Remembrance Day Remembering September 2008

    The kids and I were talking about remembrance day this morning, they wondered why it was so important.  It was boring having to stand out there and listen to people talk, and that minute of silence for them seems to last hours.  I understood what they were talking about, I remembered feeling like that as a kid too.  I talked to them about Hitler, and how he was a bad man, but one bad man cannot accomplish the evil he accomplished.  We then talked about the fact that many of the soldiers were really just boys.  I named Gabe's friends who are 17 going on 18.  I told the kids to imagine having to say good-by to Ryan (our angel.  Ryan is one of Gabe's best friends and a frequent much wanted visitor to our home).  "But Ryan's just a kid!" they replied.  "I know, and so were they.  They were just kids' and they gave their lives so that we could have ours."  They got it, well as much as 8 and 11 year olds get such a weighty subject.

    After telling them about Remembrance Day, I began to remember baby faces dressed in military gear.  Back in September of 2008, my little village did a really wonderful thing, we really supported our troops.  I believe that it was the Tweed Legion that got the ball rolling, somehow they discovered that Canadian Troops deploying for a tour in Afghanistan were traveling from Petawawa to Trenton, and traveling right through Tweed.  Calls were made, and in the end most of the population of Tweed lined our small street to support our troops.  The three schools all went to Tim Hortons to wait, or lined Victoria Street.  They waved flags, dressed in red, and some of them held signs that said "Thank You", and "We Support Our Troops".  Our family dressed in red and went out for every day that we could, and sadly there were many.  I remember that first day standing there, very pregnant (it was just a week or so before I had to check into the hospital for a month to have Elly.  I was not able to go to all of the deployments because at the end I was in Kingston General Hospital.  Elly's was a high risk pregnancy, and I was stuck in the hospital for the last month of my pregnancy.  The kids would call me in the hospital to tell me about seeing the troops).  I was in awe of the crowd before me.  You could feel the pride in the air.  We all stood there lining the streets feeling like we were a part of something bigger than ourselves.

    We all stood there, waiting, the anticipation was electric.  Then there were the excited shouts "They're coming.  I've just been radioed that they have left Tim Hortons and they're coming!"  Our Legion members arranged themselves, dressed in their uniforms, holding their flags, they looked wonderful.  I have never felt as proud to be a Canadian as I did as I saw that unassuming bus pull up and those soldiers make their way out.  The looks on their faces were both heartbreaking and amazing.  Most of the soldiers were in awe of the support, they looked a little shell shocked.  Some of them wept.  Most of us wept.  I stood fighting back the sobs as I looked at those soldiers old enough to nearly be my child.  Oh God, how must it feel to see you baby, possibly for the last time, knowing that this is what they have chosen?   I looked at the older soldiers, my age, and thought about how very difficult that must be for them to have to leave their families to face unknown danger.

    The fresh faced soldiers walked along the sidewalk shaking hands, giving hugs, posing for pictures.  Tweed treated those soldiers like they were celebrities, and for us they were.   They all deserve to be treated like that!  I heard that the later troops deploying passing through Tweed were excited, hearing from those before them what they were in store for.  Every time the soldiers passed through, we were there, waving flags, dressed in red, trying to thank them for their sacrifice.
    For a full year, and for some, forever, those soldiers stayed in our hearts.  Many of the school classes wrote letters for the soldiers.  Those little people were so excited to receive a letter in return.  Some of soldiers, so grateful for the support sent their child pen pals little gifts from Afghanistan.  That Christmas my family put together a care package.  We lovingly packed it with things that might remind those men and women in the hot desert of their cold white home.  We filled it with Christmas CDs, and snacks, and anything we could find that seemed like home.  The kid's loved it, and as parents we tried to teach them about patriotism and giving thanks.
    A funny thing happened today as I prepared to write this blog.  I decided that I wanted to have a picture of the residents of Tweed lining the Streets.  In September 2008 there were hundreds floating around the internet, we were a big story back then.  We even made it to the major television stations.  This time it was harder to find those once plentiful pictures.  As I scanned over the pictures, I came across the one at the top of the page.  I was shocked to say the least to find a picture of my family taken by one of those soldier's moms.  She wrote a beautiful blog herself, giving the perspective of a mother.  I highly recommend taking a peek at it.

