The Motherhood Glories of Winter

Winter has arrived and I am ecstatic! Not because I love snow and ice, bone chilling winds or plummeting down a mountain side on highly engineered planks and a prayer, none of those things thrill me. I prefer my winter from the fireplace side of the window. Michael often teases that when we retire we will be a couple for 6 months of glorious weather then meet again after the spring thaw. He will traverse the landscape on his snowmobile to ice fishing destinations no bombardier could access. I, will curl up with tea and my thoughts, penning stories for our grandchildren and memories of toasty July evenings. That gives me winters to look forward to years into the future (I profess to not be nearly as old as my children would have you believe)

The future is a very long way off and there are many winters between my dreams and my fireside. None the less the final arrival of winter does bring me great joy. For the next 4 or so months (winter really is late this year) I carry immense power for the chilly weeks ahead. I am the keeper of the warm things.

From now until May I can remind my children to "take their mittens" and they have mittens; Canada Red Mittens, expensive designer mittens, mittens with monsters on them, fancy ski gloves, twittens (special mittens that allow for texting and tweeting). I have baskets of magic stretchy mittens, mittens in the car, my pockets, stashed in backpacks and purses, I even have a bin of mismatched mittens for emergencies!

Then there are hats. Hats that match mittens, coats, snowsuits and nothing at all. Hats with built in scarves, ear flaps, designer labels and nostalgic significance.

I also have snowpants, boots, hoods, scarves, turtlenecks, longjohns, extra coats, wind pants, mufflers, dickies, fleece vests, flannel shirts, balaclavas and earmuffs. I have been a Canadian all my life after all and a mother for long enough to know...

There is reward in little victories of 'right'!

If you have everything possible to keep your family warm, at their disposal and even hidden on their person, you are very well within your right to laugh at each and every child who walks through the front door with their arms hunched up the sleeves of their wide open jacket, with ears the colour of cream soda and snot running down their nose. You can snicker as they attempt to remove their running shoes with the laces iced together utilizing fingers too cold to do the job.

You can laugh and you can ask quietly, sincerely and compassionately "Where are your mittens?" On the inside you can give yourself a big old pat on the back of satisfaction, you can laugh hysterically at their coolness and they have no rebuttal, no position...for the next 4 months, on at least one topic, you will be right...and they KNOW IT!

Gratitude today that Mother Nature is a Mother too. :)

Gratitude, hope and smiles should never be kept to yourself!
Michelle

Induction to HockeyMomDom

Have you noticed I've been away? I have, I miss this place. My Sunday morning coffee/writing/soul rejuvenation hour has been replaced by coffee/yawning/soul freezing at the most ungodly of hours.

Did you know that the little kids get the early hours at the rink? and that at 6:30am a hockey arena is only slightly warmer than Winnipeg on a crisp January morn? How about that the early morning shift at Timmie's are not all bright eyed, bushy tailed and eager to please, and that their order success ratio is only 50%? Did you know that?  I didn't, but I am learning.

I am also learning that it is not every player's job to dig into the corner for the puck and shouting "get on HIM!" is generally frowned upon in minor house league. I am learning about fashion too, in so much as; I need a vest and a pair of matching mittens and a toque (preferably with a tassel of sorts) This week I learned that the 7am practice is one of those "my week" "your week" tasks. Last week I sat with the Dads, this week it was Moms. I am learning that offside does not mean that the puck has gone over the boards and that the dressing room is NOT a place for Moms. That's not to say we are unwelcome, I've just learned that it is testosterone zone better left to the testosterone generators.

There is a reciprocation of learning too. My son has learned that while Mom has talked a good game about hockey fan-dom and cheers right alongside for his beloved Pittsburgh Penguins, I really have no clue. Mike has always know this but we were keeping it from the little guy, an omission for the better good, I need all the Mom worshiping points I can get! Mike has learned that we need to arrive early so that I can get my spot under a heater, on the off chance they get turned on. KJ has learned that I can in fact inflict greater humiliation than she ever imagined. E-man has learned the KJ will not be attending anymore of his games.

