Perfection

I've been listening to a lot of podcasts and Ted Talks recently.  Apparently, that's what you do when you hit mid life and start questioning your life's purpose.

My favorites so far are: Brene Brown, Jen Hatmaker, and of course Oprah Winfrey.  Some of it, even I think is a little far fetched or I know it already (eye roll...of course, I do...of course).  This is one of the reasons counselling for me, in the past, has been unhelpful.  I know it already.  I keep waiting for this epiphany when I go to counselling, like their questions will help me realize something about myself that I don't already know or that I haven't already thought of.  But I am soooooo introspective (read: worrier) I've already thought about that.  For about 15 hours.  Usually at about midnight, and I can only assume midnight is when I do my best thinking, seeing as that's when I'm wide awake. And it's quiet.  And everyone else is sleeping. 

But I keep hoping that if I keep listening to the strong, amazing, successful women something will stick.  Here's the thing, these women aren't talking about how to be amazing or successful, they're talking just about how to be.  Just how to be.

For years I've defined myself by my ability to be perfect and my ability to do things well. Really, really well.  Good grades, acing tests, meeting targets, exceeding targets - it's what I do.  Type A, perfectionism, they are my best and my worst qualities.  Imperfection is failure, and I cannot fail.  I love breaking the glass ceiling.  I love being the only girl at the boys table.  But also as a person who has diagnosed depression and anxiety, being able to control my environment has become a coping mechanism.  Or maybe something to hide behind.  I don't know if there's a difference.

Lately being perfect has taken it's toll on me.  It's exhausting.  It's making me physically sick (either that or I have a brain tumour - which is entirely possible...even if my doctor says it's not...)

Because -  brace yourselves - perfectionism - it's an impossible target.  I know this.  I know it on an intellectual level.  But on a personal, soul searching, heart wrenching level I find it so hard to accept.  If I'm not perfect or at least trying to attain some version of perfectionism, who am I?  What am I?

I'm at a crossroads.

Brene Brown asks what makes you brave?

For me, I've always followed the rules.  I'm really good at following rules.  They make me feel safe.  I mean, that's kind of what rules are there for - keeping everyone safe.  I'd make a great traffic cop.  I would break every record for traffic tickets - you could single-handedly replace every bridge in the lower mainland with the revenue I would create.  Because frankly, people get away with too much - rolling stops, driving slow in the fast lane, singles driving in the carpool lane, not wearing seat belts, and the list goes on and on.  I can feel my blood pressure going up just thinking about all the violations.   

I've tried to follow life rules as well as I can too.  Get a good, stable job.  One that offers a pension and benefits.  Some of that isn't just because I like rules.  Some of it is just practical because I have a child and I'm responsible for putting a roof over his head, feeding him, clothing him.  Following the rules is helpful.  He grows so fast these days that I literally would have to rob H&M in order to clothe him if I didn't follow the rules.

So if I were to be brave - I would break a few rules.  Life rules.  Rules I've made up for me and my life. 

Brene Brown talks about being vulnerable (which by the way, is very difficult to do and be when
you're perfect).  She says:

Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren't always comfortable, but they're never weakness.*

*pause*

*breathe*

Another very wise woman - my momma - says that being imperfect gives you the opportunity to experience grace in a way you can't otherwise.  Grace fills in the spots where imperfections leave cracks. 

The more you strive for perfection, the more imperfect you become.

I don't know how this story ends yet.  It doesn't end in one blog post, though, I know that. 

My good friend Jen...Jen Hatmaker, she says -

Simply speaking truth out loud is healing in and of itself.  When people courageously voice a true, hard thing, they've already stolen some of it's dark power before we offer one word to fix it**

*brenebrown.com

**For the Love - Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards  Jen Hatmaker

Mid-Life

Oh I know it's been awhile.

I haven't had much to say.  About anything.

Well that's not true.  I have lots to say about everything.  They're just not very important thoughts. They're more like rants and vents and there are plenty of crazy rants on the internet.  You don't need to come here to read that.

There it is.  In a nutshell.  I haven't been feeling very...important...

...and I have been feeling very insignificant.

2017 has not been a very good year for me.

I mean, no one has died.  We all still have 10 fingers and 10 toes each.  We have both eye balls.

Here's the issue.  Actually, there are two issues.  I've known they were coming, yet they still seem to have snuck up on me me and I don't know where to go from here.  So here it is...

I turn 40 next month.  And I have a teenager.

F - O - R - T - Y

How did this even happen?  What have I done with the past forty years?  Where did they go?  I still feel like I'm 30.  Or 25 even.  Now I know what all those 60 year old men meant when they say on their dating profiles that they don't feel their age and identify with women 20-25 years younger than they are.  I feel like that.  I feel like it was just yesterday that I was graduating from high school with my whole life in front of me.  Now I wonder if my best years are behind me.  Did I squander it?  My life?  All those years?  Is it too late?  I should have accomplished something really, really huge by now.  I should have written a book or changed a life or created something really amazing.  I feel like that's what 20 year old me would have expected of me.  But now I don't even know what success looks like.

I should have my shit together by now.  I should be comfortable in my skin. 

Shouldn't I?

Q has turned 13.  He's in high school this year.

It was just yesterday I had a blonde, curly haired toddler running around the house with a hot wheels car in one hand, calling me 'mama', and falling asleep with his hand on my face.  Now, he's got feet bigger than mine.  With hair on his toes.  HAIR ON HIS TOES, PEOPLE.  Do you know he shaved for the first time on Wednesday?  He shaved the peach fuzz on his top lip that was getting darker and darker, almost by the day. He has thoughts and feelings separate from my own.  In face, purposely separate from my own.  Because you cannot agree with your mother.  You just cannot.  It seems like I blinked and he grew in the second it took.  I miss my baby.  I miss smelling his hair and apparently it's 'weird' to do that now. 
 
All of this has made me realize that I am powerless to stop time.  I cannot just ask to stop the ride so I can catch my bearings and figure out my next steps.  Life is going to keep going whether I participate in it or not. 

I don't want to waste the rest of my life mourning the past.  I've spent most of the year doing so and it hasn't gotten me anywhere.  I want to feel like I still have something to give, even though I'm (almost) 40.  Okay, so I'm not 20.  And who knows, maybe it's a good thing.  I can't change it, so I better accept it. 

But here's the thing.  Party stores sell supplies for 40th parties that say, "Over the Hill".  What is that nonsense?  Over the hill?!?!  What hill?  Was it a really small hill? 

I'm not sure I am ready to embrace 40.  Or embrace that I have a teenager.  I mean, I'll embrace the teenager - if he'll let me... 

This Gets Messy

I kind of feel like I make God roll his eyes in frustration at least 10 times per day. 

Maybe more. 

Like, I know God doesn't swear...but he might let out a little "fffffff" out once in a while in my general direction before he catches himself and bites his lip. 

Because I'm difficult.

In the past year, seemingly without any (okay, much) input from me I have:

1. Finished paying off over $10K after a very unsuccessful relationship
2. Scored my dream job
3. Had a 5lb, 6 inch diameter *benign* tumor removed (along with my uterus...)
4. Been told I have glaucoma and then told all previous signs of glaucoma have gone
5. Found a home in my dream neighbourhood, so Q can go to our dream high school and play for our dream minor hockey league
6. Lost 10lbs...

And those are just the MAJOR things.  I've also seen my BFF twice, been to Toronto to see the fam jam, went to Hawaii with Q for a week, and booked a two week vacation that takes us across the country.

That reads like a pretty fantastic year.  And of course, I am so so *so* thankful.  And I know that I have been blessed because all of these things have been beyond my power (especially the weight loss...I have no idea how that happened).  Paying off the G's, I'm not going to lie, was realllllllly hard...but I did it and it's done.

Here's the thing...

I feel like the kid at Christmas who just woke up, ran downstairs, opened all the amazing presents and then looks around at all the gifts with big elephant tears and a wobbly chin and says, "but where's the unicorn?  I really, really, really wanted an unicorn.  I *asked* for an unicorn."

I really thought my unicorn (a.k.a. husband) would have shown up by now. 