militarymomathome.blogspot.ca/2008_09_01_archive.html

    For me Remembrance Day is about World War One and World War Two.  As a little girl my Nana would tell me stories about being a child in World War One and a mother in Scotland during World War Two.  I would sit forever listening with bated breath to her tell her stories.  She was an amazing story teller, my Nana.  You could almost hear the air raid sirens, smell the smoke, feel the terror.  Having said that, when I think about Remembrance Day it is of those young faces that I think.  I think about what those poor young people had to face when they left our country of peace and landed in Hell.  When I think of Remembrance Day, I think of our troops from Petawawa.

The above statue was carved by our local extremely talented, and extremely generous artist, Paul Shier.

Paul worked hundred of hours to carve this beautiful sculpture.  He then donated it as a memorial to the lost soldiers from the War in Afghanistan.  It was the first of it's kind in Canada.

www.pssculptures.com

15th Annual Snowsuit Exchange, DONE

    For the fifteenth year in a row I am happy to say that many local children will be warm this winter.  I have to admit it's a pretty good feeling.  It's a lot of work, but it's worth it.  It also feels really good to know that I had a hand in it, I'm not going to lie.  Having said that I could not do what we do without a lot of help.   There are lots of hands at work.  My husband Christopher is the muscles of the operations. He loads all of my huge totes full of snowsuits to and from the church.  He sets up the tables and breaks them down, and then he does it all again when we are done the exchange.  Then there are my amazing volunteers, My Mom, Katrina Haynes, and one of my best friend's Lisa Carter.  They have helped me for years.  They help me lay the snowsuits out , and they help families find the right sizes for their children, and then they help me pack up what's left.  This year I had two extra helpers.  Lisa's daughter Kaitlyn and my daughter's Grace and Riley helped set up.  We had a very good friend of Lisa's son's help us drum up business, and help to pack it all up.  Collin was so cheerful and helpful.  There is also the St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church perish, who kindly donate the use of their basement to us.  Without all of them, we could not do it.
    Every year there is a family that makes me shake my head, and get irritated, usually they are the people who feel like the world owes them something.  Every year there is a family that reminds me why we do this, those families drown out the irritating ones.  This year was no different.  There is no point talking about the irritating families, we all know them, the ones that go around taking everything they can get their hands on, but never bringing anything... the one's that think the world is there for their taking.  Those are the families that make me question why am I giving up so much of my time?  Why am I asking people to help me financially and physically for "those" people.  It crosses my mind every year, that it's just not worth my trouble.  Thankfully there are the families who make it worth the effort. There have been years where I have had the privilege of giving a child brand new winter boots and matching hat and snowsuit.  Some of those children have never in their lives ever owned anything new.  To those children, that snowsuit that my children would not even think twice about, to those children the new clothing is something a kin to a million dollars.  I have had little girls dance teary eyed because they are so excited.  I have had little ones dance around the room excitedly doing a fashion show of their new to them, winter clothing.  I have had mother's who have wept with gratitude because they just didn't know how they were going to outfit their children that year.  There is always at least one family who makes me grateful for my own life, and feel privileged to be able to help.
    Normally when I arrive for the morning there is a line up of people outside the doors waiting for me. There have been years that people have been sorting through the bins of winter clothing as I am putting it out (thus the reason that we now set up the night before).  This year we had one person when we opened the doors.  It was odd.  As the morning progressed, there was a small stream of people come in, but not nearly as many as years past, or as many as I felt that there should be.  The afternoon brought in a little more steady traffic, but still our numbers were way down, where were they all?  Collin came in at 2:00 to help us pack up, but little did he know that we would set him to work.  We gave poor Collin a sign and sent him out into the cold to bring people in, and bring them in he did.  I am happy to say that there were not too many jackets left.  We outfitted a lot of local families again this year.

