When the questions come...

... but they were bound to come...

Someone today spelled out s-e-x to me, and it was playing on B's mind.

On the way home from dance, she asked me what s-e-x was.

I asked her what she thought it was...

When 2 people kiss?

Not quite.

When 2 people get naked in bed & kiss?

Well, that's part of it, I guess...

Well, what is it?

Do you really want to know?

Yes.

Ok. It's when a man puts his bicken in a woman's glicean.

WHAT?!?!

Yep.

silence

Um.. I think I may have just threw up in my mouth a bit.

more silence

Is that how you have a baby?

Well, it's how you make a baby.

So, you and dad... ?

major face palm by B

Oh. My. God.

So, like, does it work every time to make a baby?

Great question, actually... and No.

WHAT?!?! SERIOUSLY?!?!?! All that for nothin'?! That must be a huge let down!

(me, literally laughing out loud...)

Yes, it can be.

and from there it went on and on with questions about pain, clarification over which hole is which, more gagging noises... more face palms... more questions...

So, as she was getting into bed, I asked her, "Are you going to be able to sleep tonight or are you traumatized?"

Her response:

Sleep? Yep. Traumatized? Just a little. Oh. My. God....

How do you

How do you tell her
That's the way it is sometimes
That there will be ups and downs
And she'll only become stronger

How do you tell her
The tears are ok
The feelings are real
Yet some people are not

How do you tell her
She'll learn to see it from another view
It's hard to grasp now, but
That time will come

How do you tell her
This won't be the last time
You hope it doesn't last...
Forever

How do you tell her
There are no guarantees
That sometimes you can't make those promises
That tomorrow brings a new view

How do you tell her
It pains you just as much
That you hurt too behind those eyes
And you definitely won't forget because this is only the beginning

The Silver Platter

photo from: http://www.businessnewsdaily.com/ via google search. No copyright infringement intended.

A number of totally non-related happenings lately have caused this house to be having a conversation based around the proverbial 'silver platter'.

Responsibility, ownership, accountability, consideration, even everyday thinking skills all seem to be slipping away, floating ever so far from our fingertips. It seems as though society is fuelled by a "me, me, me" mindset. We see it in adults, kids, professionals, online... everywhere. It seems like the more we can provide for kids, the seemingly better they will be.

Oh, you don't want to carry your hockey stick, as I juggle your younger sibling, your hockey bag, a coffee, the car keys, the phone? No prob, sweetie... I'll grab that for you, since you just left it on the ground next to the car.

Oh, that kid in kindergarden called you a "meanie"? You get your older sister to jump in there and "fight that battle" for your 5 year old self... using more hurtful words than a 5 year old can understand, but words from which a 5 year old can still feel the sting as she tries to comprehend them. Better yet, you find out what that kid's mom is so I can tear up her mother on Facebook.

Oh, you forgot your gym / dance clothes at home? Hhhmmmm? Did your teacher get upset with you? Talk to you about responsibility? No? 

You saw your kid blatantly push and shove another kid, target another kid? You sat back and laughed at little Johnny because he's so "out of control... all I can do is laugh at him."

When do you start to teach about responsibility? Is it an age-bound lesson?

In our house it's a constant conversation.

Our almost 5 year old son can get himself almost 100% ready for hockey. He carries his own stick, sometimes his own hockey bag which is almost twice his size. Why do we do this to our kid? (Someone actually commented that they couldn't believe we would make our son carry his own stick after an hour long practice!) It's simple: we want him to realize that he has to have responsibilities.

When my 8 year old daughter showed up at dance class with only one dance shoe, I didn't have sympathy for her. I had a conversation for her about responsibility. Guess what? The next week she made damn sure both her shoes were in her dance bag the night before dance. And, they were ready to go by the door.

I've seen plenty of catastrophic moments in my day when someone who had been given everything in their life on silver platter all of a sudden has to think for themselves, or do something for themselves. The result? Complete and utter breakdowns. Tears. Arms flailing in defeat. Frustration. Blame.

What do you mean I have to buy that myself? What do you mean you won't give me $200 for that? What do you mean you can't call my prof to get me excused from my exam? What do you mean I have to actually do that myself? What do you mean you can't totally rearrange everything to accommodate what I want?

