What's "Your Word"?

    A few years ago there was a lot of buzz about the movie "Eat Pray Love".  I don't like being left out of a trend, and so I watched the movie.  I was disappointed, I mean it was o.k. but it just did not live up to the hype.  I had such high hopes for this movie, Oprah said it would change my life!

    About six months after I saw the movie I was at my local library.  I happened to see Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat Pray Love" just sitting there on the shelf.  It beckoned me, it whispered to me "Hey, Tristan, give me a go.  You know how you usually prefer the book to the movie.  Sometimes they are nothing the same, remember "The Shining"?  Come on what do you have to loose?"  So I borrowed that book.  Oprah was right, it was life changing.  I read it with the enthusiasm of a zealot reading the bible, trying to memorize key points.

    

    There was a key lesson in the book, that really stuck with me, and aggravated my husband profusely.  "What is your Word?"  According to Elizabeth Gilbert, every place, every person has a "word".  To me it almost seemed like the legends that said certain native tribes had secret names.  It was as if,  if they shared their name it was like giving away part of their soul.  These native people had a name that everyone called them, and a sacred name that was theirs alone.  I'll be honest, I feel like that a little with my own name.  Have you ever spoken to someone who over uses your name without giving it the reverence it deserves?  I developed this little tick while years ago working at the local convenience store.  We had to wear name tags.  This meant that anyone who could read, could know my name, whether I wanted to share it or not.  To me if you know my name it should be because I choose to share it with you.  There would always be someone one who would look at my name tag and then feel the need to use my name repeatedly (it was usually some pervy looking man).  "How are you today Tristan?  (he would usually have this smug looking face, this look of I am so smart because I can read) Oh and Tristan, could you get me a pack of Players Light?  Oh thanks Tristan.  You have a great day Tristan".  Oh it drove me crazy, but I digress....

    I come back to "What's Your Word?"  I drove poor Christopher crazy after I read that part of the book, and then for a long time after I had finished the book.  The poor man just subtly would shake his head that painful look of "Oh God, here she goes again" etched on his face.  It really resonated for me.  Everyone "thinks" that they know who they are, but very few people actually "KNOW" who they are.  Most people's self image is not based in real life, but in who they would like to be, so not the same.    Ever met the most gossipy person who delighted in sharing everyone else's pain, and she would be the first to tell you that she is a caring person who really cares about other's feelings?  

    I gave very serious thought to my "word".  Each time my "word" would change.  The word should not describe what you do, but who you really are.... just one word.  It's tricky business.  I am not really sure why it was so important for me to find my "true word", but it was.  I was on a voyage of self discovery.  "What's your word" deeply resonated for me, but the book as a  whole affected me deeply.  Each new chapter  I would wake my poor husband to excitedly share something new from the book, something that deeply impacted me.  I finished that book and looked at the world with fresh eyes, my soul felt refreshed.  I wanted to truly live, to take the world into my very pores, to experience life, not just to live.

    As with most things, over time my big inspirations fade.  I find new inspirations and they become the focus for my life (yes I'm that person).  I kind of forgot about the impact that Eat Pray Love had on me because it had been a while since I read it.  That is until last week.  I was sorting through the cheap DVDs at the Walmart Boxing Day sale, there was the DVD "Eat Pray Love" for $5.  I bought it.  The night before last my husband and I sat down together to watch it (yes it's a chick flick, and we all know the reason why a man sits though a chick flick, it is not to indulge his more feminine side, but because he feels that there may be a reward after the movie for him, if you catch my drift).  We sat watching the movie, and as I watched it, I liked it so much more than I did the first time.  It echoed the book.  At the point that they began to talk about their word, I could feel Christopher's whole body grimace.  He knew what was to follow.  Weeks of being harassed about "his word".

    So now I have begun afresh searching for my word.  My quest to find my perfect word.  My first instinct says that my word is "Mother", but that's not really it, that's my phase right now.  I don't really mean phase, I mean, that is not all I am, that is not who I am.  I think my word is "phoenix".  I was someone else, and that someone else erupted into flames, and burned to ash, only to emerge raw and pink to begin again.  I am changing, growing, evolving.  Yes, I think my word is phoenix (I think that Christopher will be most relieved that my quest may be finished.)

