Tag Archives: little moments

Omigod I’m Just Going to Give you a Standing Ovation Right Now

Get A Little Perspective People, Life's Little Moments, Personal Opinion, , ,

I binged on youtube videos when I should have been showering and cleaning.

On a healthy day I think celebrity culture is insane, and we would all be better off just living our own lives instead of checking in to see what our favourite actor was wearing or what they said about anything at any time. My personal experience with it has led me to believe that too much of it can cause a huge gap between real life and the tactfully projected life through pictures and statuses, and can make one feel lacking in just about every aspect of life.

Today I saw celebrities get standing ovations for raising their kids without the use of a nanny. I saw women clap and cheer at a man who was working, while his wife stayed home to raise their new baby at home. I saw Ellen Degeneres learn that an epidural didn’t mean ‘natural’ in the birth world. I heard people with more money than some countries talk about the hardship of planning for their kids’ future. I watch these videos like I’m watching a train wreck – I want to look away out of respect because what I’m watching is so terrible, and nobody should be seen like this, and yet I’m forced to look because it’s so unbelievable that it’s hypnotic.

I imagine that if I were a celebrity, after having lived my non-celebrity life up until now, I would likely be too embarrassed to talk about some of these things as though they were so novel. If somebody cried because I discussed my decision to have a home birth, I might feel more compelled to send them some information on continuing education rather than the remarkableness of my decision. If Ellen Degeneres learned that my husband and I had decided to raise our kids on our own without money, but with a blind understanding of the importance of quality of life, I fear she might fall off her chair and give away more iPods than she’s allowed. I wonder if being at a gala of great importance would be overshadowed by a cluster of people hanging on to my every word as I explained things like grocery shopping without a car in a Canadian winter, or nursing in public or my daughter asking if she can wear a head scarf one day because she has so many muslim friends at school. I’m not sure I would be able to take all these people seriously if parts of my life that seem so simple, so necessary would be celebrated as though I was the only person in the world doing it.

I’m sure there are celebrities who grin and grit through their teeth at these stories they have to tell, knowing that a great many people have also opted to not have nannies, in less comfortable circumstances, and I have a lot of admiration for them. It can’t be easy to talk like you are the first person to discover that breastfeeding can speed up weight loss after pregnancy, but there she is, enlightening the audience, and you have to hand it to her for having the balls to maintain the interview rather than get serious and tell Katie Curic that her questions are stupid.

All of this to say, today if you are working and budgeting, or raising some kids or getting into a fight with your partner, just imagine the applause an LA audience would have for you if you had more money, a couple of red carpet pictures in People Magazine and had dated Chris Pine. As I scrub the slow cooker and try not to slip in the oily bathtub because my daughter decided it would be fun to put baby oil in her bath last night, I will be imagining the reaction of a room who can’t believe I live this way, and how hard they would be clapping at my strength and endurance. If I have a room of applause following me around in my head all day, I might actually be able to get through it a little easier. God Bless LA audiences.

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Delete vs Publish

Personal Opinion, ,

I wrote a decent post on watching my son make messes. It was eye opening and honest and told the story of how important it is to let your kids make messes for the simple fact that it’s important to seeeeeeeeee what they are doing. To see how they are learning and for me, to take the edge off the inconvenience of the mess. But right before I pressed “Publish” I found myself cringing at the writing and recognizing a certain ‘do this!’ that I hate about most blogs and believe to be the root of most conflict in the world.

Deleted.

I wrote a pretty good, albeit completely emotional post about a new path I am walking called Being a Doula and I semi-objectively wrote about the benefits of doulas, and of course my ability to be the best doula you will ever have, and almost pressed “Publish” but then decided not to. It was a post that was slightly too preachy, slightly geared towards selling myself and it made me cringe.

Deleted.

I thought about writing about my visceral rejection to self promotion, and how I see other’s doing it and they look so beautiful and so happy and I feel like I could maybe be more successful if I just did it, but then I cringe and know that it’s not coming from an authentic place and that is something I cannot get comfortable with, and in some ways that makes me successful, but in other ways that ensures that I will never be. When did being authentic get anybody anywhere? I mean, really?

Somewhere in the depths of this computer I have a saved post about mental illness. I didn’t publish that because the truth is I believe more educated people than me should be writing posts about mental illness.

Deleted.

