Nina

I had a friend named Nina. She was the warmest, kindest, person you could ever meet. Even years after we lost touch I'd run into her from time to time. This was usually at the mall. She worked there. She would come running up behind me and shout "Hi Amanda!" and give me one of her fantastic hugs. Years of a lost friendship didn't matter to her. She still showed her love.

She was so cooly unique in her own way. She had this huge crush on Brian Austin Green. She met him once, and she had a photo of him that she took at an autograph signing. She was so proud of that photo.

We were able to get back in touch, thanks to Facebook. Every now and again I'd be reading some messages on Facebook and the little chat thing would alert me that she was on. It was neat to chat with her. I miss that.

Nina passed away in August. She was only 37. I take comfort in knowing that she slipped through this world right into the arms of Jesus. What a great place to be! Today is her birthday. She shared it with her equally cool twin brother.

Nina - you are a treasure. I know you're dancing it up in heaven right now.

Junkyard

Today I finally bit the bullet and invited the neighbour kids in to play. I had some reservations. The older, a boy, is often teasing other kids. The last time Bear and this boy played together Bear came home calling me a poo-foo. Grrrr. Bear has been lonely for a playmate and since my busted up neck and I are a write-off I thought "Hey, what the heck?" WHAT THE HECK WAS I THINKING!?

The entire time the boy was here I was comforting my sensitive Bear. The boy didn't want to play what he wanted to play. The boy was kicking at him. Sigh. The boy's sister came over after she had finished her bath. She wanted to jump alone on the bouncy castle, because she was afraid. Fair enough. Then the boy complained to whole time that his sister had a long turn. I spent a lot of time helping them through disagreements.

Then, there was the tattletale. If there is one thing that drives me up the wall its tattling. The little girl could've won an award for excellence in reporting today. I had a full play by play of the goings on, with updates every five minutes. It was "brother this, baby that, Bear did this". It was wearing on me, more so because I am so not used to it. Bear is pretty tolerant of his brother, or any kids for that matter.

Bear had asked if he could watch a movie, so I said yes, and the kids chose Superman. Maybe just five minutes later the little girl said, "This is stupid and boring. And the baby is sitting beside me." I love how kids can take a one syllable word and whine it into a four syllable word.

At this point the boy asks if he can play in Bear's room. I tell him he should ask Bear, who said yes. Then Bear asks "Please stay and watch this part." The boy looked at him and said "No!" and ran off.

I left the little dude in the room for five minutes. I could hear playing going on, and it sounded like...... well like..... playing. I heard a bit of a crash, so I went in to check it out. I have never been so pissed off in my life. He took EVERY. SINGLE. THING. out of their bins and dumped them onto the floor. He took The Very Hungry Caterpillar game and scattered its pieces. That game has over 40 pieces! He pulled all the books off the shelf. He dismantled the playmobil, including some hinges off a castle. My first impulse was to chuck him out of my house. He is way too old to do something like this. Bear is near four and knows better.

I tried so hard to be a gracious hostess. My neck hurt. I was sick of the tattling, the squabbling and the hurt feelings. So I said (maybe a little too firm) "I think you need to go home." Ouch. I walked him to our door and luckily his Mama was knocking on the door. She had dumplings that she made for us. And I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. I should have shown more grace.

I'm sure my mom would get a kick out of this story. When I was about 3 my friend Brad and I (well I blame him) invented a game called junkyard. One of us would shout "Lets play junkyard!" and would proceed to haul all things out off the shelves and out of the toy box. Games were dismantled, blocks scattered, and crayons thrown about. I think we even took the pictures off the wall one time. I was much to young too tackle cleanup all by myself and I sure don't recall Brad sticking around to help.

I don't remember getting spanked for it. Mom just cleaned it up. I wish I had these thoughts as I grumbled and cussed through my cleanup. It sure would have made it easier.

Duck

I have a sweet friend on my mind tonight. I'll call her Duck. Duck has always been so good to me. I haven't seen her in 12 years, but we have been able to stay touch. In 1997 I was anorexic. I made a trek across the US to Chicago to see her, with another friend. It was the best trip of my life. Looking back I wonder how I was keeping alive. I was emaciated. I maybe ate 500 calories a day, and drank a lot of diet soda to keep my gut feeling full. Sometimes I'd drink a case of it a day. Yep - 12 diet whatever - diet coke, sprite, rootbeer, cream soda...... I can't imagine what that did to my insides.
When Duck came to pick us up at the bus station she didn't even recognize me. I had told her I had lost some weight, but wanted to surprise her with how good I looked. Instead, I scared the ever loving shit out of her. I walked in a daze during that trip, sort of stoned from the euphoria starvation can bring upon you. I was so anxious to weigh myself that she let me weigh myself on her mailing scale at her work. Her kind boss took us to dinner one night, and even expressed his concern.

Many anorexics talk about "the voice" inside your head. When people comment on you "wow you're so tiny" it feeds the addiction. You like those compliments, so you work hard to stay tiny, so you continue to be complimented.