Our Build A Bear Adventure

    Yesterday was one of those rare days that found my husband with the day off.  Christopher had to work most of the day New Years Day, and so his boss gave him yesterday off.  It worked out great.  Christopher and I had talked just after Christmas that it might be nice to take the kids to Oshawa (the closest Build A Bear Workshop) .  We had the startling realization that Elly had never made a Build A Bear.  When we found ourselves with some time together, we decided to pack up the kids and head to Oshawa, and let Elly discover the joy of creating her own friend.

    

    There are almost too many selections to pick from when it comes to furry friends.  The three youngest kids picked with ease, they fell in love instantly.  Grace on the other hand is our more indecisive one.  It reached the point of ridiculousness when Grace finally made her decision.  When she had made her decision after much deliberation, once her decision was final, she could not be swayed.

    I have never been to a Build A Bear Workshop that was not busy.  Considering that the company has been in business for so many years you might think that the popularity would wane, but it hasn't.  I guess that each new generation still wants to make his / her own special pet to love.  I will admit although not an inexpensive proposition, it is quite a neat and special event.  I also have to give them credit, that they select wonderful staff, who seem to genuinely like children (or are wonderful actors).  

    The kids all lined up excitedly to stuff their bear.  They each had to tell the girl working the stuffing machine whether they liked a soft and cuddly teddy, or a firm teddy.  Each kid got to push the peddle that controlled the stuffing machine.  By picking out their own skin, and by stuffing the toy themselves, I truly think that it gives them that special feeling of real ownership, because they had a hand in every part of their toy's creation.  It is a rare thing for my children to be patient, but there they all stood, patiently waiting their turn.

    One of the neatest things about the Build A Bear is that the kids get to hand pick a heart for their bear.  They do this neat little ritual, almost like magic before they put the heart in their toy.

    The other thing that is pretty neat about this franchise, neat and expensive are the amazing selections of clothing and accessories for the toys.  There are shorts, and pants, and dresses, and sports uniforms, winter jackets, boots, shoes, skates, snowboards.  Pretty much you name it, they have it for the bears.  The kids methodically checked over the racks and racks of accessories, being sure to match everything up just right.

Riley patiently waiting for her siblings.

Elly giving her new pup a bath and a fluff.

    After the new furry friends had been stuffed, and given a heart (and in Grace's and Elly's case they added a scent for $4 extra dollars - Grace chose Chocolate and Elly chose Candy Floss), sewn, and fluffed, and dressed, they had to fill out the proper information, that would then issue them their own birth certificate.  The kids were all really excited about getting a birth certificate for their friends.  It is a nice touch.

 We left Build A Bear with four really happy and excited children.  They each were excitedly sharing facts about their new friends (facts that they were making up on the spot).  After we left the mall, we headed to Red Lobster for dinner.  That was Christopher and my treat (a special treat enabled by a generous Christmas gift from my brother-in- law Todd, and Christopher's Mom) .  It was nice to sit there, everyone behaving and chatting.  I took a deep breath and tried to make a snap shot in my mind.  The days that my children will want stuffed toys is becoming fleeting, I know that my days are numbered.  I am trying to catalogue it all in my brain, taking mental snap shots of my contentment and trying to save them for when my children are no longer children.  To me this afternoon was bliss.

  

   Driving home the kids all chatted among themselves, occationally one of them would make a crude comment quietly, trying to push their boundaries, and gross out their siblings, all the while doing it quietly, hoping to only be heard by the occupants in the back. I chose to pretend ignorance, secretly enjoying it.  Up front Christopher and I sat with contented looks on our faces, listening to them.  Our looks were all the more content after we stopped for coffee.  We vowed that we need to try and do this more often.  It does not need to be expensive, but we need to step away from our reality more often and just enjoy each other.  Life is too short and time passes too quickly, we need to savor it more often.  We need to find more moments.

