tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42341825660165671542024-03-05T03:17:22.124-08:00The Middle Aged Woman Who Lived in a ShoeThe trials and tribulations of one stay -at- home mom's journey to raising 4 kids in a too small house on a too small budget, but still trying to live BIG.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.comBlogger611125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-57630839946106068242016-02-16T10:28:00.001-08:002016-02-16T12:51:14.217-08:00Utopia (my version of the perfect health care system)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Utopia, that imaginary place where everything is perfect. I'm not talking about Thomas More's Utopia, his was a bit off, but what do you expect from a man living in 1500's? Besides the poor guy was beheaded by Henry the Eighth. Over the years other's have tried their hand at Utopia. The communists came kind of close, other than the oppressiveness. The problem is that human greed and the need for power always ruins everything.</div>
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You may well be asking yourself what the heck this crazy woman is talking about, and is she wanting to be a communist? The answer to both is no (although some may argue for the crazy part). No I am tired of some of the aspects of our society. I'm tired of the rich having everything and the poor having nothing. Yes some of it comes down to work ethic, absolutely, but some of it does not. There is quickly becoming no middle class (that part of the economic demographic which for the second I belong to). Our health care system is failing us, and we are allowing it to. Our health care system was at one point the envy of the world. Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy health.</div>
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You may ask what this little rant is all about. Christopher and I lay in bed the other night and were talking about our health and our health care system. We were sharing our dismay that fruits and vegetables have become luxury items. Never in my life did I think that I would see cauliflower cost nearly $5 a head, or heads of iceberg lettuce over $3 a head. The price of beef is absurd, and out of the reach of most people. 2% milk costs $5 for 4 litres and yet you can often buy pop for $1 for 2 litres. Honestly I am not sure how people can survive with the current cost of groceries. How can people who are living hand to mouth able to provide for their families?</div>
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Our health care system is broken. In one respect I am very thankful that I live in Canada where we all pay into our healthcare system and everyone is able to access healthcare no matter their income without having to mortgage their homes. I am grateful for our healthcare system and yet it is so flawed. If you are in need of a doctor you can access one, but if you have no health insurance you cannot get the prescriptions that you need to make you better. You break your leg and the cost of the cast and the doctor are covered, but you need to pay for your crutches and physiotherapy. Oral health is linked to overall health and yet dentists are not covered, but the doctor is for your preventable heart attack.</div>
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Here is my Utopia. In my utopia healthy foods are subsidized by the government, if need be unhealthy foods could be at a greater cost. Gym memberships and exercise programs can be accessed by everyone at no or very low cost. Prescriptions and dentistry are included with our healthcare. Just as cosmetic surgery is not covered by our OHIP system, cosmetic dentistry and non-health prescriptions (Viagra) would not be covered. In my Utopia people could access message therapy or chiropractors once a week unless they medically required more. Physiotherapy used to be in our OHIP as did visiting an optometrist in my Utopia they are included. Mental health would be a priority, and people would be encouraged to seek out therapy and come out of the darkness they may be living in. Mandatory four weeks of holidays would also be required and Sundays would once again be a day of rest. I am not a religious person, I truly think that we should have one day to be at rest, to enjoy our families.</div>
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As you are reading this you may be shaking your head at my vision of the perfect world. The thing is that although we are very lucky to have the healthcare system that we have, it is not looking at the big picture. If we invested in making people physically and mentally healthy then we would not need to invest as much money into hospital care. People would not have heart attacks as often, there would be much less suicides, there would be less destructive health. It is a statistical fact that people with money have better health that those living in the middle class and especially those living at or below the poverty line. How can you possibly have good health when you are not able to eat properly? How can you have good health when you are in a constant state of anxiety wondering if you can afford your child's insulin, or other drugs / therapies not covered by OHIP? Stress creates hormones that create obesity and heart attacks. Stress destroys physical and mental health.</div>
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As a recap (with a few additions) my Utopia would be .....</div>
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More doctors and nurses. Better hospitals with food being made at the hospital and not shipped in from who knows where. Longer hospital stays when people need them. All schools would have a lunch program provided by the province. It would have locally grown foods and would include milk free of charge to every child. Healthy food would be subsidized by the government to allow access to all. Prescription drugs would be included in our health care as would mental health, dental, physiotherapy, optometry and glasses. Mental health would be a priority. Massage therapy and other alternative health practices would be covered. Gym and pools would be free of charge to visit. There would be a mandatory four weeks of vacation time for every Canadian and we would have a legally mandated Sunday (or another day of government's choosing) day off to recharge.</div>
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This is a utopia, an imaginary world, and yet it does not need to be. If we as a people invested in our physical and mental health we would have greater work productivity which would mean fewer days off of work. We as a Canadian people would have greater health which would mean that we would not have to invest as much money into preventable illness. In the end it would probably all break even with much happier healthier citizens.</div>
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What do you think of my Utopia... discuss.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-34643228179891183202016-01-26T09:22:00.000-08:002016-01-26T09:22:59.797-08:00Why Glamour Shots for Today?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A couple of friends and I have been joking about getting Glamour Shots taken. For those of you who did not live in the 1980's, let me share with you a little bit about Glamour Shots. The first thing that you need to know is that they were a BIG thing. I thought they looked well, glamorous. Ladies would get their hair and make up done, would put on fancy clothes and have their picture taken by a professional photographer. I was too young to do Glamour Shots, but Christopher tells me that his Mom had some done (Doreen, just so you know, I WILL see these said pictures). Today they are very 1980's, but I truly think that they were empowering.</div>
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The more I thought about our "Glamour Shot's" joke, the more I began to think it was not really that funny. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do something equivalent. Here is why I really want to do this..... when you look at my family's pictures, you will notice that there are A LOT of pictures. There are pictures from every angle, but there is a noticeable absent element to them... me. I am the family photographer. I love to take pictures. I also do not really like having my picture taken. Pictures just prove to me all of the things that I dislike about my appearance. So while I am absent in years of pictures, and happily so, it is not until years later when I look at them and wish that there were more pictures of me when I was younger. </div>
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I have never been happy in the skin I was in. When I looked in the mirror, or photos all I could/ can see is what is wrong with me, not what makes me beautiful. I look at pictures of my younger self and think how beautiful I was. This sounds vain, but I see that beautiful face when I look into the faces of my three girls. All three girls have some part of my face in their face. My girls are stunningly beautiful, so I guess that if I can say that they are without difficulty, then I should be able to say that the woman who made them so beautiful is, but I can't. I look at pictures of that beautiful face, so young and without wrinkles. I look at that body I used to inhabit and am longful to have it again. I was never bone thin, but I was perfect for me... I can say this now. The problem was I lived with bone thin people, my both parents and my younger, naturally blonde and perky, athletic younger sister were all terribly thin. I looked obese in comparison to them, and yet I see now that I was perfect. I was beautiful.</div>
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Why glamour shots now? Why would I want photographic proof that I now inhabit a large body that has a face full of wrinkles and grey hair? Why, because in time I will look at those pictures and wonder at how young and beautiful I was, even though I could not see it then/ now. My children will look at those pictures when they are older and show them to their children and say "Wasn't Nanny beautiful?" Why, because it would be pampering, and making me feel beautiful even for just a little while. I will never look the way that I would like to look, never. Instead of berating myself, why not be happy in this skin that I live in right now? Why not love myself just a little bit? Having pictures taken would not shout out to the world that I am full of myself and think I am something that I am not. These pictures would capture the person that I am at this snapshot of my life. It would remind me in years to come of who I was at this age. The other thing, which is a little morbid is this, by not allowing myself to be in pictures I am depriving my children. I will not live forever. In time I will be a memory, but how nice will it be for the kids to have pictures to look at and to help them remember me.</div>
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I am now going to actively find somewhere that does the equivalent of Glamour Shots, it's made it to my bucket list. I am also going to encourage my friends to join me. This would add to the snap shot in memory. The night I put myself first, and had so many laughs with great friends and have photographic proof for my memory. Yes, this is happening.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-72841594691866908162016-01-25T08:32:00.000-08:002016-01-25T08:32:39.874-08:00Taking Care Of Me / We All Need Friends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Not all that long ago I suffered from a familiar Mommy affliction, Mommy Martyrdom. For those of you unfamiliar with the terrible affliction of Mommy Martyrdom, it's pretty serious. Mommy Martyrdom causes women to put everyone including the dog ahead of themselves. They suffer in silence thinking that by putting everyone's needs ahead of themselves it makes them a good mother. This disease tends to be a genetic condition, meaning that it comes from the mother. The long term effects of Mommy Martyrdom include low self-esteem, low self-worth, anger and depression. The only cure for this horrible affliction is to occasionally put yourself first, no matter how uncomfortable it may feel. Maybe I could start a telethon.....</div>
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So I mentioned that this is something that I "suffered" from, meaning past tense. I learned at the knee of my mother to put the needs of everyone else ahead of my own, but not to suffer in silence. It's important that the entire family knows that you are a martyr, and that you resent them for putting you into that position. I felt angry that I did not "count", that is until I had this big light bulb moment the one where you smack your head and wonder at your years of stupidity. I had created this position for myself. The reason that I always came last was because I never, ever allowed myself to come first, or even second or third. How could I resent my family, when I had created, and maintained this stupid behavior. When I changed my low standards, I changed the family happiness level. I realized what a heavy burden martyrdom is. I was making myself feel worthless, no one was forcing me. I will not pretend for a second that I put myself first, that's just plain selfish and it would be undoing hundreds of years of Martyr evolution running along the female branch of my family. I do however put myself near the top of the priorities when I need to be. I feel better, which means I am less bitchy, and angry, which in turn means that my family is happier. It's a win win. I will admit that it was tough on the family to begin with. I was changing the rules of the game, in the middle of the game. In the end they liked "happy" mommy more than "miserable" mommy.</div>
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Part of my end to mommy martyrdom was to allow myself to spend time with friends. This sounds like a stupid thing, but really it is HUGE. Going out for coffee with friends always felt indulgent. I was spending money that could have gone to the kids. I really now feel like that $1.70 I spend on my once a week coffee, and that few hours away from the house is kind of worth it. I read this and see how stupid it looks, and I also realize that you may be reading this and thinking that I am being humorous, but I am not. Taking a once a week coffee date truly felt overly indulgent to me. I did not feel that I was worth the price of a coffee. It's really pretty sad, and honestly it makes me feel sad to think that I ever thought so poorly of myself. I now wonder how I did without my once a week coffee date.</div>
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Once a week a group of <strong>AMAZING </strong>ladies get together and have coffee. Sometimes one of us hosts the others at their home (this depends on how industrious they have been in their house cleaning), but more often than not we just get together at Tim Hortons. The size of our group varies depending on what we all have going on that week. Sometimes there are lots of us, sometimes just a few, and that's ok. I have said it before, but I am truly blessed to have such a group of amazing women in my life. They are there for the laughter and the tears, and sometimes both in the same coffee date. We care about each other. When one of us is having a difficult time, the others rally around her. It's like a therapy session that only costs $1.70.</div>
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It seems like such a little thing having friends, but it is so big. That group of friends help contribute to my mental health. I do not ever have to suffer in silence, because there is this group of amazing women who will listen to me, and nine out of ten have walked the same road I am now walking. We are a cheering squad. We know each other's children, and each other's spouses. My husband will hate to hear this, but they know more about him than I think he does. We talk about our lives good and bad, and that is what makes the bad more bearable. I love my husband with my whole heart, he is my best friend, truly he is, but.... he is not a woman. When I talk to my women friends about what is going on in my life it makes it easier. There are enough women in our group of friends that you have exactly what you need for the situation. We have women who will listen and never pass judgment, there are also the one's who play devil's advocate, and there are the ones who will be angry along with you and want to go and kick some ass. I need them all. Most of all they are a group of ladies who make me laugh. I cannot think of a time I have gotten together with them and not laughed, usually until my sides hurt. I am blessed.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-13276589530160109352016-01-22T10:59:00.000-08:002016-01-22T10:59:02.814-08:00Fighting for a Good Marriage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This morning Christopher called into work to see what he was doing for the day (yup I hate that part of his job too). He had to work visitation for a funeral afternoon and evening, giving him the morning off. At first I was upset because I hate when he has to work nights, then I was excited because it meant that I had him all to myself, not interruptions from the kids. Since becoming parents almost 21 years ago we rarely have time just the two of us. <br />
Oh it was so romantic watching Netflix (without the and chill). Ok it was not romantic, but it was nice to make it through an episode of The Last Kingdom without "Mom can you wash my black pants for tomorrow", " I need $200 dollars for our class trip tomorrow", "I promised the teacher that you would sew costumes for our entire class for tomorrow", or "DADDDDDYYYYY come kill this lady bug, it's freak'in me out!" We were able to just be. We snuggled together on the couch, just being. I realized after I stomped my foot like a child because he had to go to work, that I really love that guy. I mean I didn't realize just in that moment that I loved him (don't get me wrong there are times that I lean quite a bit away from love), it was one of those moments when reality hits you.<br />
I have known Christopher for longer than I have not. I have known those big hands, and that funny nail on his finger that the doctor shot with something to kill a wart when he was little and it dwarfed his nail. I can close my eyes and see those hands, every scar, every hair, every mole just as easily as if I was looking directly at it. I KNOW him, and in return he KNOWs me. We have a history.<br />
This past August 21, I became Tristan "Lindsay" for as long as I was Tristan "Haynes". As I write this I have been Tristan "Lindsay" for longer than I was ever "Haynes". I marvel at this considering the divorce rate. I marvel at our longevity when I look at the relationships of some of the people I have known in those 22 years, our friends and family members who's relationships are broken, or just couldn't make it. How can it be that we have been married for almost 22 and a half years and yet I feel like we were just those two goofy kids at York?<br />
Before I give you the notion that I am gloating about my happy marriage, please know that I am not. Do not think for a minute that we are "soul mates" and that these past 22 years have been a walk in the park. There are days (and not all of them all that far in the past) that I have plotted his murder. How angry would he be if I just pushed him down the stairs? If it doesn't kill him, how angry would he be if I took this pillow and really put my weight into smothering his snoring stupid face, and could I with my lack luster upper body strength? No these past 22 years have been damned hard work, and there have been times along the way I wondered if he was worth all of the effort. <br />