Disaster. Defeat. Disbelief.

Our point is, eventually all of those silver platters start to tarnish at some point. The money runs out, people change, circumstances change, hell... the real world comes into play! And when reality comes knocking, you have to have some kind of tools to step up to the door to answer... or you're going to get that door smack! in your face.

We don't want that for our kids.

We want them to be able to have a good look at that seemingly tarnished platter with the insight and tools we've taught and instilled in them.

We want them to be able to:

• Have the know-how to simply pick that platter up off the ground.
• Realize that it may be tarnished, but it's not the end of the world.

And if we do a real good job...

• They'll realize that with some hard work and a little common sense, that platter can be shiny again.

Can you cope with a tarnished silver platter? Can your kids?

My train wreck of thoughts

There are many things that come and go into my train of thoughts in the run of a day (and these days that train has been running full steam ahead), but of the many thoughts that pile into my mind, I'm always grappling with friendships the most.

Becoming a mom totally changed my friendships. Yes, it did. I have many different circles of friends that all serve different roles in my life. I have the few I see mainly at work, the crew I see at our weekly workout session outing, and a small few that are near and dear to my heart through many years of sharing, honesty and bonding -- the Old Faithfuls. As we all spin and turn and meander our way through our lives outside of our friendships, we are in a constant state of disconnect for a while / catch up; it's a fun, but can be exhausting all the same. Being a mom means that my children occupy that number 1 spot in the priority list. Being a mom means that my plans with my friends can sometimes get trumped by family outings or commitments, work schedule changes, travelling, a lack of a babysitter, or even the simple fact that I cannot just get up and go at a moment's notice.

This summer I had grandeur plans of connecting... really connecting... and catching up with all of these groups of friends. There were plans of girls' nights out, girls' nights in, lunches, suppers, trips to the wildlife park even. None of them happened. Life happenings got in the way. Instead it's become a constant conversation of "We have to get together... I can't believe summer is almost over... Where did the time go... I thought you said we were going to do _____..."

And here I sit this morning, typing this wondering why I feel guilty. Am I really that bad a friend? Are these missed encounters and foiled plans my fault? Then my thoughts take a turn... WAIT. These friendships are two-way streets. I can't assume all blame in not getting together with these people. Or should I? Have these friends given up on me? Have they resolved to waiting for me to arrange things with them to suit my schedule?

Sigh.

Anyone know where that relationship manual went...

#RedPointStairs

I don't post on here nearly enough. I know that. I also don't take the time to think about things that mean the most to me nearly enough, either.

This weekend, though, got me thinking!

I grew up in a large extended family; my mother comes from a family of 12 and each of her siblings has many children. Many of my fondest (and craziest) memories are from the gathering times at that old house on Red Point Road -- their old homestead. We would gather... siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins. Although all of the cousins (grandchildren) are kind of pre-arranged into these little aged groups, there was a crew of us that would regularly gather on the stairs leading "upstairs"... maybe as a kind of refuge from the adults, or the older cousins... maybe as a refuge from siblings.... I'm not too sure. Nonetheless, we would gather there and chat and gossip, dance and sing, during these epic visits at Grammie's house. (Hence, the hashtag a bunch of us use on twitter to communicate en masse to one another.)

Low and behold, we've all grown up; each of us successful in our own right. A funny thing happens as you grow older though... those little aged dividing lines seemingly blend into one another. Suddenly, it matters not if you're 25 and a mom or 50 and a very successful single-mom. It matters not if you've got 1 or 2 or suddenly 3 kids of your own now. You're simply a mom. And so the conversations to be had on those stairs changes... it evolves...

This weekend I witnessed something I had always hoped I would see, but yet it was something that warmed my inner heart and soul and still brings a pensive smile to my face. As we all gathered again for a family function en masse (My god there's a lot of us!), those motherly lines were more apparent as we were able to sit back... enjoy a cup of tea or coffee... (or a drink)... like our mothers did before us... as our children played together.