This is where God rolls his eyes.

When Mr. Ex and I broke up 9 (nine!) years ago, I had this overwhelming sense of hope that my husband was just around the corner...but here we are nine years later, and my hope has turned to apathy and cynicism and bitterness.

Our move this time is a little bittersweet, because I said the last time I moved was that the next time I moved I would be married.

I AM NOT MARRIED

And not only am I not married, I am nowhere close to being married.  I'm not even dating.

Some people don't need/want to be married.  They're good on their own. 

I am not that person. 

I crave that companionship.  I don't want to be making all the decisions anymore.  I don't want to be the one that unclogs the toilet.  I don't want to be the one to blame every time I forget something at the grocery store.  I want to cuddle.  I want to Netflix and chill, people.  I want to go on vacations together (I've never actually done that, can you believe it?!?!).  I want to make horrible dinners and burn the food.  I want someone else to pay a freaking bill once in a while.

I feel like if I *had* a uterus it would be shrivelling up by. the. day.  It would look like a raisin.  I'm not even kidding, you guys.  I'm not 25 anymore.  I am getting older by the day.  My age almost starts with a 4 and ends with an 0.  Men my age are looking for 25 year old virgins who want to start a family.  You know what that leaves me?  Probably with pervs and 60 year old's...haha. ha. My life feels like the best years are behind me. 

I'm *trying* to find inspiration and I'm trying to not feel sorry for myself and I am trying to feel overwhelmingly blessed and thankful and happy.

WHY can't I just be happy?

Okay....you guys totally felt it this time too...

God just rolled His eyes again. 

I AM a Hockey Mom

I'm not exactly sporty or athletic or coordinated.  In fact, I would say that I am the exact opposite of sporty and athletic and coordinated.  I believe I suffer from a hand/eye coordination problem.  I've been known to miss catching keys that have been thrown to me from two feet away.  I've been known to lose my breath half way up a flight of stairs.  I've been known to (often) trip over my very own feet.

And this is nothing new.  I HATED sports in school.  Like, even bolding and capitalizing that word does not show the extent of my school sports loathing.   To answer the question:  I don't know how I can miss kicking the ball that is right in front of me.  I don't know.  Okay?  I just don't know.  It boggles my mind too.  I mean, I line the ball up with my foot and I look away for a split second and it's almost as if someone moves the ball...

But I also must confess that because I a) didn't enjoy sports and b) am a perfectionist, I never really put much effort into it either.  I kind of have this *life motto* that if I'm not perfect at something right away, I should just give up and try something else instead.  I am, for instance, very good at reading.  And so I continue to do that.  I also think my voice sounds great in the shower and the car, so I continue to belt it out while sitting in traffic. 

All of this to say that I really just didn't *get* sports.  I have on occasion fallen asleep while "watching" hockey.  I think it's the sound of the announcers voices and the skates on the ice and the crowd cheering, it lulls me to sleep like a lullaby (or melatonin, come to think of it.)

I certainly can appreciate the hard work and determination that goes into any sporty goal and I can well imagine how rewarding it must feel to be part of a winning team or to accomplish a life long dream.  It's just never been anything I've experienced before and so I can imagine as long as I want, I'll never know how an athlete feels (although, sometimes when I have to run to my car when it's pouring rain, so I sort of get it...)

When Q was six or so, he heard his dad and I talking about starting a joint savings account for him so he would have a little something for post secondary education. 

He said:  What if I don't go to University?

Me:  Oh you'll be going.  Whether it's trade school or college or university, you'll be going.

Q:  It's just that...well...I'm pretty sure that I'll be playing in the NHL by then, so would it be okay if I went to University after that??

It was then we decided to put Q in skating lessons and over the next two years we watched him glide through four levels of skating with such determination.  He went from falling and stumbling and tripping and well...falling...to the skating coach saying she had taught him all she could and it was time for power skating (which, btw, is exactly what it sounds like...lengths of the rink, doing squats, in skates).  It was an inspiration to watch him set goals for himself and then work hard to meet them.  It made my heart proud.  I was a skate mom.  Smiling in the stands while he skated backwards and forwards and sideways and pivot. pivot. pivot.

But now...

Now...

...I'm a Hockey Mom. 

(respectful awe-filled pause)

(maybe some angels singing)

I go to practices at 6:00am.  (OMGoodness...it's actually a thing)

I spend weekends at the rink.

I cheer in the stands until my throat gets sore.  And forget about it when he scores.  I lose my mind. 

I yell helpful instructions like, "GET IT OUT" and "KEEP IT IN" and "SKATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and lately, "HUSTLE BOYS!!!"

I know all the names of all the kids and yell their names out sometimes too, just to keep it real and encourage them all equally.  I know most of the rules (and make up the rest...they're fondly referred to as the *Mom Rules* - For example: If they've really hustled, it's not icing because I mean...they skated all the way to the other end...they're tired.  And also, the losing team - us, usually - should get an extra player to even things up).

We've been on a losing streak and a short winning streak and then another losing streak.  No matter how much I cheer.  Sometimes they just don't listen to my direction.  We have a great group of families this year and we are so invested in our kids.  Not necessarily in winning, but in life experience.  We cheer when they win.  We cheer when they lose.  We cheer when they try really, really hard.  We love them whether they win or lose.  We feed them whether they win or lose.  We're good like that. 

I've learned more this year about sports than I have my whole life.  Yes, the rules of the game, but also something so much more important.  I've learned what it means to be part of a team for these kids. 

Becoming a team is so much more than just a few kids on the ice.  It's being a part of something that's bigger than yourself.  And that's a new concept for kids.  It gives them a community. 

It's determination.  It's passion.  It's skill.  It's selflessness.  It's encouragement.  It teaches consequences and follow-through. 

The kid I see on the ice is a different kid than the one I see going to school.  He's confident, he's outspoken, he's assertive.  He sees what he needs to do and he does it.  He skates until his lungs burn.  He works together with the other boys towards a common goal.  Watching some of them play together is like watching poetry.  Poetry!  Can you believe it?  Like a finely choreographed poetic dance. 

Gah!  I get goosebumps.

And there is nothing more rewarding to watch. 

I get it now.  I get the valuable lessons learned on the ice, or the court, or the field.  I am so grateful to be able to experience it with Q. 

I can say with pride that I am a Hockey Mom. 

And who knows, after watching the determination my kid has - he might just make the NHL one day.  And then I'll be a Professional Hockey Mom, which I think pays a bit more.  Haha.

In the meantime, we're probably going to get our arses handed to us at the tournament next weekend, but dang, it'll sure be worth it. 

Arts and Crafts

Since I have loads of extra down time this close to Christmas, I decided to make my two year old niece a quiet book as her gift. Who am I kidding?  It was really just as fun for me to make as it will be for her - if not more so.  It turned out pretty good, if I do say so myself. The idea behind it is to support fine motor skills and make learning colours and counting fun. 

Felt is a really good medium because for a few reasons. It doesn't fray, it's thicker than most other fabrics and you don't need to sew everything - a glue gun works nicely. For the writing I used 3D fabric paint, as markers tend to bleed on felt. 

This one helps to teach how to button and unbutton clothes - without the pressure. Inside is a heart ❤️

This is to help counting. The tops of the cupcakes come off (glue gunned Velcro) and you can match the number to the corresponding number of sprinkles. 

Again, all the colours are Velcro'd on and can be taken off and matched with the corresponding colour. 

Our family is spread across the country so this is a really good visual. From Nana and Grandpa to Auntie Nancy and Uncle Peter, it's now easy to show little N how close (or far away) all her loved ones live. 

This one with the beads help counting, too. 

The zipper helps fine motor skills and the marshmallows encourage counting. And for a monster, it's pretty darn cute. 

Finally, the hearts help match with colours and can come off the close pins (fine motor skills). 

I sewed the pages together back to back to hide any business and keep the 'pages' a little firmer. I'll use binder rings to attach all the pages together. Then, it's off to the post office so it will make it to Ontaio for Christmas!

I wonder what will keep me occupied this week.....