I will not lie and say that we have grown into one person, that's a lie. 22 years do change people, but not that much. We are two very different people, and that's why we are still together, honestly I couldn't stand to live with me. We both know that we are very irritating people and that if we ever did split up no one else would be able to stand either of us, so we are better off together. We agree on all of the important things, the deal breakers, and that is something that we have worked at. We changed the way we fought. To begin with we fought for supremacy and not to have our voice heard. I was in it for blood, and he longed to inflict psychological damage. Now when we fight we do it like civilized adults, oh there's yelling sometimes, and an occasionally the odd below the belt hit, but for the most part there is no blood or psychological damage. Most important we shield the kids from it. If we are in a massive fight we are honest with the kids and tell them that their Dad and I are upset with each other, but it's between us and we will get over it.<br />
Right now, at this very second in time I am very much in love with my husband. We have 5 beautiful children together, children we adore (most of the time). We truly are best friends, he knows me better than I know myself. We have walked a difficult road together, but no matter how many bumps tiny or gargantuan earthquakes, we end up on the other side together. Love is not enough. Love is that warm and fuzzy thing, but it is not the only thing that has held us together. Sometimes it has just been sheer brute force determination. We have put too much time into this relationship to just bail out. Sometimes I miss the days of the butterflies that you feel when you are in a new relationship, but those butterflies are not worth what we have. Besides, sometimes I still get those butterflies when I see him in a suit, or when he's been working a lot and he calls to say that he's coming home, sometimes it's just his deep voice on the phone or saying that he's home.<br />
Marriage is not easy and I think that is why so many people fail. We think that what we see on television and movies is real. We think that good marriages are always happy and that we are always mad with lust for each other. The truth is something very different. The truth is that a good marriage is worth its weight in gold, but it is hard work, every single day. There are the days of bliss and days of plague and locusts. It takes two people who love each other, but are committed to fighting for their marriage. It takes the knowledge that you can be both best friends and then hate each other, and then work it out. It means putting someone else's needs ahead of your own, but that applies to both of you, and like they teach you in kindergarten "SHARE", and take turns.<br />
I sit here, right now this second feeling very blessed to have someone who loves me and has been able to put up with me that many years. I sit here missing my husband and looking forward to seeing him again tonight. I sit here realizing that all of our hard work has been more than worth it, and that we are lucky to have made it.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-81635626841003420042016-01-20T09:07:00.001-08:002016-01-20T09:11:38.701-08:00Parenting a High Schooler (is that even a real word)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When you bake (at least when I bake) I follow the instructions. I carefully put in what the recipe says to and I bake it for as long as the recipe says to. In the 30 - 60 minutes ( I always set my timer) <br />
whatever the recipe says to cook it for, I take it out of the oven and when it's cool enough I get to try the fruits of my labour. It might have turned out amazing, or it might be a fail, but it's quick results. Parenting is not like this. No parenting is like that time that you asked your Grandma for a recipe and she told to throw in a handful of this, and if you didn't have a handful of that to substitute it for this. When you asked for actual measurements she looked at you like you had just landed from another planet "I make it the way my mother made it, I just throw in handfuls". That is more like parenting. You throw in what you think is best, and pray that you are right. Sometimes you make mistakes, and pray that you can correct the mistakes. Unlike a recipe, you wait 20 years to see if you were successful in your endeavors.<br />
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We as parents are now in uncharted waters. We have a high school girl. It is that day that she dreamed of all last year. She would be with other kids "like" her. She made the honor roll last year. In grade nine she would be in a class composed of other honor roll students. There would be no children disrupting the class with their out of control behaviors. The teacher would be able to complete a lesson without having to put out fires in the classroom (both real and figurative ... mainly figurative). Her dream came true, but like most dreams it is not exactly how you envisioned it. All of the kids in her classes are smart, and the teacher teaches without interruption. There is no mental break while the teacher has to stop a wrestling match. Being one of the smartest kids in your class of 30 children who all have different abilities is very different from being one of 25 smart kids in a group of 25 smart kids.<br />
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I have always been that hands on mom. I bake treats for the special occasions. I am the mom that the teachers know they can count on to help with class trips. We help the kids with their projects and inject it with my perfectionist attitude (oh the kids just love it when I tell them what they have done is not good enough). I am not one of those mom's who does the project for them, but I am very involved. I think of life as a learning opportunity. We have always been right on top of due dates for assignments and projects and tests. We want them to be their best. This is my parenting style, this has been my parenting style for the last almost 21 years. I'm not sure if that parenting style will work for a teen.<br />
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At what point do you throw your child into the shark infested waters having taught them how to swim? For us it's high school. We have tried to help ease our big girl into high school life, but I feel like it is now time to stand back and let her sink or swim. I say this and yet I am wracked with indecision. How can I have been such a push parent and then all of a sudden stand back and watch her possibly fail? This is one of the hardest things as a parent I have had to do. I do it knowing that it is for her own good. She needs to make mistakes and learn how to get out of them. I say this but I don't like to see my kids get hurt. It's time to take Tiny Tim's crutch away and hope he (or in this case she) can walk.<br />
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So here we are in uncharted territory. We/ I have to trust that Grace has listened to what we have said. I have to trust her to find her own way, and that way may not be the route that I would have chosen. Oh this is difficult, but I know that we have to loosen the reins. We have to allow her the opportunity to fail, and then how to pick herself back up. I have thrown in the handfuls of things that I think will make this recipe great, and now is the time where I let it bake. Unlike a recipe from Grandma there is no passive allowing the recipe to sit, this recipe has to make active decisions on the way she would like to turn out. I'm not sure I am ready for this part of parenting......<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-89930214044309273852016-01-15T15:00:00.000-08:002016-01-15T15:21:01.284-08:00Meeting Chris Hadfield a.k.a. a Canadian Super Hero<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As you already know I am so far behind in my blogging. I honestly don't know what happened and why I stopped writing. I guess the why doesn't matter, but it more matters that the writing bug has bitten again. Although the writing well had gone dry, I still added pictures to drafts, just in case, and I'm awfully glad I did.</div>
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Last June I seen an add about Chris Hadfield coming to Hastings, a pretty little town a little ways from here.</div>
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Coincidentally just after reading that Chris Hadfield was coming to Hastings we hosted Riley and Rowan's Jazz band for a barbecue at our house to celebrate a great year. At that time the Gateway Jazz coordinator was Kira Mees. Kira is this amazingly perky ball of positive energy. Kira as well as being our coordinator, and a perky little ball of energy, is a resident of Hastings. At the barbecue I asked Kira if she knew anything about this Chris Hadfield event in Hastings. The response was something like "Do I, I am one of the organizers. We need volunteers to help." Ok that wasn't really what she said, but you get the gist of it. I volunteered Grace and I to help, and the rest as they say is history.</div>
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I'm not a real astronomy nut, as a matter of fact much to my poor husband's (who took a university course on astronomy) dismay I frequently interchange the words "astronomy" with "astrology" (and no I'm not blonde). The reason that I was so keen on this event was because of Christopher's love of astronomy that he passed along to the kids. Back a few years ago Riley and Rowan's class took part in the sing along with Chris Hadfield in space thing (ok I know that's not what it was called). They sang that song constantly, and it was such a beautiful song. All they could talk about was Chris Hadfield and traveling into space. It was a wonderful feeling seeing the kids have a hero who was Canadian and who was doing so much to educate the world. After Chris came back to earth he began doing a speaking tour. I so much wanted to buy tickets and take the kids to meet this hero, but everyone of the events boasted and astronomical cost.</div>
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The big day finally arrived. Poor Christopher had to work and was devastated. We had bought one of the Chris Hadfield books for Christopher for his father's day. We took it with us to get it signed.</div>
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<strong>WOW</strong> is all I can say about listening to Chris Hadfield speak. If you ever have the opportunity to see him speak <strong>GO</strong>. That man is inspirational. He is just the person that you want to inspire our children. He was so honest that is was so refreshing. I'm not sure what I thought I would see when I went there, but the real thing blew every imagination out of my head.</div>
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To understand how fantastic Chris Hadfield's accomplishments are you really need to put this whole experience into perspective. Col. Hadfield was born in 1959. Yuri Gagrin was the first man in space in 1961. Neil Armstrong walked on the moon July 21, 1969. Space voyage had up until then been science fiction, much like time travel is for us. Even after there were more space missions, space travel was done by the Americans and the Russians, and Chris Hadfield was a Canadian boy. He knew (much like probably every other child who watched that first moon landing) that he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up. Unlike the other children who fantasized about suiting up in that fancy white outfit, he had a plan. He knew from childhood what he wanted to do and set about putting everything into place to make his dream a reality. Yup, I think that is exactly who I would like to inspire my children.</div>
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I personally sat listening to this great Canadian speak and answer questions from the crowd. I sat there in awe. I was so impressed and so proud of this amazing Canadian. He was smart and he was real. When I say "real" I mean not a phony. He was not this touchy feely, fake guy standing up there. He did not stand there and make light of his amazing and almost impossible accomplishments, nor was he a braggart. He stood there and spoke about his accomplishments and his regrets. His greatest accomplishment he said was not space travel, but rather when he sang with all of those children in Canada. I sat there in the audience my mouth open like the letter "O", hanging on his every word. </div>
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After the talk / lecture part of the evening there was a book signing. I had volunteered Grace and myself to help with the book signing. We stood expediting the line. As I stood there I watched all kinds of characters go by. Some were just average Joe's like myself, some were space nerds, some were just weird. Every person no matter who they were, Col. Hadfield spoke to. He even at one point shook this young teens hand and told him to do it again, only this time use a more firm grip because a good handshake was important and told the world about who you are. WOW. Some of the people were star struck and clearly shaken to see a celebrity up close and personal. "I can't believe I'm shaking Chris Hadfield's hand" was uttered a few times. Part of my job was to ask the people what they would like Col. Hadfield to write in their book and write it on a sticky note and put it on the inside of their book to speed the line up. Oh my goodness if you could only have seen the crazy things that people wanted this man to write in their books "To Joe, a wonderful guy", "Hey Spaceman", some of them wanted this poor man to write them their own novel I think. I waited patiently for the nearly endless group of people to make their way through the line so that my kids could shake this hero's hand. They made their way from the back of the line to the front. They handed him their books and asked him to inscribe them. He read the little yellow post it out loud "To Daddy Doodles?" he asked them his head cocked to the side. "Aww is this for your Dad, that's so sweet". He talked to them, and shook their hands, and made my day. Oh who am I kidding made my year. No I was not one of those star struck people, it was an honour to shake his hand, but I know that he is a real person, and I think that is what made it all the more impressive for me.</div>
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So you may have noticed my "Canadian Super Hero" in this blog title. This is not me being my usual larger than life self, I truly believe that is what Col. Chris Hadfield is. He made the space program more accessible, and in turn made science interesting. He made us raise our faces upward to the skies. He sang in space for goodness sake, he put on a concert of sorts and asked Canadian children to join him. He has taught us to love our world, and to be ever so proud to call ourselves Canadians.</div>
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<a href="http://chrishadfield.ca/">http://chrishadfield.ca/</a></div>
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As a Post Script..... Thank you Kira for allowing us to part of such a life altering event, oh and your Field House is an inspiration to the rest of us.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-3569008091517202232016-01-13T10:31:00.001-08:002016-01-13T10:31:57.995-08:00Our Children Are Only Lent to Us...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You may have noticed that there has been a significant deficit of blogs lately. I'm not sure why to be honest. I mean I have some ideas, but nothing concrete. Life has been crazy. This year we decided to allow the kids to take part in more than one afterschool activity. Normally because we have 4 children we limit it to one activity per kid. Perhaps I was sniffing glue this year, or guilt got to me, because we said "yes" to way to many activities. Grace is attending an arts program high school in the city, and we have to drive her 15 minutes twice a day to meet her bus. That doesn't sound like a big deal, until you begin to add that up, 15 minutes each trip is half an hour round trip for me, double that and it's an hour a day in the car to drop her off and pick her up. Add to that the 45 minute drive one way on the days that she misses her bus, for you math wizards that's an hour round trip for me. Grace has choir once a week and that means a trip into the city to get her. In a week that amounts to 6 and a half hours in the car just for one child. Tuesdays and Thursdays Riley and Rowan have jazz band which means that they don't come home until 6, so that's a 6:30 dinner Tuesdays and Thursdays. Elly really wanted to do gymnastics, so we put her in the tumbling class that coincides with the end of Grace's choir, so only one trip to Belleville, but we don't get home on those nights until 7. Every other Thursday Riley has guitar lessons, which we are lucky enough to have at the house, but they are right after jazz band so I have to feed her as she walks in the door or she doesn't eat until 7:30. Rowan wanted to try house league hockey this year, and he's loving it. It's in another town 20 minutes away and alternates Thursday nights and Friday nights. Did I mention that Elly has skating on Mondays? Add in to all of that my school commitments a week at the school for book fair, planning a festive lunch, and planning a talent show and my life has been a mess. Man I am getting exhausted just typing all of that, never mind living it.</div>
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This year we over scheduled. It did not seem like a big deal when you looked at it per child, but added up it was too much. I will <strong><u>NEVER</u></strong> do this again, it's taken years off of my life. More importantly it made me lose perspective. We just wrapped up Christmas, a time of year that is so difficult for our family. It's that razor thin balancing act between giving the kids the Christmas / memories they deserve, and mourning their big brother who died Christmas Eve 2008. This year I threw myself into making this a wonderful Christmas, mainly out of guilt. We could not afford to do our usual Christmas traditions (mainly because of all of the extra curricular activities), and I had jam packed my own schedule so much in the month leading up to Christmas that I did not have breathing room to think about Christmas. The first week of Christmas Break was magical for the kids, I worked really hard, the second week I relaxed and enjoyed my kids, taking a much needed break from "doing", and a much deserved time of "just loving them".</div>
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We are nearly half way through January and that Christmas Break feels like eons ago already. We are back into the crazy routine, and now our house has been hit with a stomach bug. I will be honest, I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself when I read a post a friend had shared on facebook, it is a post I have seen before, but that I really needed to re-read today.</div>
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I know this, and yet in all of the stress I forgot it. I know how precious these children are, I just had a moment of temporary insanity. I know that life is not a given, it's fragile we do not know how many days we have on this earth, even for 9 year old boys. I know how it feels to torture myself about my inadequacies as a mother knowing that with Gabe I can never ever make it up. He is the reason that I try to make every day count. He is the reason that I don't care if in our retirement Christopher and I have to eat cat food. Our children did not ask to be born, they were a gift, a gift that we dearly wanted. When the kids are adults they won't look back at their childhoods and congratulate their father and I for having all of the bills paid on time. They won't look at us snuggly nestled in our designer living room and congratulate us for saving so well for our retirement. I can only hope that when they look back on their childhood they will see our sacrifice. I hope that they look back at our family adventures and traditions and smile and hopefully laugh. If we can accomplish that then we have lived a good life, better than any amount of money in the bank.</div>
