The Invaluable Gift Of Self- Defense

    Have you ever been singing a song and then it came on the radio?  Have you ever been talking about someone and then they called, or ran into them, you know "speak of the devil"?  I had that today.  Last night I was really thinking about my high-school science teacher, Mr. Berry.  Mr. Berry not only taught me science, he taught a bunch of us girls self defense.  I think we all stayed after school.  It was a fun time with my friends.  Mr. Berry had a black belt in Karate and taught us how to maximize our strength when fighting off an attacker, how to use common objects to protect ourselves, he taught us how to survive.  I mention the first few sentences of this paragraph, because it was like that.  Last night I had been really thinking about Mr. Berry and the self defense classes.   I don't mean just thinking, I mean really putting him in my mind and throwing out gratitude to him, I don't even know what brought him to my mind. This morning I saw him at the mall.  He looked the same, maybe a little thinner, a little older, but the same.  I wanted to stop him, to thank him, but I had my kids, he was with his wife, he looked like he was in a hurry.  After he had walked past me, I kicked myself for not being brave enough.  This was the first time I had seen Mr. Berry since high school, and just when I had been thinking about him, and I could not make myself stop him and thank him.  How do you stop someone who would have no idea who you are, when he is with his wife, when I have my children with me?  How do I stop him and thank him for giving me the tools to stop my own sexual assault more than twenty years ago?

    It was the summer before I was going off to university.  I was working at our local convenience store. I worked with a great bunch of people and still talk to a lot of them.  We had a great camaraderie.  Depending on who I worked with I was guaranteed to be in hysterics most of the shift.  We would all laugh about the customers that we had to deal with, most of them were a really great bunch of people.  There was one shift that changed my life forever, but also greatly empowered me.
    I was working until close with a guy I knew liked me, I also knew it was not a good "like".  I knew, there was some reason that I should not work close with him, that tickling fear in the back of my brain, that fear that seems unfounded, but often saves lives.  I tried frantically to get the other guy we were working with to switch shifts with me.  That little voice inside my head was screaming her head off, she knew that something bad was going to happen, something VERY bad.  I was almost in tears as I begged him to switch, "No way, I've got a party to got to."  All night it was like walking on egg shells, feeling sick, waiting.  I knew it was not an if, it was a when, I could see the way he was looking at me.  That voice inside my head kept shouting "just run".  I did not run, but worked until the end of my shift.  The front door was locked, the lights, turned off.
    He was bigger than me, stronger than me.  He followed me into the office where I had gone to start the security camera.  He followed me, blocking me in with his body, touching me where he had no permission to touch.  He had an intent that was not consensual and he thought that because he was so much bigger than me, so much stronger than me, that there was nothing that I could do, but to submit.  He learned a very valuable lesson that day, a lesson that cost him broken bones.  My mind became calm in that moment.  All of the panic I had felt until that moment, vanished.  There was only calm.  My body worked independently, remembering everything it had been taught.  His face was just behind my head, breathing rapidly, I expect he had different ideas than I as to what would come next.  I believe it took him quite by surprise as I smashed the back of my head into his face.  As he was reeling from the pain and shouting "You broke my nose!", I held my fist tightly and I used it to help bring power to my other arm, just as Mr. Berry had taught us those few years ago.  My powerful elbow made magnificent contact with his ribs, causing him to drop like a pound of bricks to the floor writhing in agony.  I calmly turned around, and walked over his writhing body, and did not look back.  I walked calmly and briskly to my car, and then drove away.
    At first I was rattled.  Someone had just tried to sexually assault me.  Then the beautiful realization whisped up, gradually, slowly like a thick smoke.  He had "tried", I had stopped him.  No knight in shining armor needed to rescue me, he could just go ahead and find a damsel in distress, I could save myself.  It was terrifying to think that anyone would try to take what was not theirs to take, but it was empowering to know that I had felled someone twice my size.
    I sit here wondering now, do I publish this?  Is it too graphic, not family friendly enough?  Have I crossed that line where I share just too much of myself?  It probably is, and yet there have been too many strange coincidences surrounding this event the last two days.  I feel almost compelled to share this, just as I feel compelled to sit tomorrow and much belatedly write Mr. Berry a card thanking him for those amazing skills that he taught me.  It's funny, "It's A Wonderful Life" is my all time favourite movie.  It shows how much one life can touch so many, and that one life has no idea the difference that he/ she has made in the lives of others.  I wonder just how many women Mr. Berry saved?  I sit here writing this feeling great gratitude.  I feel gratitude for the skill I was given, and gratitude for the empowerment that terrible experience gave me, that has stayed with me like an invisible tattoo all of these years.
    So here I sit, still wondering, do I share?  Then I looked up the statistics....

Sexual Assault Statistics in Canada
Statistics disprove numerous common misconceptions about rape and sexual assault. While many people believe sexual assault is a rare crime that usually happens between strangers in a dark alley, in reality only a tiny percentage of cases fit this description. See below for some other important and interesting stats.

A Statistical Representation of the Truth

• Of every 100 incidents of sexual assault, only 6 are reported to the police
• 1 - 2% of "date rape" sexual assaults are reported to the police
• 1 in 4 North American women will be sexually assaulted during their lifetime
• 11% of women have physical injury resulting for sexual assault
• Only 2 - 4% of all sexual assaults reported are false reports
• About 50% of sex assaults occur on dates
• 60% of sexual abuse/assault victims are under the age of 17
• over 80% of sex crime victims are women
• 80% of sexual assault incidents occur in the home
• 17% of girls under 16 have experienced some form of incest
• 83% of disabled women will be sexual assaulted during their lifetime
• 15% of sexual assault victims are boys under 16
• half of all sexual offenders are married or in long term relationships
• 57% of aboriginal women have been sexually abused
• 1/5th of all sexual assaults involve a weapon of some sort
• 80% of assailants are friends and family of the victim
• 63% of victims suffer physical harm
• 9% of victims are disfigured from the attack

borrowed from sexassault.ca

I feel compelled to share, maybe I will encourage more women to take self-defense classes, maybe I will encourage more parents to seek out self-defense classes for their children.  I'm going to see if I can enroll Grace in a class.  I hate to think of anyone hurting any of my children, the thought is nightmarish.  I hate to think about the need to enroll my children in a self defense class, but the alternative, is unthinkable.  I think what if I had not had that class?  I really don't think I could have fought off a 200 pound man who was over 6 feet with my then 5 foot 5, 115 pound frame, not without the tools I had.

