This youth arts showcase is held at the Cowichan Valley Arts Council from March 6 to 28. Youth aged 13 to 21 in the Cowichan Valley are invited to showcase their art celebrating this theme. Make sure you visit this free exhibit and support our young local artists. cowichanvalleyartscouncil.ca

I have the great pleasure of working in an elementary school. I always say that children make the best colleagues because they give you hope for the future, unlike many adults. Kids are inherently good—they still believe that clean air and water trump money.

They believe in equal rights and have zero qualms accepting that their buddy has decided to change names or pronouns. They accept differences in a way that would put many of us to shame. Kids also seem to have an innate sense of activism because they speak up for what they believe in, from saving old-growth forests to picking up litter. Instinctively, they care.

The contrast between what I see in my school and the recent election results across the world is making me wonder how and why we seem to lose our altruism as we age. What happens between childhood and adulthood for people to lose their belief in the good of the world?

I think I know the answer. Just like fear, kids learn values from us. Babies and toddlers don’t actually know intrinsically what to fear in the world. They look to their adults to gauge their reactions before they have their own. This is probably why my three kids have a massive fear of all things small after seeing me screech hysterically every time I see a spider. Similarly, I suspect that children learn from us what to think about what’s important. They see us throw plastic into the garbage can, muttering that recycling is a waste of time. In every way, they are learning from us and losing their innocent belief in the good of the world.

This phenomenon cannot be entirely blamed on the margins of society or on the people who deliberately spread hate and division. We are all guilty of contributing to our children’s loss of idealism. I am not innocent in this. Students in my school run a kindness club, which I support wholeheartedly. Being kind is important to me too, except when someone drives 30 kilometres an hour in a 50 zone. That’s when my ability to be tolerant and my belief in kindness lose to my need to get somewhere. My kids worry about climate change, and so do I, but I breathe deeply and grit my teeth when I leave a store with a gazillion items falling out of my hands because of anti-plastic bag regulations. The reality is that I have, like many of us, lost my ability to value goodness, kindness and fairness above all else.

Recent events have made me reflect on the difference between how youth see our world and how we collectively do. Similarly, I bet they would attribute far more value to the environment, inclusion, Indigenous rights and kindness than to money in their bank accounts. Perhaps we should take heed and reevaluate what we are inadvertently and unconsciously teaching our children every time we fail to espouse the goodness in the world.

Just like fear, kids need to learn joy and wonder from us, which can only be attained if we focus on what is truly important and start speaking up again for what matters. Humanity and caring come naturally to children, and as the recent elections to the south urgently indicated, it is time for us to (re)learn this from them. If the students in my school or my own children could keep their idealism rather than lose it, like many do as they grow up, I, for one, would be excited to see what our world might look like in a few years.

How do you learn best? Much to my frustration, I learn best by making mistakes. So, so many mistakes. Parenting has been no different: promoting healthy eating? No luck. Encouraging socialization? Oops! Establishing healthy sleep habits? Wow, that really didn’t work!

I struggle with self-criticism. I see the good in others, but do not give myself credit for achievements or forgiveness for mistakes. Though I have learned a lot through this self-critical approach, I have not thrived. And so, I am learning a new approach: self-compassion.

Research shows self-compassion is the most effective motivator. As a parent, I offer my children unconditional love, appropriate boundaries, guidance and forgiveness. I want them to grow up in a supportive and caring environment with freedom to make mistakes. So, I wonder, how would my life be different if I was my own supporter and biggest fan? I am excited to learn about self-compassion and start practicing it in my personal life, my professional life and my parenting.

I am hoping you might join me in this journey of self-compassion, especially those of you who are new parents or have young children.

In my career, I have worked alongside many new parents. Parents with new babies can be self-critical and full of self-doubt. It breaks my heart to see parents who are full of love for their young children being impossibly critical of themselves.

Let’s take a break. Let’s breathe in and breathe out.

Here is the secret: you’ve got this. Quite simply, all children need is a safe home, food and water, weather-appropriate clothing and love, all things you provide every day.