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In 1995 there was this amazing movie called "Powder". There was a particular scene that stood out for me. I tried to attach the clip itself, but for some reason I couldn't. I have included a link to it. Do yourself a favour and click it, or rent the movie.</div>
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In the scene the boy with this amazing power touches a deer that is dying, shot by hunters, and then touches the hunter. He is able transfer the feeling of death from the dying deer to the hunter. This is very dramatic, but I wish that I could have this ability, if only for a second. I would like to transfer the feeling of grief and despair and the inability to make things right for your child that I feel, if only for a few seconds to other parents. If they could feel this, if only for a second then they would re-order their lives and make their children priorities over money, over things. You would never look at your life the same way. </div>
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To my facebook friend who re-posted the beautiful poem "Slow Down Mummy", thank you. I needed that reminder. I needed to remember what is important in life, in all of the chaos I had forgotten for a minute. To my friends who are blessed enough to have never experienced the nightmarish loss of a child, please take every single day for the gift that it is. I know it is easier some days than others. Take my advice on this, it is much easier to sleep at night knowing what you did right with your children than it is lying awake at night beating yourself up for what you did wrong.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-31897409620211438742016-01-13T09:46:00.001-08:002016-01-13T09:46:36.031-08:00Powder - Deer scene<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/04qBqCJlbC0" width="480"></iframe><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-25724289073591567152016-01-09T10:22:00.000-08:002016-01-09T10:53:28.339-08:00Your First Boyfriend... Part Two of "The Other Sex Talk".<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As a parent you wonder how much your children actually "hear" what you are saying to them. Knowing that they only selectively listen does not mean that you should stop talking. All I can hope for is that when I am not there with them they sometimes hear what I have said and listen to keep themselves safe. I spoke yesterday about having the "other sex talk" with my kids. I think it's important not just to guard against pregnancy (I mean don't get me wrong I don't want to be a granny just yet), but to guard against sexual assault, date rape, unnecessary heart break.</div>
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I want my kids to understand that keeping themselves safe means not putting themselves in risky situations. Grace is getting to the age where kids begin to under age drink. I never did, mainly because I was a nerd and had no need to, and none of my friends did. I can only hope the children are nerds like their Momma, but I know that realistically that will likely not happen. What I can do is stress safety. Binge drinking is never a good idea, you can die from binge drinking and kids do. If you drink too much you put yourself at risk. Being knock down drunk lowers your ability to protect yourself. Imagine being drunk and feeling sick and someone pulling down your pants or lifting up your shirt and taking a picture, then posting it. That is something that can be shared around the world. Imagine drinking so much that it leaves you ripe for some pervert to rape you. I do not want you to drink at all, but if you do... moderation... be smart.</div>
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That leads now to boys, and boyfriends. It's ok to not have a boyfriend. Sure you would like one, but at some point the right boy will come along and see how beautiful you are. I was a late bloomer, I hated it, but I survived and have been happily married to the same man for 22 years. Nice is more important than HOT. HOT guys usually know it and often are idiots, not worth the heartache. That is not to say that there are not HOT guys who are amazing, but know the difference. The most important thing to remember is to pick someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. In return you need to treat them the same way. A nice boy may break your heart, but should not leave you emotionally damaged. NEVER be with someone who does not respect you! If there are things that he wants you to do, and you are not comfortable with them, walk away. If he's the right boy he will understand and not pressure you. If it's his way or no way, walk away, he does not deserve to be with a smart and beautiful girl like you.</div>
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The most important thing that I could pass along comes more from their father. It is something that I have told Christopher from the time the kids were toddlers "<strong>You are their example of who a man is. The way the kids see you treat me is the way our son will treat his wife, and what our daughters will look for in a husband. Treat me the way you way you would like to see our daughters treated</strong>." We impact our children by the way we function as a couple. Luckily for our kids they see two people who love and respect each other. They see us kiss, which they make a big grossed out display over, but when they are adults they will instinctively seek that out. Our stability is their example, that will give them a better chance to have their own stable marriage. I have told our daughter(s) "Do you see the way your Dad treats me? Do not settle for anything less."<br />
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Parenting is difficult. When they are tiny you worry about keeping them safe, but that worry does not end and it is no longer as easy as baby proofing your home. There comes a time when you are not there to hold their hand when they cross the street, nor do they particularly want you to. The difficult thing is hoping that they have listened to you, and can think for themselves. All you can do is talk, not lecture, and hope.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-35532577835502720632016-01-08T09:03:00.002-08:002016-01-08T09:03:59.789-08:00The "Other" Sex Talk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I always thought I would be "the" cool mom. I'm not sure why I even thought this because quite honestly I have never been "cool" at anything in my entire life thus far. Oh back in my childless days I thought that I would be that Mom that had frank discussions with her kids, that I would have no problems getting them birth control.... I was delusional it would seem.</div>
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Back a few years ago I took a human sexuality course at Queens. It was fascinating, and not for the reasons that you might think (I don't think that we even discussed the Karma Sutra). The thing that most stood out in my mind then and now was the information about parents discussing sexuality with their children. The Netherlands and those cold northern countries are so much more relaxed than we in this part of the world are. At that time there were virtually no unplanned teen pregnancies. The parents at least in that study were very open with their children about sexuality. In fact the study further went on to look at all western cultures, and the homes where talking about sex was not taboo were the homes where there were no virtually no unplanned pregnancies, and those children went on to have good fulfilling sex lives as adults. This has really stuck with me.</div>
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I had the nuts and bolts talk about "sex" twice now. It was important to me to have the discussion at home before they were introduced to it at school. I tried to be cool, and act like I was so comfortable having a frank discussion, but on the inside I was a ten year old boy increasingly more squeamish as the discussion went on. In the back of my head I heard that professor talking about the Netherlands, and I shouldered on putting on an Oscar worthy performance.</div>
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Here is what occurred to me, the nuts and bolts part of the talk is to prevent pregnancy, but there are far worse things than teen pregnancy. The nuts and bolts were important, but the next part, the part so many of us skip, thinking that we are done is most important. My job as a parent is to prepare my children for life, to give them the skills to take care of themselves. This is not just about manners and chores, it's about true life and relationship skills.<br />
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We put our children in approved car seats and are careful not to move them from rear facing to front facing until they are the right age and weight, heck some of us were so cautious that we repeatedly took the seat to be inspected by the police to make sure it was strapped in safely. We make them wear helmets for ice skating and tobogganing. We teach our children to look both ways before crossing the street. We caution them again and again about stranger danger. We do all of these things to keep our children safe, and yet so often we do not equip them with the skills they need to prevent heart break, shattered self esteem, or worse so much worse it does not bear giving it a name.<br />
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Keeping my children safe is more than just preventing pregnancy or sexually transmitted diseases. Those are important things, yes, but there are worse things. The first part of the keep her safe talk was about older boys. If a much older boy seems interested in you, be flattered and walk away. If a much older boy is interested in you and knows how old you are it's not because you are so beautiful (which we both know you are), it's because there is something wrong with him. This is strictly my own opinion but I think that much older teens wanting to date much younger teens or pre-teens is them honing their skills to become sexual predators. It is not natural to be attracted to someone so much younger, and where are their friends and family members? How are they not being ridiculed for finding these children sexually attractive? These boys / men are either insecure about themselves or are preying on your self esteem. I remember back to being a young teen and older boys looking at me. It was a high, it proved how beautiful I was, how desirable I was. Often these young girls are easy prey because they want the status of dating an older boy and will do whatever it takes to keep him, which is what they are counting on. I've been very open with my kids about my first boyfriend. I was 16 (a bit of a late bloomer) and he was 21 . He was so cute and older, the important thing was that he was older that proved that the boys my age were stupid not to have noticed me. He was part of an exchange program, and he had stressed that "no one could know we were dating". I went along with that for the first little while, but what is the point of having a much older, hot boyfriend if you could not share it with the world? At first I went with his argument that it could jeopardize his exchange. In the end my self esteem won out and I told him I would not "date" someone I could not be seen in public with. </div>
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The nice thing is that so far the girls seem to be listening to me. I know it's early days and I also know that there are heartbreaks ahead. I can deal with ordinary heartbreaks, they are part of learning who is a good partner. I don't want to deal with the heartaches that can cause long term mental / physical damage.</div>
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To be continued........</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-35667351593699843762016-01-04T15:23:00.001-08:002016-01-04T15:26:24.984-08:00Grieving for a Brother She Never Knew<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Elisha Gabrielle was born 4 years after her big brother's death. She was our gift, our savior from the soul sucking wound his loss had left. She was not a "replacement" for Gabe, there could never be a replacement for that beautiful boy. When I was pregnant with her I was 100% certain she was a boy. His name was Thaddeus. When people asked what we would name our child and we told them we had chosen Thaddeus, they inevitably asked us why we hated out unborn child. They were very quick with what they thought were witty comments, but did not think to ask why we would select such an unusual name for our beloved baby. The name Thaddeus is Greek for "Gift of God". This new baby was our gift from God. This baby was someone to help heal our hearts.</div>
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Elisha, or "Elly" as we nicknamed her at birth is now 7. We talk to her about her big brother but we have always tried to be careful not to make him larger than life, to do that would be disrespectful to him. We tell her funny stories about him. She knows that she carries a piece of her big brother with her everywhere she goes, her middle name is Gabrielle. We did not want to make Gabe that family secret, the child too painful to speak of that no one ever spoke, nor did we want to make him larger than life, a person that no one could ever live up to. We want the kids to know him as he was, and as they would have known him had they had the opportunity. I always worried that they might forget their big brother, and then I remembered my Uncle Cecil. Cecil was my grandmother's young brother who died at just 9 (like our Gabe), if I knew about Cecil, then my children and grandchildren would know about Gabriel.</div>
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In all of my terror that my little boy might be forgotten, I guess that I never really stopped to think that children could grieve the loss of someone they never knew. It never crossed my mind until this Christmas. This year we instituted a new Christmas philosophy. Christmas would not be about over indulgence (a trait I am very guilty of when it comes to the kids). The kids would get "something they want", "something they need", "something to wear", and "something that will make a memory" (an experience). I was shocked when the kids were excited and on board with this new idea (even after Christmas they were ok with it). Elly said that for her "something to remember", she would like a locket with Gabe's picture in it to help her remember him. This came from out of left field an I had to turn away quickly so that she would not see the tears beginning to pour down my face. Honestly it was like her gift to me.</div>
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Christmas day Elly went off quietly. She came back with these little notes for everyone in the family. She asked if she could put them on everyone's plate. Every special occasion we set a place for Gabe at the table. We know that he will not be joining us, but we want him to be included, remembered. As Elly was walking around the table putting her little notes on everyone's plate she asked where Gabe's place setting was. He was to be included in the notes.</div>
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"Dear Gabe I wish you were still alive.</div>
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I wish I could have one gift and it would be you.</div>
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I love you.</div>
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I wish everything for you.</div>
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You are a smart boy!</div>
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Even though we can't see u</div>
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or hear you but we still love you.</div>
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We still care about you.</div>
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Love Elly</div>
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p.s. I love you."</div>
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It was beautiful and yet heart breaking. This little miracle, this soul healing child had opened my eyes. I miss Gabe terribly, and there are times of the year that are more difficult than other times. Sometimes the loss comes on like an unexpected storm sending tidal waves of despair. As time goes on these attacks of loss come less frequently, and I am not sure if that's good or not. I have always been aware of my own loss, but it never occurred to me that the kids would feel the loss of someone that they never even really knew. They have lost their big brother. They know that loss in a different way, but it is still a loss. It never occurred to me that you could grieve for what might have been as a child, and yet at this second in time Elly is. <br />
Our little blonde miracle. The child who would not be without the death of her brother, almost like the phoenix emerging from the ashes. I thought she was our gift, our gift to help ease our pain, and yet it would seem that she is also a pint sized teacher. She is not just here as a bandaid, but teach about love and that love knows no rules, it knows no bounds. Love lives on.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-84223677420339272972015-11-01T12:32:00.000-08:002015-11-01T12:32:15.995-08:00Saying "No" to Super Mom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So I am sure that you have noticed that my blog has been sporadic at best. My life has been crazy, so crazy that there is very little time for the things that I love, with the exception of the kids that is. I'm not sure where all of the time goes, but it just seems to slip away between my fingers.</div>
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This September Grace, our oldest daughter began high school. I was sad that little blonde girl who it seemed had just started junior kindergarten was now a minor niner. The school she is in is fantastic, it gives her so many opportunities, opportunities that I would have died for at her age. It is not a high school however that has a direct bus route, because it is a specialty program that is not in the high school that children from our area are supposed to be in. We knew at the time that this was the case, and this was an opportunity that Christopher and I were willing to sacrifice for. We would drive her the 45 minutes one way in the morning and return for her in the afternoon. We were lucky that a bus could pick her up 15 minutes away. That being said, it is still a lot of extra gas, and a lot of time for me in the car. </div>
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I have always considered motherhood a calling. For me it was very important to be the very best at it that I could be. I do the extra things that give my children opportunities that I did not have. I do the extra things that make their childhood the best that I can give them. This is the way I feel. To some this may seem admirable, but insane, and I can't argue with you on that. Some of you may be reacting with disgust that I am only trying to make the rest of the other mothers feel inferior. The thing is that my life motto is "Go big or Go home". I am not a half in type of person. I throw myself into things that I feel passionately about, and I feel passionately about being a mother. I will not pretend that I have not had some pretty epic failures in motherhood, and I will not lie to you and pretend that there are some things that I would give almost anything for a do over on. I love being a mother, and could not have asked for a more rewarding or difficult career.</div>