   

This Year's Resolution - Be Kind To Myself

This picture has nothing to do with
today's blog, it just makes me happy.

    The last few years I decided to not make a New Year's Resolution.  It seems a little silly when you make the same resolution every single year "This year I resolve to get more organized".  In theory the resolution is a great tool to self improvement.  To make a good resolution you need to be in tune with who you are.  It means that you are really looking at yourself examining the dark, and hopefully looking at what you do that's great.  I think that its something that we all should really do.  Have you ever met someone who's self image is so out of whack with reality?  I know of so many people who would tell you that they need to think about themselves more, but in reality they are some of the most selfish people that I know.  Some people's self image is more along the lines of their wish list, instead of reality.  The person who they would like to be, is who they say they are (delusional, but I suppose on the right track if only they would take the right steps to make it reality).

   This year I am not going to make a resolution, but a pact with myself.  Sometimes the universe whispers in your ear when you are ready to listen.  I have shared this before, but I am a bit of a martyr.  I am a mother and I take that calling very seriously.  I feel that it is a sacred calling for me.  I know that sounds very over dramatic, but it's true.  Somehow in this sacred calling I have confused being a good mother with being a Nun (except for the sex thing, I think with 5 kids, we know that though).  Somehow I have confused being a good mother and wife with giving everything away and leaving nothing for myself.  On the odd occasion that I do take something for myself I feel guilty and like a bad person, oh I know it's messed up.  I suppose I learned by example.  My mother never really took for herself, maybe I figured that's what it means to be a mother.  It is so bad that for my birthday when Christopher's Mom sends me money for my birthday she usually writes a big note in the card that says "DO NOT SPEND THIS ON THE KIDS!   THIS IS TO BUY YOU SOMETHING!"

   I have often heard it said that you need to put into play the rules of the airplane.  On a plane, flight attendants remind parents that if the plane cabin loses pressure, you should apply your oxygen mask first, and then your child's.  If you pass out before you get your child's mask is on, you're both in trouble.  It's also kind of the rules of life.  I have shared with you before that I am by nature a martyr.  I give and give thinking it almost Godly, but then I resent it when I have nothing!  I resent that no one is appreciative that I have given everything, and kept nothing, and yet why should they?  If that is all the kids have ever known and all my husband has ever known of me, why would they notice?  If I give everything I have, then what do I have left to give?  If I feel worthless, then what message am I giving my children? I am teaching my girls that is how a good woman is, and I am teaching my son that is how to treat a woman.  I have slowly begun to make small changes to rectify this, but change is difficult.  It is not easy to change deeply rooted behaviors.

    I realized recently when we all had the stomach flu that changes needed to put into place, I think that is what really hammered home my resolution / pact.  We all had the flu at one time, but my husband lay in our bed, while I walked around holding a bucket to throw up in while I cleaned the kids up, and got them all drinks, and medicine.  I did loads of sheets and towels in the washing machine, all while holding that bucket, all the while my husband was able to get well.  By the next day everyone was feeling a lot better,  and was able to be up and about.  Christopher thought it odd that I still felt awful.  I explained to him that while everyone else had the flu and was able to sleep and be taken care of, I had been on my feet.  It was that little ding that went off.  I will grant you that this is an extreme case, but I should not have to come last.

    There are days that at dinner time I am starving, and it is only then that I realize that I have forgotten to eat that day.  I get so busy looking after everyone else, that I forget to look after myself.  Christopher has been known to shout to me as he's leaving "Remember to eat today!"  Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?  I am an overweight person, anyone that heard him say that would think that he was either a crazy man or chubby chaser.  If I looked after my children the way that I look after myself, Children's Aid would have taken them a long time ago.  If I would NEVER treat my children (or anyone else for that matter) the way that I treat myself, then why would I treat myself like that?  

    This year I vow to be kinder to myself.  I need to treat myself the way that I treat my children, with love.  It is not going to be easy to break old habits, but I think I may be worth the effort.  I'm not saying that I should put myself above anyone else, but perhaps I should sometimes not be at the very, very bottom.  This year I am going to be good to myself, and if I am good to myself, then I will have more to give (at least that's my theory).

