Friday Fragments - Simple Things

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*****
Well that was certainly cathartic.

The boy's face is fine. He's all smiles again, with a bit of a shiner and a story to share.

Today is another day. Let's celebrate the simple things.

*****

I noticed something the other day. Something quite wonderful.

My daughter doesn't just walk. She skips - everywhere.

Oh, the pure joy of being a happy 5-year old little girl.

*****

Speaking of stories, the one thing that I look forward to when my husband comes home from his work trips, (other than seeing him, of course) is the colourful tales he has to share about his adventures.

After boarding his flight last Friday, and getting settled into his seat, he noticed this odour in the cabin. The odour of someone who'd had beans or something unsettling for breakfast, apparently. The passenger in front of him turned to his wife and made a grimace that showed his displeasure of the stink as well. My husband just tucked his nose subtly into his elbow as his defense mechanism.

You would think that would be the end of it, after all, one expects some level of dissipation at some point.

However, throughout the rest of the flight, the smell was relentless. The wife of the passenger in front even took out a small spray bottle of perfume/deodorizer and gave it a couple of pumps. My husband kept his elbow close.

After the plane landed, the pilot announced: "Welcome to lovely Chicago, folks"...

and the fellow in front of my husband piped in "... and whoever has been shitting their pants the whole flight, let's have another just for good measure."

My husband could barely contain the guffaws. Even while telling me the story.

****

Colourful number 2:...

After the man had settled into his hotel, he headed over to the convention centre to check things out. He looked to his phone, to see if there were any messages any of his colleagues. On his Blackberry screen he saw a trail from one of the guys from his office, and decided to continue the text conversation (in blue below):

Hi, you all settled in?

Yeah.

So do you want to meet for dinner?

Actually, I'm meeting some friends for dinner later on.

So do you want to meet for a drink before, maybe?

No, I'm running a bit short on time.

And then he noticed this colleague way over on the other side of the auditorium...

Hey, I see you over there, don't want to shout across the room...

No, you don't see me.

Yes, I do.

I'm in my workout gear in the gym at the hotel.

No, you're not. Is this Mike?

No, this is Jane.

JANE, his FEMALE colleague from the U.S. office.

Oh my frickin' gawd. She probably thought this guy was going middle-aged conference crazy. My man, he's smooth, isn't he?

****

The girlie promptly had a tea party with her Daddy last night, just before bed. And she brought it over and shared it with me as well.

I don't really play with my kids. I just realized this - I shop for them, I feed them, I bathe and I clothe them, I talk with them... but I don't play with them a heck of a lot.

But my husband does.

So I've resolved that I need to make the time to play.

Simple things. Wonderful things.

Let's play.

Day 10 at 45

As I sit here watching my 5 year old surf Justin Bieber Youtube videos, I'll share with you some of my observations after 10 days of being a midlifer...

• I can still sport a flush as red as a Danish flag - especially while 190 people are singing "Happy Birthday" to me while waving it...

• I can still contemplate entering what looked like a bong cafe (but no, I didn't - I probably would have just ordered a coffee anyway.)
  

• My ass still inspires wolf-whistles - well, they originate from my husband but hey, I'll take them while I can get them...

• In the spirit of keeping said ass, I was still able to make an 8:30 AM BodyJam class after a longer than 9 hour flight home the afternoon before...

• I'm still young enough to appreciate Eclipse (wooden acting notwithstanding) but old enough to love The Kids are All Right (beautiful Annette and Julianne make it easy, and I'd take Mark Ruffalo over Jake anytime - rawr...)

• I was cynical while witnessing the banal banter between Amanda Seyfried and Christopher Egan in "Letters to Juliet" but tears welled as I saw the genuine love in the gazes between Franco Nero and Vanessa Redgrave. Both still gorgeous and still together after all these years. Pass me a tissue please. (And by the way, what a waste of the talented Gael Garcia Bernal - if he said "amazing" and "incredible" one more time during the movie, I would have tossed my earphones into the barf bag...)