Post Op Revelations

Okay, I'm going to try to keep from getting too sappy and emotional - but no guarantees....

First of all, I feel it's really important to point out that years and years of watching Grey's Anatomy and ER did not prepare me AT ALL for this experience.  Like, at all. 

First revelation:  This is the most vulnerable I have felt in my life.   I really (really) like to be in control, and in this particular situation I had no control at all.  Looking back, I honestly do not know what kept me from running from the operating room (it might have had something to do with the hospital gown...) but I actually felt calm going in.  The room was cold.  The table was small.  The faces were unfamiliar.  I had only met the surgeon once before for a total of 20 minutes, and here I was trusting her to cut me open, take out an organ, and sew me back up.  And I get that nurses do what they do every single day, but for me it was all completely new so it would have been nice if one or two of them laughed at my stupid jokes to ease the awkwardness...

My mom tells me I have been saying *me do myself* since I was two years old.  So this was really an exercise in trusting and relying on others to help me do what I could not do myself...like sit up and walk. 

I also felt completely vulnerable trusting that my body would do what it needed to do in order to heal.  For me, this was terrifying.  Would it fight off infection?  Would the stitches take?  Would it know how to mend itself back together?  Thankfully, the answer is YES, but it was anxiety provoking, to say the least.  For those of you following, the deets:  My tumor was benign, no cancer or precancerous cells found, and approximately the size of a 18-19 week fetus.  I have a 5 1/2 inch scar that is healing awesomely.

There is nothing like something like this to make you realize how completely um...fragile...we all are.  Driving home from the hospital, I was conscious of every single car, every single red light, every single speed limit.  Like, OMG people....slow down....don't you know we could all die?!?!?!  Do you want to die!?!

Revelation #2:  I have to say that I have a HUGE appreciation for women who have C-sections (read: more than one...)  I mean, recovering from major surgery and looking after a new born baby?!?!?!?!  And doing this more than once!?!?!?!?!  Seriously blows my mind.  Women are power houses.  And the resiliency of people who have gone through horrible things like cancer, multiple and/or invasive surgeries, or extreme pain absolutely ASTOUNDS me.  Humans are amazing creatures and capable of enduring so much.  Like, two of the three people I shared the hospital room with who SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT, despite the guy in the bed beside me who cried all night long, and the incessant beeping of the nurse call button or the monitors.  Who sleeps with all that going on?  Obviously someone with good sleep meds.  But in all seriousness, to anyone who has ever gone through something outside of the norm, you have my admiration. 

Revelation #3:  I HATE being stoned.  I don't need to spend much time on this point.  Just that I would rather be in a bit more pain and be able to finish my sentence coherently than being higher than a kite.  This is a bit upsetting for me because I was looking forward to legitimately and legally being high on Percocet. I mean, I didn't even have enough of an attention span to play Candy Crush.  This must be a Type A quality...

Revelation #4: Attitude is everything.  I don't miss my uterus.  At least not yet.  I think if it were my arm or a leg that was missing and I could actually see it was gone then I would maybe grieve it a little more.  But I can't see that it's missing.  I don't miss it.  And at the end of the day, it wasn't really a choice.  It had to come out.  I come from three generations (at least) of Miller women who have had the same thing.  I am grateful.  Grateful that we found it so quickly, grateful that I am healing well, grateful that there were no major complications, grateful that I am still ALIVE.  I have a beautiful son (who....well, let's face it....everything is riding on him now as my only biological heir.  He has a lot to live up to...I hope he doesn't crack under pressure...hahahaha, just joking....he's doing pretty well, so far....). 

Revelation #5:  Single parenting SUCKS.  For the first 10 days I had a difficult time even looking after myself, so Q stayed with his dad.  He would come and visit for a few hours.  It made me realize this:  It is impossible to be a *parent* every other Wednesday and Sunday.  When Q came over for a *visit*, he was shy,quiet and things were awkward for the first little while.  I had things planned out so that we could make the most of the time we spent together.  We played board games and worked on some homework and had a cuddle session on the couch.  And then he would leave.  I didn't feel like a parent.  I felt like a friend of the family.  My opinion on co-parenting: Unless a parent is physically or emotionally abusive or there are extreme circumstances, parents should be allowed to parent their child equally - regardless of how inconvenient it might be for the other parent.  It was the worst, most helpless I've ever felt as a parent.  You cannot establish a strong relationship once a week.  It is impossible. 

Revelation #6:  I have amazing people in my life.  I'm not going to lie - I was feeling a little sorry for myself when this all first happened.  Because if you're married and something like this happens, you have someone to bounce things off of, someone to help you make decisions, someone to wake up in the middle of the night and say *What if...* or *Will you still love me if...* and I didn't have that.  I had to make decisions on my own and then deal with the repercussions...on my own.  What I will say is that I have an amazing group of friends and family who have totally rallied around me.  From my brother and sis-in-law who would FaceTime with my niece after afternoon naps to my mom who came to stay with me for two weeks and did everything for me to my BFF who dropped everything to come and stay with me for a week less than a month away from Christmas to those who checked in with me daily just to see how I was doing.  I know these people all had things to do, commitments to keep, lives to live, and they put it all aside to be with me.  It means so much more to me than I could ever say. 

Revelation  #7:  Faith is an amazing thing.  Faith is hard.  It's trusting in something and Someone you cannot see.  But I can honestly say that I would not have been able to get through this without faith. Faith that there is something bigger than me and a plan that I cannot see.  I find comfort in knowing that God's hand is in everything.  It has united me with people from all ages, races, and walks of life.  I have had people praying for me and we've been brought together by our belief that The Big Guy Upstairs has the final say - not some dumb tumor.  While I certainly don't feel invincible, I know Someone who is, and He's got His eye on me.  I'd seriously recommend this faith thing to everyone and anyone who is searching for something more. 

Those are my main revelations.  The Type A, OCD'er in me would really like there to be an even number of revelations, but what are you gonna do about it, right? 

Seven is my lucky number, so I guess it all works out in the end. 

Happy Birthday To Me

Being a hypochondriac, I tend to avoid the doctor.  Because if I went to the doctor every time I thought something was wrong, I would be there every other day.  It amazes me that that, with all the things that could go wrong, more often than not our bodies are well oiled machines. 

However, in the spring I kept getting bacterial infections - Strep throat, UTI's.  My period, which was always consistent, knocking on my door every 28 days was becoming a very unexpected visitor, coming whenever it wanted and staying for longer than I would like.  And being a total B**** while it was here.

So I went to the doctor.  We did the whole 9 yards of testing and were relieved to find that the only thing out of whack was my blood sugars.  Low enough that I was not diabetic (yet) but high enough to warrant some radical lifestyle changes in order to ensure I would not be diabetic within the next few years. 

I started by cutting out sugar.  This, for me, was almost as hard as quitting smoking.  I love sugar.  In everything.  I have sweet teeth, not a sweet tooth.  Once that was done, I cut out gluten, dairy and red meat.  Within weeks, I had lost 8lbs and 2 inches from my stomach (probably from bloating...).  I was feeling great.  People were noticing a difference.  Clothes were fitting looser. 

Then I felt it.

I wasn't quite sure what "it" was.  It was hard and it was in my abdomen.  I knew I had been eating better, so the thought crossed my mind that under the layers of fat that had been shed I had rock hard abs and wouldn't have to worry about doing 100 sit ups every night and every morning.  I was also hoping the same phenomena would show itself in my behind and thighs. 

I was in the doc's office getting results for something else and this voice in my head kept saying, "Tell her about it.  Tell her about it.  Tell her about it."  So I did.  Prefacing it with my, "I know I'm a hypochondriac, but..."

This led to a very awkward moment whereby I had to tell my doctor 3 times I was sure I was not pregnant because I have not had sex in a very long time and I was certain that was a necessary link in the pregnancy chain.  My doctor should not play poker because her poker face sucks.  She went white and very serious and had me in for a CT scan within days.  The next day the result:

I do not have rock hard abs.

I have a rock hard tumor.

In my uterus.

The size of a melon.

Days after that, I had appointments with specialists and biopsies were booked.