Our children played together in the same confident, comfortable, encompassing way that we all played for years... us cousins. It was so refreshing to see the "older cousins" (all of 9 & 10 years old) taking the younger ones (1,2,4 years old) under their wings... guiding them along, keeping them safe, showing them how to climb stairs, or simply giving a very animated high five (or twenty). There were few worries as to where the kids were... that internal, knowing comfort was simply there.

As I thought back to those moments this weekend, and think ahead to our big family reunion coming up this summer, I kind of chuckled -- What a great experience it is going to be for them... for us... The cousins... gathered together... as we once were before...

And even better is the promise of the future... that promise of knowing that in our genes... in their genes... there's that internal goodness that assures this mom that things will be all right...

It's a juggle...

I'm a working mom in rural Nova Scotia. In fact, I'm a teacher.
Lately I've been at the brunt of or reading / hearing many insults flung at teachers over school cancellations and snow days.

Call it PMS. Call it mom-craziness from the staying-at-home-with-the-fighting-kids storm days. Call it pure bitching.

Call it what you want.

I'm gonna rant...

I'm not gonna rant about how good I've got it as a teacher. I'm not even gonna step on the "You-Could've-Chosen-This-Career-Too" soapbox. Been there. Had to do that. (Got no further ahead, by the way.) Instead, I want to shed some insight into what the past week / next couple of weeks will mean for me.

It's a reporting period. On each of those storm days when I wasn't being a mom to my kids (and had internet service) and every night when my little darlings are snuggled into bed, I've been sitting at this godforsaken laptop til 11 or 12 at night planning lessons and writing report cards. See, I don't want to half-arse them. I want them to say something. I want these report card comments to really mean something. (After all, I am a parent, too... I at least know the kind of jargon I don't want to hear.) This process takes time. It takes lots of it. Add to that the frustration of many storm days when students couldn't finish the last bits of their final projects... or couldn't hand them in... or didn't have the means at home to finish them... all of these things, to me, are very important considerations as a teacher and a parent.

I have a heart...

With reporting period comes parent/teacher interviews/ conferences, whatever you want to call them. (Personally, I think the ones in my school are useless because I would much rather have my 10-13yr old students be a part of the conversation... something which is seen as a no-no for reasons I won't/don't/can't understand... and all of this is just simply something you'll have to read one of these days on my teacher blog.) These parent interviews happen on a Thursday evening and Friday morning to accommodate parent work schedules. Wait. What was that? Parent work schedules? Oh yes... right... I'm a parent, too. Frig that in this case. It doesn't matter.

See, in order for me to participate in this aspect of my job... as I'm expected to.... after hours... I have to arrange for alternate childcare for these two days.

• Problem A: On the day where parent teacher interviews happen in the evening, I do not have sufficient time to drive to the sitter's after school, drive kidlets home, and drive back to school in time for the interviews. (Remember I said I live in rural NS. That said amount of commuting equals almost 90 minutes of driving... way more if I follow the speed limit and watch for icy conditions or take roaming large wildlife into consideration.) I tried this once. It wasn't pretty. 
• Problem B: Because it's of my own volition that my child(ren) can't be at the sitter's, I still pay her. (Fair enough. I think of it as vacation pay for her.) But... if my husband can't take off work that day, I have to get someone else (usually my mother) which usually means at the very least paying for gas money for the replacement sitter. 
• (Also, my sitter usually takes the Friday of these parent teacher interviews to travel with her family since her children, like mine, are not in school. Again... understandable. Long weekends are nice. She's a mom to her own children, too! Holiday pay. Deserved.)

So, I pay double (or more) the money in childcare to stay after school for these interviews, as I'm contractually required. Fine and dandy. Done. Signed. Sealed. Delivered.

Breath.

Also happening in the next few weeks are ski trips for our school to the local ski hill. YAY! We are so lucky to have a ski hill close by for our students to enjoy. But, wait... for me... that working, rural mom... this ain't so easy.

Do I want to go with my students to see them wow me with their moves on the hill? Yes!
Do I want to go so that kid who I know won't bring lunch money will be able to have a hot lunch on that day at the chalet and will really be able to feel as part of the whole experience? Yes! Of course. I'd buy that lunch for that student in a heartbeat.

But... it isn't that easy. Sigh. And... some people think I'm trying to cop out.