    I know that Mr. Berry forever impacted my life with his teachings.  I would also like to think that Mr. Berry saved other women.  I like to think that my attacker never again touched another women without consent, and when he thought about inappropriate nonconsensual thoughts with another woman his face and ribs would ache with just the thought.  I guess that makes up my mind, I'm sharing.

You Know You're A Mom When You Use "Dora" as a Measurement of Time

    If Lake George, New York is 190 miles away, and one mile equals one minute, and one episode of Dora takes 30 minutes, how many "Dora's" will it take to get there?  Oh well that's easy, you start by dividing 190 by 30 (because each episode of Dora the Explorer is 30 minutes long).  Your answer is it will take 6.3333333 if you don't take pee or poo breaks.  And you didn't think you would have to do math when you grew up.

    Sometimes you have those moments of clarity when you realize that some of the things that you regularly do as a "mom", are things that childless people would think crazy (and there is a good chance that it is).  As a Mom you try to make your children understand the world in terms that they can understand.  When they are little they do not really understand the measurement of time, but they do know how long it takes to watch an episode of their favourite show.
    When Gracie was little she was gaga for Dora the Explorer.  One day we were headed to Christopher's Mom and Dad's house which is a three hour drive with bathroom breaks.  Gracie asked "How long until we get Grandma and Grandpa's?"  I automatically answered her with "Three hours."  "But how long is that?"  I then had to think, how do you make kid's understand time measurement?  "That's 6 Doras".  She was satisfied with that.  Later with the advent of portable DVD players for the car, it made that measurement even easier.  We would slap in a Dora the Explorer DVD, and the kids would know that after they had watched 6 episodes we would be at Grandma and Grandpa's house.  They could even count it down, "We've seen 2 Dora's that makes 4 more Doras until we get there."
    One of the funniest moments for me was on one of our road trips I had the girls in the washroom.  One of the girls asked "How many Dora's until we get there?"  I answered her, and then the woman who was at the sink beside us went into hysterics.  " I thought we were the only ones who measured time in Dora's".  We had a little shared giggle, when from a stall further in the bathroom we heard "We measure in Bob the Builders".  I guess as Moms no matter our cultural background we are pretty much the same... crazy.
    Yesterday we had a more mature variation on counting in Doras.  Grace shouted up from the back seat "How many songs on the radio until we get home".  Sorry Dora, you may be replaced.  So if each song lasts 3 minutes, and we have .......Great just what I need, more math.....

Things The Pregnancy Books Don't Tell You...

    We are all sick AGAIN!  This year has been one big booger fest.  It got me to thinking about all the things that they don't prepare you for in those pregnancy books.  When you want to get pregnant you think about this beautiful pink little baby to hold in your arms.  At no point do you have any almost sense of what you have in store.  I guess if we knew what was in store, there may not be many babies.
I have compiled a few off the top of my head things that occurred to me while I luxuriated in my silky bubble bath (with the door locked and glass of wine in hand).  Here they are in no particular order....

#1  In the "What to Expect When You Are Expecting"  I seem to remember there was about a page of the common child illnesses and what their symptoms are.  This does not really prepare you unless your child catches some text book illness, which mine rarely do.

My advice to childless women who are contemplating pregnancy... be prepared to have your child vomit in your mouth / and or hair (in my case repeatedly).  Consider it a right of passage.  If you are not prepared to have a vomit shower, may I suggest that you either start working extra shifts / and or begin playing the lottery, because you will need lots of money for your live in Nanny.  If you are not prepared  to hire a nanny nor are you prepared for a mouth full of vomit, may I suggest sterilization and perhaps a house full of cats?  I have come to realize that children are walking talking germ magnets.  When they are tiny everything goes into their mouth.  When mine were tiny I would carry along in my diaper bag Lysol wipes.  I would wipe every single nook and cranny in those shopping carts.  Let me tell you I got some strange looks and more than a few people would elbow each other to look at the crazy lady.  The first thing a baby does is mouth the cart, even if you have one of those fancy seats that fits in the cart, and I did.  When you have school aged children it is futile to pretend that you can prevent them bringing every germ home.  Just know that they will bring home the Bubonic Plague and they will infect every single member of your family... just know this.  Also know that they will not allow you to go into your child's school and Lysol their desk and pencil sharpener, and any object that those other germ infested classmates may touch.  When I say "they" I mean my kids.  I have now begun to stock up on kleenex, cold medications, and Tylenol when I buy their school clothes.

#2  If Hell hath no furry like a woman scorned, then what do they say about the whole world of hurt you are in for if you hurt one of my kids?  I am a pretty nice, mild mannered lady.  I say please and thank you, I hold open doors for people.  If you lit me on fire I would be shocked, but I doubt I would say anything to you (for those of you considering this, I'd rather we did not test this theory).  In other words I am a pretty nice person .... that is until you wrong my child, then all bets are off.  I will tear off your arms and legs and then use you like a soccer ball if you dare to hurt one of my children.  You don't want to make me angry, you would not like me if you made me angry.  My kids have a sense of security knowing that I will always have their back, no one will ever wrong them and get away with it as long as I have breath in my lungs.

#3  Once I became a mother, I became everybody's mother.  I feel like I have to mother every child I see (whether they would like me to or not, just ask Gabe's poor friends).  I cannot see a child hungry without remedying it.  I cannot see a child go cold without fixing it.  I have embarrassed my kids on numerous occasions by asking other children if they need me to run back to the house and get them a jacket.  I feel like every child deserves the love that my children receive unconditionally, it physically hurts me to see other children in terrible situations (this means with parents who cannot or will not properly feed or cloth their children or look after them).  On more than a few occasions I have become an advocate for children who do not have one, I just can't seem to help myself.  Do you see now why I feel a bit sorry for our principal and vice-principal?  The books did not mention this in any chapter.