Poor Collin didn't know what he was
in for when he volunteered to help.

    I say that it's another year done, but it's really not.  The actual "exchange" is done, but I will receive phone calls all winter long from social service agencies, teachers, and parents, looking for winter clothing.  The exchange is done, but unfortunately there will still be cold children, I guess we will just have to try to outfit as many as we can.  Each year the money in the bank is almost depleted, but the calls keep coming in.  It is almost as if by magic, that just when I wonder what we will do to get the money to outfit that child, when a generous donor comes to the rescue.  Since becoming a registered charity, we have not had to turn a child away, and that is a really good feeling.

Lunch Lady Friday's #1

   As you may recall I made a vow to make lunches more interesting for my kids this year.  My plan had been to make at least one interesting lunch once a week, probably Fridays.  I found myself last fall becoming obsessed with Bento (obsessed might really be to strong of a word, interested in).  Bento lunches are so cute and so much fun.  I have not purchased any of the way cool but hard to come by in Canada, and expensive to order from the States Bento products (although when I grow up I totally plan to).  I have adapted everyday items from my house.  I use cookie cutters, and little toys and anything else I can get my hands on.

    A funny thing happened when I made the vow to make their lunches more interesting, wait for it, because it's weird.... I began to enjoy making lunches.  I actually had fun making their lunches.  I have fun thinking about what their faces will look like when they open their lunches, I know I have problems.  It really does not take very much more time to make than boring lunches, but it is no longer drudgery, it's art.

    I have decided in my infinite wisdom to make Fridays "Lunch Lady Fridays".  What that means is that I will brag about my favourite lunch that I made this week.  Hopefully you will be as inspired by my easy fun lunches as I am by the ladies who create the beautiful Bento blogs.

    For this lunch I used flat bread that I had picked up at Walmart.

I added pizza sauce.  Man my cookie sheet has seen better days.

I then was lazy because I happened to have a bag of shredded cheese in the fridge ( I would never buy this expensive product, but I received it in my Samplicous pack).  I topped it off for 3 out of the 4 with olives.  Three of the kids really like olives and they are pretty healthy.  Of coarse not all of the kids could ever possibly like all of the same things.  I need a giant book to keep track of who hates what.

I then stuck those little bad boys in the oven on broil. 

 I just wanted to melt my cheese and brown it up a little.

    While my pizza was cooling I made a batch of Jello.  For some added fun I sunk toys into the Jello.  Poor Christopher kept rolling his eyes and making weird faces at me.  I was absolutely charmed by myself.  I just kept letting out little giggles thinking about their faces when they saw the petrified creatures (maybe I should be on medication.  I think that Christopher would agree with this statement, but not to my face.  He's smart enough to not say it to my face).  I should add at this point that the little basta@#s did not even comment on their lunches.

    So everyone got a different toy.  I kept thinking that the ninja reminded me of Hans Solo in the Empire Strikes back when he gets frozen (once again I freely acknowledge that I am a bit touched in the head).

So this was the inaugural Lunch Lady Friday.  Let me know what you think.  Do you want me to have certain days of the week to discuss certain things, or do you like it all hodge podge?  Let me know.

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.