Ten days later I was sitting in the specialist's office when she told me it has grown even more and is now sitting just under my rib cage.  I look...pregnant...  Two minutes into our visit, we had booked a total hysterectomy for the following week.  That's this coming Monday.

Monday I will join the hundreds of thousands of women who have gone before me with reproductive "issues" and total hysterectomies.  Two of which are my paternal grandmother and aunt. 

Monday I will no longer be able to have any more biological children.

I've been trying to figure out how I feel about that.  My whole life, I thought for sure I'd have oodles of children running around with my blood running through their veins.  When Q's dad and I split, I thought for sure someone else would come along to make that dream happen.  And now, here we are...he (whomever *he* is) hasn't shown up yet, and now my uterus is exiting stage left (or abdomen, lower right).

Here's the thing, I think I'm totally okay with it.  Like, I've forced myself to try and get really sad over it - but I just can't.  Maybe I'm in shock, because from finding the mass to surgery date has been just under a month.  But maybe, I'm just okay with it.  I would rather choose life, than hope for something that might not ever happen.  My life has taken many twists and turns that I certainly have not planned, but every twist has turned out better than I could have ever planned.  The truth is, I'm relieved.

I'm relieved I found it.

I'm relieved I listened to that little voice in my head.

I'm relieved the doctors have moved on it so fast.

I'm relieved soon my organs won't be so squished and my lower back won't hurt and my tummy won't feel so bloated and it won't feel like I have to pee every 5 minutes. 

I'm relieved technology has come so far that this is considered a *low-risk* operation and that my gynecologist is totally hip and wears Fluvogs.  I feel like I can trust some one's judgement in the operating room if I can approve of their fashion choices. 

And then let's talk about the blessings:

No more periods.  NO more cramps.  4-6 weeks of spa (I mean, recovery...) time.  And like 10lbs instant weight loss.

Also, I have been reminded over and over again just how am blessed that I have so many wonderful friends and family around me who have listened while I've processed things out loud, who have been praying for me, and who have been gifting me with awesome things to do with the next six weeks of free time that I have on my hands (adult colouring books and the newly released Humans of New York book).  Any my mother, who has dropped everything to nurse me back to health.  What would I do without my momma?

I wasn't going to blog about this, because it's my uterus.  And that's kind of private and uncomfortable and taboo and gross.  But here's the thing...women everywhere are suffering from similar things.  A mom on Q's hockey team is going through the same, and a colleague at work, and a dear friend, and so I thought it's a shame for us all to be suffering in silence.  Let's talk about it and not be shamed. 

Let's talk about it.

Because it's not going away. 

Fibroids, tumours, endometriosis, cysts.

They're not going away.

So tell your story.  I bet there will be at least 10 women around you, suffering from the same, and wishing there was someone to talk to about it.

Women have to be there for other women.  We *get* each other.  Every experience should unite us in our womanhood. 

I don't know if mine is cancerous.  Once it's out, they'll send it to the cancer agency and they'll run tests and also go over the two biopsies I've already had.  Chances are very low that it is...so I'm remaining optimistic.  But I'll be sure to tell you all about what they find, because I want to know all about it.  How much it weighs, what it looks like, does it have teeth (ala steven king....)?!?!?!  Right???  Who wouldn't want to know??

This whole event has actually strengthened my faith in God, my faith in the knowledge that whatever happens, I'm in His hands.  It's been so comforting, and I am filled with peace.  In fact, for the past month, I've had this song in my head that I used to sing as a little girl in church:

I'm in His hands
I'm in His hands
Whatever the future holds
I'm in His hands
The things I cannot see
Have all been planned for me
His way is best, you see
I'm in His hands

So funny I haven't though about that song in probably 20 years and lately I've been humming it every day.  I know this isn't something I was expecting and it certainly wouldn't be on my list of life plans, but it's happening and I know that how ever it turns out, I will be okay.

And....

I'll never have another period again.

Which leads me to this thought:

Maybe PMS isn't a thing, and I'm just this way...

I guess we'll find out.

On Monday morning, at about 11:15 if you're not doing anything please say a little prayer for me.  Pray that God will guide the hands of the surgeon (and that she picks super cute scrubs for the operation), that He will assist my body with pain management and healing, and that everything will turn out the way He has planned.

A-men.

And the hospital better throw a rocking party, because it will be the third anniversary of my 35th birthday on Tuesday.

Hurry Up and Wait

Okay, so life has thrown me a few changes lately.  And I don't really like changes.

My baby is growing up.  He doesn't need me as much anymore - or maybe he still needs me, just in different ways.

My brother and his family moved to Ontario. I've been so blessed in my life to count my brother and my sister in law as two of my best friends.  And so them leaving leaves me feeling empty.  I know deep down that this is a good move for them but I feel like a piece of me moved along with them. They took my niece with them too, despite my offers to keep her and allow them to visit her whenever they wanted.

So I've spent the past couple of months trying to reinvent myself.

I'm not trying to *find* myself.  I already know who I am.  I think I've been trying to *change* myself.  Push myself way outside of the boundaries of who I am and push myself to be more extroverted.  Push myself to enjoy things that I don't really enjoy.  I mean, I thought that I should meet new people and get out there and do new things, like maybe joining Toastmasters or an acting club or a choir.  I joined *another* dating site.  I seriously considered moving.  I considered moving in with a friend and having home stay students.  I looked into adopting a dog.

(Well, the last one is totally me. I would love, love, love a dog.)

But then I realized that all that is not me.  At least not me right now.  Because why do I need public speaking skills?  Because I can't act.  Because I haven't sung in almost 20 years.  Because dating sites are so not my style.  Because there is nothing wrong with where I live *for now*.  Because I love my friend, but I don't have what it takes for home stay students.  Because with Q I'm not home enough for a dog.  It wouldn't be fair for the dog.

And I would NOT be happy doing all that NOT me stuff.

Where does that leave me?  Where does that leave me right now?

Waiting.

It leaves me waiting.

Waiting...

But here's the thing.  Waiting is not bad.  I know what has been placed on my heart.  I know that the waiting now is preparing me for the future when my time comes and then I will be ready.  The waiting now is for rest and reflection so I will be confident when when it is time to *be*.

Presidents are not allowed to be under 35 - but seriously look at the average age of the candidates running now.  Nelson Mandela spent 20 years in jail, resting, before he was voted in as the first leader of a democratic South Africa.  And because I love women and love to support their successes...Amelia Earhart was 40 when she took her fateful flight and made history.  Mother Theresa was 69 when she won the Nobel Peace Prize.  Sarah was 90 when she had Issac.

For now, I will take the time to rest.  I will read books.  I will write.  I will read some more.  I will go for walks.  I will laugh with friends.  I will get healthy.  I will watch Pee Wee hockey games and cheer for #12.  I will help with homework.  I will try to remember to go to PAC meetings (I forget every single 3rd Tuesday every single month).

Because I know that when my times comes, I will be busy.  I will be moving mountains and I will be taking names.  (okay, I may not be that influential...but who knows maybe I will).

I don't know yet what it is I will do...maybe I'll run for office (is that a thing in Canada??  It sounds way cooler than 'I will run for MP') and revolutionize politics by being the first honest leader who really wants to make things better for all classes, whether you're homeless or a billionaire.  Maybe I'll run a Fortune 500 company (again...is that a thing in Canada???  I should really read up on Canadian catchphrases if I'm going to be running the country.)  Maybe I'll be a famous author after writing an amazing novel that changes every one's life for the better.

Truly, truly what I hope for and pray for every single day is that God will use me to change lives of young people.  I pray that he will send me a partner who wants the same.  Every day I hope for a husband who's heart also waits for me and wants to foster/adopt as many children as we can.  I hope that we can show these children that they matter and they are important and they are capable of great things and they deserve to be loved greatly.  I hope that we can plant seeds in these young minds and hearts for whatever time we have them, so that one day when they are grown and alone and faced with two choices, they will choose the good because they remember they are worth the good.

I feel this calling every day.

Every day when I hear of mass shootings, I feel this calling.

Every day when I read of the teenager who overdosed on drugs, I feel this calling.

