbucks dates – I can’t wait.

I really didn’t even wanna share this – I hate sharing my struggle – but I do know that the academic world is not women-friendly, it’s not Indigenous-friendly, it’s not mother-friendly. And that to succeed, sometimes we have to make sacrifices. This was mine. I gave up my summer with my kid.

But it’s only my sacrifice – as this was Aerie’s gain.

These were the moments where her relationship with her grandparents, her community, her land, and her culture – it only got stronger.

And come the Fall, I can’t wait to hear her stories.

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 – tenille k campbell

Sleep and a Baby

Ah. Sleep. Five letters, a short word, but it’s undoubtedly a central topic to new parents happiness (and sanity). I don’t have any sleeping advice other than the age old “sleep when the baby sleeps” (which I did and it is amazing advice), but I do want to share my experience with our sleep and our now (almost) 8 month old. If you follow me on Instagram, a lot of my posts lately are centred around sleep, and getting Alba a good sleep. I’m obsessed right now, and for good reasons.

** Before I share our experience, I do want to preface with this – you know your baby, and do what works best for you and your family. I am not a medical professional, and if you have any questions regarding sleep and safe sleep, please ask your paediatrician.**

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We’ve been blessed with a good sleeper since Alba was born (or maybe I’m wearing rose tinted glasses and I’m not remembering properly). It’s not often that I was completely sleep deprived where I felt like I could cry. Of course I’ve experienced it, but not constantly throughout her newborn stage. Most often if she was upset or awake, we could figure out the why of it.

By a “good sleeper”, I mean relatively to what I’ve seen/heard other babies do in my limited experience with babies. In my mind, she’s a good sleeper.

That all being said, she was a good sleeper based on our various soothing techniques. One being swaddling, the other one being her pacifier.

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Before I discuss our experience and reasons for a pacifier, I do want to share a little about where Alba sleeps. My original plan was for her to be in the bassinet beside us but it turns out I’m mush when it comes to my kid (figures). I am much happier when she is attached to me. She would also sleep happier/longer with me near (she has a good sniffer and she knows when her favorite person isn’t close). Also, she had reflux which made sleeping trickier when she was tiny (poor thing had an upset tummy and hated being flat on her back). All of this boils down to bed-sharing. It varies (more on that later) now but the fact remains that when I am sleeping, she is sleeping near me. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but it’s all I’ve known and almost everyone I know does it. We did choose it though, and I’ve loved it. I love cuddling her. I am ready to take steps away from it though.

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So, we introduced the pacifier when Alba was a newborn. From my understanding, there is some controversy with pacifiers (like everything else that pertains to child-rearing), with the main opinion that I’ve found being “they don’t need that.” We introduced one anyway and the main reason being was that I read that it can help reduce SIDs. Now, there are drawbacks to the pacifier, one being related to use past toddlerhood and oral development, and the other being a sleeping crutch that can be backbreaking in itself if it falls out. But, I thought I would face those head on later when the time came and that it was worth it if it would help prevent Alba from dying in her sleep. I don’t mean to sound so blasé about it, and I thought of using a euphemism but that fact of the matter is, I do look a lot at ways I can actively prevent Alba’s death. When it comes to sleeping situations I look at all the hazards. In fact, that’s my main life goal now as her mother, so why beat around the bush about it. Morbid, I know, but I find sticking my head in the sand isn’t the way I parent. Since Alba was premature, she was a higher risk for SIDs so I figured if her paci would help in even just the smallest way to help prevent it, sign us up!

(Please, please, please bear in mind that that this doesn’t mean I think that YOUR child will succumb to SIDs if you don’t introduce the pacifier, that is not my intention for you to think that. I am just giving you a peek into my mind that is always in overdrive when it comes to Alba, and how I convinced myself that she needed one. There’s enough crazy parenting advice out there that I don’t want to muck up the waters with my own. I’ve gotten enough “I don’t do what you do, I’m such a bad parent” comments that I was hesitant to write this post, because that is not my opinion nor my intention when I share. My opinion is DO WHAT WORKS BEST for your family, for your mental health, and for your baby.).