The Walking Talking Accident... a.k.a. "Me"

    For as long as I can remember I have been accident prone, I have come to accept that.  As a child (and teen) I would fall down the stairs on at least a daily basis.  It got so that my mother would only come running if she did not hear me crying.  I once went picking wild raspberries only to stand in a bees nest (I now have an allergy to bee stings).  Another time, I was playing in our barn and jumped down from the grainery (don't even ask why I thought that it would be a good idea to jump three feet to the ground off of the ladder, I was a stupid kid).  Unknown to me there was a "huge spike" sticking out of wood under me (o.k. maybe it just seemed "huge", it was however very large.  One of the barn nails that they used in the early nineteen hundreds when our barn was built).  I jumped on the spike, and it hit the bone and came out the other side, like a boomerang lodged in my foot.  I still feel that one on rainy days.  I told you about my biking accident.  In university some friends and I went to the movies at the Eaton's Centre.  My best friend dared me to a race up the down escalator.  There was not one else in the mall, and I don't back down from a dare.  I was in the lead, a good lead, when I fell.  I punctured my knee, putting a hole through my best jeans.  So when we got home, everyone in the dorm had been drinking, and no one was able to take me to the hospital.  When I woke up the next morning I could not bare weight on that leg, oh and it was super infected.  I was on crutches for weeks, and then had weeks of physiotherapy (the upside was that I began to date the really cute physiotherapist).  Another time I was using a box cutter to cut a box, and sliced open my leg, more stitches.  As an adult I am certainly not immune to accidents.  Once I stood on a plastic lawn chair in bare feet (like I'm ever not in bare feet), and went right through the chair.  That took a good many stitches to close up.  Not that long ago Christopher and I were carrying the new metal door for our side door from the basement.  I don't know how I did it, but I got my finger stuck in the hole that the door handle fits into.  I casually told Christopher that we needed to work a little faster, because I needed to run up to the doctors for stitches, and hoped that the blood would not stain the new metal door.  I could see bone on that one.  Those are but a few of the more memorable accidents.  I don't think that I need to continue, but sadly I could.  Sufficed to say, you can feel very safe when you are with me... because if something bad is going to happen, it will happen to me.   My sister will often tell me "Wow, you haven't had stitches, a broken bone or surgery yet this year, are you worried?"  I really should be worried, because it honestly is at least once a year that I have a broken bone, stitches or surgery, some girls just have all the fun.

    Yesterday I renewed my Cosco membership.  They have so many nifty things for sale there.  I saw these beautiful brightly coloured knives, for only $20.00.  My knives at home stink.  You can barely cut butter with them.  I put those little beauties into my cart.  I fantasized about cutting a tomato that did not explode with the effort needed to cut through it.  I could see myself creating culinary miracles, all because of these beautiful new knives.

    When  I got home Christopher was out in the back yard playing with the dog, or was that building the new shed?  I began to put away all of my new and wonderful groceries.  As I was about to open up my knives, Christopher came in.  "Look at my new beautiful knives." "hummm huh" he muttered.  That is Christophereeze for "I don't really care, but I know that if I don't make some kind of a sound she will shriek at me like a banshee, so I had better give her something."  He walked into the bathroom.  I was excitedly trying to figure out how to liberate my knives from their difficult packaging.  They had shrink wrapped them onto cardboard.  To show how nice they were, they shrink wrapped them with the covers behind the knives.  I had excitedly made contact with the bright yellow paring knife, and then it happened... "OH  F*&K!"  I screamed (luckily only Rowan was home, the girls were at Mom and Dad's.  Rowan was outside playing and thankfully did not hear his Mother trying to shame truckers and the sailers).  Without even coming into to look, Christopher shouts out "I'll bring Rowan in and we'll run you up to the doctors".  He was right, that thumb would not stop bleeding.  I wrapped a tea towel around it and got dressed.  My thumb really hurt, but the whole time I was in hysterical laughter, Only I could dice my finger while trying to remove a knife from the package.

    Lisa at the doctor's office (she is the nicest nurse on earth) just shook her head at me when I explained what I had done.  Turns out it did not need stitched, but she Sterri Stripped it, and put a big pressure bandage on it for me.  I was told to keep it dry and elevated, keeping pressure on it.  This part of it suited me fine, because that meant that Christopher had to do all of my less desirable jobs.  My thumb hurt, but it had it's advantages after all.

     By the way Glenda, this blog's for you. 