But what do you need? Maybe a little judgment-free compassion?

Here are my suggestions to help you let go of the self-doubt and move forward in a healthy way: Notice and be compassionate.

First, notice what feels good.

During your day, what activities do you find nourishing? Do you feel calm and connected when you breast/chest feed your baby? Do you feel cozy and relaxed when you curl up with your toddler to read a story? Do you feel at peace when you sit down for a cup of tea while your preschooler is napping? Do you relish the silence of a quiet house when everyone is finally asleep? Take a moment to notice these feelings and sensations without judgment. You could even write them down if that is helpful.

Second, notice what does not feel good.

During your day or night, what events are depleting? Are you uncomfortable or in pain when nursing your teething toddler? Are you angry, frustrated and upset when your older child hurts your younger child (or vice versa)? Notice these feelings, again without judgment. Your emotions are what they are. Write them down if you like.

Third, practice self-compassion.

At the end of the day, when you are feeling tired and spent, try this: Quickly review when you felt nourished and when you felt depleted. If you like, you can also share these with a partner, family member, friend, counsellor or other health professional. Then, think of five things you are happy about, feel good about or are proud of. This may take some practice, so start small. During the process, imagine you are talking to a close friend—be supportive and encouraging.

Here are some examples to start you off:

• Be pleased that you caringly fed your baby multiple times during the day, allowing them to develop and grow.

• Be proud that you helped your toddler through one (of many) challenging emotional moments.

• Be impressed that you showered today!

• Feel connected as you text a friend.

This is not about being happy all the time or being calm at every moment of your life. It is about learning to feel all your human emotions without judgment, learning to notice those emotions, and learning to give yourself credit for the many things you spend time on during the day.

Self-compassion, try it for a day. And if it works for you … try again another day!

We tend to think of learning as a top-down process.

It’s understandable because when our kids are born, they depend on us for absolutely everything. They are completely helpless beings who cannot survive without us feeding, clothing, cleaning and sheltering them.

As they get grow from babies to toddlers, we teach them to roll over, sit up, stand, walk, talk and eat… Every basic function must be passed down from us to them.

So, it’s no wonder we tend to think that learning only goes in one direction (from parent to child) even as they move into elementary, middle school and high school.

However, if we stop to think, it will become very clear that (more often than we care to admit) it is our children teaching us something new.

I can’t tell you the number of times I have had to ask my 10-year-old how to do something on my phone. My seven-year-old is already coding his own video games, while I still struggle to use Excel.

But it is not just technology, kids often know more about conservation and recycling, self-care and mental health, and compassion and empathy than we do.

Felix Townsin, a 14-year-old Victoria teen who has created the A Million Acts of Love initiative and raised thousands of dollars for medical research in honour of his late sister, is just one example of a youth we can all learn from.

Children can have fun without spending a ton of money, they know to forgive themselves and others if they make a mistake, and they have an innate sense of activism that motivates them to stand up for what they believe in.

So, the next time your child tries to teach you something, listen, take in the lesson and thank them for sharing because the flow of knowledge goes both ways, and we can all learn a little something from our kids.

– Stacie Gaetz

When I was looking for work after mat leave, I had an interview that I thought went really well. I ended up knowing one of the panelists, the hiring manager was friendly and enthused about me having a baby. She asked lots of follow-up questions and the job was almost directly related to my degree.

Around the same time, I had another interview that felt awkward and stilted. I left thinking, “Oh boy, I did not put my best foot forward. I’m glad that’s over.”

To my surprise, I got the job from the interview I thought I flopped and didn’t get the one that had gone well. After that I thought to myself, “I can only control what I put out into the world. I can’t control what comes back.” I had no idea what happened behind the scenes that led to me getting a job I felt less qualified for and not getting the one where I thought I aced the interview.

I’ve taken this attitude into parenting to try to keep myself from going mad from the illogical randomness of children. Sometimes parenting feels like firing off resumès into an algorithm that’s skipping over your key words.