#4  Your kids are going to have friends that you strongly dislike.  If you voice this they are probably going to tell said kid, and do you want to give that kid a complex?  Even if you don't care about making a kid sad, when you tell your child you don't like their friend, you have just catapulted that awful little wretch from "friend" to "Very Best Friend In The Whole Wide World".  You have just thrown gasoline and a match onto open rebellion that may not have otherwise existed.  Did I mention that I am telling you this from experience?  I have learned that it is best to keep my big mouth shut, and wait, like a sniper.  I wait until the opportunity arises for passive aggression.  For example " Mom.. Suzy said that I couldn't play with her at recess, and then she said something rude about my new shirt".  I act mildly surprised by this.  I then casually say something like "Oh I am sorry that you had such a bad day.  Wow what would make Suzy act like that?  Did you say something that might have hurt her feelings?"  You need to understand that at this point I am trying hard not to smile, you know that evil smile that the Grinch uses after he has just stolen all of the toys and food in Whosville?  "It sounds like Suzy isn't acting like a very nice friend."  Then I wait for them to deduce their own conclusions.  I then go about my business, and will casually, innocently ask "Who did Kathy play with at recess today?"  Instead of "Kathy" insert the name of a kid I would like them to play with, you know a nice kid, with nice parents.  That's all it usually takes at least until they get on to me, and then I guess I will need a new game plan.  This one, also not in those books.

#5  Last but certainly not least.  Those books did not prepare me for the depth of love that I would feel for my kids.  It is almost a religion for me.  When I watch them (not always, I'm not perfect you know) I can almost feel waves of love hit them and repel back.  I feel my self soften when I look at them.  There are no words that could adequately describe the love I feel.  Don't get me wrong, there are times that I would like to very much run away from home.  There are times when I would like to give them a nice tight hug around their little necks.  I adore my kids, but there are times they drive me crazy.  I feel like I need to add that it was not love at first sight (don't tell them that, because I will deny it).  Everyone always tells you that you will melt when you first look at your baby, I didn't.  I had huge babies (9 pounds 3, 9 pounds 10 ounces, 6 pounds 12 ounce, 6 pounds 4 ounces and that was twins and a whole month early, and my last was three weeks early and weighed in at 8 pounds on the dot).  I had monster babies and with all but two of them the stupid OBs decided that I would have a better push urge if they let my epidural run out at the time that I most needed it.  No, I was too exhausted to feel that rush of unconditional love.  It took me a little while to forgive them for causing me all of that pain.  I fell in love with them after I got some energy back, after the pain was just a memory.  It was more like almost love at first site.  I think too often as mothers we do not feel secure enough to admit this.  I think we feel that it makes us less.  It doesn't matter if it was love at first sight, what matters is that you love them now.


    So there you have it, a random list of things those pregnancy bibles don't tell you about.

The Christmas Lesson

     And then there was beautiful glorious peace.  All the worrying, all of the stress, all of the planning, all of the work ... done.  I'm sitting here in almost silence, just the light of the Christmas lights and the soft light of the computer screen are the only lights, my brand new Kate Bush "The Whole Story" Cd (a gift from my thoughtful husband) is softly playing while I drink a well earned glass of wine.  The dishwasher is softly humming in the background.  The kids are all tucked in upstairs, hopefully passed out after all of the excitement.  At this moment in time, life is very good.

    It's the same thing every year.  Don't they say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results?  If that's the definition of of insanity, then they should consider fitting me for a nice 600 thread count straight jacket.  I set this impossibly standard for myself and make myself and everyone around me crazy trying to achieve it.  Everything must be perfect, magical, and often it is, but there's a price.  By the time Christmas rolls around I am so stressed out that I am biting everyone's head off and practically foaming at the mouth.  I wonder if it's worth it.  I wonder if I asked them if they would trade their crazy perfection seeking mother for a not so perfect calm Christmas?  I won't ask them, I'll make the vow next year to plan better (and I won't).

    There is just so much excitement, so much lead up to Christmas.  It's all done in what seems like the blink of an eye.  The wrapping paper strewn everywhere, the expensive gifts as far as the eye can see.  Having said that, there are also really happy little kids.  This year we vowed to cut back.  In past years I tried to over compensate the loss of their brother with gifts.  This year I didn't.  I had that holding my breath moment, while the last gift had been opened.  I kept waiting for them to be disappointed, and yet marvelously they were not.  All of their needs had been met.  They were happy children, thankful for what they had!

    Christopher took three out of four kids out to toboggan on the big hill behind the house (Elly went to school this week, so of course she became sick).  They were all bundled up, full of excitement ready to test out the brand new sleds from Nana and Popa.  I stood at the picture window watching them trudge up that hill.  It was beautiful.  The kids would strain their neck to excitedly say something to their Daddy, and he would look down and smile.  They would let out squeals of delight and excitement as they flew down the hill.  I remembered that I am very blessed.  We have enough.  I am married to a wonderful man.  I have beautiful, lovely children.  I am blessed.  

    After dinner the whole family sat down to watch a movie.  Two of the kids were laid across their father like blankets, he just lay there, unaware.  One of the kids was stretched out on the floor using the pup as a pillow.  We were warm, our stomaches were full, we had each other, and that is all that really matters.  Peace just fell over me.  All of the work, all of the worry, the stress, the planning, the tears, it all fell away.  I need to find a way in my daily life, when I am up to my ears in stress (and my shoulders are up at my ears) to stop, and visualize that moment.  I need to take a deep breath and remember just how blessed I am.  I have a husband who loves me for me, I have beautiful children, I have parents who are healthy and who love me, I have friends who are amazing and who are there for me when I need them, I live in a beautiful place, my life is good.  I need to remember that in the moments of stress.  I just wish that I could readily remember that when I need it most.  I guess its something to work towards.  I am after all still a work in progress.

    

My Cup Runneth Over (remembering my blessings in a difficult time)

    My cup runneth over, I am blessed.  When there are terrible things going on in the world (and occasionally in my own life), sometimes it is difficult with all of that pain out there to remember how very blessed that we are.  It's too easy to plunge into despair, wondering why there is so much evil in the world.  Often it is harder to look around and see what is right with the world, because it is not so glaringly obvious.  Sometimes it is difficult to see the forrest for the trees.

    I have shared more than once that this is a difficult time of year for Christopher and I.  I find myself sinking into despair as Christmas approaches, it's a little like quick sand.  At first you wonder why you are having difficulty moving your feet, then you look down and realize why.  There is the fighting to get out of the quick sand, and then the acceptance, that there is now nothing you can do about it.  That is the way that depression rolls in for me beginning December 1.  I feel powerless to stop it, an it does not leave until after Gabe's birthday (February 2).  This has been the pattern for 8 years, I have come to expect it, but not to embrace it.  