• (and you are correct, you CAN squeeze a lot of movies into an overseas flight. It's the only chance I get to watch movies nowadays)

• I enjoy being a woman but not yet "one of the girls" (ie. I get to join the girls' club once I hit 50, apparently)

• I'm old enough that I actually own outfits that I can recycle as Lady Gaga for an upcoming Halloween party. Dare me to? I've done Depp, Gaga should be a breeze - just don't call me a hoarder, m'kay?

• I still love anthropologie, especially with their 15% off birthday card. Happy birthday to me!

Now if I could only stop waking up at 5:30 AM ... I know, it's a sign. Sigh.

The Lesson

The girlie had her first piano lesson last night. Her brother started his lessons in the fall, and she's been curious from the start. But given her young age, the piano teacher suggested that we just let her observe and get used to the presence of the teacher every week, before letting her give it a try.

I love their teacher. She is GREAT with children.

I actually used to teach piano as a teenager. I even taught my brother up until he sat for his Grade 2 Royal Conservatory Exam. He got first class honours at the age of 7. So in theory, I could teach my own kids at least the basics, even though it's been over 20 years since I taught anyone.

In theory. You see, I pretty much could have killed my brother during his lessons. It's so much harder to teach your own - your expectations are so high, you assume they can do better, they never practice enough, etc., etc. Just ask my brother what those years were like, I bet he'd still remember the torture.

So when it came time for music lessons for my boy, I wasn't even going there.

After four months, he can read simple music, count and play with both hands. He practices every day without prompting, and to be honest, I've only sat down with him a couple of times just to see what he's playing. I'd say that's massive restraint on my part.

When the teacher rang the doorbell yesterday, the girlie came up with me shyly, and only agreed to go to the piano room with the teacher if I accompanied them. I did so gladly, as it was the deal. The teacher welcomed it and let me stay in the back.

What a joy it was to watch the girlie concentrating, looking at the teacher with such attention, and focusing on her fingers and the book in front of her. She learned the number of her fingers, the difference between black and white keys, and long and short notes. She even played two simple pieces. And she was beaming, ear to ear, as the teacher told her how well she was doing.

After 15 minutes, it was over. The plan is to do 15 minute weekly sessions for the first month, just to ease her into it.

As her brother went in for his turn, she ran to the other room with me, jumping up and down, shouting, "Mommy, I want a FULL lesson next time!" I told her it would come soon enough, but that we were so proud of what she had done for the very first time. More ear to ear beaming.

*****

This morning, as I put the coffee on and got breakfast going, instead of heading to the TV room, the girlie walked over to the piano.

"I'm practicing first thing every morning! I'm good and I can do it, better!"

Do you think she's in the running with her brother?

You betcha for sure.

"Lucky"

Although the loss of my father has just devastated me and my siblings, it's obviously my mother who has been the most affected.

I knew my parents loved each other, I had no doubt about that. After almost 45 years of marriage, they were still very much a couple. They did everything together, went everywhere together, still held hands. But watching them the last month, dealing with my father's sudden, grave illness, it became so clear to me that with my father's passing, it wasn't only the end of a wonderful man's life. It was the end of a beautiful love story.

They were still so very much IN love.

As my brother mentioned to me recently, you often forget that your parents started out as a young couple themselves. Before they had children, they had each other. And after the kids flew the coop and grandchildren came along, they had each other still. My parents faced quite a bit of adversity trying to keep their relationship together in the early days. I've always known of the obstacles they faced from their families when they decided to marry. And yet they persevered, and built a family and a life together.

Sure, they bickered and they argued ... what couple doesn't? And my mother seldom understood the dry wit or the jokes that my father would tell at her expense (a cultural thing, perhaps ... or more likely Mom got it all along and just didn't let on). Mom wasn't too keen on some of the bad habits Dad had, but back in the day, everyone smoked, everyone drank ( Mad Men, anyone?).