My Small Obtainable Challenges

    Lately I have been feeling like the back seat driver in my own life.  As the back seat drive I shout things out, but in the end I have no control of the car, I just have to sit back and go where the driver takes me.  I just feel like my life is getting away from me, I feel a little out of control.  I am the master of plausible excuses, but really there is no excuse for this.

    Instead of just sitting back and being the victim (the victim of what I am not sure), I have decided to take some control.  I need to make some really powerful efforts to get out of my little funk.  I have so many things that I need to do, but that is overwhelming to think about.  I have decided in an effort to reclaim my life, that I will make baby steps toward my ultimate goal... a clean and organized life house.

    Lately every time I open my fridge I cringe.   That fridge was pure chaos.  A smart person would have realized that it was a half hour to an hour job to clean and organize the fridge.  In the long run it would be time well spent, oh but that's not the way I think.  It seemed like a lot of work, and so I put it off.  Packing lunches was a nightmare, as was pretty much anything involved in extricating food from the fridge (see above embarrassing picture).

    Yesterday afternoon I bit the bullet and cleaned the fridge.  I was pretty afraid, I am not going to lie to you.  There were a few items that I was unsure what they used to be.  For that matter I was unsure if they were animal, mineral, or even from earth.  As I always do when I clean out the fridge, I angrily assured myself that I will never let this go this far again!  I always do.  I'm more of a thinker and a planner than an actual doer.  I discarded long over due food items, half full juice boxes (why in God's name do they insist on putting in a half finished juice box?  We both know that they are going to forget about it, and it will end up making a spilled and squirted sticky mess of the fridge).  This time I was prepared.  I had bought containers from the dollar store for storage, and to separate and organize food items.  If everything had a place, then it would be so much easier to keep things clean and organized, well at least that's my theory.

    I know have a clean and organized fridge.  I feel really good about tackling that job, now I may have the strength to tackle a few more awful jobs.  Baby steps, baby steps is how I will kick this little funk to the curb.  Today's job, God help me is to clean and organize the laundry room.  I can assure you that there will  be no before and after pictures from that job!

Please Keep Me Warm This Winter

    15 years ago I was a single mother working two jobs trying very hard to make ends meet.  I was fortunate that my then estranged husband (who is not my not estranged husband) was very generous with our son.  He ensured that Gabe wanted for nothing.  He went well above and beyond what he was legally required to do in terms of legal financial support.  I knew that I was lucky.

    At that time I was working as a literacy tutor (I taught adults how to read and write and do math, basically I taught some them life skills), my other job was a temporary part time job counselling battered women. Both of those jobs made me very thankful for my level of education, and for the opportunities that I had over the years received.  This was also the time when Mike Harris (or as I call him that arrogant bast*rd) took office in Ontario.  He decided that welfare was a strain on our society, and would cut it nearly in half.  This is all very well and good if you share the sentiment that welfare recipients are bleeding us good working folk dry.  So many misinformed individuals feel like those living on welfare are living the high life... you my friends are grossly misinformed.  The majority of my literacy clients were social assistance recipients.  They showed me their pay stubs, wanting to learn how to budget that small amount of money.  I assure you, knowing what they made, they do not live high on the hog.  You probably spend more on coffee and entertainment in a month than those people were given to live off in a month.  I went into houses that had poured cement floors and plywood walls.  One house had three little children living there, and there were rat holes in the walls.  These children through no fault of their own had nothing.  They went to school ill dressed, because the "winter clothing allowance"  for all three children was enough to perhaps purchase a new outfit for one child, not including winter boots and hats.  It broke my heart.  I went home to my little boy who wore a brand name snowsuit because his father and I felt that it was the warmest.  Gabe had good warm boots, nice warm hat and mittens.  All that I could think of was "There but for the grace of God go I".  