• Problem A (or should it be C? Frig it. I'm calling it A. A different scenario here.) Because we're rural, and because of bussing times and schedules and all that jazz, when our school goes skiing, they go to the hill for 10am and stay until 4pm to make the whole trip worthwhile. (We, as a school, have a heart!) This means we do not return to school until 5pm.

Not a problem for most. But for me with one child at the sitter, one in school... it's a problem. Kid A isn't old enough to be included in the ski trip. Kid B is at the sitter's. Kid A leaves school on the bus after school to get home at 4pm to... no one. It doesn't work. Hubby doesn't get home from work til 4:30. Kid A would have to walk a kilometre up our rural road... all by herself... to be home by herself... at 7 years old. Can't happen. (Besides, if it's a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday, she's got lessons to get to after school...which are another 20 minute drive away, too.)

But, wait. Shit. We forgot Kid B. Oh yes... he's crying at the sitter's and the sitter is calling cuz she has somewhere to be and I don't leave him at her house until that hour... and even if I could leave him there...I still won't get home until after 6pm... and where's Kid A again?!

(Oh...And before it's suggested, hubby works an hour and 15min drive in the other direction from the sitter. Sigh. Rural working life.)

So, I can't be one of the chaperones on my students' skiing trip. It bothers the hell out of me. But it bothers me even more that people don't even try to understand why it can't happen. (I wonder if these glaring-eyed people would like to find me a concierge to coordinate/babysit/chauffeur my children on these days?)

But wait. Wait. It will happen... it will!

My husband has booked... over a month in advance... a vacation day... a day off work to be with Kid B, so that our kids  (that some people think can't be my priority in this scenario) will have someone to care for them and be home to meet Kid A getting off the bus and drive them to lessons so that I can go to the ski hill with my class...

And not get home until after 6pm... And probably spend a bunch of money on hot chocolates and lunch for that student, (if he goes skiing that day)...

But, I've got it easy. And I'm a lucky, plush-arse-jobbed witch-with-a-B, to have those storm days off.

Yep.

Breath. Sigh. Shoulder slump.

/End Rant.

2013

New year's resolutions. Blech. Everyone will be posting new blog posts via twitter that have to do with resolutions. You know it. I know it.

As I sit here with a glass of wine listening to 80s one-hit-wonders, I wonder... what will 2013 bring?
Better yet, what will I bring to 2013?

I can sit here and make silly-ass promises that I know I won't keep. Why bother? Instead, I'm making a conscious effort to change little things in my day-to-day life. The usuals are there... as usual... eat better, be more active, swear less, spend less, etc.

But the majority of my efforts rest inside of me... in my heart. A little bit of conscious effort here and there to make things better, not only for me, but for those around me, too.  You may not notice them. That's ok. I'm not doing them for you, or you, or her, or him, but I'm doing them in small increments for me.  I'm hoping to be the one who will see these little things pay-off in smaller, then larger ways as the year progresses.

I plan to look back at this each month to see if I've set out on the right foot.

C'mon, 2013!

Here's to you!

Remembrance...

Growing up I didn't really get Remembrance Day. I knew it was a holiday. I knew I didn't have to go to school; I had to wear a poppy and so on. I don't blame my parents for not truly relaying to me the purpose behind Remembrance Day. I do sort of blame my schooling, as I have no impacting memories of a meaningful Remembrance Day service. But I think I just simply didn't get it. Sad.

The one thing I do remember about Remembrance Day is a local radio program would do a Remembrance Day program each year. The music was old; it was touching; it was, to me authentic. It really spoke to me. I truly believe that the majority of any understanding I had of Remembrance Day growing up came from one song in particular:



I still love that song.

Each year I share with my students (and my kids) various songs to help them understand what Remembrance Day is all about... just in case some of them need to hear it to really feel it.

Music speaks.

Here are some other videos / songs that speak to me & Remembrance Day. Lest We Forget.












I'm glad Remembrance Day is something we honour and embrace nowadays. May our children grow to love, learn and understand.

Labelling our kids...

I was just glancing through some pictures on Facebook, and I was aghast at the amount of brand name labelling I'm seeing on kids.