“Say please. Did you say please? What’s the magic word?” It can be so hard to know if you’re getting through. If they’re picking up what you’re putting down. So hard to know if your efforts are paying off. Is she healthier from those cucumber slices I lay beside the grilled cheese? Is the $80 a month for gymnastics leading to better strength and coordination? Was the tantrum from cutting her off from that last Bluey episode truly worth whatever benefits having eight minutes less screentime makes?

But then there are times that surprise you in a good way. When they’ve really picked up what you, or school, or grandma has been putting down.

We were driving to gymnastics in silence when my daughter piped up out of nowhere, “Whenever I think about that girl who couldn’t wear her orange shirt and had to go to sleep-away school, I think how sad that is.”

I was awakened from my daydreaming as I prepared to make a right turn.

“But I’m glad we have Orange Shirt Day now. I’m glad our teachers tell us about Orange Shirt Day and Terry Fox and stuff like that.”

This was late October–about a month after Truth and Reconciliation Day and even longer since the Terry Fox run. I didn’t know how much she had picked up from the school assemblies and our discussions at home.

I tried to elicit more information without being too obvious–like avoiding eye contact with a deer: “Why are you glad they teach you about that stuff, sweetie?”

My six-year-old suddenly turned into a self-conscious teenager with her reaction, “I dunno. ‘Cause it’s important” she retorted as if I had just accused her of something. I went into a monologue about how she’s right and even though some topics aren’t fun or happy they’re still important to learn about.

I must have still been thinking over my daughter’s reflection because I missed my turn and ended up overshooting and doing a huge loop to get to the gymnastics studio. When I got there, I looked at the clock, “Oh no! We’re 10 minutes late, I thought we were just a couple minutes behind!”

“That’s okay” my daughter responded, throwing off her shoes and running down the stairs to join her classmates on the long tramp.

“It is okay,” I thought. “It is okay that we’re late and it is way more than okay that my daughter was thinking about Orange Shirt Day a month after it happened.”

Trying our best is all we can really do as parents. We try to put down what we hope they will pick up. Then try again–and who knows–they might surprise us. They might just remember what’s important.

Our grandparents, ancestors and veterans have profoundly shaped our world. Fall is a perfect time to reflect on their contributions and foster a deeper appreciation for those who came before us. While traditional methods of honouring them—such as parades, gatherings and feasts—are important, imagination and creativity also offer meaningful ways to connect with and celebrate the important figures in our lives.

Imaginative play allows children to experience history in a hands-on, engaging way. At Fort Rodd Hill, a former military training ground for WWI and WWII soldiers, kids can pretend to be sentinels or strategists or imagine living with multiple siblings in the Warrant Officer’s Quarters. They might envision themselves as soldiers stationed at the fort, guarding against imagined threats or planning critical missions. These stories, though imagined, can instill a sense of respect for the courage and resilience of those who lived through challenging times.

Beyond just pretending to be part of the past, families can use art to capture the beauty and history of their surroundings. Fort Rodd Hill is not only a place to learn about history but also a landscape filled with natural beauty. Bring along sketchbooks so kids can draw among the blooming camas found in the Garry Oak Learning Meadow. Taking a moment to observe the delicate, vibrant flowers while learning about their importance to Indigenous cultures and the ecosystem can enrich children’s understanding of the connection between people, plants and history.

The nearby Fisgard Lighthouse is a beacon that has guided mariners safely home for over a century. With a keen eye, one can capture mariners safely passing by Fisgard Lighthouse on their journey to secure their daily catch or protect Canada’s coastline. Children might imagine themselves as lighthouse keepers, lighting the way for boats in the fog or during a storm.

This fall, consider incorporating personal family stories into your visits to historic places like Fort Rodd Hill and Fisgard Lighthouse National Historic Sites. Historic sites provide a perfect backdrop for family storytelling. Gather some relatives and share stories about your grandparents’ or great grandparents’ contributions to society. You might even bring old family photos and match them to similar scenes in the present. This not only makes history feel more personal but also connects your family’s unique history with the broader Canadian narrative.