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To me it is important to give the kids opportunities to grow and learn. The problem with that is that there are four kids, each with extra curricular activities that they love and / or are desperate to try. Riley really wanted to try acro dance, loves her jazz band and her guitar lessons, so they were also important. Rowan loves jazz band and really wanted to try hockey this year... that's not too much to ask. Elly really enjoyed her figure skating last year, and this year she was desperate to try gymnastics. Grace is passionate about her piano lessons and part of her vocal music program has a requirement that she also take part in the school choir. Our week is insane. Add into all the extra curricular, driving Grace back and forth to her bus stop, and the few times she has missed her bus and I have had to drive the 45 minutes to pick her up at school, or drive her there in the morning. Her school day begins at 8:03 am, she catches her bus at 7:18 am, that means that she should be up and getting ready at 5:00 am, and that means that Christopher or I are up with her in the mornings.</div>
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The busy schedule of the kids does not leave very much time for Christopher and I. To be honest, I'm not sure how parents who both have jobs manage. We have one person working and there are times that I feel like I am drowning with the amount of extra work this year has brought. Because the week is so full, I try not to schedule anything for the week-ends because if I didn't I know that I would burn out. </div>
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This week I had a breakthrough of sorts, a reality check that may have saved my sanity or what is left of it. You may recall my saying that I am a "Go big or Go home" person. This is especially true for holidays. For Halloween I usually sew the kids costumes, decorate the house inside and make elaborate cakes for the kids classes. On top of all of that Christopher and I have prided ourselves on having the spookiest house in the village. We put hours into decorating the yard. This Halloween I had the insanity of our new reality and add to that Grace's play which saw us driving her around a lot. Friday morning I was having a bit of a panic attack. I had committed to going into the school and doing lice checks (don't even ask) for the morning. I had also promised the kids that I would bake and decorate cup cakes for their class, this included driving some to Belleville for Grace. I still also had to finish making all three costumes, and decorate the yard. Most sane people would just decide that it wasn't worth having a nervous break down to do all of that. The thing is I didn't want to let the kids down. I had always done all of those things for the kids. Again, I know that that this next statement will have most of you shaking your head at my stupidity, and that's ok. I could feel a panic attack coming on. There was to much that I needed to do. It was then it hit me I didn't really "need" to do any of it. The world would not end if the kids for one holiday did not take a home made treat for their class. There would be no apocalypse if the yard was not decorated or wasn't the scariest house around. It was that sane group of thoughts that allowed me take a deep breath for the first time since school started. No one has ever died of disappointment. When I took a step back from the self made insanity, I could see that the kids would be disappointed that everything they had come to expect would not happen, but they would be more traumatized if their mom had a nervous breakdown.</div>
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It seems so funny to say that that reality check gave me peace. It put life into perspective. Being the best mother that I can be does not mean that I have to give it all away. Sometimes it's alright to give myself permission to not have to live up to the unrealistic expectations that I have set for myself. Not doing "it all" does not make me a failure as a mom, it makes me smart. So I went into the school and did head lice checks ... yuck, I then drove into Belleville bought cupcakes and delivered some to Grace, and then brought some to the other kids. I finished the kids costumes and let Christopher and the kids decorate the house. Funny thing, the world did not end. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-5583336664392611192015-10-26T08:52:00.001-07:002015-10-26T08:52:17.804-07:00I'll Fly Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The small renovated church sits quietly, waiting to fill with tears and laughter. The lights are dim, but bright enough to see. The burgundy velvet seats harken back to a time when communities gathered together to share in talent and togetherness. Their elegant design along the sides of the seats, and their wooden backs echo through time to the decades when design was more important than just cost. The Marble Arts is about to brim over with talent.</div>
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I feel like sometimes I sound like a broken record, but sometimes records break at a great part of the song, today's kids would say that their ipod's stuck on replay. I have chosen to live in a beautiful part of rural Ontario. The village I live in is surrounded buy rolling aces of farmland. The people in my community are good, hardworking people. I love my little piece of the universe. I exchanged the hustle and bustle of city life. Part of that exchange was with the knowledge that I could / would return to the closest city for material goods, and I could make the trip to Toronto for culture. As it happens the last part of my self made compromise was unnecessary. The city came to me, in a sense. We have Tweed native, Tim Porter.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzEAIpOnKiloPFduRfcmnqgn6vhLEPFQOhZRilYwuWgtqGMyBu9eenMAhnTaK_hxQS1WUrP-welfvRFxqQOVCDn1WtdJOhkKyuS59hKdFqPh8z-b1pthjeL18zSCR-tQX0k9oQWt1PME/s1600/DSCF6370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzEAIpOnKiloPFduRfcmnqgn6vhLEPFQOhZRilYwuWgtqGMyBu9eenMAhnTaK_hxQS1WUrP-welfvRFxqQOVCDn1WtdJOhkKyuS59hKdFqPh8z-b1pthjeL18zSCR-tQX0k9oQWt1PME/s320/DSCF6370.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Tim Porter has brought an amazing original Canadian production to Tweed. I'll Fly Away was written by Tricia Black, Joel MacMeeken and Tim Porter. It takes place in a time that seems so foreign to us now, a time when radio ruled and television was just in it's inception. The story tells the last days of The Barn Door Country Classic Jamboree, but more it shows the dynamics of the three recently parentless Dawson sisters and their family dynamics. There is that too familiar static of sibling rivalry, the fight for top dog. There is that heavy burden of continuing the family legacy.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riley's dance school got to perform <br />
in the play too. Doing a little <br />
Hoe Down.</td></tr>
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I have now seen the show three times and could easily see it again. It was excellent. Tim put together this amazingly talented cast of professional actors (and a few really talented young locals). The three female leads Sara Wilkinson, Sarah Strange and Sarah Higgins had the most stunningly beautiful voices, and the harmonies sent shivers. Joel MacMeekin stole the show with his character Maverick and his impeccable comic timing. I will admit I have a very LARGE soft spot for the Lovely Little Lady Lullabies / The Privit sisters because my Grace played Daisy.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace and Tim</td></tr>
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Five years ago a young almost fresh out of college Tim Porter began to teach acting classes at the newly renovated Marble Arts Church. At that time my Grace was painfully shy. She could not bring herself to even speak to her teacher at school. We knew that little shy girl had a big voice, and was an extravert cruelly trapped in the body of an introvert. We really pushed an extremely scared and reluctant Grace to take Tim's class. It was the best thing that we ever did for her, and the beginning of her big voice being shared. <br />
It seems crazy that five years have flown by so quickly and that young actor teaching classes would go on to create his own theatre group first named The Iana Theatre, and now <strong>Tweed and Company</strong> to better reflect it's and his beginnings. Tim has gone on to tour the country professionally. Our painfully shy girl, is still very, very shy, but is now able to belt out her big voice for hundreds of people without batting an eyelash. She is now a vocal music major at a local high school for the arts. It was so amazing to me as a parent to see her come full circle and have Tim, not just as a teacher but now as her director in a professional play. To say that I am proud of Tim and his amazing accomplishments would be an understatement. To say that I am proud of my Grace would be the understatement of the century!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace and Joel</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace and Abby</td></tr>
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Last night was closing night for I'll Fly Away at the Marble Arts Church. It ran four amazing evenings. Those days will be forever a beautiful memory for Grace, and for me. The cast was so beautiful, like a family to all of the three young girls in the cast. They were everything that cast should be, kind and supportive. This morning the first words from a very tired girl's mouth was "I'm really going to miss doing that show. I'm sorry it's over." <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace and Katie</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace and Sara</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace and Collin</td></tr>
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So now the show is over, our evenings are once again our own, well as close to "our own" as we will get with four kids with busy extra curricular activities. Part of me is glad for the return to normalcy, but a big part of me is sad the show is over. I loved going to the show and marveling that this young local boy, is so talented. I loved sitting in the audience and becoming lost in the excellent story every single time I went to see the show. I loved looking around the audience to see if anyone saw me crying. I will miss seeing my little shy girl's big smile up on that stage and seeing that joy oozing out of her. I will miss the hauntingly beauty beautiful songs those three AMAZING Sarah's shared every night. I will miss seeing Joel up on that stage like a deer caught in the headlights. I will miss Collin's spitting out his drink and his "Just Wait a Tick". I will miss Katie's crazy stage momma. I will miss it all. It was the best play that Tim has done to date, and I have seen most of them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace and Sarah Higgins</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace having fun with Sarah Strange</td></tr>
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If there are any big time fancy smancy producers reading this, please give Tim a call. This is a wonderful production, that deserves to grace the stage again and again. This is a play beautifully written that honestly in my opinion deserves to win an award for writing. It was so very good, and I really hope to see it again.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-14318212652128499812015-07-04T18:51:00.002-07:002015-07-04T18:51:44.646-07:00Max's Big Ride is Welcomed into Tweed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Wednesday, June 24, 2015 what a crazy busy day! This was the day my baby girl (OK she's not really 'the baby', but she is my oldest little girl, and will always be my little baby) graduated from public school. It was an event that had been very stressful in all of it's preparations, as any of you with 14 year old girls graduating already know. Everything had to be perfect. This also happened to be the day that Max and Andrew officially arrived into Tweed.</div>
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The night before we had hosted Andrew, Kerri, Jean, Peter of course the adorable little man of hour Max. They were the loveliest people. I had been a little nervous about their visit. What if they hated us, what if we hated them? I had nothing to fear, because at least on the surface they were a family very much like our own, well with the exception of being physically fit and active. They were just so lovely. Near the end of the evening, Jean pulled me aside and asked me to come to their car, there was something that she needed my assistance with. In the trunk of the car was a box full of "Max's Big Ride" shirts. They were just beautiful. Keri had designed the shirts and originally she screen printed them all... WOW. They had a shirt for each of us as a gift. I was so take aback, but so grateful.<br />
Wednesday all of the kids proudly wore their brand new "Max's Big Ride" T-shirts to school. They were so proud of them, and knew that their classmates would be jealous. Leading up to Max's big ride, both Riley and Rowan's amazing teachers (Mrs. Cassidy and Mrs. Adams) had talked about Max's Big Ride. They had watched videos together on the smartboard. Both classes had made colourful posters to be put up (by Christopher) along the Trans Canada Trail to encourage Max and Andrew and to give them a hug from the children of Tweed. The twins had come home excitedly the day that they made their posters. Rowan's class was collecting quarters for Max to buy ice-cream, he was such a proud boy. Christopher had gone that morning when he dropped the kids at school and collected the colourful posters and put them along the trail leading into Tweed.<br />
You may be wondering why Wednesday was Max's big welcome to Tweed, when Tuesday night we had hosted them for dinner and we live in Tweed. Tuesday was their trip from Perth, Ontario to Arden, Ontario. Arden is beautiful, and wild, but not terribly populated, so their plan was to drive into the thriving metropolis of Tweed (she says tongue in cheek) and stay at Trudeau Park for the night which had been generously donated to them for two nights by Casey Trudeau. So although they arrived in Tweed Tuesday night, they did not officially arrive in Tweed until Wednesday afternoon. I had suggested to Andrew that he could easily just sit back Wednesday and relax, no one really knew that he had or had not ridden the trail from Arden to Tweed. His response was one that you would expect from a man of substance "I would know and Max would know". <br />
Christopher had been working his butt off for weeks trying to bring attention to Andrew and Max. He had been in nearly daily conversations with locals wanting to know what they could do to help, and what time Max would arrive into Tweed. He had travelled the trail to put up the signs, he had spread the word, there was nothing left for him to do but just wait and see the culmination of his efforts.<br />
In the afternoon of Wednesday I picked Grace up early from school so that we could get her ready for her graduation. Shortly after beginning work on beautifying my already beautiful daughter I had to stop and get the rest of the kids, and a bunch of their friends. All of the kids wanted to go down to the park and see Max (forget about his exhausted Dad, Max was adorable and the star of the show). Grace pleaded that she wanted to go to, but really there was just not enough time for her to get ready, and see Max. While I was waiting for the kids in the school office, one of Riley's friends, Jenna called me over "Mrs. Lindsay, Mrs. Lindsay, please don't forget to take this jar." There on the desk of the school office was a jar that had been painstakingly decorated by Jenna. It had brightly coloured wording that said "Donations for Max's Big Ride" she had also done her research about the terrible disease that Max and Andrew were riding to obliterate, and had included information about Duchennes, and also the Max's Big Ride website<br />
<a href="http://maxsbigride.com/">maxsbigride.com</a>. Inside the clear glass jar was change, loonies, toonies, quarters. I could feel my throat close up a little, the tears try to break through. People complain about this generation, but this generation, the generation that includes my children and their friends, they are a generation to be proud of. This is a group of children who are being fostered by the people around them to be good, caring, kind people. This generation is pretty awesome!<br />
With my last child loaded into the already filled to bursting minivan I headed down to the Memorial Park so that the kids could see Max. Riley and her friend Amelia had made a beautiful banner with brightly coloured letters to welcome Max. The two girls were so excited to share their hard I work. Christopher had ridden the trail an hour or so ahead so that he could meet the biking team and welcome them (honestly I think the just wanted to see their reaction to the kid's signs). As I drove into the park, I was awestruck. There waiting excitedly for the guests of honour were countless people. The entire school population of St. Carthagh's Separate School were down at the park, oozing excitement. Behind the kids was one of our towns big red firetrucks, fireman at the ready with siren. The kids in front of the truck had a huge banner to welcome Max and Andrew. Several of the town councilors, including our mayor were there, patiently waiting. Many of the local service clubs, if not all were down there, some with donations in hand. Many parents had done the same as us and pulled their children from school so that they could be a part of the welcome party. As I sat there in stunned silence, Riley put her little face into the window, breaking the spell "Hey Mom, there's Max's Mom and Grandma, they are really crying Mom." No sooner had she said that when down the sidewalk glided Andrew with Max in his carrier. Andrew's face wore a look of overwhelmed gratitude. Shortly after Christopher and Andrew's Dad Peter arrived. Peter's face very much resembled the look of his son. When Christopher parked, I left the kids with him to go back to Grace I was so glad that I could have witnessed this.<br />
The kids and Christopher arrived home that afternoon, aglow with excitement and pride. Rowan was most proud of that fact that when he looked into Max's carrier, he Max holding the Transformer toy that he had given him only the night before. Christopher said that Andrew had pulled Max out of the carrier and had taken his picture in front of every single poster. Peter was visibly touched. Such a small gesture had meant so much.<br />
600 Kms of road, most unpaved and some unfit to drive and Max and his family are now home in Hamilton. I have to imagine that Andrew may still very well be icing his feet and legs, and possibly bum depending on how good his bike seat was. They left Ottawa on Father's Day and they traveled traveled approximately 50 km a day for 11 days. They fought the elements, flooded paths, deer flies and I'm going to guess exhaustion. They ended their ride on Canada Day in their home of Hamilton. That amazing group of dedicated, loving family members have raised over 50 thousand dollars for muscular dystrophy research. That is love. That is a group of superheros cleverly disguised as mere mortals. I am so proud to say that I met them.<br />
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You can still buy the gorgeous Max's Big Ride T-shirts for only $25 for adults and $20 for youth and children's sizes. You get a stunning T, and at the same time you get to kick the butt of Duchenne Muscular dystrophy.<br />
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You can also make a donation or find out more information at </div>
