Why summer has to end. I mean, really? Fall is waving its jazz hands and Winter is rubbing its hands together menacingly. Someone needs to off Winter already. I’ll even pay you. In Canadian dollars, but still. It’s better than nothing. Ish.
How my small children manage to drop loads that are the size of their heads.
Partial blog feeds. People try to give arguments in their defense (usually about advertising revenue), but I still don’t get it. You either want people to read your words, or…you don’t.
Racism. Last time I checked, we all had the same body parts, only different shades of the same when it comes to skin color. Extremists who try to use Jesus as an excuse for your crimes and promote Aryan Nation-type ideals? Maybe read the Bible. Jesus was JEWISH. Brown skin, hair and eyes. Now we just need to remedy all of the North American depictions of Him.
Four Square. The T.V. show and the social media game. For the former, I REALLY hope you’re getting paid the big bucks for wearing the blue skin-tight bodysuits. For the latter, I have yet to see it explained. My good friends entertain me with status updates mocking it, so at least there’s that point in favor.
The Internet. I’m not referring to whether you need to reply to comments (at all, or) via email or comment reply (though I’m still befuddled as to what I’m “supposed” to do) but how it works in general. I mean, I write an email to a friend in California and it gets there IMMEDIATELY. How did that happen? How did the words from my screen leave my laptop in Buttpoke Of Nowhere, B.C. and appear on a friend’s laptop in Southern California (or anywhere, for that matter)? Is it alien technology? Magic? A combination of the two?
People who do do nothing but complain. I mean, complaining is part of human nature and venting once in awhile (shows that you’re human, and) is good for you (says she who is venting). But when everything that you say is negative, I cannot help but think that maybe you’re choosing to leave out the good for the sake of attracting attention. Yes, I can just stop reading what you say and…wait. I just did. Thought I’d let you know about it first.
Why there is not a zero calorie potato/nacho chip. The pop/soda industry figured it out but the snack industry has not. Let’s MAKE THIS HAPPEN.
How the entire Internet shuts down when there’s an American holiday. It’s like we’re buying into the(ir) hype that they rule the world. (TEASING, my American friends. Just don’t blow up Canada, mmkay?)
The difference between baking soda and baking powder. I mean…I bake a lot, I post recipes (Thanks to Secret Agent Josephine for the banner (and the one on this site here, which I still love three years later) and to Jen Wilson for the site design) and am a pretty good (fantastic, even) cook and baker but I don’t always understand the science behind it all. It only took that ONE TIME I used baking soda instead of powder in corn bread to make me NEVER MIX THEM UP EVER AGAIN. I still don’t know how two rising agents that both taste terribly can have such different results.
People who stand RIGHT NEXT TO YOU in a checkout aisle. You standing so close (Don’t stand so, don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me)(I’ve been known to hum that Police tune)(I am OLD) does not make the line move any faster. It does, however, increase the chances of me placing my grocery items on the belt one. at. a. time.
How our non-cordless phone (we have one! they exist!) works during a power outage. There is no electricity to be seen, no power, and yet I can pick up the handset and call someone.
Why there isn’t a Target in Canada.
How my oldest child starts third grade next week. THIRD GRADE. Have I mentioned that he’s starting third grade? And turning EIGHT in December?
Did I miss anything? Is there anything that you don’t understand?
A little over nine years ago, Matthew and I bought our very first house. It is the same house that we live in today. We’ve spent a lot of time renovating this home of ours and I cannot see us uprooting our family any time soon.
We live in an area that I affectionately refer to as “The Sticks”. We’re a ten minute drive behind the small town where our kids go to school and where we go to church and where the majority of our friends live. We refer to it as “Town”. As in, “We’re going into town”. Quaint, yes, and also sometimes a pain in the arse. Mainly because I’m tired of people making comments about how we live “so far from town”. It’s ten minutes, people. TEN MINUTES.
Our home is situated on three acres that back onto Crown (government) land which we use to garden, to play and to house chickens, a dog and a cat. We have neighbors on either side, and down the road, but I am the first to admit that maybe we could be better neighbors. We keep saying that we should make the effort to get to know them better, to have them for dinner or over for coffee, and then six months have gone by and we haven’t done a single thing to remedy this. Let’s just heap that onto my never ending guilt and carry on.
We have not been totally remiss in our neighborly duties. The neighbors to the south of us are ones that we’ve had an pretty neat relationship with ever since we moved in. John and Doris and their once-upon-a-time dog, Duke.
John is eighty-eight (EIGHTY-EIGHT) and spends his days puttering on his own acreage. He’ll often wander over to give gardening advice to Matthew or just to see what’s going on. We bring them Christmas baking every Christmas Eve and sit in John’s den while the kids admire all of his carvings and stuffed animals. Matthew will help John with anything he needs: setting up/taking down the pool used for fire prevention, dealing with a truck that has broken down, firing the paint gun at wild animals that cause chaos on our properties.