And of course the other reason I wanted Alba to have a pacifier was because I didn’t want to be one. It’s true, they do not need pacifiers, so that opinion is more of a fact, but it also doesn’t hurt her the way it seems to be implied when people tell me she doesn’t need her soother (which we lovingly refer to as “Sue Sue” by the way).

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So, the pacifier was introduced with gusto from me for my personal reasons stated above and at first she didn’t care too much for it. Eventually it became a wonderful sleep association for her and also a cue to me on if she was tired so it definitely opened some communication doors for us.

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I look at months 2-5 as Alba’s sleeping pinnacle. This is the time I look back on with stars in my eyes. She wasn’t eating as much at night, and she could fall asleep when I’d put her down awake (so long as she had Sue Sue with her), and she could nap anywhere. I would gush to my husband, “I can’t believe our dream baby.” At this time we were putting her down in her pack and play and then pulling her into bed with us a few hours later at her first feed. It was good times. Then husband left to work when Alba was 5 months old for 2.5 months and that made for a LOT of cuddle time with just me and Alba. It was a beautiful thing too. At the time it was glorious as well. During his time away, I stopped using the pack and play, Alba also started rolling so we stopped swaddling. Alba’s dad came home and of course we wanted our evenings back to binge on Grey’s Anatomy and enjoy each other’s company. I was a fool to think she’d go back to her old ways because she was not having any of the pack n play anymore. So it was the three of us, all the time. I started thinking to myself “is this how it’s going to be until she goes to kindergarten?!” “What about baby number 2?!” On top of that, Alba had started to “comfort nurse” and it’s become a sleep association for her.

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Insert the crib. I figured she’d like it a little better than her pack n play, and I do want to transition to sleeping in there full time eventually. Also, since she started rolling I just can’t handle leaving her on the bed unsupervised. The livingroom/kitchen is so far from our room that even if she did fall I wouldn’t hear her cry. She also rolls fast. I also invested in a decent baby monitor.

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My first goal was to get her to nap in the crib and now at nearly 8 months, all her naps are in there. I’ll admit its a delicate dance to get her to sleep in there (timing her naps properly, making sure she’s well fed and drowsy enough, not overtired) but its working out well for us. Night time, she is still with us.

As she moves more and more, I do feel like the time of bed-sharing is coming to an end for us. I think sleep is so important and I do believe that once we figure it out, she will sleep better and longer at night in her crib (she doesn’t wake up at night but we do what feels like a bazillion dream feeding sessions which is disrupting her sleep and my sleep). Not only that, I was a terrible sleeper my whole life and I needed my mom to sleep. I can’t sleep alone. I spent all of 8th grade in her room on the floor, and maybe a part of me wants to prevent that with Alba. Now as we transition her out. I am faced with questions like introducing a lovey, taking away her pacifier (so I don’t have to wake up to put it back in), what is the best consistent bed time routine for her, will I ever fall asleep again if she’s not next to me? All of which I will have to make decisions about soon.

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For some people bedsharing/cosleeping is the best choice ever and it works well for some families well into toddlerhood (or later). It can be a great choice for a family when done safely. Personally, for us, and for Alba, I think it’s a good idea to give her the tools to sleep better on her own. Also, its not selfish for mama’s and papa’s to take care of themselves and Alba just seems to be needing more dream feeds the more time passes and this mama needs a good nights sleep. So mama friends, give me your tips, advice, experiences on how you got baby out of your bed? Maybe something that worked for you will work for us. I am currently reading Precious Little Sleep by Alexis Dubief and it has been an amazing resource so far. Highly recommend.

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*These sleeping pictures are just that, pictures. Some are styled and some are how she fell asleep (with her bunny) and ALL are supervised. When baby is sleeping unsupervised, there should be nothing that creates an entrapment hazards. No blankets, pillows, stuffies. No dangling cords or anything within reach of the crib. No bonnets, headbands, hats. Proper sleep clothes. When I leave Alba in her crib, she only gets her soother in there with her.

 – claudine bull

bead more. worry less.