Another fun activity is to encourage your children to research their family history. You can visit archives, talk to relatives or even start an online family tree together. Learning about their ancestors’ accomplishments, struggles and daily lives can spark curiosity and a sense of pride. These stories can become inspiration for creative projects such as drawing a family tree, writing a short story about a relative’s journey or creating a scrapbook filled with photos, mementos and personal reflections.

Writing letters of gratitude is another heartfelt way to honour family heritage and veterans’ legacies. Encourage children to write to their grandparents, ancestors or veterans, expressing appreciation for their sacrifices and achievements. Even if the recipients are no longer with us, writing these letters can be a powerful tool for reflection, allowing kids to process their emotions and better understand their connection to the past. These letters can also be shared at family gatherings, providing an opportunity for younger and older generations to discuss their family’s shared history.

This fall offers a wonderful opportunity to celebrate family legacies through creativity and exploration. Whether through imaginative play, artistic expression, family research or heartfelt letters, these activities can help children connect with the past in meaningful ways. The rich history of Fort Rodd Hill and Fisgard Lighthouse National Historic Sites offers the perfect backdrop for these experiences, providing a space where imagination and history come together.

For more information and inspiration, visit Fort Rodd Hill and Fisgard Lighthouse NHS and follow @FortRoddFisgardNHS

Long Lake Studio

Long Lake Studio specializes in jewelry making and upcycled designs. This self-taught artisan works out of her home in Ladysmith and all the upcycled jewelry is created with an eye to reusing, recycling and renewing vintage broken china. You’ll find a variety of pieces—some with a romantic flair, some new-age and edgy and some with a steampunk vibe. Find this work online or in markets in the central island.

longlakestudio.com

I Used to Be a Pallet

These Victoria woodworkers love to upcycle pallets and cedar into useful repurposed projects, household needs and décor. Endeavouring to keep pallets out of landfills, they ensure that in addition to the repurposed projects, all nails from pallets are donated to the Habitat for Humanity recycling bin, the sawdust is utilized in gardens and end cuts are used to heat homes. Contact them to find your perfect pallet creation today.

iusedtobeapallet.com

Threading the Love

A Cowichan Valley mom started out embroider-ing custom keepsakes for her own kids, and now works on creations for all occasions. Stuffed animals, shirts, blankets, backpacks, games or whatever you want. Threading the Love will help you design it and create it for you using high-quality materials and a commercial-grade machine. Check out the website for seasonal items or get ready to create your own!

threadingthelove.com

“Mommy!” My daughter cried out as she hobbled towards me. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she bent down with one hand on her calf. “Mack got my leg.”

I watched our youngest child approach. It was early April in our first spring on our hobby farm, and it had finally happened—our rooster attacked one of our kids.

Being attacked by the rooster is a right of passage on a farm. My job when I was four or five years old was to collect the eggs. My parents say I wielded the egg basket as my shield when I ventured into the chicken run. One day the rooster got me when I wasn’t looking. I probably beelined to my parents, crying woefully much like my seven-year-old. As the story goes, we ate roast rooster the following evening. I knew this day would come for my own children, and here it was.

“It hurts,” she whined. She rolled up her tights to look at the wound.

There was a small puncture hole with a faint patchy bruise, but roast rooster wasn’t an option. In a few months, I would process many of our flock of aging second-hand hens to fill our deep freeze, but I’d chosen him specifically for his size, breed and colouration. I was going to incubate eggs to sell chicks, and we needed him around for fertilization.

“Yeah, I can see he got you,” I started. “It doesn’t look that bad. I bet it was surprising though.”

My daughter knew the rooster story. She knew I’d been attacked, and she knew Watermelon Grandpa had avenged me with his axe.

“Mack doesn’t like me. He hates me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears and her face pinched in that way it does when I can see she feels crushed inside.

“Sweetheart, Mack has the brain the size of a pea,” I said.

The brain of a chicken is actually about the size of a peanut, but pea-brain had a better jingle.

“He doesn’t hate you. Chickens don’t hate, they only think about eating, breeding and being with the flock. He didn’t get you because he doesn’t like you. His brain made a split-second decision, fight or flight, and he chose to fight.”