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<a href="http://jessesjourney.com/">jessesjourney.com</a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-86844977701089022312015-07-03T11:07:00.000-07:002015-07-03T11:07:00.599-07:00Max's Big Ride to Tweed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A while back Christopher's cousin Ted emailed him to let him know that a man named Andrew and his son Max were going to be coming through Tweed on their bike ride from Ottawa to Hamilton on the Trans Canada Trail. You may remember my shout out to Ted and his wife Heather....</div>
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<a href="http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2014/07/what-would-you-do-to-save-someone-you.html">http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2014/07/what-would-you-do-to-save-someone-you.html</a></div>
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Ted and Heather have organised "Eric's Amazing Race" for a number of years now. Eric is Heather's nephew and he suffers from Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. They both tirelessly support Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy research. I'm not so certain that the two of them will not fund a cure for this horrible disease that steals from little boys. <a href="http://jessesjourney.com/">jessesjourney.com</a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"> Christopher began by looking at Andrew's website </span><a href="http://maxsbigride.com/" style="text-align: left;">maxsbigride.com</a><span style="text-align: left;"> . I think that there was something that he connected to. I personally cannot imagine the challenge that they go through. I too would want to fight for all I'm worth to find a cure, and yet I so admire their courage. Although we cannot relate to our child having a debilitating disease, we can relate to the struggle of having an ill/ injured child. Once upon a time we had a strong boy who was big for his age, rarely sick. It all changed on a dark country road. That once strong boy who had in his 9 years had one antibiotic was soon fighting for his life. It was Christopher who sat vigil beside Gabe's bed in the ICU. It was him who thought the worst, but prayed for the best. I think that if he could have he would have given Gabe any strength he could, instead all he could do is hold that not so little hand that was not hooked up to wires and tubes. I think that when Christopher read about Andrew and his family's fight to save Max, there was a fatherly connection, a feeling of sameness. I think that it is most men's belief that it is their job to protect their families and when they cannot protect them them they feel powerless. I think that it was Andrew's drive to do "something" for his little boy that touched Christopher.</span></div>
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Christopher soon rolled up his sleeves and began to dig in. He got in touch with our mayor, the local service clubs, the local schools. I am really proud to say that Tweed came to the plate, like I knew they would. I have long bragged about this beautiful little piece of paradise that I live in, but once again my community has risen to my bragging! Christopher began posting almost daily updates about Max's Big Ride. Soon people from the community began to ask how they could get involved. Our mayor was Jo- Anne Albert was AMAZING, as was our Community Development Officer Rachelle Hardesty. Soon Vito's our local pizza place donated dinner to Andrew and his family. Tweed Elementary School in combination with our local Kiwanis club held a barbecue to raise money for Duchenne research. St. Carthagh's School made plans to be at the park to greet Max. It was amazing! Christopher became a man obsessed. He called this "A big Hug for Max from Tweed". </div>
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Early on in all of this I suggested to Christopher that he should invite Andrew and his family for dinner at our house. They would be so full of fast food and food on the run that they might welcome a more relaxed environment. Let me begin by saying that this is completely outside of my comfort zone. I am not in the habit of inviting strangers into my home, I have NEVER done this! It just seemed like the right thing to do, it wasn't until I was frantically cleaning that it occurred to me that I have invited perfect strangers to my home. The day of Max's big ride had finally arrived. I had made salads and hamburger patties ahead, everything was ready. Unfortunately Tuesday was a nightmarish ride for Max and Andrew. They had run into flooded trails, and many set backs. They had texted Christopher from the trail to say that they would be late. Christopher told them we understood if they were exhausted and would like to bow out of dinner, but that we could easily wait dinner for them.</div>
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At 7:00 pm four exhausted looking adults and one adorable little blond boy arrived at our house. In the beginning it was a little awkward, but I was glad of it. It was apparent that we were not accustomed to inviting strangers into our home, and they were not accustomed to accepting offers for dinner from strangers. It was that that made me much more comfortable. These were really, really nice and interesting people. We fell instantly in love Max. As is usually the case, the kids broke the ice. Rowan brought down his huge overflowing container of superheros and instantly Max was at ease, which then allowed the rest of us to become a little more at ease (or at least as at ease as strangers meeting for the first time could be).<br />
In the end I was so glad that we had invited these amazing human beings into our home, and into our lives. They were the loveliest people. Andrew and Max receive all of the attention, but the unsung heroes are Kerri (Andrew's wife), and Andrew's parents Jean and Peter. Kerri, Jean and Peter are the ones who get the food, and set it up. They are the ones who co-ordinated, who worried, who were the support team in every sense of the word. If it looked like Andrew needed some moral support, Peter would hop on a bike and ride alongside, playing the role of Grandpa extra-ordinary. <br />
When our guests who had entered our home strangers and left as friends where on their way. We all had this wonderful feeling of lightness. We had offered a very simple gesture, it really was nothing really. They were so appreciative, that I was almost embarrassed because of how little we did. I was also really proud of my children. The girls helped out tremendously bringing out food, and getting drinks, cleaning up. I was so proud of them. Rowan was my hero that night. Rowan who is mild mannered and does not like the spotlight shared his toys, and his heart. He got right down on Max's level and became a little boy's idol if only for a few hours. When it was time for them to leave Rowan gave Max one of the toys that Max's had fallen in love with. Rowan does not give things away, this was amazing. <br />
Our gesture was so small. It was small and yet at the same it was huge. It was huge because we were teaching our children by example. By opening our home we were showing our children how easy it was it is to make a difference in the lives of others. They also saw the rewards for such a small gesture of kindness. It was a privilege to be apart of history, in our small, small way. It was an honour to lighten their heavy, heavy load if only for a tiny bit of time.<br />
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More to come on Max's big ride.......</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-77241741320496856962015-06-21T11:07:00.004-07:002015-06-21T11:07:55.540-07:00Father's Day for the Newly Fatherless<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today is Father's Day. I am very blessed to have my father . I feel very blessed because sadly there are many people that I personally know people who are spending this father's day without their father's for the first time. I can only imagine the pain that they are in today. I know grief, but all grief is not the same. I know the grief of losing a child, I do not know the pain of feeling orphaned. I say that I can only imagine, because unlike so many who feel that because they have lost a pet or a job, they know the same pain.</div>
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I hate that I am entering that horrible age where my friends are all beginning to loose their parents. I need to remind myself almost daily how truly blessed I am to still have both of my parents. As a child I thought that when I hit my adult years I would not need my parents, how sadly I was mistaken. I'm not sure if there is ever a time that you don't feel like you need your parents.</div>
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Life is a gift. It is a gift that should not be squandered or taken for granted. I know that life is so very fragile. I will not pretend that there are times that life gets crazy and stress overwhelms me and I forget to be as grateful as I should be. Sometimes I need to take a step back and remember that this life I lead is blessed. I need to remember to treasure the small moments, and take a deep breaths and let trouble roll over me</div>
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To you who are celebrating Father's Day, hug your Daddy just a little bit tighter. Remember to tell him what he means to you and how much you love him. To those of you this Father's Day who the raw grief is rolling over, please know that I have no words of comfort, only my thoughts. Please know that my heart is with you. Please know that I do not know your pain, but I hope that it becomes more bearable and that you can today and every day remember your father with love.</div>
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Happy Father's Day</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-4441760994540415802015-06-18T10:21:00.000-07:002015-06-18T10:21:05.853-07:00Teacher's Gifts aka No Mugs or Candles Please<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I can't believe it but we are just weeks away from summer holidays. The year has just whizzed by. We were very lucky this year that all four kids had AMAZING teachers. I'm not sure if it's because I'm getting older, but time seems to be flowing too rapidly. When I say time, I don't just mean the school year, but time in general. I'm just not sure how it goes by so quickly. It seems like just yesterday I was bawling my eyes out as I walked out the front doors of the school, leaving my little blond haired Pretty Princess in the company of strangers. That same not so blond Pretty Princess is about to graduate from elementary school.<br />
Like most of you during my pregnancy I took my prenatal vitamins. I abstained from drinking alcohol. I sang to those babies before they were even born, having conversations with them calling them by their name and telling them how much I loved them. After they were born I agonised about the amount of wet diapers, and whether I had enough breast milk to feed their needs. I watched for each milestone, and worried if some were not met when the books all said they should. I have made almost every step in motherhood thinking about each child's health and mental well being... and then I hand them over to a complete stranger. A stranger who will spend more time with my beloved child than I will for the next eight months. Throw into the mix 20 - 22 strange children some of them with issues, some that bite. I'm pretty sure that beginning school was more difficult for me than it was for my kids.<br />
To teach is a calling. It takes a special person to decide to essentially live with someone else's children, and teach and mold them. I know that I could not be a teacher (I would need a really good lawyer if I ever did). It takes a very patient and kind sort of person to take on this big roll. These are the days of integrated classrooms, that means that every child is included, even the children who are disruptive and need more time than the teacher has time to give to one child. The teachers need to teach the entire class, while putting out fires (metaphorically, although....) started by the children with behaviour issues. I have the utmost respect for the teaching profession, I honestly don't know how they do it.<br />
This is the time of year that we as parents begin the search for the end of year teacher's gift. It is a way to say thank you for not breaking my child. Thank you for helping my beloved child grow and become more mature. Thank you for keeping my trust that you will not emotionally damage my child. A good teacher encourages their students, not just in that grade, but in grades to come. They are the one who help our children decide if they like school, a place that they must spend every week day in for 14 years of their lives. I personally think that it's important to say thank you to those good teachers, to show your gratitude.<br />
The question is what should I get for my child(ren)'s teacher? I struggle with this, having four main teachers and who knows how many gym, drama, french, (you get it there's lots) teachers gifts also. The struggle for me is to find something that says "thank you", but does not break the bank. To help you (and lets me honest me) I have reached out to four teachers that I know. Two of the teachers are relatives, and two are really amazing teachers at my children's school. I asked them what were the best gifts they have received as teachers, and what are the worst.<br />
One of the teachers I asked began by saying that she actually felt uncomfortable about receiving gifts from her students (oh who are we kidding it's from their parents). She didn't feel like she should be rewarded for doing her job. A few of the teachers felt uncomfortable about the gift thing, mainly because it can cause some children to feel less than if they don't bring a gift, or if they don't think that their gift is good enough. Some children have brought in gifts that are really expensive and then there is the whole moral dilemma about whether they should accept it.<br />
What you may not know about teachers is that they receive <b>A LOT</b> of mugs. While for a first year teacher, these mugs are touching and probably very welcome (since they are probably still paying off their student loans and may have to use said mugs as both mugs and bowls). These first mugs have sentimentality, they are very special, marking a milestone. After the first year they are just mugs, things that just take up space. Remember that these teachers are kind people, otherwise they would never have gotten into the profession. Most of them feel guilty for not using every mug. They have overflowing cupboards full of mugs from loving and well meaning parents. Think about your own cupboards. Do you have several mismatched mugs? Would you like several mismatched mugs? Unless it is a magic mug that grants wishes, step away from the shelf full of mugs.<br />
Teachers also receive a lot of chocolates and candles. While there is nothing wrong with giving chocolates in general, some chocolates are better left of the shelf. One of my relative teachers told me that she sometimes receives chocolate that is powdery white (because it's old) or is more like wax that has been painted brown. Here is my own personal take on the chocolate / candle thing... if it's not a gift that you would like to receive (meaning chocolate that you would like to eat) don't give it.<br />
Traditionally I try to make something for our teachers and get the kids involved in it. I'm not sure if they like these or not (they will of course all say that they LOVE them, but I'm not sure if they're being honest).<br />
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<a href="http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2014/06/mrs-batemans-teachers-gift.html">http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2014/06/mrs-batemans-teachers-gift.html</a><br />
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<a href="http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2012/06/teachers-gifts-part-two.html">http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2012/06/teachers-gifts-part-two.html</a><br />
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I try to do something hand made, because it takes more time than just running out the store and buying just anything, it also often saves money, and with this many kids saving money is important. Most importantly it shows them (both the teacher and my children) that I have given my time and thought into their gift, just like they have given their time and thoughts into my child.<br />
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The majority of the teachers that I know are kind people with a beautiful spirit (this sentiment does not include my grade 3 or 5 teachers, one was evil and one just didn't seem to care, at least about me). They are the warm and fuzzy people who love our children. They are the people that lay awake at night not just worrying about their own children, but also about your children. All of the beautiful teachers that I consulted on this subject really just appreciated being appreciated. One of them said that one of the loveliest things that she received was a thank you card from a parent<br />
So this year if you have not already purchased a teacher's gift, stop and give it a little bit of thought. You know that "do unto others as you would have them do unto you"? I think that also applies to "give unto others what you would like them to give unto you". If you would love to receive dollar store mugs, or chocolate that looks like wax that has been painted brown, then go ahead and give that as a gift. I'm guessing that none of us would like to receive those things. Here's what you may not realise, in giving a thoughtless gift just to give a gift, you are doing the exact opposite of what you set out to do. It's really quite insulting to receive a half eaten box of chocolates, or something you found around the house. Gratitude does not have to be expensive. Spend five minutes and write out a nice card to thank them for what they have done for your child, or better yet, have your child make them a card and tell them to share their favourite memory from that school year. I truly think that we need to teach our children gratitude, and this is an excellent way to do it.<br />