I have a saved post about the differences between my self as a young 20 year old and a young 30 year old, and how much it sometimes hurts to see those difference in pictures, played out in memories and in lost friendships. It’s a post that takes the reader through some life changing moments 10 years ago that now seem to have been experienced by a different woman than I am today, and poses the question of whether or not that’s true for all of us. By the end of my writing I was almost too lost in the past to feel like I really had a handle on what I was trying to say, and thought about starting a new post that spoke to the power of glorifying our past, but then was too tired and

Deleted.

My cat. ISIS. Being Crafty. Sesame Street vs The Muppets. Facebook creeping. Avoiding opening mail. Complimenting a woman in a beautiful dress in the parking lot and rejuvenating my hope for mankind. Crushes on movie stars and realizing I am older than most of them. Like, foaming at the mouth because I was to spend money on things things things for me me me. Vancouver vs Ottawa. Halifax vs Ottawa. Style change as we age. Collecting art. Sending mail. Birthday parties. Oh that’s a good one. I’ll probably write about that one soon.

I have an endless list of things going through my mind that seem important and then I go to publish and I change my mind. Unless it feels authentic, I can’t do it. So today, the only thing that feels right is to admit to all the topics I would pollute the internet with but decide not to. That every idea or post idea is meticulously thought about and only shared if it passes my test for being honest, maybe informative, open to connectedness with others and non preachy.

Publish to Wrinkles and Dust.

Beer And Boyardee

Growing Up, I am Lame, Motherhood My Way, , , , ,

That’s right. I took off my organic hat today and turned on the stove top to heat up some Chef Boyardee. I am proud to say that I was more excited for my lunch today than I was to nap, nap twice and then go to bed. I believe it to be the first can of Chef Boyardee that my son has enjoyed and I wanted to remember the moment with a beer. Reasonable. It was fantastic, and as I scooped the pasta and ‘beef’ from the pot into the bowls, I was careful to ensure that I took a mental snapshot of the moment in order to remember it for years to come.

As I ate each spoonful I thought of the little corner store that I bought it from, and how wonderful it is to support local businesses. I thought of how smart they are, to carry such products, when they also carry much fresher, more ethnic goodies cooked right in their kitchen – but that they are in a neighbourhood of students, and how many students must grab at these comfort foods canned and ready to go? Smart.

I thought of all the commercials I have seen of mother and baby enjoying their Chef Boyardee and how if there was a camera on me, I would be giving those happy actors a run for their money. Here I am, truly smiling and chit chatting with my curious son who hears trucks reversing and listens to the beeping and then reaches out a hand for another tasty bite. Here I am, listening to some new music, feeling refreshed to have something on other than Raffi and enjoying a sudden burst of sun from the window. I look to my cat and allow him to keep eating the plastic bag on the floor, ‘Go ahead Jimmy, keep eating that bag, lets see what happens‘.

I think of all the things I’ve read or conversations I’ve been part of, of the importance of eating healthy, of eating fresh, of making sure your baby gets the best of everything. I couldn’t agree more. As we spooned the last of the bowls into our hungry bellies, I thought, this is the best. Son, you just consumed enough salt to last you to Monday, and isn’t that amazing? We shared a lunch of ease – of pure and utter ease, and that is the best. That is worth more than anything these days, when I am tired, sick, not very engaged, contemplative and self absorbed about a hopeful future, and for 40 minutes we got to sit and gibberish back and forth and then wait for the sugar crash to hit and it’s off to bed. We are the 1%.

So as you pre-prepare your kid’s lunch; chopping, rinsing, cooking, sautéing, I don’t know – stop and consider the possibility of a Chef Boyardee Lunch. Who knows. You might find yourself enjoying a moment of bliss. I threw in a beer because I’m an adult and while I gave my son organic milk to sip, I thought there’s gotta be line here somewhere, so I’m gonna sip on my organic beer. (Much thanks to Shelagh and Cam).

Off to bed. Sugar crash: check. Unknown

REboot.

I am Lame, Personal Opinion, , ,

My biggest failure in life seems to be that I am not very obsessed with myself. In a world where everyone is selling everything and trying to make a buck, I can’t seem to get there because I just don’t think I’m that special. Not in a wah wah way, but in a real way that simply means I’m pretty sure somebody else is doing what I am doing way better. They have funnier and better blogs. They have better kids, a better husband, they cook better, they laugh better, they look better, they do stuff better. So who am I do elbow my way into your life and try to get your attention? There’s so much noise out there, I don’t always have the energy to be part of it. When I long for quiet, and I turn off the world for a bit, I’m sometimes shocked to find that others are still listening to the racket, and not demanding for everyone to be just sit the fuck down and be quiet. Then I mope that my need for quiet has pushed me to the back of the line and everyone else is still doing things better, and so my cyclical inner turmoil thrives.