Finally, Fire #2!

    Although we were slow to make the beginning of summer fun, we are going gang busters now.  Grace's schedule did not co-operate, nor did the weather at the beginning of the summer.  We had the hottest, driest summer that I can ever remember.  We had a fire ban because we had one small rainfall for the whole month of July.  Fire ban meant no outdoor fires, a summer staple for us.

    Finally mother nature co-operated and brought us rain, glorious rain.  Last night for only the second time this summer, we had a fire.  The smell of the wood burning was heavenly.  It's funny but for me that is the smell of summer.  I love having a time lapse and then wearing a sweater that I have warn to a fire, and that amazing smoke smell that has woven itself into your sweater.  To me this is like an olfactory memory book.  The smell takes you back to that relaxing time, sharing giggles with the kids.

    Last night we may have had some of our best laughs ever.  It is part of our backyard fire tradition to go around the fire and ask each other questions.  Usually the questions are recycled i.e. no one thinks of a new one and we spend the time answering the same questions that we have just answered last week-end.  Last night saw for the most part a fresh batch of questions, most of them were crazy, but they were new questions.  The favourite question of the night, and by far the funniest answers came from Rowan.  He asked "If you had to hang out with one cartoon cereal mascot who would you hang out with?  Your choices are ...

Snap, Krackle, and Pop; Toucan Sam, or Tony the Tiger.  We laughed so hard at everyone's responses that I was expecting a call from one of our neighbours telling us to quiet down!  My response to this question...

I would not like to spend time with Snap, Krackle and Pop because they seem hyperactive, and I hate that.  Toucan Sam seems like he might be a bossy know it all, and everyone knows that I am a bossy know it all, and we would clash.  That leaves Tony the Tiger, and I would ask him to follow me around, point at me and say "Sheeeeeee's GREAT!"  I think it would really help my self esteem.  After my answer, and we moved onto to other peoples questions and answers, every so often Rowan would belt out "Sheeeeeee's GREAT!", and point to me.  This would throw us all back into hysterical laughter, which only caused to make him do it more often (I'm pretty sure Rowan is going to wind up being a stand up comedian when he grows up).

No we were not camping, we just still have not
taken down the tent from the back yard camp out.

    The other really fun aspect of our fire last night were glow sticks.  My friend came for a visit last night and she brought everyone glow sticks.  The kids had a blast.  There were tons of lightsaber inspired battles.  Many of those battles involved the biggest kid... Christopher.  

    We had a really fun night, and all it cost was a bag of wood.  There were no ipods, no televisions, no phone calls, nothing to distract us from just being together.  We didn't need anything except for each other.  Don't get me wrong, the whole illusion quickly dissolved when we came through the doors.  We were then assaulted with requests for snacks, and could they watch t.v. in their beds?  For that two hour period that we  sat around the backyard fire, no one else in the world existed.  We were surrounded by a chorus of frogs and crickets, only broken by the snapping sound of the logs, oh and lots and lots of giggles. 

The Beauty In My Own Back Yard (so to speak)

    I have been moaning about this summer, well all summer.  Our family vacation was this past March (remember me going on and on about Disney).  All of our extra cash (what extra cash) has gone to towards gas to drive Grace back and forth to Stirling twice a day, and now it's time to outfit 4 children for school.  Early on this summer I vowed to make the most of the summer, but have only just started to make good on this promise. We recently took a trip to Roseneath to the carousel and then had a delicious dinner at Mankatos Chip Truck.  It did not cost a lot, but it made memories that will last our children, and ourselves for a lifetime.

    Today I packed a picnic dinner consisting of sandwiches on fresh bakery bread, boiled eggs, slices of cheese, chips and for dessert, Billet Logs (I know I should have included a fruit of veggie, I'll do a veggie tray for a snack tonight).  In terms of dinner, for cost and difficulty, I got off pretty easy.  We packed the kids and the car and headed up the road ten minutes to Vanderwater Park, a local conservation area.