During the last six weeks, my mother never left my father's side. She stayed by him in the hospital room, catching sleep on a cot next to him only an hour or two at a time, so that she would be there whenever he was awake, whenever he needed her. And whenever he awoke, he would look out for her first, before anyone else. She did everything for him; and he fought so hard for her.

I caught a glimpse of their special relationship one afternoon when I was helping out in Dad's room. Occasionally Mom would ask Dad a few questions, to make sure he was still alert or to confirm that he was awake. Holding hands, her face close to his, she asked him, "Who am I?"

To which Dad responded : "Somebody".

Mom replied: "Somebody? Somebody to who?"

Dad: "Somebody to someone. Somebody here to test me."

After a little laugh, Mom said again: "Who am I?"

Dad: "My Wife."

And Mom, with a little chuckle, threw this at him: "How many wives do you have?"

Dad deadpanned: "One.... SO FAR."

Mom just cracked right up.

And I turned my face to the wall so that they wouldn't see my tears welling up while I laughed with them.

*****

My mother is a strong woman. She realizes that this is part of the life cycle, and that she's in the next chapter of her life. We're trying to gather around her as much as we can, but she'd like us to get back to our normal lives. Whatever the new normal holds.

But one thing that I know for sure, that I have been a witness to in the last little while:

True love does exist. I've seen it with my very own eyes. I'm a product of it.

And I will be so lucky if, by the time we reach our post-40th wedding anniversary, my own marriage will still hold half of the love that my parents had for each other.
-------------------------------------------

Where did the real posts go?

They're on hiatus, unfortunately. I just don't have it in me.

Happy pictures of my happy kids are helping.

I'm tired, but not nearly as exhausted as others in my family.

I alternate from being numb, to borderline breakdown, to stern resolve within a matter of minutes... all the while with an aching heart, heavy in my chest, and a scream nestled uncomfortably as a whisper in the depths of my throat.

But I have to get past that. It's not about me.

I try to maintain positive thoughts, put on a cheerful face, as they need to see it. We all need to see it. We all need to feel it.

Hope. Strength.

To fight it.

Won't give up my day job

It's been hard to blog lately because of work committments. And it's a struggle, to be honest, figuring out the right balance, how to organize my day so I can focus while not feeling that I'm neglecting my little kindergartener who is still home for half the day. I've even had to put her into daycare for a couple of days a week just to get things done. Of course I also need to make quality time for my 8 year old who is growing so quickly; thank goodness he is still enjoying his "Mommy & Me" time before we pick his litte sister up.

Don't get me wrong, I'm really enjoying what I'm doing, the chance to use my skills in a more productive fashion. The opportunity to put on a suit and real heels. Volunteering at G's kindergarten class is certainly rewarding but after so many years at the school, I can still barely figure out how to make 120 double-sided copy booklets without chewing up a dozen sheets and jamming the photocopier twice.

Working from home is really the best arrangement, and this was always the plan. But rushing around my suburban neighbourhood the last little while, absorbing the sights and sounds of ...

well, not much really, except other mini-driving moms on the road chauffeuring their kids back and forth, doing the groceries, loading up at the newest Costco that just opened up ...

So it was only natural that a few recent observations seemed to link up in some cosmic fashion that suggested a potential second vocation for me.

Numero uno: Aradia fitness - this pole-dancing studio opened up not far from me a while ago, and I pass by it on a daily basis.

La deuxieme: I had to pick up some milk early on the weekend and made a quick drive to the Walmart. What did I see there at 9 AM on a Saturday morning? A girl walking into the store on the arm of her boyfriend, wearing these beauties:

Walmart, seriously.

The third sign: The stripper dip move in Bodyjam release 34, performed to Gwen Stefani's "Rich Girl" , which I am trying to perfect.

Stop laughing, I'm really getting there. Just ask Hubby, who happened to pop into the gym studio briefly on the weekend and watch approvingly while I was gyrating to Sean Paul...



(basement parties I've been to have never been that fun ...)