It makes me stop and wonder... what does this teach our kids? Is that name on that $50 tee necessary in order to validate your child's importance? Existence? I've heard that argument. I've heard mothers say, "They have to have the right brand name clothes in order to even be considered cool."

Really? Is that the kind of persona or image you want your children to live up to? Brand name = cool. No brand name = uncool?

Thankfully, my kid goes to a school where just about anything goes. Yes, some kids have a few brand name hoodies, or tees -- Hollister, Lulu Lemon, Aeropostale are the big ones -- but if a kid shows up in any old name jeans and a sweater, no one really cares. Mind you, there are some kids who ONLY wear brand name, but they're not seen in any different light. Sometimes they're even called out on "wasting their money".

I'd like to think that my kids will be wearing what's comfortable, what they like, what they think looks good in the years to come. I'd like to think they will learn the value of money, the idea behind a "name". I'd like to think they will befriend others based on much more than their outward appearance or the clothes they are (or aren't) wearing.

Am I crazy in these thoughts? Am I setting my kids up to be "uncool"?

This is getting the rounds on my FB feed this evening:

Many parents are posting this on FB this evening. I see lots of truths, both as a mom and a teacher. If anyone knows the author, please let me know in the comments so I can give credit where credit is due. Thoughts?

Here's what parents need to know:

That every child learns to walk, talk, read and do algebra at his own pace and that it will have no bearing on how well he walks, talks, reads or does algebra. That the single biggest predictor of high academic achievement and high ACT scores is reading to children. Not flash cards, not workbooks, not fancy preschools, not blinking toys or computers, but mom or dad taking the time every day or night (or both!) to sit and read them wonderful books. That being the smartest or most accomplished kid in class has never had any bearing on being the happiest. We are so caught up in trying to give our children "advantages" that we're giving them lives as multi-tasked and stressful as ours. One of the biggest advantages we can give our children is a simple, carefree childhood.
 That our children deserve to be surrounded by books, nature, art supplies and the freedom to explore them. Most of us could get rid of 90% of our children's toys and they wouldn't be missed, but some things are important-- building toys like legos and blocks, creative toys like all types of art materials (good stuff), musical instruments (real ones and multicultural ones), dress up clothes and books, books, books. (Incidentally, much of this can be picked up quite cheaply at thrift shops.)
They need to have the freedom to explore with these things too-- to play with scoops of dried beans in the high chair (supervised, of course), to knead bread and make messes, to use paint and play dough and glitter at the kitchen table while we make supper even though it gets everywhere, to have a spot in the yard where it's absolutely fine to dig up all the grass and make a mud pit.

That our children need more of us. We have become so good at saying that we need to take care of ourselves that some of us have used it as an excuse to have the rest of the world take care of our kids. Yes, we all need undisturbed baths, time with friends, sanity breaks and an occasional life outside of parenthood. But we live in a time when parenting magazines recommend trying to commit to 10 minutes a day with each child and scheduling one Saturday a month as family day. That's not okay! Our children don't need Nintendos, computers, after school activities, ballet lessons, play groups and soccer practice nearly as much as they need US.
They need fathers who sit and listen to their days, mothers who join in and make crafts with them, parents who take the time to read them stories and act like idiots with them. They need us to take walks with them and not mind the .1 MPH pace of a toddler on a spring night. They deserve to help us make supper even though it takes twice as long and makes it twice as much work. They deserve to know that they're a priority for us and that we truly love to be with them.

I'm gonna say it out loud

Bikinis really bother me. I don't like them. I don't like them especially when I see young girls -- tweens, teens -- wearing skimpy and skimpier versions of them to attract male attention. Lately, I've seen pictures splattered all over Facebook -- or, as some of my relatives call it, "The Facebook".

Take a look at that word now, will you?

Facebook.

A compound word. (You would have learned about those in grammar, that foreign ancient subject in school days of lorn.) First word being face. Meaning that upper part of your body; the front of your head. Second word being book. (For more accurate definitions with those fancy spelling and phonetic thingies, seek out your favourite on-line dictionary.)

On the Facebook, I like to see pictures of happy, sad, grumpy, humorous faces. I like my feed to be a welcome sort of, open book, to the faces and lives of my friends and family.