    It had been years since I had been to Vanderwater Park.  I think the last time I was there was before any of the kids were born.  As we drove into the park, I wondered why I had not taken advantage of this beautiful natural resource sooner, it just seems criminal.  It cost very little for the gas to Thomasburg (this is where Vanderwater Park is), the picnic lunch cost less than a hot meal, and there is no cost to use the park.  It's difficult to get a more economical mini-vacation.

    Vanderwater Park is breathtakingly beautiful.  Because we have had so little rain, we were able to walk right across the river.  There are normally several naturally occurring waterfalls.   In times that are not drought conditions, the waterfalls are very impressive.  As girls my sister and I would wade our way over and sit under the falls.  I cannot think of a better way to cool off in the heat of the summer.

    My normally cautious children were like little mountain goats, running over the rocks.  They loved that they could explore, and I loved that the worst they would do is slip on the mossy rocks and get wet.  I felt a little badly for the other day trippers who may have hoped for peace and tranquility.  What they got were my children's squeals of delight.  Apart from the squeals of my delighted children, it was gloriously peaceful.  The loudest noise (other than my kids) was the sound of the water falling.  The only thing that could have made our afternoon better, would have been if someone had delivered Tim Horton's coffees to Christopher to enjoy on one of the big rocks.

    So often I think wistfully of traveling somewhere exotic, somewhere, new, somewhere interesting, somewhere beautiful.  On days like today I realize that if I want to see beauty, all that I really have to do is open my eyes.  I think that sometimes I forget to open my eyes.  Because the stunning beauty is right under my nose I forget to open my eyes and actually see it.  

    When I saw Vanderwater Park today, I was a little ashamed of myself.  I could not believe that someplace this beautiful was only 10 minutes away, and that for more than 17 years I neglected to visit it, probably because it was so close I forgot it existed.  We promised the kids that we would come back again this summer, and bring Gracie this time.

    This is my challenge to you, and to myself, be a tourist in your own backyard.  Look at your own little world like that of a visitor.  Explore the ordinary and you will be surprised by the extraordinary.

My Sister

    For some reason I have really been thinking about my sister today.  I'm not sure why, maybe I'm missing her.  We don't see each other very often, she lives 10 hours away.  It's difficult for her to get down our way.  When she does come home her time is packed in tightly.  There is just not enough time.  I should make more time to call her, but we both have busy families.  Her kids are involved in competitive sports that tie up a lot of week-ends.  My four kids keep my hopping all day, and at night when  I do get five minutes of peace and quiet, I feel like it's too late to call.
   Growing up life always seemed to come easy to Mandy, it probably didn't, but to me it always seemed like it did.  She was adorable when she was little, and everyone thought that she was the cutest thing ever.  I had some insane need to fight the powers that be ( I fought my poor parents on everything), Mandy seemed to get everything by simply just smiling.  Mandy was naturally small, naturally thin, naturally blonde, naturally athletic, naturally popular, naturally everything that I was naturally not.  It burned.  In high school the guys that I liked called our house to ask Mandy out, oh how it burned.  It wasn't her fault, but I resented it.  At this point I would like to share the life lesson that I learned from all of this, but there really isn't one.  I learned to put on my big girl pants and suck it up, does that count as a life lesson?  We grew up.  We went our separate paths in life.  In childhood our paths were so different, but after high school they became more similar.  Mandy went to the same university that I went to York.  She got married, had kids.  She became a stay-at-home mom.
    When we were in that horrendous accident that forever changed my life, my little sister hopped on a plane to be with us.  We had our accident 4 days before Christmas.  Mandy left her husband, her 4 year old daughter, and her two year old son to be here with us.  Gabe died Christmas Eve.  I was in hospital with a ruptured spleen that did not want to stop bleeding, but more I had a broken heart .  She spent the most miserable Christmas of my life with my children, ensuring that Santa came that year, giving them happiness.   Even if I had been home I could never have done that, not at that time.  How do you ever thank someone for that?  I will be forever in her debt.
  She has just finished an early childhood educator program at college.  I am so proud of her.  She worked so hard.  She was one of the oldest people in her class, yet she didn't let it stop her,  I'm not sure I could be that brave.  She has an 8 year old and a 12 year old, goes to school and still manages their schedule.  I am really proud of my little sister.
    I need to call my sister, I miss her.