    Today something wonderful happened to me.  My day began, a usual Monday.  I got up early, went to Breakfast Club (I volunteer at my children's school to feed hungry children breakfast on Monday mornings). I then took Elly to her speech therapy session in Madoc, uneventful.  I took Elly to school, and signed her in.  It was almost recess when we arrived, so I kept her in her winter clothes.  When the bell rang I walked her to the door to go out for recess.  She spotted Riley and Rowan and ran off without even looking back.

    I walked out to the car, a smile on my face.  I decided to sit in the car and watch the kids at recess, everything else on my to do list could wait.  It was not long before I spotted Riley and Rowan walking together, that made me smile.  I looked a little closer and noticed that Elly was holding hands with Riley and her friend Huntyr.    Elly then broke loose from the girls to go and hug Rowan.  She ran between Rowan and his friend Zack.  I could see Zack bend down to speak to her. They played together, the five of them all recess.  Riley would wait patiently for Elly to catch up to her.  Elly ran between Rowan and Riley, often having her little cupcake hatted head patted by one of the big kid's friends.  All of them looked at her with adoration.   I sat there, my face hurt from smiling, and I could barely see them for my tears of love.  I was so proud of them.

    We have a large family, it is something that we did by choice.  Our children have built in friends.  My children genuinely like each other.  That is not to say that they don't fight, they fight, but not in a mean way.  There are lots of personality conflicts, but I think that this is just the training ground for future conflict resolution.  You need to learn how to deal with people.  At the end of the day, they love each other.  Honestly, most days I look at them and realize that I am a good mother, we are raising them to be good, kind, loving people.  They will have friends that will come and will go, but they will have each other long after their father and I leave this earth.  No one on this earth other than your parents loves you or knows you like your siblings.

    It has been my ability to see the beauty in the world that allowed me to come through the death of my nine year old oldest, beautiful son.  It is the glass half full that has seen me through some very dark days.  I see the darkness, the evil that the world has, but I choose to focus on the good, on the light.  It may be naive but I think that by focusing on the darkness we give it all the more power.  We need to see that there is cruelty and hate in the world, and try to do our part to change it.  We need more love, more kindness.  We need to embrace the light, and give it more power.

    Today as I sat in that cold damp car I watched my world (well 4/5 of my world, Grace is at the other school and Christopher was at work).  I forgot about my grief.  I forgot that another mother has no baby to tuck in tonight.  All I could see was love.  All I felt was goodness.  I realized as I often do, but without the same kind of intensity, I am blessed, my cup runneth over.  

Our Missed Polar Express

    This blog should have been two days ago.  It feels a little disjointed, but that's o.k.  I shared a few days ago about our magical trip to the Adirondack mountains.  Every time I think about that magical mini-vacation I smile, I've got a silly little smile right now while I'm writing this.  

    As is the case with our family vacations, they all snowball out of one idea.  Our whole reason for visiting the Six Flags Great Adventure Lodge and the Adirondacks was to ride the Polar Express.  The Polar Express is a very special movie for our family.  After the twins (Riley and Rowan) were born our world was thrown into chaos.  Two babies at the same time, it was so much to adjust to.  Poor Gabe and Grace fell to the side, they got what scraps of time we could spare for them.  By the time Riley and Rowan were 5 months we finally had it figured out.  This was around the Christmas Season.  It was at this time that The Polar Express came out.  Christopher took Gabe and Grace to see it at the theatre.  They came back with huge smiles on their faces, it was easily their favourite movie.  We did not know it then, but it would be the last movie that Gabe would ever see.  The Polar Express from that moment on became forever linked with our love of Gabe, and our time as a family.  It was a beautiful movie in its own right, but now it was almost religious to us.  Three years ago we learned that some scenic railroads were doing "Polar Express" trips.  We booked our tickets for the one in Utica, New York.  It was magical.  This year I was searching for other railways that offered Polar Express rides, and discovered Saratoga Springs North Creek Railway.  There was a video that showed a glass ceiling decorated for the season, and waiters singing the "Hot Hot Hot Hot Chocolate" song from the movie while they handed out steaming mugs of hot chocolate to pajama clad children.  I knew that we had to go to this ride.  I began to plan our vacation around this wonderful train ride.  I booked our tickets in the beginning of October, and the began to look for accommodations.  I accidentally came across the Six Flags Great Adventure Lodge, it was affordable accommodations, and was close enough to Saratoga Springs.

      We had planned to surprise the kids with the whole trip, but I am terrible at surprises and told them about the lodge.  We kept the Polar Express a secret, thank goodness.  We watched the movie the Saturday night before we left for our trip.  Rowan exclaimed "Can we go to the Polar Express ride again one day?"  I tried to wipe the knowing little smile from my face.  Inside I was giggling thinking about what a wonderful surprise it was.

    I had printed off directions from Map-quest.  I had thought that the Saratoga Springs North Creek Railway was in "Saratoga Springs", but I could not find it, so then I found the "North Creek Railway", I was able to get directions for it.  On our way to the lodge we drove past a sign pointing to "North Creek", I gave Christopher a knowing smile as I pointed it out.  It was farther away than I had thought it would be.  I decided in my head how long we would need to give ourselves to get there.

    I wanted to leave the lodge at 3:00 p.m., I put the kids in the pjs.  They were wondering why I wanted them to be in their pjs at 3:00, but I told them we were going to look at Christmas lights and it would be more fun in their pjs (children are gullible).  They goofed around, and stalled, and squeaked and had to go to the bathroom as we were about to leave, and the whole time I am thinking that my head might very well explode right off of the top of my head.  "What's the big rush, we're just going to see Christmas lights?".  It was closer to 3:30 when we left.  "That's o.k., that's o.k. we need to be there an hour before, our train leaves at 5:30, maybe it doesn't take as long as I thought to get there."  We were in the car five minutes when Rowan started whining "Can't we go back to the hotel?  I don't want to look at stupid Christmas lights."  This went on for quite a while before I finally lost it.  We finally got to "The North Creek Railway".  There were two cars, weird.  