Life is happening. It’s been crazy but so great. I’ve been shuffling around many hats and I’ve been trying to do it all.  I haven’t been up on the Tea and Bannock blog for weeks because I simply couldn’t keep up. I needed to take a break or learn to let go of some of my workload. Slowly I’ve learned to say no to a few things, loose control a little bit and to RELAX. Chill out. Just to be ok with doing nothing, sometimes.

I’m a photographer, a girlfriend, a full time stepmother of three, a traditional games manager with ASCNWT, a blogger for Tea & Bannock and a Chef de Mission for Team NWT at 2017 North American Indigenous Games. My life has been moving so quickly that I often forget to stop and smell the flowers. 

While trying to do it all and run a photography business on top of it, my computer happened to crash back in January 2017. Boom! Done-zo! This has caused a lot of frustration in my world as a blogger and photographer. However I took it for what it is and decided it wasn’t all chaos.  It was a good excuse to kickback and take a step away from my own art. Give it time and just let it breathe.

Taking a step back has lead to other creative outlets and fresh ideas. I’ve always been a creative person and I have my mom to thank for that. My mind is busy coming up with new projects to execute. Any other artist would know exactly what I mean. It’s a constant process. My hands always have to be busy creating.  So instead of putting all my energy into a computer that crashed (which I tend to do), I decided to shift my focus on to another art of mine – beading and sewing. 

I never really was exposed to beading while I was growing up. I would find my mom on her sewing machine altering clothes and creating costumes. My slavey class with Maragret Vandell and Angie Matto often consists of working on mini culturally focused projects to take home but that was the extent of it.

One day in my teenage years, I decided I needed to learn. I wanted to learn. And I want to be a really good beader. (Dene Goals!)

So I dug out all of my mother’s beads that have been stashed away for some time. I claimed them for myself and she was happy to share any knowledge and tricks she had.

My mother is also a very creative person; she could take anything and make it into something bigger and better. Anyone that has been close to our family over the years knows that Joyce can take an idea and make it happen. From when I was a preteen she encouraged me to sew, bead, embroider, create, be good and do good.  But it wasn’t until this year that I really picked it up consistently.

In her teenage years, my mom would use a loom to bead and would create beaded belts, guitar straps, headbands, wallets, etc. If it wasn’t for her encouragement, I probably wouldn’t be where I’m at today (in all aspects of life). She would often travel to other communities and pick up patterns, material, beads, looms, fur, etc. for me to use to practice and keep me intrigued.

I figured if I wanted to pass that tradition down to my children and be good at it then it’s best that I start beading when I had the time. The beginning was a frustrating process, the lines weren’t completely straight and the control freak in me had a hard time accepting that I wasn’t good at it right away… but I persevered anyway.

I developed a huge bin of beading supplies and it quickly became the bin of unfinished projects. They just kept piling up. I had unfinished key chains, change purses, and many uppers. (Projects that didn’t make the cut.) I’m sure many of you would agree that it’s hard to work on a project you don’t completely love. 

 

So the moment that I decided I wanted to take on a large beaded project – dedicate time, put some effort into it and make sure that I finish it – was the moment my lifelong best friend told me she was pregnant. I knew I wanted to create something special for her and my soon to be niece. Right off the bat I knew what I was going to do. I was going to make her a baby belt. I didn’t tell her what I was doing, it was going to be a surprise. 

I got a friend to cut out and draw up a baby belt. (Thank you Tanya!) I started on this baby belt in December 2016 and gave it to my best friend soon after her sweet baby girl arrived in February 2017. I worked many late nights on it; lay the beads down, tac it down with two needles… and then take it all apart in frustration. The hardest thing about it was choosing the colour combinations… and having all the pink and purple bead colours rub off. I would often sigh out loud because I would become so mad. This went on for weeks but I absolutely loved that my mind and hands were kept busy during the very cold Yellowknife winter nights. As I progressed on this project, it all started to come to life. I couldn’t believe that I could bead a large project like a baby belt!