If you have the time and the extra money, make buying a teacher's gift fun (ok, maybe it's not fun, but less like cutting yourself and then someone walking over and rubbing it with salt and Draino). Take your child with you and allow them to help pick out a gift. Stay away from too personal items (although let's be honest the too personal ones that your child picks out are hilarious, especially if you attach a little note telling the teacher that your child picked this out especially for them). Although you may think that the "Best Teacher Ever" underpants are the cat's meow, chances are your child's teacher will feel uncomfortable about them. If you know something about teacher, then go with that and tailor a gift. Maybe that teacher is crazy for the Beatles and has shared this with the class on numerous occasions, why not go with something in that theme? Several teachers have told me how much they have appreciated thoughtful gifts. One of the teachers told me how much she appreciated a gift basket from a family that included summer activities that she could do with her own children, the tag said something like "Thank you for spending so much time with my child, I hope that these items will help you have fun with your own children this summer." She found really touching gift. Another received a Summer Fun bag filled with magazines, and sunscreen and things to help her enjoy her summer. If time is an issue, you can never go wrong with gift cards, I am told that a Tim's card is a favourite (although I'm sure most would really appreciate an LCBO card in light of the students some of them have had this year). In the end, give something that we would all like to receive, gratitude.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-67203740035297328512015-06-13T10:58:00.001-07:002015-06-13T10:58:49.920-07:00 What is a Yurt / Glamping at the Bruce<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b> "What is a Yurt?" </b>This is a question I get almost every time I talk about our family's camping vacations. The simple answer... It's a little bit of paradise. It's what makes me not want to "accidently" run my husband over with our van while trying to put up a tent. It's the only way that I will go camping!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzkDIO2GgaoXqzYN0QMK6Ze1vsFCHmliSDHRkG7Gg8UwfZ6yibJHA7KkGfPM1igr5Ah12H703Vk1Vpa2o6-KGQV3bY_5DJQHQfl5maMlkcYsJclc1ujjgpH4sNdsbMT_oLKw8IqjvgE7I/s1600/DSCF4412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzkDIO2GgaoXqzYN0QMK6Ze1vsFCHmliSDHRkG7Gg8UwfZ6yibJHA7KkGfPM1igr5Ah12H703Vk1Vpa2o6-KGQV3bY_5DJQHQfl5maMlkcYsJclc1ujjgpH4sNdsbMT_oLKw8IqjvgE7I/s320/DSCF4412.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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So what is a yurt? It's like a tent, but much more solid and better able to withstand the elements. Many of the provincial parks and National Parks now have them as a camping option. The design for these structures is based on the structures used by the ancient nomadic peoples of Mongolia. It is often round in shape and has poles holding it up. In ancient times they used animal skins for the outside, but now most are made of a plasticy canvas. In the provincial parks and now at the Bruce National Park we have been very impressed with yurts. They come furnished. Some have electricity, some have wood stoves. You arrive with your supplies like you would if you were renting a cottage.</div>
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I have often heard the word "Glamping" to refer to staying in a yurt. Now that we have stayed at the Bruce National Park, I get it. It's the best of both worlds. You are out in nature, but do not wake up shaped like the letter S. I also find that I like my family more in a yurt.</div>
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Here is what makes the Bruce yurts superior to any other yurt that we have stayed in ....</div>
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If you look closely at the picture above, you will see a screen door. The yurt had two doors, front and back. They had opening windows for ventilation, as well as a screen door. There were also blinds on all of the windows.</div>
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Our yurt came with a bunk bed, that had a twin on the top, and a double on the bottom, with a wipe-able mattress. It also came with a murphy bed. There was composite Muskoka Chairs and a table. </div>
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The floor was not the plywood we have come to expect, but rather a laminate. It came with cupboards and a broom. </div>
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In the roof was a skylight that had a pole that you could crank to open it for ventilation. I woke to see clouds, really nice.</div>
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There was also a wood stove to keep the chill at bay. I am pretty sure that who ever designed this set up was a genius! Did I mention that they included two lanterns?</div>
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Just steps away from the yurt was a comfort station. There were flush toilets! I didn't have to go to the bathroom in a stinky outhouse, life was good! There was a locked area to recharge cell phones and ipods (the kids LOVED this), but the best were the showers! It felt very exclusive because you had to have a special key to open them! Only the Yurt people were allowed to be clean! Honestly it was heaven. You need to remember that growing up my parents called me "Princess", and not in the loving way that I call my girls. When I grew up I wanted to be a "YUPPY". Oh, I appreciated being able to be clean at night.</div>
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At the comfort station there was a set of double sinks. These are perfect for washing dishes. Oh those geniuses thought of everything!!!</div>
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The yurts are in a different part of the park than the rest of the camping. This meant that at least when we were there, there was not a high volume of traffic. It was gloriously quiet, almost as if we had the place to ourselves. In the centre of the yurt area there was a covered picnic area. This would be perfect for groups of people.<br />
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One of the things that I really appreciated about The Bruce, was that there was a parking area for cars, and no cars went beside the yurt. On paper this seems inconvenient, but the reality is much different. All of the yurts were very close to the comfort station and parking area. Each Yurt had it's own wagon to carry supplies from your car to your yurt. Here's what I loved about this... my kids could explore the area, have fun, be kids, and I didn't have to worry about them being hit by a car (eaten by a bear maybe, but not hit by a car). I thought back to a few years ago when we had teeny weenies, and what a God sent that would be for families with toddlers to not live in terror of the cars.</div>
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It was absolutely beautiful at Bruce Peninsula. Our yurt looked out onto Cyrus Lake. The kids loved venturing down to the water. It was a very gradual deepness to the water, so they could wade out and have fun, but be safe. We were also surrounded by trees, so at night you could hear the trees sway, and it sounded a lot like the ocean. It really was beautiful.<br />
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Each yurt has a small deck attached. Each deck has a small enclosed fire pit, composite Muskoka chairs, and a table. It also came with a small covered area which I used to prepare food, and a barbecue that came with a full tank of propane, and a spare. I know that I keep saying it, but honestly they thought of everything that would make this camping adventure, less hassle and more spending glorious time with our family.</div>
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The kids loved the resident bunnies and named them all. They took great delight when they would see "Miles" the bunny (named 'Miles' because he hopped along miles around the camp sites). They named the family of Canadian Geese that calmly walked around the grass, and the Loon who solitarily floated around (at night Christopher and I called it something a little different when it screeched out).<br />
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Here is my answer, my true answer to what is a Yurt. A yurt is an affordable step into nature. It is almost a cottage, and almost a tent. It allows you to feel like you are out in the wilderness roughing it, but without it being too rough. It allowed us the time to spend with the kids, really being a family. There were no outside distractions, no cell phones, no computers, no t.v., just us. The kids had their electronic devices, but instead of using them for play, they used them to take pictures. It helped us to have a holiday that was only about us. We smelled like nature, but not body odour. We could allow the kids to have free rain, and to explore their surroundings. Whenever I looked up, they were usually together as a pack tossing the nerf football, trying to entice the bunnies to be their pets, or up to their ankles in the lake. As a parent, that did my heart good to see them enjoying each other. What is a yurt? An affordable gift of nature, and a the gift of family.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-1716409428284569442015-06-09T09:34:00.001-07:002015-06-09T09:34:24.959-07:00A Camping We Will Go.......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A few years ago I happened upon a picture of the Bruce Peninsula. It looked stunning. It has made it to numerous "Must See in Canada" lists. I desperately wanted to visit this place of beauty that was so close to home. This year we did it.</div>
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Let me begin by saying that our years as a family camping with a tent are so distantly behind us. The last time we attempted putting up a tent, we almost divorced and the police were nearly involved. We had met up with my sister and her family and my parents at a provincial park near North Bay. For this trip we had bought one of those monster cabin tents. We were all really excited about it. We arrived in torrential rain, I'm talking Niagara Falls. We tried to wait it out, but it soon became clear that there would be no waiting it out. The kids went over to my sister's campsite, and Christopher and I began to assemble the tent. As we began unpacking the tent, it became rather clear that the instructions for said awesome tent were back home. Christopher and I are not a good team when it comes to building, or moving large things. I have often said that if we were ever on the Amazing Race people would keep us on, just for the entertainment value. The dusk was falling and our tempers were flaring. It was really good that we were camping with my family, because I had a temper tantrum, and threw everything down on the ground (by the way, that might be only the second temper tantrum of my entire adult life). My brother-in-law Spooner walked over and helped Christopher put up the tent. They had it up in like ten minutes. The Lindsay Family style of camping now has yurt. Turns out that Christopher and I like each other so much more and are still talking to each other when we just have to bring supplies. </div>
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I am a terrible procrastinator, and so it was Sunday night and I was still packing for our trip Monday. Oh heck, who am I kidding, I was still packing Monday morning. As I began packing the van it became very clear that our van was not big enough for everything that I felt we needed to take. We took advantage of every single nook and cranny of that van. Although it does not look classy, I packed each family member's clothes for the week in a clear garbage bag. I felt that this would work better for packing. It would be more flexible.</div>
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By the time the van was loaded the kids learned about what sardines go through. There were many cries of "I'm claustrophobic", and "I can't move my legs". In the end the van was loaded literally to the roof and we were off on our adventure.</div>
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We arrived at the Bruce in high spirits. We had unpacked the van, and I began to arrange the yurt while the kids explored. The further north you get the longer it stays light out. It was just beginning to be dusk at 9:45. I told the kids to come in and get their pjs on. They listened and got dressed. It was not long before Rowan asked where his clothes were. We checked all the bags, we checked the car, they were nowhere to be seen. We had forgotten Rowan's clothes! So we became acquainted with the Owen Sound Walmart Tuesday. Oh there is never a dull moment with us.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-31721623761733940632015-06-06T18:12:00.001-07:002015-06-06T18:12:09.316-07:00High School Reunion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There was a lot of flip flopping and inner turmoil leading up to my high school reunion. If I went, everyone would see that I got fat, and behind my back they would say "Oh My God, did you see how FAT she got?" There was also the issue of awkwardness with an old boyfriend who would be in attendance. Did I mention that there was also a person I hated who offered to punch me in the face in high school? The flip side of that was that these had been my friends. These were the people who made high school bearable. They were the people who helped to form "me". This was not the entire high school, it was just a small group of high school friends getting together after 25 years. I think that perhaps there were at most 35 people invited.</div>
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In the end I had this revelation. It was so obvious that I felt embarrassed when it finally occurred to me. When I last saw my friends I was 18 or so. That is 4 years older than Grace. Gracie is going to change in 25 years, why couldn't I have? I didn't care if anyone got fat (although I was kind of hoping the guy who offered to punch me in the face got fat, and a horrid case of adult acne), these were my oldest friends. I just wanted to see these people who had once upon a time been really important to me. Sure I would have loved to arrive and have everyone gasp and be so jealous that I was still hot and had barely aged. I would have loved that if I had magic, but in terms of putting hard work in, I was ok with people seeing the old new me.</div>
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The day of the reunion my house was filled with whines of "Why do we have to go to your stupid reunion. ", "There will be no one our age and we'll be BORED!" I heard Christopher quietly telling them "I don't want to go either guys, but we need to be there for Mom." It was so adorable, not. I kept trying to reassure all of them (including the largest child I have been married to for almost 22 years), that everyone that would be there was really, really nice. There would be lots of good food. To the kids I told them that there would probably kids that were there ages that they would have fun hanging out with. In the end I decided that they could all just whine because they were going to go, and they were going to like it DAMN IT!</div>
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I arrived at the hall to be greeted by Travis, one of the organizers. "I was wondering if you were going to come, I was going to call you." He then figuratively put his foot on my back and pushed me in the door "Get in, we're waiting for a special guest". "I'm not a special guest?" I asked. "Yeah, you're really great" he said sarcastically, his head darting to the door looking for that special, super guest. I began to wonder if it was the Prime Minister, or maybe Bono. "Now get in!!!!" In that instant I felt instantly at ease. Travis had not changed. The "guest of honour" was the school music teacher. I'm sure she was super fantastic awesome, but I never took music, so to be honest I really didn't care. I made my way in and was instantly set upon by other friends, hugging the life out of me. Why had I been worried? These were my friends, who the years had separated, but in meeting the years had melted away.</div>
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Here were a group of middle aged people. We had all aged. Some of us had gained weight, many of us were now sprouting tufts of grey hair, and our face's looked a little test driven. It was obvious that it was 25 years later, and yet in talking to everyone, no one had changed. I am sad to say that the person I most dreaded seeing had aged amazingly well, to be honest I think his looks improved with age. He also had no adult acne .... why are you so cruel Karma?</div>
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My kids and husband were well behaved. Some of the people told them stories about me when I was in high school, they really enjoyed these. They did not intermingle with the other children, but that was ok, they were quite content to eat all the great food that everyone had brought for the potluck. I looked over on a few occasions to see Christopher engaged in discussion with many of the people.</div>
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In our online discussions about bringing pictures and food I had mentioned that I still had the music video that we had made for grade 13 english. There were 4 of us in that group (one included my boyfriend of the time), and our friends were the extras. Julie told me I had to bring it, she would find a VCR. I did the big debate, should I bring it? Honestly I could not remember if there was anything that might be uncomfortable on it. In the end, I brought it. We all crowded around the tiny TV watching our young selves. "Why did I think I was fat then?" a few of us proclaimed. My kids were rivited. They now had proof that I had not been lying to them all these years, I had been young once. Gracie my 14 year old quietly looked at me with an admiration. Later that night she said almost in disbelief "Mom, you were beautiful!" When we came home that night the kids were all obsessed with that video. They were begging me to let them watch it. I kept telling them we no longer had a VCR. "Mom, we want to see your video". I'm not going to lie to you, it was a nice feeling seeing my children look at me like I was a person, and not "just a mom".</div>
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I had seen my old boyfriend, but didn't know how I should approach. Honestly it was nice to see him. Finally we both gathered up our courage and greeted each other with a big hug. We talked for a while, and I remembered what a nice guy he was, and how easy he was to talk to. Why had I been trepidatious about this. I introduced him to my husband of almost 22 years, and my boat load of kids and he introduced me to his wife. She seemed really lovely. It was really nice. We then moved along to greet other old friends.</div>
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You will be glad to know (or perhaps like me you had kind of rooted for it), but there were no altercations between the guy who challenged me to a fight all those years ago. We never even really looked at each other. Part of me was terribly relieved (I really hate any kind of conflict.) The other childish half of me hoped he would do something rude, and that my big, strong husband would lay him out. Apparently in my middle years I have exchanged the "My Dad's tougher than your Dad", with "My husband's gonna clean your clock if you're mean to me".</div>
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I was trying to pick out which children belonged to which parents. Some of them were really easy to guess. The funniest thing was everyone's reaction to my kids. "It's pretty obvious which children are your's. Are they clones?" I kind of got a huge kick out of this, the kids, not so much.</div>
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By 9 O'Clock I took pity on my husband and kids and we left. They had been really good, extremely good. I had been really proud to be able to show off my greatest achievements in this life. I was not a big time professional, but I have a heartbreakingly beautiful family. I have a happy marriage. My life is really, really good. I am a very lucky woman, and I know and am grateful for it every single day. I left that night feeling really blessed, and so happy that I had not let my insecurities get the best of me. I had a really nice time. It was so nice to see everyone. I hope that it won't take 25 years to see everyone again (mainly because we may all be quite senile and won't recognize each other).</div>
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When we got home, my kids looked at me a little differently. I knew that it would only last that night and so I should really treasure it. One of them commented that they couldn't believe I had so many friends. If I think about it, I can't believe it either. They were in awe of that old video, and their young Momma. For Grace I think it was shocking to her to see that I was once around her age. That night I fell into bed with a smile on my face, it had been a nice evening.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-63031485411182246222015-06-04T08:52:00.002-07:002015-06-04T08:52:38.203-07:00High School Reunion ... Should I go?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A few months back I received an invitation from an old friend from high school. He and another old friend of ours were organizing a high school reunion. This would not be the whole high school, just our friends. I was conflicted. On one hand I was extremely complimented to be included, and yet the only thing that is the same is the colour of my eyes.</div>