    We walked into the rail area and this older man told us that we didn't want to go in there, had been a malfunction with the furnace and there was soot everywhere.  Christopher asked where we caught the Polar Express, the man gave us a sad look "Oh you catch that in Saratoga Springs, it's an hour and a half away."  It was 4:45, our train left at 5:30.  We barked at the kids to get into the van, they still thought that we were going to look at Christmas lights.  Rowan started back up with "I don't want to look at Christmas lights, can't we just go back to the hotel?"  There was a misty rain and fog.  Christopher was wearing that mask of determination that usually spells out a fight.  It was not good.  I developed the mantra, "Maybe we can catch the 7:00 train, maybe they will transfer our tickets.  Maybe we can catch the 7:00 train, maybe they will transfer our tickets."  I kept repeating this over and over again interrupted with my "Christopher, show down, I'd rather miss it than be dead!"
    We got lost in Saratoga Springs.  We oohed and awed over their Christmas displays, but all the while Christopher and I were stressed out.  Those tickets had cost a lot of money, the page clearly read "No Refunds".  What if the second train was sold out?  "Maybe we can catch the 7:00 train, maybe they will transfer our tickets."  Finally Christopher ran in and asked directions from these two teens working at Dunkin Doughnuts.  We found the train station, the parking lot was really crowded.  Christopher ran ahead to see if we could transfer our tickets.  I brought the kids in after.
    There was no second train, we were out of luck.  The people that worked at the station were lovely.  They felt so badly that we had gotten lost and missed our train.  A lovely lady ran out with Polar Express colouring books for the kids.  The kids were disappointed when they found out what we had planned, but they got over it.  Christopher and I drove back in silence, so disappointed.
   We pulled into the parking lot of the lodge.  Dejectedly we walked up to our room.  In a stoke of genius I shouted out "Who wants Milkshakes?"  It was good that there was only one other family staying at the lodge that night, because the excitement was deafening.  "Can we keep our pajamas on?"  Grace asked.  "You bet", I returned finally beginning to come out of that stressed out haze.  We took off our jackets and walked down to "Johnny Rockets", conveniently located in the lodge.  The kids all sidled up to the counter on the bright red spinning stools.  They didn't care what they missed out on, they were in the moment.  An Oreo milkshake wiped away the disappointment.  Christopher and I looked at each other, our kids were happy, nothing else mattered.  We drowned our own sorrows in the rich shakes, there will be other years to catch the Polar Express, but we were in the here and the now.   I wish that all of life's problems were so easily solved.

Our Indulgent Movie Day

    Today was a rare day, we did something that was to me so indulgent, so luxurious, we spent most of the day at the movie theater.  I have always thought how decadent and how much fun it would be to watch several movies in the same day, and today presented itself as such a day.

    Our local movie theatre has begun to run family movies on Saturdy mornings.  The family movies are older movies for the low price of $2.50 (remember when that was what movies cost on half price Tuesdays back in high school).  Today they were running "A Christmas Story".  Don't ask me why, but Christopher has done nothing but talk about wanting to take the kids to see it.  I was not as excited as he was, but was all on board for inexpensive fun, and A Christmas Story is a really funny movie.  

    The theatre was not packed, there were lots of great seats, I like that.  We all sat down and waited for the movie to begin.  It had barely begun when we noticed that the sound was terrible.  It sounded like we were listening to the sound in a bucket.  Christopher went out and told someone.  There were a few technical blips, that involved the movie starting and stopping.  Eventually a theatre employee came in and announced that due to the technical difficulties they would refund everyone's money, or give them movie passes, or they could continue to watch the show.  We chose the latter, most of the other people chose to leave.  We laughed at all of the familiar hilarious parts.  At one point I laughed so hard and so loud (remember the part where Ralphie goes to tell Santa that he really wants a Red Rider Bee Bee gun.  As the elf tosses Ralphie down the slide, he realizes that he froze and never told Santa what he wanted.  My favourite part of the whole movie is where Santa puts his foot on Ralphie's face and pushes him down the big red slide all the while saying "HO HO HO"), I humiliated my husband and kids.  We made the best of it, and enjoyed the movie in spite of the bad sound.  The nice treat was that as we left the theatre, there was an employee handing out passes for a free future family movie.

    We had an hour and a half before we were meeting up with my parents to see movie number 2, "Rise of the Guardians".  The kids were starving, so we headed to Arby's for lunch.  We sat around the two tables pushed together, enjoying each other's company, we don't do that enough.  We were finished lunch with enough time to head back to the theatre for washroom breaks and the concession stand (we had a really light lunch so that we could indulge in popcorn).

    Our family took up most of the back row (I have discovered that I really like the back row, because there are no dumb dumbs to kick the back of your seat).  We all settled in.  It was a really great movie.  There were numerous times that the kids, and my husband looked over expectantly to see if I was crying ... I was.  I also sat there with a stupid grin on my face just enjoying the joy of it.  We were all together, getting ready to fill with the Christmas spirit.  My love enveloped most of the back row (oh heck I have enough love that I could have shared with the two strangers at the end of our row).  I sat there feeling thankful that we could do this.  It really was not an expensive day (I got a great deal on the tickets at CAA), but more than that, it was special.  We may never do something so decadent as that again, but it was a special day, and one I hope that the kids will remember, even if they forget the movies that they saw.

We're Reading "The Guardian - Book One"

    The kids are really excited to watch The Guardians at the movies.  I have to admit it does actually look pretty good (as far as suffering through children's movies go).  I did not know it, but it is a book series.  I have this thing reading books before watching movies.  I think that it drives the kids a little crazy, but that's just how I roll.  To me, the book is usually better than the movie, and I like to compare them.  When we read Harry Potter and then watch the movie I really like to ask the kids how the movie compares to the book.  Did the characters look and sound the way they did in your mind?  I know I'm a nerd.... I think that I may have already shared this fact with you.

    The kids were pretty excited to begin a Christmas activity.  I made them all hot chocolate, and snuggled them in blankets.  We then settled in for our read, The Guardians; Book One - Nicholas St. North and The Battle of the Nightmare King.  The books are written by William Joyce and Laura Geringer.  As I began to read, the style of writing seemed like an older author.  By older author what I mean is I expected the books to have been written in the early 1900's, but it was written in 2011.  The writing is really excellent, it's very vivid, it's really smart.

   "Looking wildly up at the sky, Pitch sniffed the air in ecstasy.  With one shrug and a toss of his midnight cloak, he blotted out the Moon.  He crouched down and dug his fingers into the earth, letting the scents of the surrounding forest reach into his searching brain.  He was ravenous, overwhelmed by a fiery hunger that burned him from within."