John is gruff and tough and also, a BIG OLD SOFTIE.
The way his eyes light up around our kids, ever since Graham was a newborn, shows his true heart. He may be an outdoors man who smokes a pipe and barks out his words but his eyes show his true spirit. He adores all three of my kids and chuckles whenever he can make out what they are saying despite his poor hearing. He adored Sir Duke, who passed last year. He adores his fair Doris, even though he would give her a (good-natured) hard time most every day.
Things have changed for John recently. Doris has been fighting throat cancer and has been discharged into their daughter’s care. Upon finding this out, we invited him to join us for dinner this past Saturday. He showed up on Friday, and while it may have been a result of his weakened memory, it did not matter. We sat him down at the table with a beer and a plate full of pizza and had a conversation that still gives me (good) shivers.
He came back on Saturday, wine in hand, and we continued on where we had left off. He told the kids stories from when he was an anti-aircraft gunman in WWII. He talked about the fishing resort he once owned. When Graham asked, “So what was the war actually about?”, John explained it in a way that all three kids understood why there was a war and why the soldiers went to fight. He lived history and hearing his stories left me riveted.
I found out that his wife had married a Moran (my maiden name) who died in the war. Moran was her surname when she met him. Wow. Just, wow.
He hugged me when he arrived, he hugged me mid-visit and he hugged me when he left. I see many more hugs between us in the near future. And many more dinners, for the record.
His beloved is on her way out and I cannot even fathom that. He cannot fathom that, even though eighty-eight is a “reasonable” age to go. He has the same questions and doubts that I would have if Matthew were to have cancer right now. “Why her?” “Why me?” “Did I do something wrong to make this happen?” “Is God mad at me?”
I don’t have a lot of answers, but I do have a lot of love. I’m going to love on him as much as he can handle.
This past Thursday I was wrapping up my work day when I received a text from Matthew that our power was out. A tree had fallen on a power line and we’d be without electricity for at least a few hours.
Oh, super, I thought. How inconvenient.
As I was walking out to the truck I received another text from Matthew. He could smell smoke in the air; water planes and helicopters were circling.
My stomach lurched and I fought back tears the entire way home. Yes, lack of power is (a first world problem, and) a nuisance. That no longer mattered. I was scared and a little ashamed that I was so quick to forget a lesson that was once so firmly implanted in my brain.
Five years ago yesterday, we had a house fire.
I am so very thankful that I had started blogging a few weeks before (that old blog that I deleted, but kept copies of). I think that if I had not documented the events of that night, and the miracles that happened, that the memories would fade like memories are wont to do. I kind of proved that to myself on Thursday night.
I cannot read the posts written by myself and Matthew without crying. I get so caught up in the day to day chaos and “inconveniences” that I forget to be thankful. Thankful that we are alive and well. Thankful that we could have lost so much, and yet gained even more. Thankful for the amazing friends we have and the wonderful community we live in.
Following are the posts that we wrote about the fire at the end of August, 2005.
I have a lot on my plate right now.
(I’m in the running for the Captain Obvious cape and crown. Bear with me.)
I’m back at work full-time, though my office has changing “standard hours” for salaried staff that are calculated by some complex algorithm or, possibly, just picked out of the air on a whim. Regardless, I have Fridays off until the end of September with full pay. To help with Matthew’s increasing work hours (and for an excuse to hang out with my kidlets), I took Tuesdays off this summer without pay. I mean, a girl has to work on her tan sometime, right?
In addition to my office job, I have a column and other responsibilities over at Work It! Mom. I am part of the blog team over at The Daily Grommet and also write some of the daily stories on the main site. A few weeks ago, I started writing posts on photography over at The Bad Moms Club.
Oh, yeah. I also have this husband guy? And we have three kids who are starting school in less than two weeks? And we have a lot of family commitments?
(That was for my American friends who tell me that my Canadian accent makes every sentence I speak sound like a question.)
ANYWAY.
I am usually a very organized person. The A in Angella stands for (Type) A. I make lists upon lists. I will even write things on a list that have already been completed, for the primary purpose of deriving the joy that I get from crossing those items off.
I’m not sure what happened these past few months, but I have dropped the ball. Nay, I have taken the ball and kicked it off of the field. My lists haven’t been happening and I keep telling myself I will remember something but I forget that I am (old, and) a huge failure when I deviate from The Lists. List domination is but…a distant memory?
(I think I really do speak like that.)
ANYWAY.
