Roadside

The littlest fawn pranced and twirled,

cheerfully unconcerned with the ferocious traffic and her mother’s nudges.

The bigger fawn bounded ahead, exploring crannies,

before bouncing back, full of vigor.

Another headlight passed, and he danced forward along the roadside again.

The doe trod gently onward- patient, weary, watchful;

neither entirely oblivious nor overtly fearful

about the oncoming din of each passing car.

The cars sped past- indifferent, loud, bright, unending.

The fawns cavorted- innocent, free, cheerful.

The doe, protective, vigilant and loving,

flicked her ears, shook her head and nudged at her young,

urging them homeward in the twilight.

We are one, she and I.

Faces

See those faces? Those faces are the reason I continue to draw breath.

Sometimes, they are the faces that make me want to hold my breath and count to ten; sometimes they are the faces that make my breath

blast forth with extreme force and volume.

Often, they are the faces that make me catch my breath and

drop a kiss on those downy-soft, sweet and sweaty heads.

My kids are sometimes my greatest trial.

Ultimately, they are my salvation; they make me want to be a better human.

Gifts?

I hate it when someone criticizes my kid (but I love having blog fodder).

Should we be grateful for gifts given which we do not want and wouldn’t have chosen for ourselves? The mantra is be polite, but I wonder whether this is the right message, or at least, the only message. How about the value of being true to yourself?

At after-school-care, Sam was chosen to get a reward. The rewards had been discussed by the whole group, so the children did have input as to what would be appropriate rewards for this particular project. Sam was offered a choice of 4 small toys; he didn’t like any of them. They did seem a little juvenile for his age group, but not inappropriate either. He asked if that was all there was, and was told that he did not have to take any of the offered items if he didn’t want to. “Fine. I’ll take this one”, he grumbled, and off he went. The after-school teachers thought this was uncharacteristically ungrateful behaviour from Sam, and I agree with that.

What would the “right” response have been? Absolutely, “Thanks, but no thanks is a good choice, and we will talk about this as a family. Avoiding hurting the feelings of someone who has genuinely offered you a gift is also a good idea. Living simply enough to avoid acquiring more stuff just because it exists, also seems like a good idea. As we head deeper into recession, choosing as rewards not more Stuff, but deeper Experiences, just makes sense to me. I’m all about the experience, which is what lasts on into adulthood, after all. Seldom is that true of the $5 toy, and even less so of the $2 toy.

Increasingly, I ask myself why we need to indulge in the cheap toy as an acquisition. At birthday parties, we tend to encourage the "twoonie party" idea: a two dollar coin for the child, and another for the charity of the child's choice. When we indulge at McDonald's, I am going to steer my youngest away from the Happy Meal toy. I need to school myself and steel myself not to give in to the constant demands for acquiring something whenever we are at the grocery store or drug store. I will encourage all of our children to differentiate between need and want. We don't need more "stuff" when our homes are already overflowing.

I know it's not realistic to expect my young children to be able to say "Thanks, but I didn't want the gift in the first place. If you want to honour me, please find a way which doesn't involve me having to be grateful for or turn down a cheap trinket." As I write this though, I wonder about the value in teaching a person, a child, to be grateful for any gift, no matter how trivial, and to be grateful for what we already have, because there is so much poverty and true need in the world.

I spoke to the head of the after-school program, who was able to shed some light on what had happened; she was grateful that I was seeking insight and clarification. I've blogged about it, which has given me some further clarification and insight. All is well here, but I still don’t like someone criticizing my kid.

Imp

“There was an Incident at daycare today.” These words are inclined to strike terror into the heart of even the most sanguine or phlegmatic of parents.

Rob had picked up Sydney that day, so he was the bearer of bad news to me. My heart sank- now what? Sydney is rambunctious, spirited, emotional, dramatic. The daycare is cheerful, but I worry a little about the caregivers' devotion to Sydney. It would be fantastic if there was at least one teacher at daycare who felt that Sydney was one of her favourite children. I don’t think that this is the case.

How much difference does it make? In practical terms, perhaps not much, but in my head and my heart, I am always aware that she may need a titch more understanding, nurturing, loving, and guidance than is given reflexively. Overall, this is a good experience for her, and for me, and I hope for the daycare, but I do look forward to getting her into school. One of the problems at daycare is that the kids with the more challenging behaviours get more focus, however inadvertently; the other kids, if they do not stand out in any particular way, are likely to get overlooked more easily.

I think she is more likely to stand out in a school environment. She is smart; she will be one of the eldest in the class; the expectation for behaviour will be more orderly, which will not be problematic for her; she is cute- I think she will fit in, and learn well, and will not stand out in negative ways, and may stand out in positive ways.