It's not called "Boobbook".  I don't need to see people's knockers hanging, barely suspended by dental floss like pieces of material. I do not need to see the supposed red carpet pose (complete with duck face), as these scantly clad people stand next to a spruce tree at the local 'beach'.

But, I digress...

It's not just about my Facebook feed. It's about the image that these females are portraying to young men. It's about the seeking of attention... full body, gawking, LOOK-AT-MINE-ME! attention that these females are seeking to draw to themselves. Image. That's it. Maybe it's not the bikinis I loathe, but the foreboding image that comes attached with them... to them.

I have a young daughter. I've felt the need to start talking to her at this early age about bikinis. We talk about why people wear them. We talk about swimming at the beach. The need to be comfortable. The need to be comfortable in the skin you're in. We talk about skin cancer. We talk about drawing unnecessary attention to one's self. We talk about tankinis and how they can show a person's athleticism and can still look "cool". We talk about a lot of things when the topic of bikinis comes up, or when we're at the beach.

Maybe I'm just a prude. Maybe I see bikinis in too much negative light. But, in my value set, I see the need to educate my daughter openly about the choices we make as females, the images that prevail, the images that are portrayed, the hurdles to come, and the hurdles that have been overcome.

And, she and I will visit this blog post 7 to 10 years down the road if we have to.
It's a long road... and as I walk it right now... I don't like bikinis.

What I lawned today... I mean... learned today...

Did you learn anything today?
I did.

It was a long time coming. It was a first for me. But, I did it!
I learned  lawned  learned a few things today:

1. A big orange lawnmower has a clutch that you need to employ before you start the stupid thing.
2. After several attempts at starting the stupid orange thing, and finally engaging it, you will see puffs of black smoke. (Smoke can't be good... especially black.)
3. A lawnmower has a reverse option... which, evidently goes relatively fast out the garage door.
4. When shifting from reverse to forward (using aforementioned clutch, of course),  be sure not to have the other gear thingy at the rabbit. 

5. Hills are not your friend... especially if you're short and not as heavy as your husband. Gravity comes into play lifting one's arse off the seat in a sort of leverage action, which, then, causes the lawnmower to stall because it thinks you have fallen off the seat.

6. Children wave... then laugh and point... when you're on one of these rigs.

Nonetheless, one thing remains...

I did it. I mowed our acreage for the first time...

and I'm sure he'll come home and need to "fix it".

I'm All Glitz & Glamour...

... just look at me now.

I can rock a pony tail for days at a time.
Dark circles? Nah, last night's mascara.
Finger prints tell the stories of my children in the dust on the piano.
No matter how often I ride use my broom, the tumble weeds prevail.
The laundry's done... it just hasn't grown legs to get out of that pile.
There are stains on the couch. (A new one is redundant at this point.)
There are toys on the couch (and every other sitting surface, for that matter).
There's clutter everywhere, even though I de-cluttered 7 spots this month.
I forgot to use those coupons.
I missed the hours at the paint store.
That picture's not hung.

But, in it all, I'm all glitz and glamour because there's happiness... and fun... and spontaneity...




...and we all can clean up when really needed. 

Please remember the little steps...

A lot of people have their soapboxes they stand on. Fine. Good. These people have something that they're passionate about for whatever reasons. Good. Good for them. But, when their mission becomes so narrow-sighted and so self-proclaiming, often all that's left is a loud, beaming and boasting voice that loses it's message... that loses the passion... that loses respect and its audience sometimes, too.

It's when people lose their focus (or maybe some never really had a true one to begin with), that I wish they'd take the time to think of certain aspects of life.

Think of a baby learning to walk. First they need the support of others or other things. They gain confidence. Then, they start to take those little stumbling steps forward. Still with the encouragement and support of others. Finally, before too long, those little steps become leaps and bounds and full-fledged running.

But, guess what? If it wasn't for those little steps... there wouldn't be the running.

Sometimes all people have the ability to contribute (for whatever want or reason) is the little steps. Don't judge the little steps. Don't criticize. Encourage. It's with these little steps that a move forward can occur.

Did you ever hear the pitter-patter of many little feet? What better sound? All of those little steps, moving together toward progress. Toward a movement. Toward something special.

You can't deny the quiet, achieving beauty of the little steps.