Every time I see someone begging on the street for spare change, I feel this calling.

So for now, I wait.

I rest.

And I prepare my heart for what's next.

Someone Turned Onety One (or eleven...for those of you who are normal...)

It seem as though this blog has kind of morphed into a once a year check-in / birthday letter to Q.  Truth be told, I've gone through a bit of a writer's block and life has just become a routine of work, hockey (for Q...def not me), school, sleep, eat and repeat.  No one wants to read about that on a blog.

 

But lately we've gone through a lot of changes - well, to be more specific, Q has gone through a lot of changes lately and my hope is that if I write about it, I might stop bursting into tears at random, inappropriate times.  (p.s. I am not a crier...)

 

See, my Q is growing up and the past few months have been both beautiful and devastating for me all at the same time. 

 

Q is eleven and for us, that means spending weeks away from home with the grandparents - all of them.  It means sitting in the front passenger seat of the car.  It means FLYING in an AIRPLANE all by himself.  It means staying home alone after school.  It means owning a cell phone (for safety while being home alone).

 

This is beautiful and exciting, because Q is doing exactly what he should be doing.  He's growing up.  He's following the path that many boys have walked before him on their way to becoming a man.  And who am I kidding?  We all know I'd probably be freaking out if he weren't meeting these milestones with such perfect timing and accuracy.  None of it has been forced either, my Q is eagerly jumping from milestone to milestone, barely stopping to take a breath.  And he's not just growing personally.  He's physically growing...and that makes my bank account cry. 

 

We've had so many great conversations lately.  He is such a smart insightful kid.  He's an old soul and some of the things he says actually make me think about the choices I am making in my life.  While he was in Calgary, we had some awesome text talks.  One day he asked what I was doing and I told him I was just watching a movie because all my friends were out of town and I had no one to go to the beach with. 

 

He texted, "Maybe it's time you made a few more friends."

 

And maybe he's right.

 

The past 11 years I have devoted my life to Q.  Where I live, where I work, is all because of Q. And I have willingly given most of my spare time to him - because it's just him and me, I've been blessed enough to have that time to give to him.  I've not really dated.  My hobbies are relatively fluid (as in, I can read in a hockey rink while he's practicing).  My friends are used to either Q coming with me, or me bailing at the last minute.

 

Q doesn't need me as much anymore. 

 

And I'm completely lost.

 

This is the sad thing for me.  I don't know who I am if I'm not *little* Q's mom.  I've loved being needed by him and the center of his little universe and it makes me so sad that his universe is getting bigger and bigger.  I have shed many a tear over this.  I am mourning the loss of my baby.  (geez, am I being like seriously overly dramatic?!?!?!)  I don't know if it's different for women who are married or who have more than one child - because they have a spouse or other children to distract them. 

 

But if every woman goes through this, I can completely understand why we have the reputation of being crazy emotional. 

 

Because if you pulled up beside me at the stop light yesterday, you would have wondered why that red light made me cry.

 

I'm super proud of my boy.  He's becoming such a great *person*, you know...not just a little boy, but a person.. 

 

I will leave you with one little story... While texting me on his trip to Calgary with the grand-parentals, he asked what I was doing.

 

me:  I'm watching 'Far From the Madding Crowd'.  It's about a woman who has 3 men who fall in love with her.

 

Q:  Weird

 

me:  Well, yes.  It's definitely not a movie you'd want to watch 

 

me:  Who doesn't want 3 men to fall in love with them?

 

Q:  Would you?

 

me: No.  Probably not.  It causes her many problems

 

Q:  Ya.  That's what I mean

 

me: Ha.  You're very smart

 

Q: Ya

 

(and yes, I use punctuation in texts..)

Dear Quinn

Today, you are 10.

Double digits.

A decade.

I have so enjoyed getting to know you these past 10 years.  It has been the most fantastic journey and nothing in my life has compared to this experience, being your mom.  We've traveled through mama, mommy, and now here we've settled...mom.

I love that I know you inside out.  I know what makes you laugh (and how you laugh...it's bubbles out of you), what makes you sad.  I know how you deal with anger, and what makes you tick.  I know your hopes, your fears and everything in between.

I love our talks where you come out with the most insightful thoughts and ideas, and when I ask you where you heard them you say, "Just me...I have thoughts in my head, you know mom."  It gives me hope for the future, when it will be very, very important that you have your own thoughts in your head and that you've learned to listen to them so early on in life.  

I remember back to when you were just a baby, and then a toddler, and I would stare at you, wondering who you would grow to be.  It seemed it would take forever, and now it feels like it was just the blink of an eye.  Here you are 10 years old and I cannot imagine you any other way.  It feels as though I have known you forever.  You have always been a part of me, long before you were ever born and you will be until the end of time.  Of course you are who you are, who else would you be?

You have introduced me to the worlds of Pokemon, Beyblades, Skylanders, Lego, sharks, dinosaurs, cars, airplanes, soccer and hockey.  You have tested my patience and helped me (and it) grow.  You have made me laugh more than anyone I know.  You've made me cry a time or two as well, I'll admit.  You have held my hand.  You have pushed my boundaries.  You have brought me out of my comfort zone on many an occasion.  You have shown me how to love.  

You are honest, almost sometimes to a fault. You have a natural talent for sports, all sports.  You 'get' sarcasm, and have perfect comedic timing.  You have determination, and for a 10 year old, a very good plan for the future.  You understand things far beyond your years and part of me is sad that it's because you're an only child shuffled between two households.  I'm sad that I couldn't give you the life I had planned for you, with two parents together and tons of siblings running around annoying you.   But I do promise to do my best to help you make happy memories that you will cherish your whole life long.  I promise to teach you to do right by people.  I promise that I will help you through the terrible teens and the hormones and the acne and your very first broken heart.  I promise to help you make the right choices in life and help you grow with strong morals and values worthy of a man of honor, a man of his word .  I promise to teach you about God and Jesus and the gift of grace.  I promise to remind you to see the best in everything, and to notice the beauty in every little thing, like the mountains and the super moon, and a beautiful sunset.

You and me, Quinnie, we can get through anything.  

You are my greatest joy and my little love.  You are so loved, by your Momma, your Nana and Grandpa and Matana, your Auntie Alice and Uncle Steve, and your Papa.  We can't wait (well, I guess we can wait...please don't grow too fast) for the next decade, and the one after that, and the one after that.

And the one after that.

Happy, Happy Birthday, my love!

Accidental Activist

Here in British Columbia, our teachers are poised to start rotating strikes on Monday.  Quite honestly, I didn't really think much about it.  I mean, it didn't feel like it affected me personally.  I'm not in school.  I'm not a teacher.  And Q just seemed to be happy to have an extra day off so close to summer break, and hey what's just one day right?

It really seems to be the way, doesn't it?  If it doesn't inconvenience you or take something away from you or make you feel something, you don't really care, do you?  It does sound horrible, but it's true.  This is why there are starving children in the world and billionaires.  Teachers who are asked to take a 10% pay cut (again) and government officials in the same province who are given a 14% raise.

And so I thought about it.  A lot.  Because I really, really wanted to care.  I wanted to pick a side, one way or the other and care about it.  A lot.  

There are two sides to every story.  We are in the tail end of a recession, I thought, maybe there just isn't enough money.  I saw wage comparisons with other provinces.  I read articles from both sides.  I have wonderful friends who are teachers and they don't want to be rich.  They want to do what they love, and make a comfortable living doing it.  I thought about putting all the stats here, but I didn't want to bore you all - so you do the research...

I made my choice.

I chose to support the teachers.

I'm not going to lie, it was an emotional decision.  No, no, not emotional in that I cried when I made it...but I made the decision wholeheartedly with my heart. 