    That was the year that two friends and I began to gather used winter clothing.  I could no longer sit back in ignorance, now that my job had opened my eyes to the plight of so many around me.  I contacted Sears Canada, and they donated dozens of beautiful warm winter clothing.  That was our founding of Please Keep Me Warm This Winter.  Those first few years were tough, because we did not have charitable status, would could accept no money.  We had children come in in the freezing cold wearing jean jackets and running shoes.  If we did not have clothing for them, we had to watch them leave wearing a jean jacket and running shoes, out into the freezing cold winter.  It broke my heart.  In 2004 we became a registered charity.  I would not have to see children coming in cold and leaving cold again ( well they did, but they would only be cold for a day or so instead of for the entire winter).  Now if I did not have clothing that would fit them, I could go out and buy it.  

    Over the years things have changed.  I am no longer a single mother.  I now have 4 children.  My friends that helped me to found this wonderful charity are no longer involved (one moved away and one got a full time job and no longer had the time to spare).  We also no longer receive snowsuit donation from Sears Canada.  Now that we are a charitable organization I can issue tax receipts.  

    My life has changed over those 15 years, but my philosophy for the charity has remained the same.  Allow parents to cloth their children in warm winter clothing at no cost, but allow them to maintain their dignity.  We all fall on hard times now and again, even if it doesn't say so on paper.  I don't ask for identification, or proof of income, to me that is degrading.  If my husband makes $1000, 00.00 a year, but has a drinking and gambling problem, then on paper we have $1000,00.00, but in reality we might have $50.00 for the month.

    This year's Snowsuit Exchange will be Saturday, November 10 (that's this Saturday).  Every year there is a family that makes it all worth while.  Every year I am made to feel so thankful for what I have.  I have my "exchange" on one day, but I receive phone calls all winter long.  I now get phone calls from social workers who are trying to help out their clients.  I get phone calls from all around looking for help.

    If you would like to keep a child warm this winter, and would like to receive a charitable receipt to put towards your income tax, here's what you can do....

Make all cheques payable to 

Please Keep Me Warm This Winter

You can send it to box 916, Tweed, Ontario, K0K 3J0.  Please make sure that you include your mailing address so that I can send you back a thank you card and tax receipt.

It makes a great Christmas gift for those hard to buy for individuals.  You are giving the gift of warmth.

Local Craft Sale Season

Glenda Fleiler and Jennifer Broek
(Rustic Creations are Jennifer's creations)

    This is the week end for craft sales, at least in my neck of the woods.  I get so excited to visit all of the craft sales.  I am always in awe of their amazing talents (and some of them I am amazed that they are not too embarrassed to be showing the junk that they are showing.  I walk around gasping with excitement, and usually come home laden with crafts, and ideas I'm going to steal for my own crafts.

    A few years ago when I went to my local craft shows they were bursting at the seams.  The buildings were  wall to wall vendors.  There were so many beautiful things.  I have noticed a trend in the last few years when I go to craft sales.  There are not nearly as many vendors as there were.  Some of the really big, and my favourite sales no longer exist.  I don't understand.  Are people not buying crafts or are people no longer making crafts?  I think it may be a little of both.  It has become very expensive to craft lately.  I went to my local material store this October to purchase material to make Halloween costumes.  I threw up in my mouth a little at the prices.  When Gabe was little I made a lot of his clothes because it was cheaper to make it than to buy it.  That is no longer the case.  So often now big corporations (that includes those not in the manufacturing business... BELL) shop their manufacturing out to third world / developing companies.  The items that we enjoy are made by people who are working / living in deplorable conditions.  Some companies employ children.  We get cheap goods, but at what price?  Often our goods are not cheaper.  Look at Bell Canada (although not a manufacturer).  Try calling Bell for help, you will most likely be transferred to an Indian call centre.  Bell is saving money in wages by hiring people in another country, but as Canadian consumers those savings are not passed along to us.  Our bill keeps going up and up.  The company sees profits, and our country has it's jobs leave the country.  I feel better getting that off of my chest... now back to craft shows.