There’s too much pressure when I try to get attention. So in the spirit of releasing some pressure, here’s a rundown of the last few weeks, instead of an insightful blog post, which you can find at renegademama, who is basically my blogging idol.

Currently, as I type, my cat is fucking digging and kneading his claws into me in some cat attempt to get some affection. I am still confused as to why we have a cat. Aside from the fact that the domestic cat is NOT my totem animal, I am allergic to the whole feline species. We got him on a whim, and we’re stuck with him. We have to lock him in the bathroom at the night because he was grooming my husband’s head so viciously that a)it was gross and b)he wouldn’t stop. He would walk the length of our bed’s head board like a convicted sailor walking the plank and pounce into a fully reclined position as if to trick us into thinking he’d been there the whole time. You know, that was even kind of funny. But then he would get his grooming on, and would lick my husbands forehead and hair for the duration of the night. WTF? So now Jimmy sleeps in the bathroom. Which means he seeks affection during daytime hours, which I am fine with, and try to appease him, but right when it’s time to quit, he gets his claws out and starts threatening me with them. I don’t get cats.

My son has aced his 1 year old manipulation practicum and has me tending to him every 2 hours or so nightly. In typical mother fashion, let me take full responsibility and say ‘it’s all my fault’ since I’m the one tending to him, but he’s got me between a rock and hard place. Right when we had positioned ourselves into a reasonable sleep routine (8pm-5am) he went and started to teethe, to get a cold and there I was tending tending tending and undoing all the good habits we had created over for the summer. Then it gets to the point that I am just so bloody tired that it’s easier to just go in and put him back to sleep with a mouthful of boob rather than lie in bed and wait for him to stop crying. I’m tending to him for selfish reasons, but also because I want to be able to function during the day. Bad mum. Bad. But this Friday I am passing the torch and relieving myself from nighttime parenting duty. After more than 400 nights of keeping the watch, I am bestowing the honour onto Dad, who will likely have to tend for about 5 nights before Baby decides the new guy just aint’ worth getting up and crying for.

I cleaned out my fridge. In fact, the reason I have the energy to sit and write all this is because I was so awesomely pleased when the container that had suction cupped itself closed until I banged it on the counter and ran it under hot water, then cold water, then pried it open with a knife – turned out to be old coleslaw instead of what I thought it was, which was old tuna, I couldn’t believe my luck. Hot Dang! I chirped and my daughter gave me a look that could have been from the smell, but was most likely because she thinks I’m an idiot. If she had bothered to ask me, I would have explained that after having thrown out things like liquified cucumber, rock hard and brown lemon (lime?), 4 jars of salsa growing mould babies, pasta that had blended into itself to become one large chunk of gooey spaghetti rather than individual strands, she would have learned that the smell of old cabbage is much less assaulting than what I had prepared myself for. When it comes to Taking One For The Team, cleaning out the fridge is about as jihadist as I get.

Oh my god, are we still writing this blog post? Lets stop here before I get a cramp. My arm is itchy from my cat’s kneading and I need a cup of tea. Go do something with somebody who is doing that something better than me.
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Remember your Please and Thank You’s.

Motherhood My Way, , , ,

From the earliest age we teach our children to say ‘please’ and ‘thank-you’. It’s perhaps the first routine we teach our kids. It’s the first set of manners we teach and use to prove that our kids are well behaved. It’s arbitrary in the beginning stages, and I felt silly and guilty making my daughter say ‘please’ for food that she needed and that I was happy to give her. Sitting across the table in her high chair, pointing at a glass of water and there I was repeating ‘say please!’ and hearing her baby attempt and then rewarding her with a sip of life-sustaining liquid. I felt it was a bit misleading, since I was her mother and didn’t want her to think there was a catch to asking for basic things from me. ‘If you don’t say please, you won’t be fed, clothed, passed an item, read a book, tucked in bed etc’. Not only did I wrestle with the idea that she needed to say a magic word for these necessities but I felt like after spending 18 months knowing consciously that my role was to provide without question, without a thank you, without acknowledgement of my giving – all in a bid to build her sense of security and lay the foundation for a strong and unyielding self-esteem – all of a sudden I was changing the rules of the game and demanding that she perform for all her givens. All in the name of manners.