While on this trip Duck sat me down and showed me an article about a ballerina who had died of heart failure, brought on by anorexia. Her name was Heidi, and I believe she was about 22. I was 20. Duck tearfully told me "I don't want this to be you." After adamant denying that I had a problem, I finally caved. When I got home I was to tell my parents that I needed help. She would be calling my parents in a week to make sure that I had done it. And she did call. And I had told my parents.

I kept in touch with her through my recovery.

When I became a parent she gave me the tools that I needed to break some generational cycles. She introduced me to attachment parenting - a style of parenting that has really worked for us. I already see some of that fruit in my oldest son Bear.

Thinking of Duck reminds me of her testimony. There was a girl that she went to highschool with. I'll call her Molly. She would tease Molly, bully Molly. Duck says that she was really mean to her. Then one day Duck heard Molly talk about going to church. Duck said "You go to church?" And Molly said "Yeah, I go to church, I'm a Christian. Duck asked "Could I go too?" And Molly invited her to come. This is a perfect example of turning the other cheek. I was bullied mercilessly in highschool. The thought of having two certain girls accompany me to church would have been a nightmare. I would have probably told them to fuck off, or something else that would have made Jesus super proud of me, had they asked if they could come to church with me.

We live in a world full of good people and bad people. Some are saints, and some are assholes. The point is, as Christians we are supposed to love as Jesus loved. We're supposed to get our hands dirty. We're supposed to go amongst our society's outcasts - the prostitutes, and addicts and other people our society wants to sweep under the rug. We are called to bring in EVERYBODY, not just the people who seem approachable. I feel really sad that I see more hate and intolerance preached on TV, than the real message that Christ has for us. It makes me sick when certain tel-evangelists call homosexuality an abomination - MURDER, RAPE, CHILD PORNOGRAPHY, the fact that hitting a child in our country is legal and the powers that be want to keep it that way. Those are abominations.

I'm just thinking that if there was more love and more tolerance and more compassion and less greed in this world, that it would be a better place. Sadly, I don't think that will happen.

Grandma's Pillows

Tonight I was asked to take a seam ripper to some pillows we have. They are really, really dirty. I don't dispute for a second that they need to be washed. They've had drooly little faces fall asleep on them, they've been smeared with sticky hands. Sometimes I catch our dog Gibson sleeping on the couch, his head resting cheekily on the pillow.

The idea of taking a seam ripper to these pillows scares me. I sucked, or should I say suck at sewing. I don't do it. Sewing machines are scary. I don't know how to thread a bobbin, nor do I care to know how. In grade 8 we had to take sewing in Life Skills. What a stupid name for a course. Who sews these days? OK, lots of people do. Its a really admirable talent. It's a talent I don't possess. My shorts would have been wearable, if I was a lopsided 200 lb man. See? Told you I suck at sewing. It's just something that I don't have patience for.

My husband thinks I should sew. His mom sews well. So does my mom. My mom sewed all my clothes. She sewed my doll clothes, and my barbie clothes. She sewed curtains and bed spreads for my doll house. I can hardly manage to sew on a button. I'd take it to Stitch-It if it wasn't so pathetic. If I lived in the days of Laura Ingalls we'd be really screwed. Or, we'd have to be rich so I could have a fancy seamstress from the East sew my clothes for me.

I wonder what would happen if I just put the pillows in the wash? Would the fluff get all clumped up and weird? Knowing my luck I'd destroy the pillows. I'm kind of good at wrecking stuff when being lazy.

I think I'll just take the easy way out and ask mom if she's interested in ripping open some pillows - which were Grandma's by the way. You can see one of them in the background of my previous post.

Simone Marie

Today would have been my Grandma's 81st birthday. I miss her so much. She passed away on June 6, 2004. I can't believe 6 years have passed. Wow. Six years.

My grandma was a constant light in my life when times were hard. She was one of the few people who loved unconditionally. You know in Bridget Jones' Diary; when Mark Darcy tell Bridget he loves her "Just as you are?" That's how I felt my grandma loved me. I didn't have to be pretty or polished. I could just be me.

I miss her little suite in my parents' basement. I miss her British comedies - Are you Being Served? Keeping Up Appearances, One Foot in the Grave. I miss Yahtzee. We'd play Yahtzee for a good solid hour, game after game. She liked to complete an entire card before we quit. Sometimes we'd have to rush through the last round because Everybody Loves Raymond was coming on. And she loved Raymond.

She was so strong, for all that she had been through. She was born at the start of the Depression and lived through WWII. She was blown off a bridge. Her best friend was killed - her home was nothing but a hole in the ground after an afternoon bombing.
She was a part time single mother of 5 kids, Grandpa was often away for work on the tugs.

Her generousity knew no bounds. She'd give you anything in a heartbeat.

She loved to go to ABC Family Restaurant for dinner. One of her favourite stores was The Bombay Company. The ladies who worked there loved her so much that they bought her a little Christmas ornament one year. Two of them came to her wake.

She loved Jesus, and you knew it.

Sometimes I feel like it's not fair that she never lived long enough to see me walk down the aisle on my wedding day. I wish she could have held my boys on her knee. She sure would have loved them to bits.

Her name was Simone Marie - she was one of the most beautiful women I have ever met.

Happy Birthday Nana.

Love you forever.