I'm not sure that I've taught my fellow hockey parents anything yet (most of them know everything already anyway) I'm sure that they will learn in time that the best place to sit is away from #15's Mom, unless of course they crave heat (I do own the heater after all) They will quickly learn that I do not handle competition well. I do a remarkable job keeping my mouth shut and my comments to myself, but I fidget and physically react like I need my child to. Weird I know, but its involuntary and the harder I try to supress it, the worse it gets. I'm like a voodoo hexed Momma on crack and the voodoo doll is my child. I know this will happen. It has been going on for 16 years; at dance recitals, school plays, runway shows, graduation ceremonies, streetball games and at the skateboard park.

I have been an official Hockey Mom for 4 weeks and the learning curve is steep, but if the girl who makes my coffee can get it right half of the time and Mike can explain the rules and E-man can figure out where all that equipment belongs, I can surely learn to wear the title with pride and earn my hockey mom stripes.

I just hope that the other hockey parents learn as quickly as the boxing parents did. Those poor people didn't know what they were in for once Lula stepped into the ring!

Gratitude for patient husbands, ski jackets, hockey coaches, and that Hockey Mom who will hopefully garner more attention than I, and make me look like a seasoned pro at Hockey Momming.

Spend some moment everyday in reflection of gratitude and happiness. Even if the time found is standing in line for coffee...use is wisely.

Michelle

More in the Box Than We Bargained For

KJ brought home one of those projects the other day, you know, one of THOSE projects... All About Me. The only project with the power to paralyze me worse than a bridge project is the "All About Me Project"

An All About Me project means that I will be scavenging through the photo box for a kindergarten picture from 9 years ago. My powers of memory recall and personal trivia will be measured and tested;

• "What time was I born?"
• "How much did I weigh?"
• "What was my first word?"
• "What was the name of the grandson of the lady who lived four houses down that I sprayed with the hose?"

 I should probably confess right now, that I don't know this stuff. I am not the mother who can recall the thing you were eating when you lost your first tooth or what colour ribbons you wore in your hair on the first day of school. Heck, the other day I forgot how to print the number 9 my kids are doomed

If you are one of those super Moms you probably think very little of me right now. If you have ever had to ask one of your children to confirm their birthday or grade in school you will sympathize with the pain I felt when that first question went live on Sunday evening... "How much did I weigh when I was born?"

I tried to be the good Mom..."8lbs 4oz." I blurted out. Immediately I realized I was wrong, I could tell by the look on Michael's face. His expression resembling the look you might expect if grandma willed you the false teeth. The debate was on. I tried to rationalize KJ's birth weight by ordinating it among Lula and E-man's weights but I had those wrong too, so my strategy was flawed from the start. Eventually we all headed upstairs to "the BOX"

I have a box for each of my kids, each box containing hospital bracelets, footprints, cards, locks of hair, favourite dresses, hats that sort of thing. I went into motherhood knowing that detail is not my strong suit and knowing that I better have a strong back up system.

I opened the box, and I choked up a little, looking at my girl holding up the little sleeper that she came home from the hospital in, (she has bras bigger than it now.) I reached for the hospital card that listed her details...7lbs 11oz...."Ok, I loose." I conceded. Then I watched as KJ sifted through the rest of the box, giggling and snickering. All I could think, was how much things change, and how far she has come.

I was lost in reflection when KJ asked "One shoe, why is there only one shoe?"

I laughed, I had forgotten all about it. "Because your sister has the other one." KJ looked at me like grandma had willed her the false teeth.

I looked at her and I started with ....

...."when you were born we were broke, like really broke." (and we were, a string of layoffs and ill timed plant closures, a broken car and a house held together mostly with duct tape and bubble gum. We were living on love and fumes.)

"When you needed walking shoes, we could afford to steal the pair from your sister's baby box."

Still she was holding grandma's teeth, except now she was laughing.

"That's where you come from" I said. THAT is why I get frustrated when you kids complain that you don't have everything you want... there was a time when you only had 1 shoe.

She left (rolling her eyes, I'm sure)

Then I laughed harder. E-man's box doesn't have any shoes (yes, he wore them too!)

Gratitude that while we were busy concentrating on the things that weren't 'things' we came a long way too. Gratitude that life has unique ways of reminding you what is important.

Spend some moment everyday in reflection of gratitude and happiness. Even if the time found is standing in line for coffee...use is wisely.