    The local craft shows are filled with local crafters.  It's my neighbours selling their goods.  They make beautiful things for me to buy, and to be inspired by.  There is satisfaction knowing where my decorations were made.  There is pride in giving those locally made hand crafted items as gifts.  I am doing good for myself and good for my community.  The other really nice thing about purchasing items from a craft sale is that usually it directly helps my community.  Many times it is a school or charity that has craft sales.  They sell space to vendors for money that then goes to help that school / charity.  Oh it's so win win.

    The pictures featured in today's blog were taken at the St. Carthagh's Catholic School craft show.  My children do not attend this school, but I do love craft sales.  The crafted items featured in the pictures are the work of Jennifer Broek.  Jennifer's business is called Rustic Restoration.  I knew that she did beautiful furniture restoration and stressing, but until today I did not realize what other beautiful work she did. She made all of those stunning wreaths and swags.  If you want more information about those items you can call Jennifer directly or email her at broek.jennifer@gmail.com.

    I am hoping that I have inspired you to go out and support your local craft sales.  Make a girls day of it.  You'll have a great day, and keep your money in your community!

Un-awe inspiring wardrobe

    There is a common joke among my friends when we go out.  "Hey Tristan, are you wearing the green sweater, or the green blouse?"  Oh we all laugh and laugh, well, they laugh and laugh.  The thing is I do not own a lot of clothes... I don't really need to.  Part of the reason I don't own many nice clothes is because I am a stay at home mom, I mean it really doesn't make much sense to wear an evening gown to clean toilets.  The other part is unfortunately, self -worth, or lack of it.  I feel like because I only have occasion to wear nice clothes once or twice a year, I'm just not worth it.  It makes more sense to get new clothes for the kids (they grow like weeds, and are a reflection of me) or for Christopher (he's harder on clothes than the kids are, and is in the public eye).  As always, I put my self last.
    It's funny because in my teens I was a clothes horse, and very vain girl.  I would not leave the house unless my makeup was perfect.  I got pink eye once from the kids that I baby sat for.  I was so upset, not because my eye was itchy, but because I would not be able to wear make-up for the week, which meant I could not leave the house for a week.  At university I kept a curling iron plugged in and on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, you never know when you might need a hair touch up.  I had a tiny butane curling iron that I carried around every where (incase I had a hair emergency and wasn't close to home).    I'm not sure what happened that made me not care so much about my appearance.  Just over time I started to let myself go, little by little.  I'm sure that lots of us do it, we shift our priorities.  I just shifted my priorities so that they no longer included me.  I transfered my vanity from myself to my kids.
    I really do only have a few "going out clothes".  Most of the time I wear yoga pants (one of my friends pointed out the irony that I wear yoga pants, since I never do yoga).  Basically I look like I wrestled my outfit off a homeless person.  I admit it.  Honestly why do I need to wear nice clothes around the house?  Shouldn't I be comfortable for my daily drudgery?  Why do I have to look nice to clean the house and look after the kids?
    I remember being so humiliated at a school assembly.  The school was doing an assembly to support character building.  There were several slides showing students making a difference.  Don't ask me why, but I was in two of those pictures.  The pictures were taken on different occasions.  I was sitting in the audience thinking that I looked really good.  I was wearing the outfit that I have on in the above picture (the above picture was taken after Christopher's Grandmother's funeral.  You know that nothing says grief like pictures with Santa).  I looked up at the big screen, only to see myself wearing the exact same outfit, not in one picture, but in two pictures.  I sat there trying to figure out how I could dig a hole and climb into it.  I sat there in a cold sweat, praying that no one noticed that I was wearing the same outfit.  I decided that it was time to get a new sweater, and pace myself on that outfit.
    I think as women we so often de-value ourselves.  We don't put ourselves first and everyone around us follows suit.  So I think that I need to make more of an effort on my appearance.  I need to make myself a priority at least one time out of ten.  Wish me luck!

Halloween to Christmas... SERIOUSLY?