Toxic People

When I was younger (in junior high and high school) I used to write poetry. A LOT of poetry. It was my outlet; it was how I dealt with my teen angst, my coming of age, so to speak. I remember one night sitting at my best friend's house and her mom throwing topics at me to see what kind of poems I could come up with based on an idea for a title only.

One of the titles she gave to me that night was "Toxic People". I remember in my naivety having to ask what that meant. (I think I was thinking of acne or something.) However, once she explained what "toxic people" were, the poem emerged. It was an ok poem, by some standards, but I'm sure it showed my limited life experience.

As I've been sitting here tonight, I was reminded of that poem... thinking about the toxic people in my life that I can't escape. I've tried. I've put them aside as best I can. I've risen above. But, the bitter reality is they are always lingering in the background... wandering through some insignificant aspect of my life... creeping into my thoughts, most times when I want them there the least.

I know they are toxic because they have a lasting, unescapable affect. I've tried. Yes, I've tried. But for some things, not even a well-thought of, well-written poem will put them to rest.



image from: http://thetruthergirls.wordpress.com/2012/01/30/leroy-ny-neurological-disease-outbreak-could-be-linked-to-toxic-spill/

Missing the groove...

From September to June, each school year, to be exact, I'm immersed in my 2 biggest responsibilities: working mom & teacher. It's no easy feat most days as I'm sure my neighbours can attest; I'm quite sure they think the 7:30am screaming banshee next door is nuts. It's because of these 2 all-giving, all forsaking responsibilities that my blogging takes a backseat.
 :( Boooooo.

Thanks to twitter & pinterest, I'm always popping onto great blogs and reading really great blog posts, which, in turn, causes me to ponder my own blogging more and more.

Thus, it's my hope to do it more! I want to get my thoughts, musings, etc down on paper (so to speak) once again. It's enjoyable. It's reflective. It's 'out there'.

So, don't give up on me yet. I'm gonna get my groove back!

If you're interested in trying digital scrapbooking...

... to make your Christmas cards, or maybe just to make your memories this Christmas look a little extra snazzy, I recommend the My Memories Suite Software! I've used this software for 3 years now. It's SUPER easy to use, and allows you to get your creative juices flowing! There are some quick layout options on their site, and they often have beautiful digital elements for FREE on their site, too!

Best of all, what I love, is that there's no waiting for a disc of your software to arrive in the mail -- you can simply download it right from their site! http://www.mymemories.com/digital_scrapbooking_software

If you're interested in this software, I have a PROMO CODE for you to use: STMMMS50306
Use this code and receive some freebies right off the bat! (Here's an example of one of their freebies



http://www.mymemories.com/store/share_the_memories_kit_1

I recommend you give it a try this Holiday Season!

Disclaimer: I am a Share the Memories "Affliate" ; however, my views on the product are truly my own.

:: today ::

Today I sat and talked with some best friends...
And looked in wonder at some others.
Today I chatted with an old friend...
And was filled with joy for another.
Today I took a deep breath to prepare...
And opened my eyes to see.
Today I hugged an old friend...
And looking back I saw an old me.
Today I saw promise...
And held hope in my grasp.
Today I sat and wondered...
But now today is gone past...

The promise of a wish...

The other day my daughter had an eyelash on her cheek. She promptly placed it gently on her fingertip, closed her eyes, mumbled softly and blew it away into the wind. The promise of a wish.
"I can't tell you what I wished, Mommy, cuz then it won't come true."

For some reason that, to me, was so sad. The promise of a wish.

As an adult now, I can tell you that many of my birthday wishes, my bedtime pleas, my fallen eyelash wishes have not come true.  I've never been to Disney World, Scotland, or Australia. I still didn't get to date that one guy. I haven't won a million dollars. But when I made those wishes, the promise that each held was of the utmost importance at the time.

They didn't come true.

I felt myself suddenly so sad for my dear daughter holding so fast to whatever promise she just had in that eyelash wish. Would that wish ever come true? How would I know? What would she be wishing for in the future?

So, I asked her. "What was your wish, honey?!"
"I can't tell you; it won't come true."
"Well, what's something you've wished for before? Not this time, but other times?"
"Well, honestly, mommy, I wish a lot to someday meet the real Hannah Montana!"