She sniffled and kept my gaze, wanting to believe me.

“All he cares about is protecting his ladies and he made a pea-brained decision to attack you because he decided you were a threat to his ladies, that’s all.”

My sweet daughter the empath, trying to make sense of why this bird she had been nothing but friendly to had drawn her blood. One of the main things raising our kids on a farm has taught them is you can’t anthropomorphise animals. Sharing space with animals, which behave based on instinct, has proven a bottomless well of educational experience.

I coached the kids on how to “be the boss” with their body language, but after that attack, the kids chose various farm tools to bring with them to the barnyard. They’d march out to collect the eggs with the hoe, broom or rake held stiffly before them. Friends would come by for play dates and recoil in fear. I brimmed with pride to watch our kids grab the rake and lead their peers through the barnyard.

A prized parenting moment for me was being there when it happened again. Nearly a year passed since Mack’s attack, and instead of chickens, we were the proud keepers of 10 ducks and two Pilgrim geese. It was February, and Poppa Goose was getting hormonal, so the geese needed their own temporary breeding enclosure. He would ruffle his feathers and cast his head high in the sky, his long white neck stretched up like a flagpole, then turn his head and stare through your soul with one pale unblinking blue eye.

We picked dandelion greens and squatted down with our treats to poke through the fence. Both geese tore gently at the greens, but Poppa squeezed his head through in an instant and nipped her inner thigh. I was just as shocked as she was. She rolled up her tights. A welt rose on her skin and a patchy bruise was taking shape.

“I’m sorry that happened. I wasn’t expecting that,” I said, feeling terrible.

She bent to roll down the leg of her tights and as she did, she said, “It’s okay, he was only protecting Momma.”

These days, you recite a French poem at the dinner table about a dog who doesn’t like cats or bunnies or chickens. I don’t understand it. But I understand that you think you’re telling a silly story, while your teacher thinks she’s teaching you French grammar and negative sentence structures.

These days, you wiggle your front tooth with your tongue, and I wince as it flaps about. These days are the days before your toothless grin, before a gap in your smile, before a new toothy smile filled with adult teeth. These are the days you hope you’ll lose the wiggly tooth at school so you can get a plastic toy chest from the office. We’re in the days when I learn they’re called “bell teeth.” We’re still years away from your molars falling out, just past your first cavity, a few weeks shy of the first lipstick you’ll wear at your first dance recital.

We’re in the days when you can spell “love” and “Mama” and “Dada” and “to” but still need help spelling “from” and “Grandma” and “Grandpa.” I know you could spell “Nanna” if you tried—but you always ask me anyway.

We’re in the days of your first Scholastic book fair when you call the catalogue a magazine and say. “We don’t need it anyway because I know what I want.” And I know what you want too. You want Bluey’s Vacation and I know I’ll buy it for you because your Bluey stage will run its course soon and then I won’t be able to watch cartoons about a dog mom who just can’t relax on vacation as hard as she tries.

We’re in the days of an H-shaped band aid over the stitches you got from a skating accident and before the days when we know what the healed scar will look like. We’re in the days of palms covered with popped blisters from the monkey bars and Dada explaining what calluses are. We’re in the days of being able to skip monkey bars but “only on the moving ones.” We’re in the days of “did you get blisters when you were a kid, Mama?”

We’re in the days of hot lunches, of mac and cheese and banana smoothies. We’re passed the days when I didn’t know I was supposed to pack a fork. Passed the days when I arrived at 12:10pm instead of 12pm to volunteer to put out the lunches. We’re in the days of Grandma and Grandpa feeding you Annie’s pasta and Nanna feeding you frozen Amy’s lasagnas. We’re in the days of Oikos lime yogurt and chopped up sausage and koala cookies from Costco. We’re in the days where I still pack carrot sticks even though they always come back uneaten.