    Most people still have their pumpkins sitting out front.  My kids are still all hopped up on candy that they begged trick or treated for.  My house is covered in little piles of candy wrappers.  Halloween is still very real.  Someone should tell that to the retailers.

    Yesterday I went to Walmart, the day after Halloween.  Christmas carols were blaring over the speakers. I just shook my head, mildly entertained.  "They do rush things" I muttered to myself.  I then headed over to the grocery store, only to discover that they had up a Christmas tree and a giant gingerbread house... seriously?  For God sake, it was only November the first!  Did the workers have to pull an all-nighter to take down the Halloween decorations, and then put up the Christmas ones?  When did this trend begin?  This is the earliest I ever remember it.

    I was no longer mildly amused, I was a bit mad.  How dare they push this down my throat.  Then I remembered that I had issues with Christmas.  It was mildly irritating, but really, anger inducing? For me Christmas is a double edged sword.  I used to love Christmas.  It was magical.  It was always stressful trying to afford to do Christmas the way that I wanted it, but it was still magical.  That all changed December 24, 2004.  That was the day my Gabe died.  That was the day my world crashed down around my ears.  It was the day Christmas, and more importantly life as we knew it forever changed for our family.  

    I vividly remember that first Christmas morning.  There was not a part of me that did not ache, but what ached the most was my heart.  I had an incision that went from just below my diaphragm, to just above my pubic bone.  There were staples keeping me together.  (When I got home from the hospital Grace who was 3 asked why the doctor had sewn a zipper on my tummy.)  There was not a part of my body that was not bruised.  I had just received a blood transfusion, and was in my room completely and utterly alone.  I lay there in that room wishing that I could just cease to exist.  I had no thoughts of suicide, I just did not want to be in that much mental anguish, I did not want to have to feel anymore.  I lay there wondering where was my Christmas miracle. How could this possibly be possible?  How could a healthy nine year old boy be dead?   I was so weak that I needed help to get to the bathroom and was not even strong enough to flush the toilet for myself.  As I lay there I heard in the distance Christmas music, a band to be exact.  It was getting closer.  I could feel waves of panic welling up in me, panic and all consuming anger.  I struggled to get out of my bed.  The band was getting louder, closer.  It was the Salvation Army band.  Here were this group of selfless people donating their Christmas morning to bring cheer to those in the hospital, but that is not how I saw them.  I frantically tried to stomp to the door, to close it, to shut out their Christmas cheer.  It would have been very comical to see, were it a different situation.  I was too weak to shut my door easily.  I had to put all of my weight into it.  I was sobbing, and cursing.  I am a polite person normally.  I would never swear in public (in private when the kids are not around I could give truck drivers a run for their money).  I was sweating profusely, in agony, telling the band to "FU*& OFF!".  Thankfully their music was too loud to hear me.  I finally got my door shut.  I stood slumped against the door, praying for the strength to make it back to my bed, wondering if I was going to pass out. I don't know how long I stood there.  After a while my anger fizziled out.  I then lay there wondering how my babies were.  Did my sister find all of the Christmas gifts?  How was Grace?  I had never been away from them for more than a few hours.  That set the stage for our Christmas's to come.  It was that parental balancing act.  That balancing act where you put your children's needs ahead of your own needs.

    I try to make Christmas magical for my kids, but I don't feel it.  Christmas reminds me of what I have lost. Everyone is happy, saying Merry Christmas, but inside I am dying.  Inside I just want my beautiful little boy back.  I want to wake up from this nightmare, and play video games with my son.  Double edged sword.  I am a mother first and foremost.  I want my children to have a wonderful childhood, that includes beautiful Christmas memories.  I do some of my best acting at Christmas.  

    Looking at the grocery store's Christmas displays gave me a shove.  It was a reminder that I had to put as much into place as I could before the darkness fell upon me.  It was that reminder of the ghosts of Christmas past, and the ghosts of Christmas' to come.  It was time to make lists, to make plans.  It was time to face Christmas.