During this time I turned out to be that girl who would pick up everyone’s bead work and examine it. If you beadwork on your table, I would sit there and watch you sew or better yet, join you. If you were wearing moccasins, I would kneel down to look at your feet. I would look at the knots. I would touch the beads. I would even pick it up to smell it if it was sewn on moose hide. I was determined.

I finished the baby belt in record time and delivered it to my best friend. She was shocked. I was shocked that I actually finished it. There was no words just pure excitement between both of us. Then I was hooked! I couldn’t stop nor did I want to stop.

I knew if I wanted to be an amazing beader then I would have to practice, practice and practice some more. I convinced my sister (who has gone to school for fashion design) shortly after I was done the baby belt to figure out a way to make graduation stole for my mother. Like I’ve said, my mother is driven and can do anything she puts her mind to. Two years ago, she decided to take a Language Revitalization Diploma program to learn Dene Zhatie, to revive the dene language of the Deh Cho. We are all so proud of her for  sticking through the tough times and finishing this program. Next week she’ll be walking the stage in an honour ceremony in our hometown surrounded by people who love her. I knew she needed something special to wear to this ceremony, it was a no brainer – she needed a traditional garment sewn with love to proudly wear when she receives her diploma. 

It took me about 4 weeks to bead her graduation stole. Every bead tacked down with positive thoughts and well wishes. I took it everywhere I went in a small tupperware bin with many tubes of delica beads and bended beading needles. It came with me on work trips From Yellowknife to Toronto and everywhere in between; it has seen many airports, hotel rooms, ferry rides, road trips and campsites. I guess you can say I take after my mom – if I want to accomplish anything, you bet I’ll get it done.

Last week my sister and I surprised her with the graduation stole. It took my sister about 2 hours to sew it together; she whipped it up like nobodies business. My mom opened it up and gasped for air – again almost no words, just pure excitement. 

I will forever consider myself a beginner when it comes to beading, embroidery or any traditional art. There is still so much to learn! This art has taught me to be patient, especially when you’re blue in the face from frustration, and to be supportive, by teaching others what you know and to encourage them to pick up their unfinished projects or to begin new ones. These projects have given me so much pride, I feel connected to my ancestors and grounded as an indigenous person.

I’ve learned to see the good in my computer failing on me. I would have never picked up the needle and thread otherwise. I’m back to capturing moments with my family and shooting photography for myself. Always choose to see the good in every bad situation. Hopefully one day I’ll be back to creating scenes with models and capturing families but in the meantime, you can find me beading!

Shawna McLeod

seven years

It is a special day of reflection for myself and my husband. Another year has passed and we have survived another year together. You have no idea how difficult it really is being married to me, or being married to my handsome and smart husband for that matter. Seven years ago we were married in front of a quince tree where later I learned that my father put down tobacco and said a prayer for us on our wedding day. My parents marriage ended when I was in grade 7. My mother fled from my father while he was working up in Northern Saskatchewan. She left him for many good reasons but the most important one was to protect my sisters and I. And there we were, twenty years later, my mother, my father and my two younger sisters together to celebrate the union between my husband and I with our 16 month old son by our side. Both of our families and friends were there to witness us, well pretty much growing up.

Around this time last year I shared a post about how my husband and I met. You can read more here https://teaandbannock.com/2016/06/06/kisakihitin-you-are-loved-by-me/

Honestly, I don’t write very much about him on social media or on here because of his profession and out of respect because he is a private man. I still take a lot of photos of him though because I’ve been doing so for nearly 12 years. The thought makes me blush. As a young girl I knew who I was going to marry one day and it happened, even after years of making out with guys from around the world (yessss…. I have an international record and only two of them were indigenous), heartbreaks and just dating baaaad dudes. Oh and I must mention the English lad named Mike Hunt. No joke.

My husband and I are still learning how to be together. I wanted to share with everyone a few questions that I gave my husband for you the readers to get to know me a bit more. And it is a chance for me to see how well he knows me.

Which of my achievements am I most proud of?

  – I am worried about answering this question, as I feel that my response may be used to judge me at some future point. But I think that it may be our two sons, because they are pretty amazing and I am proud of them too.