Wow, to be young, hot, able to dance like that and hold the power.

But as I sit here on my 40-something ass, having my coffee after downing a couple of Ibuprofen to combat the aching hips that almost hip-hopped- out at last night's workout, I've decided. I should just get back into my home office, to the data and mounds of paper that await.

After all, I have to let my body recover and re-energize, especially if I'm gonna learn how to work that pole.

Thursday Thirteen: catching up

Since September started, I feel like my life is a handful of sand, with all the grains slipping through my fingers. I don't know what it is, I just feel overwhelmed ...I can't keep up. Sort of like I'm doing the "running-man" and getting nowhere fast.

Hence, very little "real" blogging going on for me, and I'm really missing it. Not just the writing, but the bloghopping, and I'm not even getting to my regular reads. I am really, really missing the community. I find that you only get back what you put in, and lately, it's not happening for me. I am finding minimal to no blog time.

Perhaps because of the following:

1/ It's the first time both kids are in school. I think I'm still feeling the adjustment of having my baby girl in school, and on top of that, her taking the bus. She loves it, but that only makes me feel marginally better.

2/ Even though the girlie started kindergarten this year, and I do get a couple of hours free in the morning, the time WHIPS by. I feel I get nothing accomplished in that time.

3/ Nothing accomplished likely because I went from zero to 2 work projects within a one week period. With timelines in the weeks, rather than months. Yay for some pay; but how is this supposed to work with a kindergartener still at home half the day? Things that make you go " hmmmmm....?"

4/ One of these projects required onsite consultation with over an hour commute. Traffic, what the hell is that??!!! Now I remember why I hate commuting.

5/ Hubby's work travel has picked up again. Let's see now, he's away 2.5 weeks out of 4, including the weekend. Nice. I am just in awe of single parents. Totally and utterly.

6/ My trips to the gym were few and far between in the summer. You'd think that all this running around would help me stay in shape. Not really, I just feel constantly stressed, out of breath and in a rush. So I've been catching up, big time. The pain, oh the pain.

7/ I am not cooking enough and eating more prepared foods. Just to keep up with the pace. This is horrid, I know. If I could only get my act together and plan accordingly. So I think my unhealthy eating habits are affecting my energy level.

8/ With hubby away, I have no one to drink with. No, stop laughing, I'm serious here. My bottle of ready-to-pour Mojito is just sitting there, as are some lovely bottles of Argentinian and Washington wine, and some Niagara rieslings.

Drinks to lower my stress level. Maybe I need one now.

9/ The lessons have started. I feel guilty because my boy wants music lessons for the first time this year and I have yet to book them, primarily because I'm hesitant to do more running around. Isn't that awful? I need to get my act together to maybe find someone who will come to the house; but that may cost a mint.

He's so cute, he offered just to take lessons online to save time and money. He's only 8, sometimes his maturity astounds me.

10/ I am just uninspired. I am missing those "a-ha" bloggable moments, those little nuggets of life that usually just have me tickled pink to write about.

11/ I can't get to sleep much before midnight every night. I've always been a nightowl, but I thought the theory was that as you got older, you didn't need as much sleep. I'm blowing that theory out the window; I almost feel like taking a nap every afternoon. Usually at about the time I have to go pick the boy up from school.

12/ The new TV season has started, and it's so much easier to sit down in front of "So You Think you can Dance Canada", enjoy the pure talent and dream about "what if"... than coming up with an intellectually stimulating blog post. With the big shot season premieres coming up in the next couple of weeks (Lipstick Jungle, Eli Stone, Grey's, CSI ...), the blog will be in dire straits, just dire.

Oh who am I kidding, I don't have energy to get up off my arse and turn the computer on after I've gotten the kids to bed. One button on the remote is about all I can handle.

13/ The computer screen is bugging me, I think. Because now I have actual WORK on my computer that needs to be done. For the longest time my computer was my salvation, away from all the baby, kidstuff, my escape to write. About anything and everything ... except about work.