    I like that the writing has not been dumbed down for kids.  Every few paragraphs I would stop and ask them questions.  "Do you know what ravenous means?"  They did not.  " Do you ever remember being really hungry?"  They did.  "Now think about how it would feel if you had not eaten in a few days.  That is what the word ravenous means."  I looked into their eyes and they got it.  I would ask little questions throughout the story.  They were all excited to tell me what they thought, including Elly.  It took longer to read the story, but I feel like they are getting more out of it.  

    They look forward each night to reading a chapter of our book.  They beg for two chapters.  I feel like we are getting ready for Christmas but it's together time.  We are all sharing our thoughts.  As we are enjoying the book we are also anticipating seeing the movie together.

Why Do I Sit On Parent/ School Council?

    Last Wednesday night I went to a meeting in Madoc.  That meeting was a School Council Orientation meeting for the Hastings and Prince Edward District School Board.  For this meeting there were presenters who discussed the role and responsibilities of school council chairs and of the school council members.  There were presenters who spoke about establishing agendas for meetings,  how to take effective minutes in meetings, developing by-laws, and a bunch more things.  The thing that most struct me about these presenters was that they were hard core.  They did not seem to approach their duties with that same half assed approach that I generally take.  The thing that I most took away from that experience was just how different each school council seemed to be.

    I came home that night and really thought about my role and the school council's role.  Did I mention that I am the school council chair for our schools (yeah, like you're surprised by that).  I generally create the agendas and steer the meetings.  I was putting together the agenda for our meeting this Thursday night and it got me to thinking about the school council itself.  I had always just assumed that everyone's school council was the same, I was now discovering that to be untrue.  I have never been asked, nor have I asked what do we as a school council want our school council to accomplish?  Why are our members there?  

     Why do I sit on school council, personally?  I am devoted to my kids.  I want their childhood to be the very best that it can be, well at least in the part that I play in it.  I feel like maybe I can contribute to the school.  I want to know what is going on in not just their classrooms, but in their school.  I want to enhance their school career in anyway that I can.  The other part of the why, is the same as it is in most aspects of my life.  I feel like I can make a difference.  I feel like if enough of us band together, there is nothing that we cannot accomplish.  Perhaps this point of view is slightly childish, but it is something that I cling to.  I need to see the best in people, and in the world around me.  I think that if a barrier exists then I can remove it if I just work hard enough,  I do no accept no for an answer (it is at this point you should begin to poor pity anyone who says no to me.  I am like a dog with a bone, as stubborn as the day is long). 

    The other reason for joining school council, it's an evening out with like minded parents.  I think that most of us are there because we want to have a voice in our children's educations.  We want to contribute to our children's school experience. For those of you who would like to come out and see what it's all about, but feel intimidated, fight your fear and come out.  It's alright for you to sit quietly and just listen.  It's o.k. to come out to meetings, but volunteer for nothing.  Don't let fear make your decisions for you.  You may just find some amazing friends.

   

Sunday Well Spent?

     I spend my Sundays trying to prepare for the rest of the week.  I find that if I give away my Sunday, oh and it feels like a sacrifice, then the rest of the week goes a little more smoothly.  There are times when my back is aching that I wonder if it's really worth it, but it is.  

    I try to make at least 3 dozen muffins for the week ahead.  Banana muffins are my go to muffin.  I can't believe that I don't already know the recipe off by heart.  I have started making them with whole wheat flour and the kids haven't noticed (so don't tell them they are eating healthy muffins).  I found the neatest thing last week at Dollar Tree, they had silicone gingerbread molds.  I greased and floured the molds, put them on a cookie sheet, and they worked great.  You how sometimes ideas are better in your head than in real life?  Well not this time, this time they were great both in my head and in reality.

    Last week I learned a really valuable lesson about being prepared.  The Sunday before last I spent my time making muffins.  I usually freeze half (to keep them as fresh when they eat them as they were when I made them).  I keep a couple of Tupperwear (who am I kidding, they are Rubbermaid or Ziplock containers, I'm too poor for the real Tupperwear) containers full of muffins for hungry kids (which is something that they always seem to be) and for lunches.  Monday I had to go out for the day, and left the dog by himself in the house.  Apparently he likes muffins as much as the kids do, because he went up on the counter, and pulled the containers off.  He somehow pulled the lid off of one container, and ate the other one.  I came home to sheer bedlam.  The floor was littered with muffin wrappers and crumbs.  Fergus greeted me at the door with a muffin in his mouth.  To say that I was unhappy may be a bit of an understatement.  I have learned to keep my counters clean and put the muffins up high.   

    I spent the afternoon yesterday running around the kitchen switching out muffins and switching waffle batches.  I own three waffle irons.  It is an excellent way to give the kids a hot breakfast on school mornings without having to get up early.  I line my three waffle irons up and pour batter.  Yesterday I made apple cinnamon waffles and chocolate waffles (jokes on them, I used whole wheat flour and added flax).  I now have a weeks worth of healthy hot breakfasts.  With the three waffle irons it really makes the process go fairly quickly.  We have a generic waffle iron, a Elmo and Cookie Monster waffle iron (it puts their face on the waffles) and a Cinderella waffle iron (this one is my favourite.  It puts a picture of Cinderella's carriage on the waffle.)

    Basically I try to cut fruit and veggies and have them in a container at the ready.  I make a big batch of egg salad.  I make salads.  I try to do as much as I possibly can to ensure that my week goes a little more easily. My Sunday is a write-off, but my week goes pretty smoothly, well as smoothly as it can go with four kids and a muffin eating dog.

Elly's Ballet Viewing but really How I'm a Bit of Jerk

    Last night was Elly's Ballet parent's viewing night.  Oh she was so cute.  I sat there with this big stupid grin on my face, and blinded by tears.  They galloped around the room, and every time she would pass us she would give us a little wave.  She was adorable.  As I sat there watching her, my attention began to fall off of my precious little angel and fall onto the not so precious angels in her class.  There was perhaps one of the ugliest little girls I have ever seen.  She looked like baby Gerald (you know Maggie Simpson's arch enemy), but with a pony tale.  I was drawn in by how homely this poor little kid was, homely and badly behaved.  My attention was then caught by this beautiful little girl with gorgeous blonde curls cascading down her back.  The teacher would pick a leader and then this angelic looking little creature would jump in the front of the line, stealing leadership.  In my head I'm shouting "Don't let her do that!",  "That's not fair!", " Does no one else see this!"  When the teacher asked the little ballerinas questions, this little girl would shout her answer out  over top of the other children, you know the kid's who had the turn.  I looked over to see that little girl's  mother just glowing looking at her.  "Oh if that was my kid I would not be glowing", I glowered in head.  It's good that no one can read my thoughts, because I am pretty sure that people would fight for the right to bring back the lost art of stoning people.