Little Ears Hear / Know More Than We Think

    My daughter Riley drew the above picture and wrote the picture's explanation below it.  Last year when she was in grade 1 she had to write a story about her family, this was what she wrote and drew about her Daddy.  At the age of six she knew what Daddy did, even though I had desperately tried to shield her from it.  My husband is funeral director, it is such an important job, much more important than people realize (stay tuned for tomorrow's blog and I will elaborate why it is so important).  I know first hand that he is excellent at what he does.  

    For years the kids thought that their Daddy was a UPS man.  Part of Christopher's job is to pick up  bodies from hospitals, nursing homes, accident scenes, where ever they may be.  He works for a small family owned business and so he is on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  That means he gets called out at the most inopportune moments.  When he would receive the phone call from his boss,  I would always tell the kids that "Daddy has to pick up a package for Jon".  When he was running out the door I would ask "do you have to wrap the package?"  This is code for "Do you have to embalm?"  this means that he will be hours, and that way I can make accommodations.  One time one of kids commented on how many packages Jon sends out, I stifled my laugh (secretly congratulating myself on a job well done).

    I have carefully laboured to sanitize my husband's job in my children's eyes.  Yes, I know that death is just as much a part of living as birth.  I know that we as a culture fear death and that we should try to remove some of the fear, I know this.  I also know that my children have a lifetime to learn all of this.  They are small and innocent, why burden them with this at such a young age?  They knew that Daddy "hosted" "goodbye parties" for people who had someone that they love die.  I felt that explanation was close enough to the truth.  Christopher does help people to say good bye to people they love.  They were satisfied, I was happy in my protection of them.  

    My carefully crafted fantasy was shattered with the above picture.  I asked Riley "So is someone taking a nap in your picture?", I tried to take the anxiety out of my voice as I asked.  "No Mommy, they are dead.  That's Daddy, and he's talking to the family and trying to make them feel better."  She said it in the same tone as "silly mommy."  It turns out that my careful wording was more for my benefit, than theirs.  I don't know how she found out what Daddy really does, but she did, and she was not traumatized by it, I was.  I guess they listen more than I give them credit for.

    