These days, I try not to think of the days when you won’t call me Mama anymore and no longer ask “What do you like better: Spaghetti or lasagna? Unicorns or horses?” The days when girls teasing won’t just be sticking out tongues. The days when you won’t give me running hugs and crawl into our bed for Cocomelon in the morning. These days, I worry I won’t remember whether you preferred Blippi or Meekah.

I wonder what will happen to the drawings in that bank box I meant to do something with. I wonder about the boys in your class and if one day I’ll have to avoid eye contact with their moms when we run into each other in the pool change room. I wonder who you’ll be once soccer teams have try-outs. I wonder what life will be like when the pancakes I make aren’t purple from the sprinkles you put in. I wonder about the days beyond riding pretend unicorns to school. The days when we no longer read “Schtoompa the Funny Austrian” and “Glip and Glop, the Greek Painters.”

Will I ask, “Do you remember when you called excavators snorts?”

“Do you remember how I had to explain Taylor Swift to you?”

“Do you remember that poem about dogs who didn’t like cats or bunnies or chickens?”

“Do you remember your negative French sentence structure?”

Is that what I’ll ask? Or will I just ask, “Do you remember how much I love you?”

My oldest grandchild reached a milestone this spring—he celebrated his 10th birthday. Or as he puts it, he celebrated his “double-digit” birthday. Where have all the years gone? It seems like only yesterday we were pacing the halls of the hospital, waiting on tenterhooks for his arrival. When he was only hours old, and while his parents caught up on some much-needed rest, I cuddled and rocked him in the nursery. In that cocooned environment, I softly sang my favourite song to him—Moon River. I remember marvelling at his big blue eyes, how alert they were. While they obviously couldn’t focus, they clearly expressed his fascination with the melody he was hearing. As he listened, his eyebrows knit together in a puzzled frown of concentration. Compared to the muted sounds in his mother’s womb, I am sure he didn’t know what to make of my singing!

Now 10 years have passed. Ten years of birthday parties with little buddies wired on too much birthday cake and treats, trick or treating at Halloween in costumes he didn’t want to take off, Christmas mornings with a frenzy of ripping open presents and first days at school with toothless grins and the classic photo on the front step. Over the years, he and I have made innumerable trips to the beach and the playground, read scores of books together (at first, me reading to him and then him reading to me), and of course, built lots and lots of LEGO (I have no doubt we have single-handedly kept LEGO in business…).

Little did I know with my own children that that first decade was actually the easiest. Young kids are small, compact, easy to distract and when all else fails, easy to bribe. In other words, I could usually get my children to do what I needed them to do or go where I needed them to be. It was that second decade that produced the greatest challenges.

As my grandson enters the pre-teen years, I naturally fret over the pitfalls of things like bullying, peer pressure and most especially, social media. These can be turbulent waters nowadays and they are only a prequel to the even scarier teenage years where there are the added worries of drugs and alcohol, drivers’ licenses, dating, depression and anxiety and a host of other issues that can come into play. You’d think, as grandparents (and thus, one generation removed), we would worry less, but I can assure you, that is not the case. We worry just the same, perhaps even more because our own parenting experience has made us acutely aware of the possible perils. After all, we’ve been there, done that. And yet, the dizzying pace of change always presents new challenges. Who would have thought we would all struggle with the far-reaching impact of a global pandemic when the last one (Spanish flu) was in the distant past?

I can only hope my grandson will remember what we’ve taught him over the years, important lessons like trusting his gut or that being different is perfectly fine. I hope he will extend a kind hand when called upon and do the right thing rather than the easy thing when he’s given a choice. It’s hard to tell the measure of someone until they are tested, and I know he will be tested; I just hope he can rely on his inner compass.

In the meantime, he’s still a little boy and I will treasure whatever years, months, weeks or even days that are left in which he still looks forward to spending time with his Nonna. I am fully aware that at some point, I will take a back seat to new interests or new friends or perhaps a student job that makes demands on his time, but until then, I relish his eagerness to come to Nonna’s house.

Now that my grandson is 10, I hope he’s not embarrassed to slip his hand in mine as he has always done, hug me fiercely or tell me his dreams.