Baby Gerald

    So I am sitting there in a this smallish room surrounded by loving faces.  Everyone there is adoring, watching their baby.  I am adoring my baby, but laying judgement on a bunch of 3 and 4 year olds.  You know that moment when you are struck with shame.... well that was it.  I sat there thinking, full of shame.  I value manners, I drill manners into my children.  I value a sense of fairness, I drill that into my children.  I value kindness above all, and yet, here I am sitting thinking that this little 3 or 4 year old girl looks like Baby Gerald (she really did, but that's unkind).  Because I place high value on manners, fairness, kindness, doesn't mean that every parent does, and that certainly does not give me permission to judge those children because they have been taught to value other character traits.  I then thought back to last week, the afternoon before Halloween.  One of my friends (Trish Lord) had posted a little blurb, and it really came into my head last night.  I needed to be reminded.

"Today, a lot of creatures will visit your door. Be open minded. The child who is grabbing more than one piece of candy might have poor fine motor skills. The child who takes forever to pick out one piece of candy might have motor planning issues. The child who does not say "trick or treat" or "thank you" might be painfully shy, non-verbal, or selectively mute. If you cannot understand their words, they may struggle with developmental apraxia of speech. They are thankful in their hearts and minds. The child who looks disappointed when he sees your bowl might have a life-threatening allergy. The child who isn't wearing a costume at all might have SPD or autism. Be kind, be patient, smile, pretend you understand. It's everyone's Halloween. ♥"

    In other words, think before you judge.  That mother may be looking over at her child and glowing, because she is just happy that her child is alive.  That ugly kid has a life time to of self esteem issues to deal with without having this witch (that's me) judge her.  Maybe there is a genetic reason that the child looks like that, and that genetic component is also the reason she is misbehaving.  Or maybe the reason is just that they are 3 and 4 year olds and not everyone is perfect.... most especially me.

    I am a work in progress.  I need to not only act in a kind way, but to think in a kind way.  For me that is really difficult.  I am by nature a kind and giving person, but I am also by nature ubber critical, and judgmental.  I know that these are terrible personality flaws.  I need to work harder.   I need to practice what I preach.  I need to practice thinking kinder thoughts.

Our Pumpkin Carving Contest Tradition

    I'm not sure how this happened, but Halloween seems to have kind of snuck up on me this year.  I feel totally unprepared.  Halloween is a big deal for us.  We don't have our yard display out yet (that's due to the fact that we have had workers and torrential rains), I just feel unprepared.  I guess really that our yard takes us about an hour to decorate, we have it down to a fine science, maybe we will do that this afternoon, if the rain and high winds hold off.

    One Halloween tradition that I am actually on top of this year is our pumpkin carving contest.  We have done it for so long that I don't even remember how long we have done for.  In the early years we would just carve one pumpkin.  That was a problem when the kids began to exhibit free will and want a say in it.  It was then that we decided that everyone should carve their own pumpkin.   Even my parents bring over their pumpkins to carve.

Even Fergus got in on it.

    We throw down a plastic table cloth and/ or garbage bags.  There are lots of kid friendly carving tools and scoops that I have collected over the years.  I put out lots of bowls to collect the pumpkin guts.  I try to keep the mess confined, but inevitably I am finding pumpkin seeds all over the living room for weeks.  I have finally learned to bring the pumpkins into the house a day before carving so that they are room temperature.  One year I thought I was so smart and kept the pumpkin in the house the whole time (I try to buy the pumpkins early in October.  There have been a few years when we were not able to get our hands on all of the pumpkins that we needed).  I picked the pumpkin up and it disintegrated into a smelly mess at my feet.  Rotted pumpkin is a smell that you don't soon forget, or get out of your skin, trust me on this one.

Grace looked on Pinterst before carving her pumpkin.
She decided to use cookie cutters.

    I am pleased to report that this year none of the kids were grossed out by the pumpkin guts.  Most years one or all of the kids are super excited to carve pumpkins, until the lid comes off of them.  I usually try to capture on film the reactions of my more squeamish kids.

    Everyone has their own tried and true method for carving the pumpkins.  I like to sit back and watch, oh and take lots of pictures.  Christopher cleans out his pumpkin like it's a race.  You can hear the whip, whip, whip of his frantically digging.  The kids work slowly, biding their time, waiting for Speedy Gonzales to be finished with his gutting, so that he can do theirs.   I am slow and methodical.  I cannot begin to carve until every last string is out of that pumpkin.  It was to be completely clean before I begin (boys and girls can you say OCD).

I have no idea why Rowan was wearing
shorts and a long sleeved shirt.

    The same thing applies to carving.  Some of us have a plan, some of us like to wing it.  I have to have blue prints (I get that from my Dad).  I have little doodles, and stencils before I begin to even gut my pumpkin.  The kids kind of fall into both camps.  Some of them are planners, some of them are fly by the seat of their pants.  

    I spent time in the afternoon pulling up images of carved pumpkins that I liked.  I like to be creative, but I do better at stealing ideas than coming up with my own, that's why I like Pinterest so much.  I found lots of them that I really liked, but there were only a few that I could believably do.  I thought the same thing that I do every year, one of these years I am going to invest in one of those Dremel saws.

    I like to cut the bottom off of my pumpkin.  I find it so much easier than trying to fit the top on exactly.  There have been many a year that my top just fell in on top of my candle.  After I had cleaned my pumpkin I drew my picture on using Sharpie marker (I love Sharpies).

    I knew that the design would be tricky.  The idea was to have the ghost stand out, with the pumpkin around him cut away.  That design spelled out breakage.  I carved the eyes and mouth first.  I then cut out the bits of pumpkin one small piece at a time.  I used my Pampered Chef paring knife, praying that I would not snap it (I didn't).  It was no small miracle, but my pumpkin turned out just the way that I had wanted it to... I was amazed.