Teachers do so much more than teach. And so without further ado, here are the reasons why I support our BC teachers (in no particular order):

• Teachers volunteer food to hungry bellies.  Here in BC, we have the highest percentage of children living in poverty in all of Canada.
• Teachers help nurture our children's talents so that when they grow up they will be contributing members of society.  They help teach qualities like responsibility and respect.  In kindergarten, Q had a teacher with a hearing impairment.  It didn't stop her at all, but she did most of her listening by lip reading.  This was a blessing in disguise for the kids, because they learned the importance of making eye contact and and waiting to speak to someone.  Not only helpful in this instance, but respectful too.
• Teachers, sadly, are sometimes the only people who care for some children.  How many inspirational stories have you heard or read that involve a teacher who cared when no one else did? Coach Carter, Dangerous Minds, just a couple of movies that show the importance of one person caring for those no one else cares about.  In grade 12, I had the best English teacher ever.  She liked me, and I was kind of the teacher's pet (I don't want to brag or anything....).  It felt AMAZING and I had parents who loved and cared about me.  Imagine how that would feel to someone who doesn't know what love is...
• Teachers teach!  I know this might sound super obvious but consider this...we don't invest in education - where's your next doctor going to come from?  Lawyer? Teacher? Nurse? Writer? Politician? I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "Well that's what private school is for..."  Really?  There are enough, in my opinion, people living on the east side, who have dropped out, cannot read and are basically unemployable.  If only the elite get jobs, are there enough jobs at McDonald's for the rest of us?  There are tonnes of studies and statistics that show an education is the most important way to stop the cycle of poverty.

I could go on and on and on.  Really, I could.  My son's teacher bought 23 potting plants and soil and clay pots so each child could make a Mother's Day gift for their mother.  As a mother who doesn't have a significant other to take the kid out and buy a gift, this was a very welcome surprise.  But I think I've made my point.  

In the end, I don't actually see it so much as supporting our teachers as supporting our children and their future and by extension, OUR future.  I mean, I'm gonna be old one day.  Like real old, and I'm going to need a good doctor.  I'm going to need a good politician to make sure I'm not living on the street.  I'm going to need a lawyer to construct my will.  The point is - we need to invest in these kids now, so that society as we know it doesn't dissolve around us.  I know, I know, it's a slippery slope.  But are you willing to take that chance?  

I'm not.

Drowning

I feel like I'm totally failing at this whole parenting gig right now.  Like I'm in way over my head.  Like it's time for the final exam and I didn't study.  

Everything up to this point has been relatively easy in comparison.  I mean, the first two to three years, you basically succeed just by keeping them alive.  They smile, they cuddle, they hit the milestones close to the appropriate times and you're golden.  The next few years, you teach the pleases and the thank yous and the basic math and alphabet, and again - you feel as though you're a pretty freaking good parent.  

Then they hit their tweens and you're all like "what the eff am I doing?"

It's almost comical that I was blessed with my son, because he is the complete opposite of me. I love him more than life itself, don't get me wrong.  It's just that I find I'm scrambling to find ways to relate to him.  If I had my way, we'd read a book together and then talk about how it made us feel.  That seems like a successful bonding experience to me.  

I tried this.  It did not work.  I started reading Q 'Harry Potter' and we got about 3 1/2 pages in before I threw the book across the room in frustration because I couldn't hear my own voice over his whining and complaining about how boring this dumb book was.  I guess he was talking about his feelings regarding the book, though, wasn't he?

Here's the thing about me...if I'm not super good at something, I give up.  Skiing, rollerblading, university, dating - just a small list of things I stopped doing because I sucked.  I can't just give up being a parent.  Nor do I want to, just to be clear...I don't want to give up.  It just my thing, so I don't really know what to do with this drowning feeling besides just feel sorry for myself and wallow in self pity.

I can see Q slowly withdrawing.  I mean, he's never been one to talk about his feelings, but I can see that we have nothing in common that's bond worthy.  And that really scares me.  How do I connect with him as he gets older if I'm struggling to connect with him now?  I find myself riddled with guilt because I'm just not doing enough.  I feel like I'm nagging and yelling more than teaching and inspiring and loving.  

I feel like I've robbed Q of the kind of childhood I had planned for him.  Two parents together, lots of siblings to play with.  Summers filled with family road trips and weekends filled with family BBQ's.  He doesn't get any of that.  I wonder when he grows up what memories of his childhood he'll have.  Me nagging him to help bring in the groceries from the car, because it's just him and me and we're a team (to which he responds...."if we're a team, mommy....we're a horrible team")

I have realized two things:  

My sole purpose in life really is raising Q to be a successful, happy, well rounded person.  I am devoting all my time towards this goal.  Is that wrong?  I mean, what about me?  Do I count at all? Should I count? Or do I count when he's 18 and my "job" is done? Hmmmmm......

Secondly, if I can't connect with my child then I need to change my approach.  If he relates to sports - then I need to (gulp) become more 'sporty'.  For those of you who know me, you know that I am the least athletic person in the world.  I have a very serious disconnect with my hand/eye coordination and it makes things like kicking a ball more humorous than anything else.  (Well, humorous for others...frustrating for me).  But I understand that if this is the way I need to spend more quality time with my son, then it has to be done.  I'm currently looking for a lazy boy shaped bicycle seat for my larger than average rear end, if anyone knows of one.  We'll go for hikes.  We'll kick a ball around at the park.  I'll have to save the painting nails and braiding hair for my niece, I suppose.

I guess the biggest challenge I have with parenting is that you don't really know how good a job you've done until they've grown.  And isn't it too late by then?

So this Mother's Day, I'm reflecting on how I can alter my parenting skills now so I don't lose my child to video games and the teenage abyss.  Am I alone?  Do other parents feel this way?  How do you relate to your child(ren)?  Am I obsessive?

Because seriously, being an obsessive, Type A, worrier sounds nothing like me.

At all.

But honestly, this Mother's Day, I'm also feeling so blessed that I've been given the opportunity to be my Q's momma.  I guess that's part of my fear - how do I give this awesome gift justice?  

Now go hug your momma.  She's done a lot of worrying over you.  The least you could do is give her some huggin'.

Small Miracles in the Hardware Store

Did I ever tell you how I met my plunger?

I know, right?  Not many people have memorable stories about how they "met" their plunger.  And yes, I am talking about the one that fixes uh...jams...in the toilet.  I think I told y'all what I did with that plunger here, but I never told you how we met.

So, one of the characteristics of a woman who lives on her own is that she has to fix/do things that men typically do.  Oh I know, all the women's lib groups say that women can do everything a man can do and I agree with that totally.  I just believe there are things that women shouldn't have to do.  Taking out the garbage and changing the oil in the car are two such things.  I think that women are beautiful, delicate flowers and shouldn't have to smell nor touch such nastiness.

Unfortunately these thing still have to get done and so I have to do them (although since Q has become of  chore age, taking out the garbage is so his.)  I put together an elliptical machine and then took it apart after a year and a half when I gave it away - near new condition too.  I fixed the vacuum cleaner when it stopped sucking.  I try to remember to get my oil changed on time, but don't actually do it myself.  

Experience has taught me that when your toilet is jammed up, wait a while and it'll sort itself out.  But this one was snug.  It was not going anywhere any time soon.  

After work, I stop off at the closest hardware store.  And this place is huge.  Huge.  And it smells like plastic, like I just walked into a Payless Shoes.  I start to feel dizzy and disoriented.  I'm almost starting to sweat, but like a true lady, I don't sweat, so...

I take a deep breath.

"God," I say. "I'm going to need your help.  How on earth am I going to find a plunger??"

Well, listen to this.  

First aisle I stroll down is a father with his young son.  The father is distracted, talking on his cell phone.  His son has made a mess...

...of plungers.

Probably about 10 plungers, strewn all down the aisle.  Different types, sizes, even colours, all lined up just for me.  

Who says that God doesn't have a sense of humor?  That he doesn't answer prayers?

Thank God for small miracles!

I Judge People

Welcome to my bi-monthly special where I dissect my character flaws for all to see.

I think it’s important to say that I don’t have a really low self esteem, and I’m not doing this to beat myself down. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I thought I was pretty near perfect for a really long time. I was really nice to people (who were really nice to me), I only gossiped to a few trusted sources who would NEVER repeat a word of it to anyone, and I was so fricken funny, I made myself laugh all the time.