I didn’t like it when her grandparents withheld something until she said ‘please’. I felt that we over used the word and that we diminished the sense of what family is, a tribe that gives and takes care of each other no matter what. I began to loosen up about the rule and would gasp! pass her the ketchup when she simply asked for it. I would get her a glass of milk when she simply asked. I would do her hair when she simply asked. That’s what family does.

And then something strange began to happen. I got a little busier, a little more tired with my second child, and she got a little older. When she simply asked for something now, it wasn’t as easy for me to do. I would do it, and then I would sit down just a little more tired, a little heavier with the burden of everything else I needed to do. With a new baby it’s his turn to have 18 months of unthanked work, and so my level of giving is at a new high. As my 6 year old simply asks for a glass of milk and I place it down on the table, I feel like she should recognize the effort I put into getting it. She should thank me. But she doesn’t and I go to bed and wonder why it’s sitting on my chest like a weight and think about what family means. I think about how her age is changing things and try to gain clarity about what my role is and how I want to influence her. I toss and turn trying to decide if my daughter has no manners, if she’s rude, if she’s mean, if she has no compassion. It’s hard to sleep with a weight on your chest.

There were many moments like this, many heavy sleeps, and then finally the issue became clear to me. I think. I feel like the more I know the more I don’t know. But perhaps, in the case of please and thank you, it comes down to gratitude, not manners. Okay. So how do we learn that? Is it something we are born with? When I look at my 1 year old I can tell you that it is certainly not. If we are lucky, the first couple of years of our life is void of gratitude. We are cared for and given all the things we need without question if we are born into such a circumstance. So it must be learned. It must be practiced, right? I think. I pick my daughter up from school everyday and I ask how her day was and too often she goes straight to the negative. I steer her into a different direction and tell her Start with 3 good things about today. Her natural state is a little darker, a little more skeptical. That’s how she was born. So we practice looking on the bright side. Maybe we have to practice gratitude with pleases and thank you’s.

How many kids do you see demanding things and tacking on a ‘please’ and then getting what they whined for? There is little substance in that kind of please. So I place the glass of milk on the table and she takes it without a thank you and I know that I have to teach gratitude, not manners. A thank you now would mean that she recognizes that it took time and energy for somebody to do something, and acknowledging that the words ‘thank you’ is a practice in gratitude. I am grateful that you are so busy and yet you still had the generosity to get me a glass of milk, even when I can do it myself. Thank you mom. While I wrestle with my child rearing skills and shake my head that my daughter is 6 and I have to re-teach the habit of pleases and thank you’s, I have a glimmer of hope that I’m on to something new and important – not just for her, but for my second child as well. With each please and thank you, I can teach them the deeper meaning, and avoid the words being an empty, learned manner. I think.

You know those days when….

Personal Opinion, Universal Topics, , ,

You know when it’s 1:30am and your partner is coughing from a cold and keeping you awake, and then you finally resolve to ‘just be direct’ and end up hissing in the dark “Why don’t you just sleep on the couch?” and then kind of pat yourself on the back for improving in your communication skills, and kind of hate yourself for still behaving like a 9 year old?

You know when it’s a few hours later and your accumulated fatigue barely warrants mentioning, but then you see your partner on the couch sitting with his eyes closed because he’s so tired, and you can’t help but bang around the kitchen and snap at the kids and then finally make an underhanded comment about how he doesn’t know what it means to be tired?

You know when you see your partner helping the kids get and eat their breakfast, and you know somewhere in your cold heart that he is sick and even though you hate when he’s sick because men are the worst at being sick, you still kind of realize that you love him and that you would be a mess without him?

You know those days when you realize you got your hair cut a week ago, and you’ve been pushing the envelop to see how long you can go without washing it because for some reason no matter what you do, it will never look as good as it did when you left the salon, and you know your self esteem is walking on thin ice and you don’t know if you have it in you to risk the washing and look way worse then you have for the last glorious week?