For years now, I’ve used a Polestar calendar to keep track of everything. There are nice columns and grids and a sleeve to store papers in. They are PERFECT. Except that I haven’t used mine in, oh, six months or so. When I worked from home, I could pull out the calendar throughout the day and keep track of everything. Since returning to the office I’ve gotten out of the habit because the calendar doesn’t fit in my purse and so I’ve resorted to Post It notes and my memory.
You see where this is going, right?
I keep forgetting things. Birthday parties, appointments, DEADLINES. This is not cool.
While the Polestar may not fit into my purse, my iPhone does. Heck, it’s in my hand/on my desk (Angry Birds/Words With Friends, anyone?) most of the day. I need some kind of system that will sync to my phone (and Matthew’s phone) that we can both access online to update our family calendar. A separate calendar just for my personal deadlines would be good as well, as all of that information on a shared calendar would likely make his head implode. Nobody wants that, especially me.
I threw the question out on Twitter yesterday. Nicole swears by Google Calendar and Vahid told me to check out Remember The Milk. I haven’t had the time to do so as I had to work all day yesterday and then host a family get-together for a certain dude’s birthday. Plus, I’d love to hear if (these options are THE HOLY GRAIL, or) you have a system you swear by.
Help a girl out?
Hey, Nathan.
Today you are six. I don’t need to tell you this because you have been counting down the sleeps for at least a month now. The funniest part is how every night at dinner you would say, “Can you believe that tomorrow it’s only (actual days minus one day) days until my birthday?” You were so ready to be that one day closer to your big day.
So, yeah. SIX. I know it’s a cliché to say that I don’t know where the time has gone but I DON’T KNOW WHERE THE TIME HAS GONE. I mean, I SWEAR I just brought you and your fuzzy brown head (Yes, brown. You went platinum by the time you were one) home last week. OK, maybe last year. And yet here you are all growed up and about to start the first grade. FIRST GRADE. FULL-TIME SCHOOL.
(Side note: As someone who is such a stellar athlete and sometimes a little bit, shall we say, spacey, you blew us away with your report cards last year. You exceeded in science and math. EXCEEDED. In SCIENCE AND MATH. So, so proud of you.)
Back to your birthday. I sat down to write you a letter and looked at last year’s birthday post to see what I had written and the majority of it still rings true. I also really like what I wrote to you and don’t want to even attempt to top that. Instead, I thought that I’d write you a list of six things I love about you.
1. Your smile. Oh, Nathan. YOUR SMILE. Your entire face lights up like the northern lights and anyone within ten feet of you cannot help but smile back. Ladies young and old are particularly victim to its spell, which leads me to believe that the teenage years are going to be interesting. Remind me to tell you the story about the two girls in your preschool class who argued over who was going to marry you and then the one girl shoved the other girl to the ground. True story.
2. The fact that what makes you smile the most is when somebody asks for a hug. Hugs are your THING and you need fifty a day. At least. The good thing is, there is a plethora of people, both family and friends, who love the full body hugs that are your specialty.
3. Your quirkiness. I often find myself searching your face for a glimmer of my genes to no avail and almost every personality trait or talent point to you being just like Daddy (Well, except for the EXCEEDING IN SCIENCE AND MATH. That’s all me, baby). BUT. You are also ridiculously quirky and while your Dad has his share of quirks, it’s your Mom who brings the Kooky. You chair dance along with me in the car, while singing into an ice cream cone. You crack jokes that make no sense and yet never fail to make us laugh. You do funny little dances for no reason whatsoever. You bring The Quirky like a pro.
4. Your lisp. It still persists, more out of habit, I think, than out of your inability to speak clearly. I hope. I talked about it with your teacher last year and she thinks you sound fine – she sent others for speech therapy and not you, so YAY. Anyway. The lisp is cute and adorable and makes you not seem quite so grown up yet. Before I know it you’ll be towering over me and your voice will have gone through The Change and, so. I’d like the lisp to stick around for awhile.
5. Your laugh. When your giggle catches it’s like this rippling sound that comes straight from your belly and every time I hear it, I can’t help but giggle along with you.
6. The love you have for your brother and sister (and the love they have for you). Sometimes your tendency to choose exactly what Graham chooses drives him a little crazy but thankfully you do not do it all of the time. You prefer riding your bike to building Lego and shooting a basketball to writing books. ANYWAY. Minor conflicts aside, your love for Graham and Emily shines through above all. You help your little sister when she needs it and you wrestle with your big brother when he needs it. (Ha!) From what I understand, being the middle child can be tough on a person but we do our best to make you feel as special as the oldest and the baby, and I think it might be working, based on how famously you all get along.
I just want you to know that I love you, dude. I’m not naturally as affectionate as you are (Ask your Daddy – you get it from him), but you’ve taught me to hug more, to snuggle more, to love more. Thank you.
Happy birthday, sweetie.
Love, Mom.