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Back in high school I was at least half the size I am now. I looked like the picture above. That was the last image many of them had of me. Like I say, the only thing that looks the same is the colour of my eyes. Having said that self derogatory remark, I wouldn't trade being thin and pretty for my life now. Back then I had horrible self-esteem, and practiced self hatred on a very regular schedule. I felt that my worth was in my looks. During my public school years I was picked on a lot, and I honed the skill of invisibility. If you asked any of my former teachers about me, they would not remember having me in their class. I always picked a seat to the side near the back, but not at the back. This practice continued into high school. Come high school I was no longer picked on, but I still needed that invisibility. I did not join clubs, or anything that I could fail at or draw attention to myself. I did nothing that might make me stand out.</div>
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I say all of this and yet my high school friends may be wondering who I'm talking about, that is not the me they saw. I adapted to my surroundings. I come from a long line of big mouths, it's what our family does for protection, our legacy if you will. You know how when you see a bear, you are supposed to make yourself appear bigger than them, to scare them off, well the big mouth thing functions the same way. If I acted like I was tough, and nothing bothered me, maybe people would believe it.</div>
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Time and love do a funny thing sometimes, they repair wounds. Although I am roughly twice the size of that girl in the photo, I like me now. I like who I am now. I like my life. I have a husband who adores me, and five beautiful children. I have good friends. I have a nice life. It's as if I traded in my vanity for happiness. When I stopped practicing the self hatred (I was bulimic among other things) I began to like me. Turns out I'm funny and kind and over all a pretty good person who happens to be overweight, oh and I still have a big mouth. In my everyday life I don't really think about being over weight. Everyone in my life just loves me for who I am, not what I look like.</div>
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So back to the high school reunion invitation. My first instinct was to say I wouldn't / couldn't go. That would solve everything, except for the fact that I really liked most of those people. They were my friends, they were the reason that my high school experience was great. We shared our quirkiness. It was nice to have comfort, safety in numbers if you will. If I didn't go, wouldn't I be punishing myself for getting fat? Wasn't that what I had worked so hard all of these years to over come, the self hatred? </div>
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I said I would come. Then they threw a wrench into things.</div>
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One of the people who were invited was an old boyfriend. Not a casual few month boyfriend. We dated for over a year. He was this really nice, funny guy that I outgrew in university. When I got to university, no one knew me, I could re-invent who I was. I was outgoing and a party girl at university. I hung out with the university football team. I was cool. Cool was something that I was never and would never be again. I needed to own that experience. Honestly I still feel badly about the way I broke it off. He was a nice guy and I hurt him. I wasn't sure if I could face him again. Plus, and this is the big plus... if I was him, it would give me great pleasure to see that the person who hurt me got fat. Man, I was back to the "maybe I shouldn't go" again. In the end I pulled up my big girl pants and remembered that I have a beautiful life. I have a husband who adores me, and five beautiful kids (are you sensing a mantra here?). I could face that old boyfriend, I owed him that much.</div>
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Next obstacle, the person that I hate the most in the world would be there! Ordinarily I am not one to hold onto past grievances, or for that matter hate anyone. It takes too much energy and I need that extra energy for my busy life. The girl who gave me the scar that adorns my face, I forgave her years ago. She was a really angry girl, and with good reason, I was just in her way. Years later we even became friends (after she had worked on her anger issues). I really don't like to hold a grudge, except in this case.</div>
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Back then this individual dated a good friend of mine. He spoke to her horribly. Everyone else seemed to be o.k. with it. The one day, the day that I could take no more, she was eating french fries. This girl was 5 foot 3 and if she had quarters in her pockets weighed 100 pounds. He told her to stop eating because she was already fat enough. I have never been able to abide a bully, never have and never will, even if it means putting my neck on the line, which on this day it did. So "I told him that he could not speak to her that way, it was unacceptable, who did he think he was?" He did not care for this comment and asked if I would like to go out to the hall. "Are you asking me to go and fight you?" I asked, my face still angry, the insides beginning to get worried. "YES, that's what I'm saying" he replied. "If you want to fight a girl, then sure, lets go out to the hall". By this point I'm pooping my pants on the inside, but being bigger than the bear on the outside. We walk out into the hall. As I sit here writing this I'm not sure why no one thought to say anything about this, why they all thought it was alright that this idiot challenged a girl to a fight. So out I walked to get hit in the face. So I have my back against the wall, and he has his fist balled up, like he's ready to strike. In a moment of genius a calm comes over me. "If you're going to hit me, you should make sure that you hit me really hard, and really make it count because if you take a look down at where my knee is, you will see that you will be coughing those things up for a few years to come". Ok I may have said it a bit more crudely than that. He did indeed look down and in the end must have valued his deep voice and ability to father children in the future. Disgustedly he dramatically threw down his threatening arm "You're not worth it anyway." I believe, but am not sure, but I think I said something like "yeah I'm not worth it, it takes a really BIG man to hit a girl!" When he had walked away I calmly walked to the girls bathroom and proceeded to throw up, and then cry.</div>
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That event has stuck with me all those years. He never hit me, and yet I hate him. From that day forward I tried to make his life as miserable as I could. I'm not sure what the logic behind that was, maybe I really did want punched in the face. I heard that he was wanting to go to York and try out for the football team, so I told my friends who were on the football team about him, hoping they would all beat him up. I hated him and he was going to the reunion.</div>
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Once again I wondered if I should go. What would I do? I then remembered that I had a husband who adored me and was 6 foot 4 (see that mantra again). If that individual did anything remotely rude or threatening my husband would clean his clock, and that is only if my kids didn't get to him first. Why was I worrying about this. I have never really been a helpless damsel in distress, why was I acting like it now? In the end the chance to see old friends won out over all the reason's why not to go.</div>
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To be continued......</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-81952938027182274072015-06-01T09:07:00.000-07:002015-06-01T09:07:40.304-07:00The Night Alight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9oxgfngHyv7Wt09f86J_AMtHeVlVyCel2hZbp3XudgJrzhkg79fwlTCqb9rYN_aGjjk3hodZq_zy00uoQvHWTqUMTn55YWVL0biM94DQEmgYobD-MizeByusrgvUw6RvLlsyeUZ4L7FU/s1600/DSC_5820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9oxgfngHyv7Wt09f86J_AMtHeVlVyCel2hZbp3XudgJrzhkg79fwlTCqb9rYN_aGjjk3hodZq_zy00uoQvHWTqUMTn55YWVL0biM94DQEmgYobD-MizeByusrgvUw6RvLlsyeUZ4L7FU/s320/DSC_5820.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The night was black, but dotted throughout were globes of hovering beauty. Beneath the glowing beauty everyone breathed a collective gasp. It was stunning, magical. It was something that would never be forgotten and would be synonymous in memory in exchange for the word romance.</div>
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Incase you are just late to figuring this out, the above description was what my feeble little mind imagined the night to look like, the reality was much, much more hilarious!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9oxgfngHyv7Wt09f86J_AMtHeVlVyCel2hZbp3XudgJrzhkg79fwlTCqb9rYN_aGjjk3hodZq_zy00uoQvHWTqUMTn55YWVL0biM94DQEmgYobD-MizeByusrgvUw6RvLlsyeUZ4L7FU/s1600/DSC_5820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/2gJH22WNqyM/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2gJH22WNqyM?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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The above video is what I envisioned.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGA2DRQGH-QCEE3Kfg2Sh8Ap3fsmgoD3AjLhyphenhyphenWUT-vzigbPPqTKL9I2OX9iC3JzmbcZvhZSc4_DvyjuwhmdZphrjgfRzpmndhhbEA3cmXgLDTpJPIHkJBjYta5UI9qQvW96KpmXEdrtOQ/s1600/DSC_5792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGA2DRQGH-QCEE3Kfg2Sh8Ap3fsmgoD3AjLhyphenhyphenWUT-vzigbPPqTKL9I2OX9iC3JzmbcZvhZSc4_DvyjuwhmdZphrjgfRzpmndhhbEA3cmXgLDTpJPIHkJBjYta5UI9qQvW96KpmXEdrtOQ/s320/DSC_5792.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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As I shared previously Christopher and I renewed our wedding vows after 20 years of marriage. It was our time to celebrate the difficult years that we had come through together. Our's is not a Disney romance, there were some really, really hard times, and we almost didn't make it. This renewal was a gift to us, a celebration of our unbreakable love.</div>
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I am a bit type A (you know like someone is a bit pregnant), meaning that I drive everyone around me crazy with my pursuit of perfection. I have a vision of how I want something and come Hell or high water that is exactly what I will get, even if I drive everyone around me insane. I will try to achieve my goals with the most minimal blood shed. My close family and friends know me well, and generally just laugh at me. The night before our renewal my mother, sister and closest friends came to Trudeau Resort to help us decorate. I knew exactly what I wanted. Poor Fiona, poor, poor Fiona hasn't quite figured me out just yet. We were decorating the tables, and poor Fiona wanted to put in her input. I was nice, and told her that her idea was lovely. I think it was my friend Theresa who took her aside and told her "She's just humoring you. As soon as your back is turned she will do it the way she really wants it. You really should just smile and walk away." She knows me well, she knows me well.</div>
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In the planning stages of our renewal I had seen a video with chinese lanterns ( the one at the beginning of the blog). They were gorgeous. I knew in that moment that I had to have them. I had in my head the first image which I shared at the beginning of this blog. This would be beautiful. I knew that everyone would walk away from our night and tell everyone they knew about the magical evening they had been privileged to. To be honest the chinese lanterns were one of the more expensive things in our budget. We also purchased these beautiful floating lotus candles. Oh no one would forget our extravagance and attention to detail... truer words have never been uttered, but not in the way I had planned.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOTCSZf1Y5MAX4Whc8K0Xkh8g2uI-5lBjND3ckM3k7HLI1tvpe7x2WAJYtVYhyvftkla-aNy24B3gSkwJwtqKp1RVp2jOFpcSUEZTudYWbIZNpwbrLFvGT0uzNp7ks2uzTb1Ue5kiAgY/s1600/DSC_5799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOTCSZf1Y5MAX4Whc8K0Xkh8g2uI-5lBjND3ckM3k7HLI1tvpe7x2WAJYtVYhyvftkla-aNy24B3gSkwJwtqKp1RVp2jOFpcSUEZTudYWbIZNpwbrLFvGT0uzNp7ks2uzTb1Ue5kiAgY/s320/DSC_5799.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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After we had finished our meal we asked everyone to come outside with us. I am pretty sure that I had that look on my face that my children get when they are pretty pleased with themselves. I even made a point of asking Casey and Cheri Trudeau ( <a href="http://www.trudeaupark.com/">www.trudeaupark.com</a> ) if they wanted to bring their boys out to see our surprise. I quietly walked over and asked our DJ if he wanted to come out and see. I felt like lady bountiful bestowing a great once in a lifetime gift. I was a little hurt when the DJ told me he'd seen it before. Honestly I could barely contain my excitement. Fiona and Kevin had quietly slipped out after dinner and lit mason jars with tea candles to illuminate the path to the lake, and they had lit the floating lotus flowers and they were floating at the water's edge.</div>
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I should step back in time a little at this point, only a little. Remember I told you that my Mom and sisters and friends had come the night before to help us decorate? We decided that we should light one of the lanterns ahead of time so that on the night of we would have no surprises ... silly, stupid, naive, idiots that we were. That night as the evening darkness slowly descended we gathered out around the lake. Casey (who by the way is one of our town's volunteer firefighters) came out with us. We read and followed the instructions provided with the lanterns. We unfolded the lantern, and lit the small box on fire. It gracefully danced up into the sky, it's reflection mirrored in the calm water. It was ethereal. We let out a collective gasp because of the beauty of it. We then all hugged and had a warm fuzzy feeling... yes our guests would be wowed, that was for sure.<br />
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Now back to the night of. If you remember I had a stupid look on my face. I was full of anticipation. We had done a test run the night before and it was beautiful, everyone would think I was brilliant for thinking of something so beautiful! We all walked to the lake, our way lit by the twinkling mason lanterns, twinkling a soft glow. When we got to the lake the lotus were no where to be seen. Apparently the wind, which was significant had blown them away. Poor Fiona was nearly in tears, "Tris I swear we lit them!" It was one small glitch, yes it would have added to the show, but that was alright.</div>
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We broke into groups of four or five. The thing that struck me as really beautiful was the fact that everyone broke from their comfort group. It was members of Christopher's family with our friends, and members of my family all mixed in. Everyone had this great comfort with each other. It really was nice. We all set about trying to light the damned, stupid lanterns. None of them seemed to want to catch. At one point I look over and Fiona has her head underneath her her lantern blowing on it, to make it catch. I then hear Christopher yell, "Fiona Nooooooooooooooo", as the little square finally caught and nearly singed off her first layer of facial skin.</div>
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At one point someone shouted out triumphantly that their lantern had caught, and that they were great, something like that. It was then followed by a hysterical "OH GOD NO!" as their lantern drifted up, up, up into a tree. Shortly after that there was another triumphant "We have ours up... Oh shit it's headed for that barn." There were many shouts of "Yeah look at us, followed by oh no oh no..." Many floated into the lake to join our lotus lights. Some found trees, some fell to the earth a singed mess. I believe that only one actually made it up into the night sky.</div>
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You will be glad to know that nothing actually caught fire, there were no firefighters, other than Casey at our renewal. It was not the ethereal thing of stunning beauty we had planned. What it was, was memorable. Throughout the night were the echos of laughter. People were laughing so hard that they were leaning against people that until that night had been strangers. People grabbing their sides with tears of laughter streaming down their cheeks was a common sight that night.</div>
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In the end, it may actually have been better than we had planned. I cannot think of our renewal without that part of the night coming to mind, and I cannot think of those lanterns without smiling. There was that warm feeling of love (not to be confused with that warm feeling of third degree burns which many almost experienced). If something could go wrong, it did go wrong, but it was alright. I was able to trade my usual perfectionism in for living in the moment, and that moment was funny.</div>
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I feel that I should also add that no barns were set on fire, the lantern drifted lazily over, oh and Fiona's eyebrows have since grown back.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-62486935260651399212015-05-21T10:38:00.001-07:002015-05-21T10:38:37.423-07:00Our Wedding Renewal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhv3owLHo_qSMGZ_ncCv5e5Gd7ec3GSvxpZbbPh-JZEj9AJgCk7jEgFvksinpUmUjDK3WECzQ26kNip55m_LLqFYrCrj74_AYpCI-hw1sGco70LqDwWWX9jPHAtl9Jy0wFPnepCMfGs4/s1600/DSC_5308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhv3owLHo_qSMGZ_ncCv5e5Gd7ec3GSvxpZbbPh-JZEj9AJgCk7jEgFvksinpUmUjDK3WECzQ26kNip55m_LLqFYrCrj74_AYpCI-hw1sGco70LqDwWWX9jPHAtl9Jy0wFPnepCMfGs4/s320/DSC_5308.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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I realize as I have been reminiscing about my wedding renewal that it was now almost two years ago, and I never did share anything about it. Sorry, my bad. It was magical. So now that I have neglected to share the details, I will do so now... better late than never right?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjrKzAlF7yWXKYQhdlz9RzopTXxZpp7ZlMlshNpaZWln2KGjQd9t14g2n5tI-G5ajNUoeOA9H8gQNPzpd6pPIG9qJrAoEIpo41r4Ve308dUnSKrmGpGqWj812JEsPh-OeMozJ0zR9hqE/s1600/DSC_5313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjrKzAlF7yWXKYQhdlz9RzopTXxZpp7ZlMlshNpaZWln2KGjQd9t14g2n5tI-G5ajNUoeOA9H8gQNPzpd6pPIG9qJrAoEIpo41r4Ve308dUnSKrmGpGqWj812JEsPh-OeMozJ0zR9hqE/s320/DSC_5313.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Back twenty- two years ago when we got married we were dirt poor. We were young, and we were poor (not that anything other than the "young", thing has changed). I did not realize that not having the money for the things that you wanted didn't mean that you had to make do. I did not realize that I could have creatively gotten almost exactly what I wanted. I say all of this, and yet the reality is that if my original wedding had been fairy tale perfect, I would not have felt the need to have a do over twenty years later.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqeN0Nb1RWMfEWZGVR1UDEQVkVjdhiDUgLK9y2taRIuNmi-x7ITRq7dPE5pYXxHnyCMmJz7MiejacQKDj3Df3k7Tq2ritioHWo854FVLw4oTw1V7cneYlY5jh9AWxFgmXOL2qUfpDqKE/s1600/DSC_5316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqeN0Nb1RWMfEWZGVR1UDEQVkVjdhiDUgLK9y2taRIuNmi-x7ITRq7dPE5pYXxHnyCMmJz7MiejacQKDj3Df3k7Tq2ritioHWo854FVLw4oTw1V7cneYlY5jh9AWxFgmXOL2qUfpDqKE/s320/DSC_5316.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<s>I </s> we knew exactly what we wanted for a theme this time. Our best family vacations always involve the ocean. The ocean in it's self is like a dream for me. Even thinking about it makes me feel peaceful.</div>