The newspaper, now that's what I've been getting into. Having a kick at old school.

I think I've just started a new stage in life; and it's all about adjusting to my new reality.

So if I post a little less for the next while ...

The Day is Near

The first day of the school is on September 2 this year. We'll bring the boy to the schoolyard where the rest of the students, all several hundred of them, will congregate. We will look for the big "3" among the sea of heads to find out which placard holder will be his teacher. It will be chaotic.

And then the "other" first day of school, will be September 3. The monumental one. The first day of kindergarten for the little G.

When we decided that it made so much sense for me to stay home with the kids almost four years ago, I was thrilled. To be able to spend such quality time and actually be present for the first big steps in my daughter's life and see firsthand the continuing progress of my little man - what a gift.

But four years goes by so quickly. I hadn't thought much about this upcoming milestone. Perhaps it's because she's always been so independent, wishing that she could like her big brother and hang out with the other big kids. Constantly telling me that she's a big girl now and not my baby. She's never been too much of a baby to me.

*****

Over lunch one day this past week, my boy, the first baby, my sensitive one, asked me:

"Hey Mom, when G's in school, won't you really, really miss her?"
It took me aback a bit. And I replied:

"Well, she's been in preschool a couple of mornings a week, so it won't be such a big change."
"Mom, I know you're used to me being gone for a full 6 hours, but you've been with just G everyday. For three whole years!! I guess it will be different when she's in full-day school."
Little G piped in : "Yeah, 'cuz I'm a big girl and I'll be in kindergarten with my best friend."
The conversation then turned to something completely different. I think it was the weather.

As a mother, I tend to operate more on the "drill sergeant" end of the spectrum. I don't really get too sentimental, I lack patience, and even though I do love to cuddle with my kids and give them spontaneous hugs and kisses, sometimes I feel that I can even be downright cold. At least that's my self-perception.

But after the kids left the table and I was by myself in the kitchen, washing the dishes, seeing the water swirl down the drain ... I started to cry. Just a little.

My baby, my littlest one, will be starting school. She is so excited. She will sail through her first day. She will not look back. She may even forget to say goodbye to me. I know this with such certainty.

There's a part of me that wishes we could just have a little more summer, a little more sun, a little more play.

"On an island in the sun
We'll be playing and having fun..."*



The rush to grow up, it's just starting. I know it isn't nearly as huge as this.

But honestly, right now, this is the most I can handle. And barely at that.

(*Who knew I was such a Weezer fan. I can't get this tune out of my head these past few days...)

Double Happiness

( symbolic of weddings and wedding celebrations)

Fifteen years ago today, we said "I do".

We survived the wedding planning (you were smart, leaving most of it to me).

We survived the marriage course (wasn't that fun attending it with the girl who was crushing on you in university, there with her fiance).

And after the crazy weekend of celebrations, where we made our grand entrance in through the out door to the lovely strains of the theme from "The Young and the Restless"...




and the following evening you killed them with your karaoke capabilities (Elvis not once, twice, but three times?)





...we settled into married life.

What did that mean for us? Finally living in the same city. Together. Condo living by the market. Being able to stroll to the skating rink by the lake; to walk to see Iggy Pop in concert. Enjoying downtown living as a carefree twosome. And both working in the burbs. Kind of ironic. Family wasn't in the plans for a couple of years yet.

And when those plans went awry; when the carefully constructed Type A life-plan was blown away by the cruel fate? You were my strength; following my lead when I needed to be followed, but enveloping me with encouragement, optimism and love; pulling me along when I felt I couldn't do it any longer.

Life is so full of unknowns.

But You knew.

And you still know.

As do I.

The one thing in life that I am absolutely certain of, is how lucky I am. To have you, our children, our marriage. How lucky indeed.

Happy Anniversary.

Shiny Double Happy Family

"Oh they built the ship Titanic..."

I felt a bit of a failure last week. Because it is all about me, o-selfish one.