(I wanted to sign it “Love, Mommy” but you don’t call me “Mommy” anymore. Sigh.)
Of course, a birthday post would not be complete without sharing some of my favorite photos of you from the past six years.
Back when I was newly pregnant, I did what any crazy person expectant parent does – I bought books and books and books on how to be pregnant, how to give birth, how to survive the first year. I was going to ROCK THIS. Then I lost my first baby, even though the books barely touched on that topic and made it sound like it was a rarity. (The chances are 25-50%, according to my doctor). I waited a full cycle before trying again and was soon pregnant with Graham.
I still turned to the books for guidance when it came to pregnancy and delivery and even though my birth experience was anything but “textbook” (9 lb., 12 oz. baby (ON HIS DUE DATE), episiotomy, suction extractor, full spinal because the OR team was waiting to take me for a C-Section, forceps, ginormous baby, 4th degree tear)(The nurses would come to check me out and make That Face – the “I’M SO SORRY” face). I don’t remember reading any of that in the books I bought.
In the first year of Graham’s life, I would turn to the books to see if I was doing it “right”. Was he sleeping enough? Too much? When should I introduce solids? Was he eating enough? Too much? I spent so much time reading and charting and MAKING MYSELF CRAZY that when Nathan came along…I didn’t crack a single page. Heck, I’d kept one kid alive for twenty months before Nathan appeared on the scene; surely I could keep two alive. And so I did.
Keeping two human beings alive apparently gave me enough confidence to make a third baby and just over two years after Nathan arrived, we had Miss Emily. Three kids in under four years – who had time to read? I was doing all that I could to make it out of the house fully clothed and in my right mind. I sometimes failed at doing so, but that’s a story for another day.
Fast forward four years and I’ve come to realize that I have no idea what I’m doing. And that maybe “winging it” is a far better option that trying to follow some rules that may have worked for somebody else but won’t necessarily work for your family.
Please and Thank You are required in our house. If you hurt someone, even by accident, you say Sorry. When you’re done your meal, you clean up after yourself and put your dishes in the sink (I’m particular about how my dishwasher is loaded). If you are having a Bad Attitude, you get to go to your room and think about whether you want to keep that attitude or ditch it in favor of spending time with the rest of your family. You’re welcome to spread out coloring sheets/Play Doh/crafts on the kitchen table, but when you’re done you clean it up. When supper is being made, you get to help by setting the table/filling water glasses/putting condiments out. We don’t call each other mean names. EVER.
Sometimes I feel like a bit of a tyrant in that I say, “No” and “What do you say?” and “Go to your room and think about that” many times in a day. But then I remember that I say, “Yes” and “I love you” and “You make me so happy to be your Mom” a hundred times more. Those moments of struggle are worth the many more moments where I’m genuinely happy to be in the company of these little people who make me laugh all day long.
Examples. I have them.
***
Matthew went on a fishing trip this past weekend and like I any good wife, I was getting ready for his return. Dude is a clean freak and so to woo him upon his return, I spent all morning cleaning the house with the aid of the kids. They cleaned up toys, tidied their rooms and even helped me clean the bathrooms. I KNOW.
They were so thorough and helpful that I also thought I’d surprise them by giving them each $3. I called them all upstairs and asked them to put their hands out. All three of them s l o w l y raised their hands like they were being held up at gunpoint.
I said, “Put your hands OUT”, not “Put your hands UP”. After I stopped laughing (and gave them their loot), I asked them for a reenactment. A little overdone, but I wanted to document this. (It appears I AM a tyrant.)
***
Diesel gets kibbles a few times a day, often with whatever leftover meat we have. When he gets plain kibbles, he is none too pleased. I asked Graham to feed the dog and he came back inside with this tidbit:
I gave Diesel his kibbles and he looked at me and was all, “Dude. You have GOT to be kidding me.”
He’s seven going on seventeen.
***
Where am I going with this? I don’t even know. I sat down with the intent of writing about how my oldest son will be turning eight (EIGHT) in a few months and that I have no idea what I’m doing, but all of the above came tumbling out. The teenage years will likely be a different story, but for now it appears that we might be doing all right, just flying by the seat of our pants.
Oh, you guys. Thank you so much for the comments and emails regarding my last post. You are proof that the Internet can be a pretty rad place. I’m (slowly) working at responding to each and every one of you, in between work and errands and child wrangling and whatnot. I don’t want to leave such a sad post up for the weekend because I’m fine! Or rather, I will be. I always am. Plus, it’s not as though I spend every waking moment weeping into my coffee mug.
Matthew’s gone on a fishing trip (His turn to get away!) so the kids and I plan on spending a lot of time at the beach.
We’ll be hanging out with friends, even.
Have a great weekend, folks. See you on the other side.