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We knew that this had to be a beach theme renewal. We began by speaking to Casey Trudeau at Trudeau Park. <a href="http://www.trudeaupark.com/">http://www.trudeaupark.com</a> He made everything so easy. Honestly that is the place to go for your wedding/ parties! They were so obliging, and helped us with everything effortlessly.</div>
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Once we had our theme, <s>we</s> I began to collect what we needed. Instead of flowers for centre pieces I went with hurricane lamps from IKEA. The lamps were filled with shells from the dollar store, and shells were scattered on the tables. I made my own bouquets with Costco flowers and pilfered hydrangeas ( I stole them from my Mom's garden). I couldn't find matching dresses for my girls, so I made them. I bought tropical looking planters and borrowed two more from my friend Julie to decorate the beach. It looked exactly the way that I wanted it to look but was on a really tight budget.</div>
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We were able to renew our wedding vows for under four thousand dollars! Essentially we had a second wedding, the way we should have done it the first time. We told Casey what we wanted to spend for our meal, and he made some suggestions. The first time around my mom and I made all of the food for the wedding. It was stressful preparing all of that food, having the meal catered was not! </div>
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Honestly dealing with Trudeau's was an amazing experience.</div>
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Our ceremony was beautiful and personalized to who we are. We had a soloist sing us down the sandy isle. Her voice was like an angel. She sang Gowan's "Dedication", a song that is our song. It was beautiful. We stood with the lake as our backdrop, with the cool sand under our feet. We were surrounded by the people that we loved most in the world, our family and close friends. It sounds goofy to say, but I could honestly feel their love radiating around us. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG5nbHA4uQb2AdmOXZ7JyRHaNejMDw0PxenLRQpU1Sn_VXpUQAEGf0sw0GJvBgqVZ7JjmZjJ4lf2Z1Pa0otmQ8wkelGMevSmqAgKd_RAYuQm3y1pyf8BE-tTDp1xZ6kWMn95pj2SiGHbU/s1600/DSC_5574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG5nbHA4uQb2AdmOXZ7JyRHaNejMDw0PxenLRQpU1Sn_VXpUQAEGf0sw0GJvBgqVZ7JjmZjJ4lf2Z1Pa0otmQ8wkelGMevSmqAgKd_RAYuQm3y1pyf8BE-tTDp1xZ6kWMn95pj2SiGHbU/s320/DSC_5574.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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After our ceremony and pictures we walked up to the building for our dinner. It was so beautiful inside. The night before my sister and Mom and girlfriends had come and helped us decorate. I laughed so hard, but honestly with that group of amazing women how could I not have the best time? I knew that the building looked beautiful, and yet when I saw it for the first time after the ceremony, it took my breath away.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPAnw8BRarpsP0ZZ1fw7SBz6PnKLP28RvxaUyS8VL6DNginI_hsURwTXh5AsI8T5W7uWqQSHVTWTVCMDMv9rGIvH68gk_H9RpvUV9DeOsWWlaEMUaMwzQ-qaK7VEnICdu3ozYj6z1764/s1600/DSC_5634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPAnw8BRarpsP0ZZ1fw7SBz6PnKLP28RvxaUyS8VL6DNginI_hsURwTXh5AsI8T5W7uWqQSHVTWTVCMDMv9rGIvH68gk_H9RpvUV9DeOsWWlaEMUaMwzQ-qaK7VEnICdu3ozYj6z1764/s320/DSC_5634.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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You know that saying "Dance Like No One is Watching"? For our dance I did that. I didn't have to pretend that no one was watching, because I was surrounded by love. Every person there knows me, they know that I'm a goof, but they love me any way. I could dance with abandon because everyone there loves me. There is something to be said for being surrounded in love.</div>
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So that's our renewal in a nutshell. It was beautiful, if I do say so myself. It was everything that I dreamed it would be and more. I find myself longing to go back and do it all again. There is something to be said for being surrounded in love, it does a soul good!<br />
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<b>Now that I've shared the nice part, stay tuned for the make you pee your pants part....</b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-24988279716804738022015-05-17T10:36:00.001-07:002015-05-17T10:36:54.834-07:00Long Happy Marriage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yesterday I traveled to Scarborough to see my cousin John and his lovely wife Barb renew their wedding vows after 30 years of marriage. John is actually my second cousin, but he was a surprise late in life baby for my Aunt Mary (my Nana's sister... who I adored) and Uncle Willie. He is really closer in age to my first cousins and I, than with my Mom and her brothers, so I have always lumped him in with them. He also happened to be one of my favourite cousins. He likes to tell me I was a brat, and he could be right, but I thought he was awesome. I was so complimented that he and Barb chose to include me in their special day.<br />
The minister spoke about the difference between a new just married love and the worn in comfy love of long marriage (ok she said it slightly more eloquently than that). It got me thinking, and it really rang true for me. Christopher and I will celebrate 22 years of marriage this August. Not all of those years have been happy, to be honest it was really touch and go for many of those years. <br />
When we first fell in love, we actually fell in like/ lust. It then became we were in love with being in love. When we first moved in together we had fun playing house. We were both very different people, each unable / unwilling to change or bend. This was all well and good until the arrival of our first child. That was the time we had to put on our big kid pants and focus not on our old selfish ways, but to put that beautiful little boy first. This is where the cracks in our "love" began to show. We were not changing together. <br />
Now 22 years later I can tell you a hard won lesson. A loving, good marriage is not easy, and love alone cannot see it through. Ours love now is a deeper, almost spiritual love. We are no longer in lust<br />
(oh don't get me wrong there is still lust, it's just no longer the pillar of our relationship). My love for Christopher is very close in depth to the love I feel for my children. For those of you who know my fierce love for my children, you will appreciate what I mean. Our love that we have now was not easily attained, we worked hard for it. We fought dirty for it, and we won. I now no longer take that love for granted, I cannot let it slide.<br />
22 years ago we were 22 year old children. We were both so very different. We came from very different backgrounds. We were night and day. They say that opposites attract, but oil and water are opposites and I think we all know what they do. In the end we both had to change. You know sometimes people say that old married couples begin to look the same, I think to some extent that is true. You change and become more alike. Our "opposites" are no longer "opposites", but instead complimentary. We are still different people, with different personalities, but we make it work. We are like that puzzle where after all the struggle to find the right pieces, we are that perfect connection of sky and water. We meet in the middle perfectly, but are still so different. We are different but have the same morals, the same life goals. I didn't become him, he didn't become me... we met in the middle to become "us".<br />
A good marriage is a work of art. It takes hard work and struggle. In the end it is worth all the fights, the sweat and the tears. The reward is being married to my best friend. I'm really proud of us. The reward is not just a beautiful life together, but we are showing our children what a good, loving marriage looks like.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00311283692348432981noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234182566016567154.post-30492659841471479942015-05-14T10:16:00.000-07:002015-05-14T10:16:16.891-07:00Losing Gabe's Spirit of Kindness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've taken a little while to process this one. I wanted to share with you how I feel, but I wanted to make sure that I gave myself enough time to make sure I used the right words, and not the words of hurt that I would have used if I'd posted this in February.</div>
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Every year for the last 20 years on February 2 we celebrated Gabriel. The first ten years were filled with parties and gifts for him. The last ten have been about remembering him, and what a gift he was. In 2005 we began the "Gabe Lindsay Spirit of Kindness Award". I attaching the links, so that those of you have been readers from the beginning don't have to re-read, and those of you who are new can see what I have written about this in the past.</div>
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<a href="http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2013/01/the-gabriel-lindsay-spirit-of-kindness.html">http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2013/01/the-gabriel-lindsay-spirit-of-kindness.html</a></div>
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<a href="http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/search/label/Dealing%20With%20Our%20Grief">http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/search/label/Dealing%20With%20Our%20Grief</a></div>
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<a href="http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2012/01/spirit-of-kindness.html">http://themiddleagedwomanwholivedinashoe.blogspot.ca/2012/01/spirit-of-kindness.html</a></div>
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When you lose a child your biggest terror is that the rest of the world will forget them. Honestly it is absolutely terrifying. It still is. I think about that smart, funny boy and all the things that he could have given to the world, all the things he could have been, and it was all stolen. The only way his name will ever live on is through us, and by us sharing who he was. The Spirit of Kindness Award was the way that we thought that we could continue his legacy while respecting who he was. Originally we had these huge hopes that word of this amazing week long celebration of kindness would catch on Canada wide (foolish optimists that we were), in the end we were happy that the children of our school would benefit.</div>
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The first year we celebrated the Gabe Lindsay Spirit of Kindness Award it was all still very raw. Gabe had only been gone 39 days. The principal at the school at the time, I got the impression that she was not sure what to do to handle the death of a student. In response, the school sanitized him, erased him from the classroom, erased him from the school. I honestly hold nothing against her (I did), death is a scary thing, especially I see now with the benefit of distance when you are in charge of almost 400 children. In her defense she allowed us to celebrate the first "Gabe Lindsay Spirit of Kindness Award". She was also kind enough to allow us to play the slide show from his funeral. That year the school awarded my best friend's daughter, who also happened to be Gabe's friend the award. Over the years the award began to look like we had envisioned. It became a week long celebration. Class acts of kindness were done and shared at the final celebration that ended on Gabe's birthday. We even had the Peterborough television station come and do a piece on the award. It was exactly what we wanted!</div>
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Over the last few years the "Spirit of Kindness Week" began to feel like it was too much of an effort, not to us, but to the school. I began to feel like we fighting to get the teachers excited. It felt like we were asking them to do one more tiring thing that they had no time to do. I suppose we were asking a lot, but honestly I become blinded by my vision. To me Kindness is something that we should all promote. It should not be an effort. It is something that my family lives and breathes, and so I have the childish expectation that everyone should feel the same. I truly feel that if we treated everyone with kindness that there would be no bullying. I honestly feel that bullies are really children/ adults who are hurting inside and striking out is the only way they know how to express their pain. Kill them with kindness is my remedy to everything.</div>
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Since Gabe's death we have had to fight to get everything that we wanted for him. We fought the cemetery to allow us to decorate his grave. The caretaker would throw everything we put up there in the garbage, knowing that it was a child's grave, a child' grave that was still freshly dug. At one trip to visit the cemetery he actually verbally assaulted me, telling me that although he felt bad for our family, we were making a mess, and this all had to STOP. His idea of a mess was putting flowers and toys at his grave. We begged to plant a garden on his grave, but we were told that was against the cemetery rules. We begged to be allowed to sod or put grass seed down on his grave, and were told no. It was endless. Eventually after writing a letter in the local newspaper we spoke to the head of the cemetery board and we were allowed to put grass seed on the sandy area that was our baby's grave. Every time the care taker would cut that new grass he would scalp it. We began to beg him to allow us to cut that area. Now many people at the same cemetery have solar lights up there for their loved ones and flags and things that do not take away from the peace of the cemetery, but allow people to feel like they are stilling caring for their loved ones, even after death.</div>
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We wanted to change our street name to "Gabe Lindsay Lane", there are only 2 houses on our street. On our first meeting we were told flat out no, it would set a precedent and they did not want that to happen. We set about to obtain written permission from our one neighbour. We investigated the reason why our road had named "Roscoe Road" turns out, no one knew. We took pictures of the poor condition of our street. This time we went to the second meeting with ammunition. We offered further to pay the costs involved in changing the street name. Now our road is called "Gabe Lindsay Ave". Once again we had to fight tooth and nail for our Gabe.</div>
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After a while you become warn down and tired of having to fight for everything. It would appear that we are not the people who are afforded breaks. Sometimes you just have to preserve yourself and admit defeat, wave the white flag of surrender. That is what we did this year for Gabe's award.</div>
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The writing on the wall for the death of Gabe's award came early in the school season. The Board of Eduction does not want to have memorials anymore. Apparently at a local Belleville school a child's parents built a butterfly garden in their daughter's memory. This butterfly garden is world acknowledged for it's role in helping to save the monarch butterflies. This is a place that the other children can come and see beauty, and learn about butterflies. Apparently one of this little girl's friends has been traumatized by this garden, and refuses to even walk near it. Because of one sensitive child, everyone else must be penalized, and the other children robbed of beauty and the parents robbed of the ability to continue their child's name. It seems so unfair.</div>
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This year Christopher and I asked if we could sit down with the principle and vice-principle of our school and discuss this year's award. We also asked if they could open the invitation to the teachers at the school, because we really wanted their input. We wanted to know if we were asking too much. We met after school in January. Only one teacher came, and this was her first year teaching full time at our school. She was unfamiliar with the award. Honestly I bit the inside of my mouth, trying not to cry. It was heart breaking that this award meant so little to our school. Ideas were suggested that perhaps the school felt it was unkind to celebrate this award of ten years, because it would be unkind to the memory of little Emily Trudeau, who tragically passed away this September. "Shouldn't we be kind without being prompted to" was another response of the teachers. In the end the result of the meeting was as we suspected, it was just too much work. Our poor principle. I so felt for her, she was in a terrible place, she wanted to help us, but to also respect the wishes of her staff. She suggested that maybe we could have this one last award, and then re-evaluate later. Her face was full of anguish. We thanked everyone, but knew when to stop beating our dead horse. Our award was gone. Our chance to create change and to have at least our small community remember our beautiful boy was gone. The funny thing is that in my opinion we have some the kindest, most caring teachers at our school. I know that some buy milk tickets and give the to children in need in their class, I know of one teacher who supplies his students with supplies that he has used his own personal money to pay for. We have amazing teachers, and yet they did not want to support this award any longer.</div>
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Christopher and I came home from that meeting and were very silent. We both knew what was coming, and yet still we were shocked. I quietly went into my room, shut the door and sobbed. It felt like a death. After the kids all were tucked into bed we sat together and held each other. Thank God we have each other. I sobbed again. I was full of grief because I had lost the ability to allow our Gabe's name to live on. So many people think that after ten years, our grief should be gone. There are those that say that they think of us, and I know they do, but they have the gift to briefly thinking of our loss and then go on with their lives. The only comparison for losing a child I can think of is that of an amputation. When you have a limb amputated you are in agony for the first while. You need to learn how to live without that limb, learn how to do things that used to be easy. Over time the pain of the amputation goes away, but you still have fantom pains, and you still have that missing limb. That is how I would describe the death of our child. Over the years the pain has subsided. There are times when the pain of missing him is almost unbearable, but it is no longer that agonizing pain that it was at first. We have had to learn how to live without Gabe, and that was not an easy road. We have created a new life without him physically here, but like that amputation we are very aware that he is not here.</div>
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