But when you’re near perfect, there’s nothing to work on. There’s no way to grow. So, I started really breaking it down. And I found that I’m judgmental. Not just a little judgmental, I’m like super judgmental.

It might surprise you (as it did me) that I don’t judge the prostitute on the street corner, or the drug addict/alcoholic begging for money. I’ve seen how tough life can be. I get how it can break you and beat you down. I’m actually surprised more of us aren’t out there trying to forget all the horrible things that have happened. If a bottle of vodka takes away the memories of being beaten to near death as a child or drowns the sadness from never being loved, then that seems like a pretty simple way to forget. And way cheaper than therapy. My heart actually aches for their broken souls. I’m sure I would be shocked by what many of them have seen and experienced.

No. I don’t judge them.

I judge rich people.

I judge smug Christians.

I judge rich, smug Christian people.

People who should know better.

People who’ve been given a second chance (and a third and a fourth, because let’s face it – God’s grace is never ending) and refuse to give others even a second glance, let alone a second chance.

I judge the people who say “Look at me, look at me! I’m such a wonderful Christian. It’s all about MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! I’m so ¬¬¬¬_________ (insert conceit…talented, pretty, rich, smart, nice)” People who forget they’re part of something bigger than them, forgetting that it’s not actually about them at all. If you have to tell people you’re talented, you’re probably not that talented (hate to break it to you).

I judge the rich Christian people who hoard their money for a rainy day, while other people all over the world are dying from simple ailments because they cannot afford medicine or clean water. I judge them for driving their rich cars, wearing their rich flashy watches while children are orphans and growing up without parents, without love, without chances to become better people. I judge them for living in huge mansions while others live in leaky huts, or door ways, or sidewalks.

The thing is – judging them doesn’t make me a better person. Judging me doesn’t make me better than them. It makes me the same as them. It makes me angry inside.

And judging others really isn’t about them. It’s about me. By choosing to judge them, I choose to see the worst in the world, instead of looking at all the miracles and blessings that surround me.

Everyone has their brokenness, for some it’s their conceit. Because believing you’re something better than you are might be the only way you can get through the day. Because loving money might be the only thing you’ve ever loved that hasn’t disappointed you. Or hurt you.

So this month, I guess I’ll work on being less judgmental.

And then next month, I’ll be perfect for sure.

For sure.

Perfect…

Self Improvement (a.k.a I'm Not Perfect...)

I often think that I'm pretty perfect.  I mean, for me.  I'm pretty perfect for me.  I'm not like the perfect person.  And I'm not like a huge ego-maniac or anything.  I just think that after 36 years, I've pretty much learned everything about about myself that there is to learn.  I don't often seen much room for self improvement.

Maybe I'm too close to the situation.

One thing I pride myself in is my kindness.  I strive to be kind to people.  I think it's a lost art, simple kindness.

Stay with me here...it's not all self praise.  I'm almost making myself gag.

I've recently changed positions at my job.  It's been a rough two weeks to say the least.

As you'd expect with any change, I learned something about myself.

Something to improve on...

I'm only really nice to people who are...

wait for it...

nice to me.

So, I'm not actually nice everyone.  It's super easy to be kind to people who are kind in turn.  It's even easy to be kind to people who are neutral.  You know, neither nice or mean.  But whoooooo, have you tried to be nice to someone who makes you feel like you just crawled out from underneath a rock?  Have you tried smiling when someone is insulting your intelligence or questioning your ethics?

It's a whole lot harder.

So this is something I'm going to actively work on. So I can be an even more perfect version of myself.

Q-isms: The Enterprising Adolescent

Q: My friend at school is going to buy one of my Skylanders for $4.00

Me: Uh. What? No. You cannot just sell your toys. Especially for $4.00. Those things are like $15.00. They're expensive. Is it one of the Skylanders you have two of?

Q: No. It’s not actually a Skylander.

Me: What do you mean? You just said it was.

Q: Well, it’s more of an idea.

Me: An idea? You’re selling someone an idea?

Q: Okay, well it’s more of a prototype….

Me: A prototype? What does that even mean Q?

Q: I have this mechanical pencil that I stuck some things on the end of it. I’m calling it a Skylander and this kid wants to buy it. For $4.00. It’s like free money.

Me: Q. You can’t do that. Seriously. You cannot start selling your school supplies to other kids, calling them *prototypes*. You’ll get in trouble.

Q: Mommy. What would you do if you found $20 on the ground? Would you pick it up? You sure would. That’s kind of like what I’m doing.

Me: Nooooooo, that’s not what you’re doing…

Q: But the kid is okay with it…

Me: I would venture to guess that his parents are not. Unless I have a signed document from his parents stating that this child can spend $4.00 on a mechanical pencil that you have disguised as a Skylander, you'll have to save this idea for The Shark Tank, my friend...

Can you even believe it? He’s selling ideas? To nine year olds? What is next?

I am in so much trouble.

I mean, I admire his enterprising spirit...but this kid sure keeps me on my toes. I'm going to have to check his back pack every morning before he leaves for school!!

Ode to 2013 - A Great Year in Review

Well it's been a while since I've been here...I wonder if I remember how to do this...

Life has been crazy these last few months, and finding time to pour out my heart is difficult.  I mean, there's that, and I'm also addicted to Candy Crush.  Seriously.  Addicted.  It's not just blogging, I haven't read a book in months.  I remember really liking books.  Reading them, smelling them, spending the evening with them.  I miss books. 

I thought it was really important to chronicle 2013.  Probably way more important to me than you, but hopefully you'll enjoy the read regardless.  

2013 was a year of new beginnings. My momma got married (!) and my brother and his wife had a beautiful baby girl, their first (of many??) and my first niece.  I know that I'm a tad biased, but folks, I am telling you this is the most beautiful baby girl in the world.  One of the many benefits of being an introvert is the immense joy that I receive living vicariously through others.  No joke.  I couldn't have been any happier in these situations if they had actually happened to me.  

So Q and I downsized from a four bedroom, 3 bathroom house to a 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom suite.  I thought I would feel claustrophobic in our new digs, but I actually found that I love the smaller space.  First and foremost, the cleaning takes me roughly 1/4 of the time to clean and secondly, it is just so cozy.  It's also encouraged me to purge and put less emphasis on *things* (and gives me so much more time to play Candy Crush...kidding...sort of...)

I started a new job.  It was such a great opportunity and I was in sooooo far over my head.  But you know what?  I made it through.  I learned that my capacity to learn new things is great, and this gave me so much confidence in myself.  I had a great year and enjoyed every second of it.  Then I got an even better job and had to decide between two awesome job opportunities.  Seriously.  Would you like this completely awesome job that you know you love, or would you like this new one that has the potential to be even more amazing?  How do you make a decision like that without thinking you might be missing out on something no matter which choice you make?

And those were just the physical life changing events.

I know, right?

All that, and some personal growth too?  What?!?!?!?!  Who gets that lucky?? 

2013 was a year of calm for me.  As a natural born anxiety case, this is really saying something.  There was no insane drama.  There was no unnecessary stress.  There was only calm.  

I spent a lot of time alone and came to terms with my introvert qualities.  I never really though of myself as an introvert, but the older I get, the more I enjoy quality time with myself.  Nothing delights me more than an evening alone.  I used to feel guilty about this - like I should be out with *people* doing *things*.  But spending time by myself has given me a deeper insight to me...and there can't be anything wrong with that.  I'd rather be alone than in a room full of people I can't relate to or having nothing in common with.  

I got to spend another year getting to know and getting to teach this wonderful child I'm blessed enough to call my son.  I can think of no greater reward or blessing in my life than my child.  Sometimes it's the smallest thing that gives me the greatest surge of pride, like when I give him something inconsequential and he says, "Thank you".  Nothing sounds better than "Mommy" and "I love you" and "Sweet dreams".  Just recently, over Christmas, Q was super sick with the stomach flu.  Amidst cancelled Christmas plans, I'm running around cleaning up his puke, and washing bedding and clothes, and checking his temperature, and bringing him ginger ale and I think to myself, "I freaking love being a mom".  Seriously, there is no greater gift than being able to take care of my child.  Gah, his whole life is ahead of him and I just know he is destined for great things and I want to give him the best beginning ever.  I just want to have a million kids and give them all the best start ever.  I just don't want to give birth to all these kids and there are sooooooo many kids out there that need someone to give them their best start.  I know that this is what I'm here on earth to do.  I don't want anyone to waste their potential because someone says they can't, or they're not worth it, or they're not wanted.  I want to WANT all those children in our foster care system, and give them love.