And with this simple admission, I knew I could make a difference in her empty promised wishes.

"Well, you know what? Sometimes wishes have a funny way of coming true."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, maybe God knew somehow that you'd probably never get to meet the real Hannah Montana, right?! But who did we go to see last year?!"
"Emily Osment"
"And who is she?!"
"Lily, Hannah Montana's best friend!"
"Exactly! And so God knew that if you'd never get to see Hannah Montana, at least you'd be able to say someday that you met her best friend! It was like your wish came true in a different way! Isn't that cool?"
"Now that I think of it, Mommy, I think that Emily Osment knew how special it was for me to be there! Remember how she waved right to me & gave me that piece of paper (set list)?! Wow. It was like my wish coming true in a different way!"

And with that I felt relieved. I felt as though she wouldn't have to live in the shadow of empty wishes. At least she had some hope... Some reason to keep on wishing because her wishes could be answered in another form. Happy sigh. Smile.


And someday when she's older, I'll tell her how for so many years, she was my fallen eyelash, my birthday candle wish, my tears softly falling at night. She is my wish come true.

The Morning Commute

It starts, pretty much running and screaming, trying to get 2 kids into the truck somewhere between 7:30 and 7:38am. Monday through Friday. That's the first step. It ain't pretty, honey, let me tell you!

And so the half hour journey begins. While the scenery is beautiful,  traveling isn't always so much. The road is a country winding route - full of "promise" in one direction, seemingly endless "potholes" in the other. (I use the term 'potholes' gently. "Craters" may be a better term.) One day we saw 39 deer, in one direction. Gotta watch those critters; they can jump out of nowhere it seems.

The music is on loud -- the kids' requested cd. They know it off by heart. I know it off by heart. In fact there's one track that we listen to at least 3 times in the half hour drive. Oh my. Sometimes I get a piece of toast or a sock thrown at me from the backseat. There's poking, and tears and hollering. But, there's also those moments when they pleasantly sing along (and they do it so well that sometimes I get tears in my eyes!).

The funny part of the drive is the other regular commuters.

I have to make the turn up the hill before that friggin' little red, falling apart Toyota gets on the road. The driver doesn't go over 70km/h, at all! And, given the route and the animals, and the potholes, and the plethora of people traveling in the promising direction, passing is not really an option.

Then there's the regular wavers. My good mornings with out a sound. They're all traveling in the promising direction. I meet the same vehicles every morning. Some of them I've been meeting in roughly the same spot each morning for 10 years now.

Billy's usually first. I found out his name at a hockey game. He was with someone I knew. He recognized me as "the driver of such-and-such a car." LOL We've been good buddies since. We chat about the other regulars on the road, the road conditions, lack of plowing in the winter, hockey, the news, etc. Billy is my first morning wave of cheer everyday.

Anne buzzes along next. I've known her for years in various ways. She waves every few days. (May be the morning fog. Or menopause.)

There's the couple I don't know. They won't wave. We meet in the same spot each morning. I've started beeping my horn happily at them to be friendly. LOL If they land in the ditch someday, I'll stop and help them. My horn beeping is my way of extending my hand...

There's the blue car waver. The sometimes-if-it-dawns-on-me greenish truck waver.

Hello, Mister out for your morning walk. I could set my watch by him.
Walker #2 with the funky (?) outfits. LMAO

Hey, Mister big smile always bundled up walker... Where have you been? I haven't seen you in a few  weeks now that I think of it. Hmmmmm. Sad thing is, I can't even enquire because I don't know his name.

LIttle scruffy white doggie... stay the hell in your yard. You're gonna get hit!!!!!!

Another blue car waver. Silver car waver. Former student driving the yellow car, Good morning!

Hi, car with distinctive license plate who's erratic path scares me sometimes.

Potholes 1-1,789: You may be the death of me as I have to drive on the opposite side of the road to escape your wrath. :(

Ahhhhhhh.... it's a beautiful drive. It truly is. And in true country fashion, it rarely changes.

I wonder if people in big cities can have a commute as friendly and predictable with the human connection that mine has?

Til tomorrow morn'...