The incident? Minor, really. It involved a pair of scissors. (oh no) Someone cut someone else’s hair. (oh dear) “Whose hair did she cut?” (no question in my mind about who did the cutting; the consequences for our family would vary depending on the answer to this question, though) "Sarah’s". Sarah’s mother is an earth-mother type, they are also a blended family and we had just had Sarah over for 2 playdates. Sarah has very short hair already. If impishness was going to burst out of my girl, this was the best case scenario for it.

I am, however, looking forward to her having other venues for exploring and experimenting with the world. Hello kindergarten!

A rant on mature-rated games...

These are the reasons I do not want mature-rated games in the house:

• they are not necessary
  
• there are dozens of games in the house already
  
• there is too much time spent in front of a screen by each family member as it is
  
• the mature rating means that the material is inappropriate under the age of eighteen
  
• if there are small children in the house, they may be exposed to extreme violence and language
  
• if they are excluded from the activities, that may hurt their feelings
  
• is there any research to suggest that violent video games enhance development?
  
• is there any research to suggest they can be detrimental to development?
  
• there are many more appropriate activities in which to partake- activities which might promote better physical, mental, emotional health
  
• mature-rated games are not necessary to a person’s continued well-being or health
  
• what is the trade-off?
  

We're having issues at home- can you tell?

Birth Day

Eight years ago today, I gave birth to my little boy.

When my water broke at 5 am on Friday morning, I was worried a bit about the timing. My BFF, Shannon, was arriving on Saturday morning from the other side of the country to help out and be with me. I was single, and she was going to be my labour support and take care of me and the new babe for a couple of weeks. I knew I would manage if the baby came before she did, but I wanted her there, and she wanted to be there, too.

True to form, being tardy and into dilly-dallying, I didn’t go into labour until after she arrived, 31 hours later. Fortunately my mid-wife was calm and experienced and was prepared to wait for me to get on with things in my own sweet time, so I did not need any medical intervention.

Once it got started, shortly after Shannon’s arrival, labour was fairly rapid. I was thankful to have both Shannon and Erik as my labour supporters, since they were able to assess how labour was progressing, be in contact with the mid-wife to keep her posted on my contractions, run interference with the phone and visitors. It was they who recognized me move into active labour/transition and called the mid-wife; by the time she arrived a very few minutes later, I was ready to push.

In fact, I was so ready to have the baby, that the midwife sent Erik to her van to get supplies while she called the back-up midwife (Come now!), her husband (I’ll be late for supper) and the hospital (they have to be notified so as to be on stand-by), and to continue to monitor me. As it turned out, I was a fast labourer, but a slow pusher- it took me 1.5 hours to work Sam around those bones...

Sam was born at 18:06, Saturday September 30th, 2000, needing a little whiff of oxygen to pink him up before settling in to nurse and snuggle. He weighed 3350g (3.35 kg or 7lbs 6oz, if memory serves). He was a bonny baby, who has been easy to raise and continues to be a real charmer, inside and out.

Happy birthday, Sam!

Postus Interruptus

I start so many more posts than I finish, or even attend to, and I want to be okay with that. My blog shouldn’t add a layer of obligation to my life- it’s supposed to be a helpful, joyful thing.

That said, let’s see if I can sneak some snippets of stuff into here:

•I missed my nephew’s birthday- he turned 9, and I haven’t acknowledged it in any way. I haven’t ever sent last year’s gift to him, either. I am so disorganized!

•I love my “husband”- he is a real gift in my life.

•I miss my husband- I wish I could recall more of his quirks to mind more readily. Yesterday, as Rob was leaning over the bathroom sink in shorts, no top and socks and slippers, I caught sight of his mid-section first. The body shape, posture, texture and pattern of hair, all said Willis to me- it was very disorienting to see Rob’s face on Willis- the mind is a funny creature that way. The socks and slippers were clearly characteristic of Rob, but the problem my poor, tired mind cannot solve is whatever would Willis have been wearing on his feet if it had been him? I absolutely cannot remember or picture it. And, much as I love Rob, I sometimes ache for one more hug with Willis- I love(d) him, too, and I never did get a final hug with him (lying my head on his lifeless chest in the trauma room doesn’t count).

•When I hug Rob, I get a powerful and profound feeling of “rightness” and “calmness”. We are clearly meant to be together, or at least, we clearly belong to each other. I love that a hug with Rob can often put my world to rights- how cool is that? (And Annie, just like with you and your Rob, it goes waaay beyond hugging. Note the title of this post? Bet you can figure out what interrupted this particular piece a couple of nights back... ;))

•The other day, I left Sam in the boy’s wear department, happily picking out some summer gear for himself, while Sydney and I were in the girl’s wear, a couple of aisles over. Turns out, Sam wasn’t actually paying attention to the fact that I had moved on, found himself alone, and got worried. He saw a cashier in the jewelry department, and thought about asking her for help, but was feeling a little too shy to go up to her. He took himself behind a rack of clothes, talked to himself reassuringly, then went up to her to ask for help. I was paged to pick up my “package” in the jewelry department, which I did with alacrity, and was able to greet my not-quite-grownup boy with a big hug. I’m so proud of him for overcoming his shyness and doing the right thing, and not panicking. I still believe that “free-range” (with shades of “attachment”) parenting is absolutely the best style for me, and my kids do okay with it, too, which is an added bonus.