Later in my adult life, I had an epiphany. Which comic book character from my youth did I realize strongly influenced my style?

  Veronica. Totally Veronica. I know this one.

What is my least favourite housework task?

  Hmmmm… taking out the garbage? or is it dishes? or is it vacuuming? or it is perhaps washing the floors?

What type of music do I secretly like?

  – Terrible late nineties house.

Which song do I sing when we argue?

  – Witney Houston’s “I will always love you”.

What was yelled at us by total strangers while we where out on our first date at Jericho Beach? Is this too personal sweetheart?

  – No, its not too personal. It was: “Hey look, there are some indians making out in the bushes!”

How did I spend my summers as a child?

  – Uhhhh… going to Batoche? 

*Note: this is the ONLY question that he didn’t answer correct. Yes, every year we went to the Back to Batoche Days but my fondest memories are of spending time with my mom’s family in Melfort and camping & fishing with my dad’s family in Northern Saskatchewan.

What kind of footwear was I wearing at our wedding during our first dance?

  – Moccasins.

When shouldn’t you talk to me?

  – Anytime in the morning, before you have had a coffee.

Which of your shirts do I dislike?

  – You dislike one of my shirts?

What kind of food makes me drool? Note: I considered leaving you and Elijah because neither of you like it but quickly realized it meant more for me.

  – Dried moose meat.

Why do I take so much time to get ready?

  – Because you have a double XX chromosome.

What song can always make me dance, especially when no one’s around?

  – I have no idea. I obviously am not around when you are dancing to it.

What’s a personality trait I dislike about myself, and I share with a parent?

  – Anything that your mother does that annoys you.

Am I related to Louise Riel?

  – Sure, why not.

Are you related to Louis Riel?

  – Again, for sure.

When we hug what do our kids and dogs do?

  – Try to get in the middle and break up our hug.

What made me fall in love with you?

  – Uhhh…hmmm… my cowboy boots? or my sweet personality? No, it was totally the cowboy boots.

You did good my  husband. xox

-Amanda Laliberte

thirty-three

I turned thirty-three earlier this year, and I celebrated at my nephew’s birthday party (he was turning five). I drank a few beers as the million and one kids bowled, screamed, ran around and caused chaos. I ate cake, telling everyone that he had high-jacked my birthday celebrations, and we laughed.

My birthday has never caused me stress, or made me freak out. I love celebrating me (note: I also love celebrating other people’s birthdays) and I love being able to justify the day spent on buying makeup, clothes, eating fancy food and being a diva. I’m one of those people who want birthday months. Love me, spoil me. Be my friend, eeeee.

Anyways, I was going through some digital archives, and was just giggling to myself. Some of these… cringe-worthy.

Let’s go through memory lane.

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March 2008. 24 yrs old. Charleston, SC. This was my first trip to Charleston, to visit my brother Trent. It was hot. Crazy hot. I had bangs, and reddish hair. I know, styling. But I went with my parents and my fiancé, at the time. We went to hockey games, the local aquarium, and I touched the Atlantic Ocean for the first time.

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March 2009. 25 years old. UBC Campus, Vancouver, BC.  I am attending UBC for my MFA in Creative Writing and I am so overwhelmed. But it’s good. I am student-poor. I splurge on a coffee I cannot afford, and I smile. The sun is shining. The mountains are outside the window. I write poetry. I am loved. All is well.

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March 2010. 26 yrs old. Jericho Beach, Vancouver, BC. It is one of our first picnics of the season, sitting on the bench and sipping local craft ale and homemade wine with friends. They take my picture, as I am always the one behind the camera. I hate it, but appreciate it now, years later.

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March 2011. 27 yrs old + 6 months pregnant. Lac La Plonge, SK. I am pregnant with my daughter, Aerie. I am newly married. I am terrified, but content. We are living downstairs in my parents house on the Rez, and while I feel like I should be ‘doing more,’ I am often reminded that I am making a human. And that’s enough.