My "Max" Mug, Remembering Nana

    I took my "Max" (Maxwell House) mug out of the dishwasher today and wanted to cry.  The once cherry red shiny lettering is beginning to fade.  I'm not sure if I can take it if the lettering comes off.  I need to remember to hand wash it.  This silly mug has been mine since grade 13, that was a long, long time ago.  The Max mug is not just a mug, it represents my Nana's love for me.
    Neither of my grandmother's were the baking cookie type.  Both of them were very far from the stereotypical grandmother.  My Mom is the stereotypical grandmother.  She bakes cookies with them.  She and my Dad spoil them rotten.  Really to fit the bill, my mom just needs to be a bit rounder and wear a bib apron, and she is the advertisement for "Grandmother".  That was not my Grandma or my Nana.  My Nana was one of the strongest woman I know.  She did not have a lot financially, but she more than made up for that in personality, and spunk.
    Nana was my soft spot to fall.  I was pretty certain that I was her favourite grandchild, I never shared this with my sister or cousins, but I was pretty sure I was.   I mentioned that my Nana was one of the strongest women that I know, she was also one of the most interesting.  She saw two world wars, the last of which she was a young mother living in Scotland.  Nana would tell tales of waking up and neighbourhood houses would have been reduced to ruble when they woke.  They would hear the sirens at all hours and listened for the whistle of the bombs.  She sent her children off to school, and did not know if she would see them again.  I would sit and listen to her every word, every pause, every breath.  She would tell us stories of our family history (I'm now not sure how much truth there was to them).  We heard stories of Robert The Bruce, Bonny Prince Charley, and The Isle of Skye.  We were descendants of Robert the Bruce (I was really upset when I watched Brave Heart), Nana told us.  A Bruce never killed a spider, it was because of a spider that he went on to defeat the English.  She never spoke about her trip to Canada.  I think about how brave she was, traveling to a new country with four small children, all by herself (My Papa and my Aunt Jean had come over six months earlier.)  She left her sisters and brothers, and mother and father behind, knowing that she may never see them again.  She plunged herself into the great unknown.  I wonder now if she never spoke of it, because it was too hard to think about.
    Nana was a double amputee, and yet she danced at everyone of her grandchildren's weddings.  She never complained about having no legs, at least not that I ever heard.  She always held herself so straight and with such dignity.  She was my role model.  She did not have a lot of money, but she always managed to give me a little money when I went on school trips.  "Here Pet", and she would hand me a jam jar full of change.  I was "Pet" when she was especially loving.  "Pet",one of the best words in the English language.
    Nana was never without a cup of black instant coffee and a cigarette.  When my Riley was born I said to my Mom, "oh she looks like Nana, she just needs a cigarette and a pair of knitting needles".  It was always Maxwell House instant coffee.  When I was in grade 13 there was a promotion run by Maxwell House Coffee.  If you collected something like a million coffee labels they would send you a "Max" coffee mug.  I needed that mug.  It would be the crowning jewel to my collection of items that I needed for university. Every time I saw Nana I would ask how many labels we had.  "We're almost there Pet".  Finally after what felt like years we had enough.  I sent the labels off and then not so patiently waited.  When my mug finally came, you would have thought it was made of gold.  I was so excited.
    I went off to university with my mug, a treasured possession.  Whenever I drank out of that mug, it felt like a little hug from Nana.   My Nana was 83 when she died.  I was a newly wed.  I thought that the bottom had dropped out of my world.  I was inconsolable.  My mug took on even more meaning.  Still to this day when I pull my "Max" mug out of the cupboard I smile.  It seems insane to feel an emotional connection with a mug, feel free to call me insane, because I do.  That mug reminds me of my Nana's love.  It reminds me of what a powerful force she was in shaping me.  It makes me thankful for the strong stock I come from.

One of Those Days!

One of those days...

    I started my morning with that dreadful shock that comes from realizing that you have over slept.  I jumped out of bed in a dirty panic, dressed and was out the door.  The morning only progressed after that.  I had an early morning doctors appointment in Belleville (forty-five minutes away).  Although I did not receive bad news, it was irritating news.  I drove home to see my son's little face pressed against the picture window, I stupidly thought he was lovingly watching for me, but turns out he was just impatient for me to get home.  I was met at the door by my husband all dressed for work, and in a panic, because his boss had called him in early, and he was now a half hour late (even though I had told my husband what time my doctor's appointment was and had told him the earliest time I could be home, and had beaten that time by half an hour).  He then rushed out the door.  The kids were late for school, but I was pleased to see that they were all dressed and ready, until I saw what they were wearing.  Rowan had on camo pants that were too short and ripped at the knee with a stripped polo shirt that was slightly too short.  Grace was wearing pants that were too small and stained.  I walked into the living room to a sea of game pieces and scattered puzzles.  You can imagine how it went after that.  By the time I had dropped the kids off I was so wound up I was nearly shaking.  I kept telling myself what a dreadful morning it had been.  The more I thought about it the worse it became, in other words I was escalating.  Then I started into my poor me routine, "I do everything for all of them, and this is how they treat me!", along with my other inner running dialogues.  The recurring thought was "how could they treat me this way?"  I then started with the absolute thinking that "this day was going to STINK!!!!!"
    I had to stop on the way home at the bakery and buy some bread.  I stopped the car outside of the bakery and opened the back door to get Elly out.  I unbuckled her, and as I was getting her out of her seat, she wrapped her little arms around my neck, with her little face beaming she said "I love you!"  In that very second my anger and hurt feelings melted.  I guess we all need to feel loved, especially in times when we have forgotten that we are.  Thank you Elly for reminding me.

    The fine print to this story is that a certain little sweetheart got her choice of treat at the bakery.