Michelle


Did this post brighten your day? make you smile? If so I'd be ever so grateful if you shared it on Facebook or Twitter. Someone else might be in need of a smile - Thanks!

Picking Sides

When Michael and I were first married we owned a teeny, tiny 2 bedroom house. The total square footage was less than 700 square feet. You can imagine in that limited space, we were lucky to have 1 bathroom. It was a closet of a room, complete with a tub, sink and a toilet. For the first week it had no electrical outlet and in desperation I would plug my curling iron in at the kitchen table and curl my hair in my reflection in the toaster. (I didn't mind too much, there was more room for my ashtray in the kitchen) Michael quickly had an electrician buddy come to the house and help us with our wiring challenges. The bathroom became functional and Michael quickly learned that his turn in the mirror was whenever I was finished.

When the kids began arriving  I barely noticed the one bathroom inconvenience, they were little and we managed, but being a girl I knew that the day would come. The day that would find myself and our 2 daughters negotiating mirror time while Michael and our son begged on the other side of the door for toilet time. I envisioned them opting in desperation to borrow a neighbours loo or pee behind a tree in the yard. Common sense dictated that we eventually would need another bathroom. Actually common sense dictated that a family of 5 in a two bedroom house probably needed more than an extra bathroom.

So we sold our little house and moved into something more suitable. We tripled our square footage and along with it our bathroom count, officially ending our bathroom dilemmas.

There is always a place to pee, a mirror to see in and an outlet to plug a hairdryer or straightener into.

Or there was.

Tomorrow we have two teenager girls who will vie for shower, mirror, sink time, in preparation for highschool appearances. They tried a trial run today. 96 minutes start to finish for KJ. 96 minutes before the door opened and KJ informed Lula the bathroom was all hers. 96 minutes before the fireworks started. 96 minutes before the bathroom trauma started. Arguments over hairdryers and nail polish remover, towels and counter space.

I think they may have forgotten their bathroom roots. I think they have forgotten how grateful they should be that they have a bathroom to share. Perhaps they don't realise how grateful they should be that while they are cat scrapping over eyelash curlers and bobbi-pins, their little brother isn't banging on the other side of the door threatening to pee in their shoes if he doesn't get his turn in the water closet.

What today's trial run taught us is that the girls will need to wake up at 3 am to get all their primping and priming done in time to meet the bus. It taught us that teenage daughters are like cage fighters, sometime you just have to let them battle it out, survival of the fittest style and wait for the hairspray to settle.

More importantly I learned how grateful I am that I have a bathroom of my own.

Note to kids; I will be on the good side of my bathroom door and all of your knocking and pleading will not convince me to forfeit my time. I paid my dues...curled my hair in the kitchen and stood cross legged on the bad side of the door too many times, and you can too!

Spend some moment everyday in reflection of gratitude and happiness. Even if the time found is standing in line for coffee...use is wisely.

Michelle


Did this post brighten your day? make you smile? If so I'd be ever so grateful if you shared it on Facebook or Twitter. Someone else might be in need of a smile - Thanks!

Chicken Adventures

Mr. Serious has a very important school project in the works right now. For months he has been reading The Little Red Hen. He has to practice the text until he is really comfortable with it, this week he will 'present ' the story to his grade 1 class summarized in his own words like a verbal book report.

I've listened to the story over and over. I could retell it.

Me: "Who will help me set the table?"

Reply "Not I" say E-man, Lula, KJ, Mr. Serious, King and Tippy Toes

Me: "Who will help me fold these clothes?"

Reply "Not I" say E-man, Lula, KJ, Mr. Serious, King and Tippy Toes

Me: "Who will help me vacuum this carpet, dust these shelves, sweep this floor?"

Reply "Not I" say E-man, Lula, KJ, Mr. Serious, King and Tippy Toes

Me "Who will help me take out this garbage, clean this bathroom, change these beds?"

Reply "Not I" say E-man, Lula, KJ, Mr. Serious, King and Tippy Toes

.....

You get the picture.

The Little Red Hen was clearly a mother. What they don't tell you is that The Little Red Hen and Chicken Little were the same person feathered character. All that "I will do it myself" eventually sent The Little Red Hen mad and running around shouting jibberish about the sky falling. Does anyone else find it coincidental that once The Little Red Hen went mad everybody was on board, shouting and screaming about the sky falling and informing the King? Even in fables the characters can get behind a cause. First they drove that poor hen crazy then they joined forces to push her over the edge.