    A couple of years ago we discovered the battery operated tea candles.  It was love at first sight.  There would be no more struggling to get the stupid tea light to light.  There would be no more burned fingers and hands dropping the candle in.  No more struggling to light the stupid candle, only to have it blow out immediately.  No, battery operated candles are the way to go for us!

    After the pumpkins are all carved, and lighted, the next part of the tradition is to set them all up, and turn out the lights.  I know that it's corny, but I really love that part.  To the kids it's magical, well to me too.  We all ooooh and awwwww over everyone's pumpkins, and tell each other what we really liked that they did on theirs.

    The last part of the "contest" is to hand out prizes.  My prize titles are super lame, I admit it.  Only an idiot would pick out "The Best" pumpkin.  My kid's are ultra sensitive to criticism or not being in the spot light (who am I kidding, who really is).  I come up with titles such as "Rowan win's for the best 8 year old boy", "Riley wins for the best 8 year old girl", "Grace wins the oldest girl category", "Elly wins youngest girl category".... you get the drift, lame.  I always have prizes.  This year chocolate bars were on for a super cheap price, so I bought full sized candy bars for prizes.  My Mom's reaction was my favourite.  She excitedly picked out a Kit Kat bar, only to be devastated to discover that we had Bounty Bars (after she had already begun eating her Kit Kat).

    It's a good tradition.  It's a night of fun and family.  We capped it off with hot chocolates with marshmallows.  Now I just have to decorate the front lawn... in between hurricane force winds and torrential rain.

Class Projects

    There is a good chance that I stand alone on this one, but I like big class projects.  I know there are many of you reading this swearing at your computer screen, but I really enjoy doing class projects with the kids.  Let me share the obvious, I am and always have been a nerd.  I look at pretty much everything as a teachable moment.  I also really like to learn, and hope that I can pass that joy of learning along to the kids.  I view class projects as an opportunity to bond with my child one on one.  When we are doing that project they have my undivided attention, which is a rarity with 4 kids.

    Grace had to do research and a paper as well as a homestead for a native people of her choice.  I suggested to her that she do a project about a local native group.  She chose the Mohawk.  We are most fortunate to have the Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory just half an hour from us.  I made arrangements to go and speak to a Mohawk researcher (I blogged about it a few weeks back).  She was so helpful and nice.  She supplied Grace with an abundance of information.  I also was able to borrow books from the Tyendinaga public library.  They had a huge native section.

    Before we began doing Grace's homestead I asked her to draw a diagram of what she thought it should include.  I then showed her a picture from one of the books and suggested that we could replicate it.  It took us weeks to put all of the small details into place.  I found beads and after much trial and error Grace and I strung yellow and brown beads onto fishing line.  I then wrapped the beads around a little skewer to make tiny cobs of corn.  We made several runs into local woods to procure supplies.

    When it was all said and done Grace stayed up until 10:30 p.m. putting the finishing touches on her homestead.  She had hot glue burns on her fingers to proved that she had done the work.  I helped her with a lot of her project.  I really wanted to take over and do it all myself, but it was her project.  What would she learn if I did it all (even though I really wanted to). She left the house with this big smile on her face, she was really proud of her project.  

    Grace's teacher invited parents to come in this afternoon and look at everyone's projects.  As I commented on some of the projects many of her classmates told me "Dad/ Mom did all of mine, he/ she wouldn't let me help."  There were also kids there that it was obvious no one had helped them with their project.  I am not sure who I most felt the saddest for, the kids who had no help or the kids who were not allowed to help.  I really enjoyed Grace and I discussing what we were doing for the project. We decided to fill the long house with cedar bows (really small ones), because that is what the Mohawk people would have done.  I enjoyed trying to make the long house using the materials and trying to be semi-authentic in our technique (although I am certain that the Mohawk peoples did not use glue guns to put together their long houses).  I enjoyed talking about making corn, and then the two of us making the corn.  Corn was a staple for the Mohawk people.  There were parts of the project that I had to walk away from, or risk blowing a gasket.  The long house was a lot of work.  We cut green branches and bent them.  We had a lot of trial and error with everything on this project.  The thing that I liked the most was our time together, and that Grace was really proud to show her class.

Raising Kids With Good Self-Esteem

    I was speaking to a friend yesterday.  She was letting off some steam, venting about her daughter's lack of self-esteem.  "We encourage her, we do everything that we know how to do, but she doesn't think that she's good enough."  I wished that I had the magic answer for her, but I don't.  I guess that the best that you can do, is well, the best that you can do.
    Growing up I never felt like I was pretty enough, thin enough, or that I was good enough.  This chronic lack of self esteem led me to make decisions that I would have never made if I'd had great self-esteem.  I come from a long line of women with poor self-esteem.  I am bound and determined to break this cycle.  I think that the first step in breaking the cycle is to learn to accept myself.  It has taken me a good many, many years, but I am o.k. with me now.  Could I loose some weight?  Oh you bet.  Does it make me feel badly about myself that I am overweight?  Not really.  I have a husband who loves me for the me inside, it's hard to do much better than that.  I feel like I no longer need outside validation to be alright with me.  I sure hope that I have figured out part of the puzzle.
   From the time my kids were born I have told them how beautiful they are, are smart they are, how loved they are.  I wanted my children to be bathed in love and admiration.  This to me at the time seemed like the perfect way to give them self-esteem, I would force feed it to them.  I have come to discover that although done with the best of intent, perhaps my methods are flawed.  I was force feeding them self-esteem externally, depriving them from discovering it and growing it themselves.
    If you ask my girls who is the prettiest girl in the class they will tell you without missing a beat that it is them.  Perhaps they are too confident.  I have tried now to back off a little on the force feeding, but that too has back fired.  My kids need to be praised.  If they ask if I like something that they have done, they expect me to tell them that it is the best thing that I have ever in my whole life seen.  If I tell them that they did a great job, but I think that they could do better if they tried just a little harder, you would think that I had told them I hated them.  I have created praise junkies.
    I guess that it is back to the drawing board.  My new approach is to still bath them in love, but to encourage their own growth of self-esteem.  I am trying not to "over praise", but also to not be overly critical.   I am trying to model good self-esteem, and I hope that helps too.  I'll let you know how this new approach of mine is working in 20 years or so.  Man this parenting thing is hard.