Oh....so corny, right?  I wish more people felt that way though.  You know, share the blessings around.  

But, C, what about the boyfriend....there must be one of those, right???

Nope.  Nope, there isn't.  And for the first time in my whole life, I can honestly and certainly say that I am TOTALLY okay with that.  Totally.  It's funny because this is a pretty significant life situation for most people - easily 2/3 of my friends are married or dating.  I mean, what would life be without romantic comedies?  What would Pinterest be without a "One Day" board?  What would Martha Stewart be without "Weddings" magazine?  Our whole society has placed a fair importance on being married, being doubled up, having a better half.  And don't get me wrong, I am so not opposed to it happening to me should that be the case, but I am so content with my life the way it is.  I am okay with me the way I am.  I don't need anyone else to complete me or my life.  I've been able to spend this time with my son.  Watching him grow and learn and be.  We have a really unique bond and connection to each other because it's just the two of us.  I remember falling asleep to the fantasy of finding the perfect man and having the perfect wedding and the perfect marriage.  Or looking at every man I passed, wondering, "Is he the one?"  And there's nothing wrong with having an active imagination, but wishing your life away is more of a waste than playing Candy Crush, in my opinion.  And I see God providing for me in a million other ways that make me so happy to be me. It's kind of like He's saying, "It's not time yet for you to have a husband, but in the meantime, would you like this blessing that will help provide for your needs??"  Uh. Ya.  Totally

I've become so much more spiritual.  And I don't mean yoga and feng shui.  Christians these days get such a bad (somewhat well deserved, though) rap about being these judgmental, self righteous, pious individuals whose belief is something so out there/naive/supernatural that makes them better than anyone else.  I don't want to be that person.  Ever.  I would agree that believing in a God who lovingly created each one of us in his image, then sent his one and only Son to die for our sins (because ugh, we are not perfect and we screw up soooo much) so that we could have eternal life in heaven where the streets are made of gold is pretty crazy.  On an almost a daily basis, I ask myself if I'm sure that's me.  And each time, I cannot find anything else that seems plausible to me.  I'm not stupid.  I've heard the big bang theory.  But at the end of the day, I choose to believe this instead.  Loving, well thought out, bigger plan, grace and mercy sounds so much more wonderful to me than BOOM!!! here we are, this organism reacted with this blob that became that blob and then millions of years later, here I am...a blob.  I try to live life like this:  Before I do anything, I ask myself two things, "How would Jesus react to this situation?" and "Will this right now matter when I'm in heaven?"  And then I try to do likewise.  At the end of the day, an eternity in heaven when I die sounds a whole lot more comforting than just ceasing to exist.

Okay, so what does that mean?  That means that when the Landlord fails to shovel my walk after a (relative to Vancouver) snow storm, I don't rant and rave about how careless and irresponsible he is for a home owner with a paying tenant (because this whole event won't matter when I'm in heaven).  Instead, I get the shovel and shovel my walk and his (because this is what I imagine Jesus would do, and while the snow pile won't matter in heaven, my reaction to it certainly will.)  I try to meet every situation with this formula.  Homeless person on the street asks for money, I go into to coffee shop and buy him a hot coffee and some chili.  He gets a full belly of food, and I know he's not buying booze (which, in my experience, don't really go well on an empty tummy).  

I don't want to judge.  I want to love.  I want my love to be contagious.  I want my love to be inspirational.  I want to be the example of someone who has been saved by grace.  If that makes me silly or naive, well I'm okay with that.  Totally.  At the end of the world, if I'm wrong, I will not regret my choice to live life the way I did.  And in the meantime, no one will (hopefully) be affected negatively by my decision.  And, I know from experience that living this way is so much more fulfilling than drinking myself into a coma or sleeping with another man who tells me, "It's just sex."

* Please note:  This does not mean I will not drop the occasional f bomb while sitting in rush hour traffic.

Phew...see what happens when you don't write for a while??  A novel comes out.

It almost seems like the end to Single Dating Mommy, because that's not what defines me anymore.  Not just the end of the chapter, but the end of this book.  Unfortunately, "Mommy" doesn't really have the same ring to it.  It's a little short for a blog title.  So I might keep the name, but I assure you, the content will not be the same.  

Will you join me in my new journey?  I sure hope so!!

And...here's to 2014!

Parenting - Actions Speak Louder

I learn so much from parenting.  

Sometimes, it's humbling.

Sometimes, it's downright embarrassing.

Since forever, Q has had a difficult time reading and writing.  He hates reading.  He hates writing.  And he has to work really hard at both.  Last year, we had the school do some testing, because I was really concerned that he has dyslexia.  Studying for spelling tests were a daily struggle and I felt like I was waaaaay out of my league.  I needed help in helping him.  The testing revealed that he was reading and writing at a grade level lower than he is in.  This spiked my anxiety.  Reading and writing at a grade level lower can be an indication of a learning disability.

Q is always so good at everything he does.  He's awesome at sports, he can do math in his head, he beats me at board and card games all the time.  Everything comes so easy for him.  I knew it must be so frustrating for him to have such a difficult time with spelling.

So I did everything I could do to help.  We studied those 20 words for hours every week.  Hours.  Like, I'm talking hours.  On average, we were spending 30 minutes to an hour every night practicing the words.  I would have him stare at the word, write the letters, say the letters - all in an attempt to help him succeed on the spelling test every Friday.  And then I would stress that it didn't matter what the mark was, as long as he did his best, I was super proud of him for doing his best.

We finally hit out breaking point.  

I called the principal.  

She reviewed his file.

She called his teacher, a learning specialist, and me into her office so we could discuss how best to help my child with his learning disability.

So you know when you take your kid to the doctor because he's super sick and the second the doctor walks into the room, your kid is fine.  Totally fine.  And you look like the paranoid, overprotected mother??

Ya.  

This meeting was kind of like that.  

It was Friday, so Q had a spelling test.  He got 26/30.  Twenty six out of thirty words that have* ie* and *ei* (and don't follow the rules).  Words like receive and believe.  And he got 26 of them right.

Pretty fricken awesome, right?

Then the learning specialist had him read...where he read perfectly at a grade 4 level.

He's in grade 4.

The LST says, "So where's the problem?"

The principal says, "Does he have a lot of pressure from home to do well?"

The teacher says, "I've brought his journal.  It's very well written."

I started to sweat.  

What was going on here???

"Yes, but we had to study an hour every night for him to get 26/30..."  As the words are coming out of my mouth, I'm trying to grab them and put them back.

The principal says, "Does he enjoy sitting and practicing for an hour every day?"

Uh, no.

The teacher says, "He should be practicing for no more than 20 minutes per night."

They all just stare at me.  

As I'm sitting there, it finally hit me.

I'm telling Q that it doesn't matter what he gets on his test as long as he tries his best, but my actions are telling Q that he needs to try harder, do better, and sit in that chair until he gets every single word right. Because as long as your best is perfect, we're all happy.  

I wanted to crawl under the table, slink my way to the door, and then run for my life.  

Suffice it to say, my son does not have a learning disability.  He has an insane mother with outrageous expectations.  We're going to practice spelling for 20 minutes a day.  We're going to read for 20 minutes a day.  We're going to celebrate (one of his spelling words, btw) no matter the results.  We're going to practice what we preach.  As long as we do our best, we're super proud of ourselves.

I'm also going to stop reading Harry Potter to him while he cries that he's soooooooooo bored and hates Harry Potter.  I'm going to stop telling him I'm doing this for his own good - to inspire his reading and if he would just listen, he would love it, and he would love reading, and he will feel passion for reading.

Like I do...

Oh...and one more thing....

Momma, you were right.