If life imitates art you should see a post sometime next week about me getting clonked on the head by a piece of the great blue sky.

Until then I am grateful that some father thought the plight of mothers funny enough to turn it into a book series and that he chose a hen not a pig for the character.

Spend some moment everyday in reflection of gratitude and happiness. Even if the time found is standing in line for coffee...use is wisely.


Michelle


Did this post brighten your day? make you smile? If so I'd be ever so grateful if you shared it on Facebook or Twitter. Someone else might be in need of a smile - Thanks!

Spider Got Nothing On Me!

Hate is a word I don't use very often. My Dad use to say to us when we were kids and the word would spit from our mouths. "Hate is a very strong word, you can't understand the enormity of the word. Hate is a word you can't take back." He would say "I strongly dislike is a better phrase to use."  So I did. remembering always that if I was going to say Hate, I better mean it in an unwavering, don't ever want to take it back kind of way.

Let me say, I Strongly dislike rapini. I strongly dislike when my neighbour's music shakes the windows in my house at 2am on a Saturday night. I strongly dislike doing my taxes. I strongly dislike the smell of cigarettes, the taste of fake watermelon candy, chewing gum and insomnia.

I Hate spiders.

insert disgusting photo of spider here. (Not going to happen, I like this space, I want to enjoy it)

Why, is irrational. They are tiny and harmless, I don't believe that they lay eggs in your ears or crawl in your mouth when you sleep. They do have 8 legs and too many eyes and you can tell they are all looking at you. I hate that as soon as the weather warms up the creepy crawlers emerge from wherever they spent the winter. I hate that they always emerge from some place I've been frequenting on a daily basis. I hate that they've been there all along. I hate when they crawl up from the kitchen drain or skitter across the bedroom wall inches from my head.

I hate when I find one in the shower with me...like I did this morning!

They shouldn't bother me, I've faced far bigger and more gruesome creatures. Once when a bat took haven in Michael's bachelor pad I was an integral part of the extradition team.  I was "the stick guy." If you have ever been involved in a wildlife relocation project you know they are 3 guys; the guy with the plan, the guy charged with containment equipment and the stick guy. The guy with the plan always has one (so does everybody else but when everything goes horribly wrong we all want someone to point at) The containment guy procures the kleenex, pillowcase, jar, bag, box or basket required and is vigilantly ready for the capture (the plan guy and the containment guy are never the same guy) The stick guy carries the flyswatter, broom, poker, tennis racket or golf club. This person must be able to follow directions like; 'No!', 'GO!, GO!, GO!', 'Other side' and 'Wait..wait..now!'

I always seem to be 'the stick guy.'  I swat the flies while everyone else points out where they are. I was the one with the broom the night the cat brought a mouse in the house. I was raking the yard on the afternoon a bird flew in the house...Yep I was the 'guy' trying to gently guide the creature under instruction to the open door. So that's my job. I don't plan, extricate or kill, I handle the necessary stick.

Until this morning. . . Remember that spider? 

Under normal circumstances I enlist an impassioned plea "Michael, I need you!" 26 years together and bless his heart he still thinks I'm talking sexy not hitman. Michael comes to my rescue and 'handles' the spider. (He also handles Lula's spiders and KJ's spiders). This morning found me in a predicament. I was already in the shower. I was already wet. Our ensuite shower is small, clearly I was already in the spider containment device. There is also the cardinal rule when dealing with spiders. It's like the first aid rule; 'Never leave the victim unattended to seek help. Call out, send someone else, flag somebody down.' Spiders must be handled the same way. Never take your eye off of the offender. They will disappear and you will never sleep, shower or go in that cupboard again.

All of these factors left me to deal. Suddenly I had to be 'the plan guy'. We were already contained (much to my horror) My plan was to kill the spider, now I needed a 'stick'. A shampoo bottle was to risky; with it's odd shape a miss was highly probable. Any 'stick guy' worth their salt knows you only get 1 really good chance. A razor; clearly too small, the bath puff; clearly not a stick. So I picked up the shower scissors. (please don't ask. I don't know why I have scissors in the shower except that we get alot of those shampoo sample packet thingies) Scissors in hand I braced myself for a good, one and only shot. I leaned forward, approached the spider, squished it with the scissors and immediately did that little dance you do when you are completely grossed out and not entirely sure the spider is indeed extinguished and not charging you.