•Sydney is a drama queen, and she is little, and the only girl in the family- this causes her issues sometimes:

•I think Girl wrote this: “The thing about recurring issues is that the better you get at spotting them, the better they get about subterfuge.  The same issues crop up constantly in our lives, in different guises, and sometimes it takes awhile to realize you’re dealing with the same old thing for the nth time.” I absolutely love this, which explains so exactly where I am in my life, and why I am talking with my therapist again. Tardiness, procrastination, avoidance, insecurity, self-doubt are constant issues, from childhood, and as I stand on the crest of my meno-pausal wave, I’d like to tame these issues a little. I’d like them to be familiar companions, rather than looming, scary monsters on the path beside me, as I walk/scamper/plod/skip down the road that is my life.

•Pretty soon, I’m gonna write my inner child a letter, as a part of the process of de-mystifying the terrors residing in my psyche. I know I can take really good care of folks, whether they be 5 or 41, two-legged or four-legged, and by writing that letter, explaining and demystifying some of the terrifying experiences of childhood, and reassuring her/myself that I can and will always be present with a calm, warm voice and a hand to hold in the dark, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to turn the monsters in my background into pussycats at the garden gate.

•I’ll probably write a loving letter to Willis, too. His death was sudden and traumatic, if not entirely unexpected, and although I have worked through many issues and talked to him a great deal since his death, we all know how extraordinarily powerful the written word is as a way to move through emotion and come to a place of love, light and understanding.

•I’d better go get my car- they’ve changed this parking lot into a 30-minute limit, and I don’t need another ticket, do I?

Mother's Day Tribute to All Women

One Flaw In Women

By the time the Lord made woman,
He was into his sixth day of working overtime.
An angel appeared and said,
"Why are you spending so much time on this one?"
And the Lord answered,
"Have you seen my spec sheet on her?
She has to be completely washable, but not plastic,
have over 200 movable parts, all replaceable
and able to run on diet coke and leftovers,
have a lap that can hold four children at one time,
have a kiss that can cure anything from a scraped knee to a broken
heart -and she will do everything with only two hands."
The angel was astounded at the requirements.
"Only two hands!? No way!
And that's just on the standard model?
That's too much work for one day.
Wait until tomorrow to finish."
But I won't," the Lord protested.
"I am so close to finishing this creation that is so close to my own heart.
She already heals herself when she is sick
AND can work 18 hour days."
The angel moved closer and touched the woman.
"But you have made her so soft, Lord."
"She is soft," the Lord agreed,
"but I have also made her tough.
You have no idea what she can endure or accomplish."
"Will she be able to think?", asked the angel.
The Lord replied,"Not only will she be able to think,
she will be able to reason and negotiate."
The angel then noticed something,
and reaching out, touched the woman's cheek.
"Oops, it looks like you have a leak in this model.
I told you that you were trying to put too much into this one."
"That's not a leak, "the Lord corrected,
"that's a tear!"
"What's the tear for?" the angel asked.
The Lord said, "The tear is her way of expressing her joy,
her sorrow, her pain, her disappointment, her love,
her loneliness, her grief and her pride."
The angel was impressed.
"You are a genius, Lord.
You thought of everything!
Woman is truly amazing."
And she is!
Women have strengths that amaze men.
They bear hardships and they carry burdens,
but they hold happiness,
love and joy.
They smile when they want to scream.
They sing when they want to cry.
They cry when they are happy
and laugh when they are nervous.
They fight for what they believe in.
They stand up to injustice.
They don't take "no" for an answer
when they believe there is a better solution.
They go without so their family can have.
They go to the doctor with a frightened friend.
They love unconditionally.
They cry when their children excel
and cheer when their friends get awards.
They are happy when they hear about
a birth or a wedding.
Their hearts break when a friend dies.
They grieve at the loss of a family member,
yet they are strong when they think there is no strength left.
They know that a hug and a kiss
can heal a broken heart.
Women come in all shapes, sizes and colors.
They'll drive, fly, walk, run or e-mail you
to show how much they care about you.
The heart of a woman is what makes the world keep turning.
They bring joy, hope and love.
They have compassion and ideals.
They give moral support to their family and friends.
Women have vital things to say and everything to give.
HOWEVER, IF THERE IS ONE FLAW IN WOMEN,
IT IS THAT THEY FORGET THEIR WORTH.

Happy mother's day to all- please remember your worth and value in this world.

Love,

Sally