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March 2012. 28 years old + 8 month old daughter. Saskatchewan. I have a daughter. I am often in the backseat, just watching her as she watched me. I did that. I made that. She made me.

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March 2013. 29 yrs old +  20 month old daughter. Somewhere on the way to Charleston, SC. My mom, my not-yet-two-year-old child and myself are on a road trip to Charleston again. This is my third visit. Mom and I had always planned to travel coast to coast together.

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March 2014. Dirty-Thirty. Saskatoon, SK. We drink too much, eat too fast, and laugh too loudly. No longer married, and adjusting to that single mom life, my friends and family come out to celebrate and I am given shots and stories, and I remember again – I am loved.

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March 2015. 31 years old. University of Saskatchewan, Saskatoon, SK. I am guest-lecturing a class. This is insane. I am in my second year in my PhD program and I’m still wondering why anyone would trust me to teach anyone anything. I have also discovered the joys of makeup, which is nice.

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March 2016. 32. Regina, SK. I was asked to model in NDN Supermaidens by JT Arcand, and I am so freaking honoured. Surrounded by inspiring, Indigenous women, being as extra as I want to be – this is a good feeling. My friends and I travel to Regina to see the opening show, and I side-eye myself on a massive poster. I recognize myself in her, and I grin. Supermaiden, indeed.

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March 2017. 33 yrs old + 5 yrs old. Saskatoon, SK. We go out for macarons and hot chocolate, a big girl date, as she calls it. We sit and chat about kindergarten, university, and our favourite dessert. She holds my hand and leans against me.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

“I love you too,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.

“Can you buy me another macaron then?” She smiles at me, her eyes crinkling up like her dad’s do, and I burst out laughing.

Yep, that’s my kid.

Blessed.

 – tenille  campbell 

My Jijuu

Today is just one day shy of my Jijuu (grandmother) Mary Effie’s birthday. Tomorrow, she will be turning 78 years old. I would just like to share a little bit about my Jijuu because this beautiful woman deserves to shine bright, not only on her birthday, but every damn day of the year.

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My Jijuu is the most respectful and humble woman I know. She carries herself with dignity, grace, and resilience. She’s a hunter, a fisher, a sewer, a teacher, a mother, a Jijuu, and my best friend. She is a strong believer in God, she likes to smoke cigarettes. and she’s crazy as hell. Although my Jijuu is an elder, she’s a little bit of a daredevil. I have some crazy stories of her and I travelling on white caps to get back to our family at fish camp, or crossing the melting ice road too close to it breaking up and her going along with just about any idea that I can conjure up. One of my favorite things about her is that she is always down to come on road trips with me.
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My Jijuu has given birth to eight children, two of whom have unfortunately passed away. She lost a daughter who was only a few months old and then her youngest son who passed away twenty-five years ago at the age of nineteen. Today, I want to tell you a little bit about my uncle Geejam and how even though he passed away, he is still close to her heart and binding her and I together.

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My Uncle Geejam was buried on October 19, 1991 and it just so happened that I was the first baby born on October 19, 1992. On the day that I was born, my Jijuu Christie Thompson gave me my Gwich’in name, “Gwikitch’ihkh’eh”, which means “In Return” because, as she said, I was the life given after his life was taken.

When my Jijuu talks about my Uncle Geejam, she speaks so fondly as she describes his love for the game of hockey, for his family – especially his siblings and cousins, and for her. He was a crazy guy who was always happy and everybody loved to tease. As she tells me about my Uncle, I can hear the pain in her voice as if it happened just yesterday.

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This one time, my Jijuu and I were driving the Dempster Highway on the way to our very first Moosehide Gathering in 2014. She was telling me about how my uncle would drive her wherever she wanted to go – all over the Northwest Territories and the Yukon. And then she looked at me with the sweetest look that only a Jijuu can give, and said “and now look at my Gwikich’ihkh’eh driving me around, just like my Geejam did”.

Oh my Jijuu, I hope and pray that I can drive you around for many many years to come.

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Gwiintl’oo Nahtinithan & Nidrin dagoonch’uu gwiinzii srigoojanhch’uu.

 – shayla snowshoe