I got him! First try!

I felt a tingle of guilt and then an enormous sense of courage and accomplishment. I conquered the spider and my fear. I felt like able to take on the what ever might threaten to cripple me today. I reached for the shampoo and lathered up. Keeping one eye open while I basked in the glory of victory. . . I watched Arachnophobia.

Gratitude today for small victories, If I can conquer a spider, E-man can conquer the dark and Lula can conquer public speaking.  A grateful chosen for KJ too, because, if not for my courage, she would be facing the demon herself (maybe she will start to use her own bathroom)


Spend some moment everyday in reflection of gratitude and happiness. Even if the time found is standing in line for coffee...use is wisely.


Michelle


Did this post brighten your day? make you smile? If so I'd be ever so grateful if you shared it on Facebook or Twitter. Someone else might be in need of a smile - Thanks!

Wednesday's Example of Domestic Bliss #3

Every weekday morning at 5:34 am I drag my kiester out of bed. When I tell people what time I get up they say "Why the heck do you get up that early?" (secretly I wonder "doesn't everybody?") I explain... I get up that early to get everyone else's day started. I brew the coffee and check my mail, I ensure clean underwear and matching socks are at the ready for E-man. I watch the clock to avert teenage sleep-in, which in turn insures they achieve maximum bathroom time and minimized AM stress (for EVERYONE!)

And I make lunches. 4 lunches...5 days a week for as long as people have been eating lunches in this house. Noboby is ever really happy with everything I pack. Most days I come home and find a refused banana, an undesired muffin, an apple or disdained juice box in the place where I lay out the lunches for packing.

I guess today I really missed the mark...a whole lunch left behind!  After checking to make sure Lula actually left the house today, I salvaged what wouldn't be harboring the threat of food born illness.

Thank you Lula for making ME lunch today...I hope you're enjoying your french fries!


Spend some moment everyday in reflection of gratitude and happiness. Even if the time found is standing in line for coffee...use is wisely.


Michelle


Did this post brighten your day? make you smile? If so I'd be ever so grateful if you shared it on Facebook or Twitter. Someone else might be in need of a smile - Thanks!

Cross That Bridge When You Get to It.

If you were to walk into my kitchen right now and set your sights on the table you would be staring right into the very abyss that has swallowed my last nerve.


"My last nerve" I say that all the time in my parenting life. It flys from my lips as my children engage in vocal warfare "Knock it off...I'm down to my last nerve!" The child who incesantly pleads for the latest toy or begs merciously for a grounding reprieve hears "I've got one nerve left and you're standing on it!" (that's a warning shot). At some point during teenage PMS week I usually declare "That's it! my nerves are shot!" I'm not going to lie, there have been nights when I curl up in Michael's arms and cry "My nerves can't take any more."


There are a hundred events capable of bringing me to my knees and finding me resorting to the "Nervous" phrase. No single event however has greater power than

Drive Time

It takes 18 minutes for me to drive to work. In those minutes I am oblivious to the world beyond my comfort class seating. I crank the radio, I sing as if no one's watching, I belt out the hits like I can carry a tune. I talk back to the radio, I answer the DJ's rhetorical questions. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel with gusto and throw my head back for the high notes. I laugh from my belly. Occasionally I blurt obscenities at the top of my lungs at idiotic drivers and shout instructions to the vehicularily challenged.

Inside my sound proof booth on wheels I let it all out. No one can hear me, no one knows what I'm saying (unless they can lip read at 60km/hr)

Today I wondered what I must look like to those just beyond my factory tint windows. I know that I must look incredibly foolish. If there were in fact a camera recording my 18 minute mental health break it would be first class, grade 'A' YouTube viral material. I realize it, I just don't care. Those 18  minutes do more for me than hours of therapy ever could achieve and well, if in the process, I provide a stoplight's worth of humor and entertainment for some other frantic soul that's just a bonus.

I must express my gratitude for street level therapy. For the record, I also appreciate and am grateful beyond measure that there are no recording devices in my vehicle.