You know when your logical side kicks in and says ‘you look greasy’ and you wash your hair and then as you dry it and stand in the mirror you think about all the things you hate about yourself and know that you made a huge error and probably should’ve stuck to the greasy look, and you have a moment of understanding those 80 year old women in the 80’s that your grandmother was friends with who would go to a salon just to get her hair washed and blow dried and it never made sense until this moment that you hate yourself in the mirror?

You know when you live in a co-op and you have no income, and so you apply for subsidy because that’s why you moved into a co-op in the first place, and you’re told you need a bunch of documentation to prove you have no income and you wrestle with a sense of shame for having no income but try to remind yourself that you are home with the kids and that’s ‘priceless’ but then you actually kind of picture a price on your kids’ heads and wonder if you are pricing them high enough and then wonder if you’re a bad mother for coming up with what seems like a reasonable price for a child and then have to deal with a couple of 20 year olds about how you have no income and you again hate yourself and wish your kids were actually worth money?

You know when you have 15 minutes to spare before your partner has an appointment so you browse through some shops in a trendy neighbourhood and you see a cool calendar that your husband really likes and as you leave he makes a cute little comment about how if you loved him you would have bought that for him, so then when he’s at his appointment you do one better and not only buy the calendar but also go into the trendy frame shop and somehow agree to have the 12 pictures from the calendar placed on a board and framed so that he can always have the cool pictures to look at even when the year is over, and you pay $307 for it and leave feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake and wonder if this is how you have no assets and start feeling a little panicked about whether you should tell your husband or not because you think you should-so he can tell you to stop the order-but you also want to give him this present even though now you’re thinking it’s kind of dumb so you do tell him and he tells you stop the order! and then you get teary in the car because he didn’t like your present and then he calls you out and says ‘you wouldn’t have told me unless you knew it was mistake’ and then you get even more mad because he’s right, but you can’t let him know that so you say he’s wrong and he says ‘please don’t let this ruin your day’ and you want to hold on to all the bad feelings because you feel embarrassed and awful for spending $307 and so you agree to go and stop the order and it’s awkward and you leave knowing you can’t go back ever again?

You know when you go to city hall to figure out how to prove you have no income and you tell your husband it will take 2 hours and you’ve already convinced yourself that this day is the worst and he forgot his phone so you can’t text him when your done so you send him away mad and he makes a joke about how it always makes you feel better to leave mad at him and that breaks the hold of the awful gift mistake you made and you finally feel light, and like you can face any damn 20 year old that needs proof you are unemployed and you head into city hall and instead of 2 hours it takes 5 minutes and you wish you hadn’t sent your husband away because now you have to walk home but as you do you realize you don’t walk enough and it gives you the chance to people watch and you can’t stand how university students take up so much swaggering space on the sidewalk and you pass a police officer and wonder why you never had any police officer fantasies as a younger woman and as you walk through the streets of downtown you feel so grateful not to be part of the hoard of students trying to make friendships and love connections and fulfill fantasies and go to classes or skip classes and have a skewed sense of what’s important and party too hard and then when you think you’ve listed everything you’re glad not to be a part of you remember that it’s important for people to experience life and that it all gives you character and you feel enlightened for a minute and then an Asian person cuts you off on the sidewalk and you feel secretly racist because Asians are always cutting you off on the sidewalk?

You know how when you get home from a day that was full of errands you just want to sit and drink tea, so you do, and then you realize you’ve eaten nothing all day and have only consumed tea and you know you should eat something now that you recognize this, but then argue to yourself that it will take too much energy to prepare something and you’re already weak with hunger so why not just push through to dinner?

You know when you agreed to do some simple yoga with your neighbour down the hall for $30 a week and halfway through you feel like you’re going to faint because you’re so hungry but she has autism and you can’t really explain yourself so you end the session a bit distant and rushed and feel bad but then also feel like fainting isn’t worth the $6 session today?

You know when you make it through the day, after enough ups and downs that you feel kind of winded and the kids are finally asleep and you tell your husband to get off the computer because he’s getting that crazy look in his eye so go do something with your hands and you know that you have just helped him and wonder if you are helpful enough or if you are just wrapped up in your own selfish needs and you want to take part of the day back and tell him you should have laughed earlier in the car and you shouldn’t have sent him away at city hall, and you should have eaten something and you should have remembered to buy cough syrup for tonight and you should go to bed early but you feel actually kind of okay now and feel like as your husband makes a weird design on a piece of wood and the kids are asleep that today wasn’t so bad?

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