A while back we signed the boy up for a week of daycamp, with a "major" in golf, and an afternoon of swimming, tennis and soccer. It would be an opportunity for him to explore a new sport, and best of all, he would be going with one of his best friends. Sure, it meant getting up early to catch the bus, but it would only be for a week.

I was so impressed with the organization of the camp, the communication was frequent and they always responded to every question so quickly.

The sun, the play, the friends ... he would LOVE it.

On Day 1, it wasn't surprising that he just wasn't eager. It was something new, there was no school and yet he was being forced out of bed at 7:30 AM after a very late night before. There was no convincing him that it was his fault - that fighting bedtime until he was exhausted at 10:30 PM the previous evening was not such a smart thing after all.

But still, he did it, he got dressed, waited to be picked up and when he saw his friend, off he went.

At 4:30 PM when he was dropped off, the first words out of his mouth were: "It was the worst day of my life!!! The food was horrible, and I only saw B for ONE HOUR!!!"

Gulp. This was going to be a long week.

On Day 2, he woke up again in a terrible mood. He wouldn't eat, he again had been up too late the night before, but he got ready and went again, not convinced that the reassurances I gave him about camp getting better were actually going to be true.

At drop off: "It wasn't much better, Mom. At least the sandwich wasn't soggy; but all we did was hit the ball in tennis. And sit around. Soccer was way easy, not fun at all! But the waterslides were all right (he grudgingly admitted)".

At bedtime the whining would not let up. He was almost in tears. "But I HATE IT!!!!".

On Day 3, a different tactic from Mom. "You don't know how lucky you are, you should be happy to be able to be out playing in the sun, with your friends, learning about sports. There are so many kids who don't have this opportunity. And Mom and Dad are paying a LOT OF MONEY for this so you'd better go and you'd better have fun!"

Desperately seeking solution here. Guilt, maybe that was the answer?

"Okay ..." sighing as he walked out the door.

End of Day 3 - you know the score. "It was awful. It is sooooo boring! I can't stand it! I'd rather stay at home and work on WORKBOOKS all day. Or play with little G. Seriously!!! And it's so, so far away!"

I was butting heads with him. It was annoying the hub, our arguing, whining. We finally got him to bed. And suspected that the underlying root of distress for him was being away from home. Even though it was only a 20 minute drive to camp, he took two buses to get to the golf course. It probably seemed like he was in another town.

So we decided to cancel the rest of the week. It just wasn't worth it. Ian found that some of my own issues were coming out in my arguments with our son. After all, I hated daycamp as a kid, but I had no choice. My parents were both working, and without camp there was nowhere else for me to go. I had to suck it up and in the end came to actually enjoy the camp experience somewhat. It was a life lesson.

I was probably overreacting. But honestly, I thought he should have the fortitude to suck it up and finish the week. If I could do it, he certainly could. But hubs said it should be something he enjoys. It's not like he's quitting school or anything. Point well taken. Still, I felt by cancelling, we had failed.

I don't want to raise a quitter. I want my kids to be exposed to new things, to give themselves a chance to try to succeed before giving up too easily. I'm a perfectionist, almost to the point of being held stagnant by my fears of not succeeding. From a very young age I have been hesitant to try new things lest I not be terribly good at it. I hate failing. I don't like the feeling of failure. But however cliche it is, the learnings from failure are more important than the failure itself.

And that is what I'd like for my kids. I see so much more for them. I don't want them to fail all the time; far from it. It's so much easier to succeed. I wish they could be good at everything.

But obviously they can't be. So at least I'd like them to know that finishing something that you've started is important. It can be so difficult sometimes as a parent. Is this really anxiety that's driving him to avoid this new situation; or is it just blowing smoke at me when all he wants to do is hang around and play video games all day? Do I just not push him hard enough; or will pushing him too far drive him over the edge so he will be unwilling to try any new experiences in the future?

I'm still waiting to see what I will learn from my own "failure" in this scenario. As my kids get older, I suspect I'll continue to be learning more life lessons of my own.