Who am I?

I think that everybody freaks out when they find their first gray hair. I know I did. Then I dyed my hair and went on my plucky little way. A few days ago I drew my hair back into a stubby ponytail. It's at the just long enough stage to draw back and keep out of my face. For the first time in, I don't know, 4 months I looked at the back of my head. I didn't see one or two gray hairs. I saw a clump. A large clump. Gray and fat and long, just like Pepe fucking La Pew.

I've come to realize that I've gotten old the last few years. I used to be so light hearted and fun. I've become a stormy little rain cloud the last few years. What the hell happened to me? I don't expect myself to be all sunshine and lollipops. It's just that lately I've become cold rainstorm and mosquito bites.

I've also realized that I wished away a good portion of my 20s. I was so insecure. Security for me, was staying at home. I didn't have to worry about what I wore, how I looked, and who I impressed. Home was comfort. I remember I couldn't wait to be older, so I could have kids and stay home. Now I miss going out.

I feel like I lost myself somewhere along the way of wishing I was older. I think I tried so hard to find myself that I still don't know who that is anymore. I know who I'd like to be. I know what I wish I was like. I sometimes don't feel comfortable in the shoes I've put on. I know I'm not a knee high boots kind of girl. I'm a flip-flops girl. And I love my cloth gong-fu shoes that my brother found in Fan-Tan Alley.

I know that I no longer like blouses, or things like that. I don't think I ever did really like them. I like t-shirts, mostly with a little capped sleeve. I like jeans. I like skirts too, but it has to be the right skirt. I love hoodies. I love that you can hide in them. I love that you can find hoodies that you can still be girl in. I hate shorts. My legs are so nasty in shorts. My legs remind me of a chicken, turkey drumstick. Fat on the top and skinny on the bottom.

I want to re-pierce the second holes in my ears and replace them with white gold hoops. My ears turn green if I don't put good stuff in them. I love my nose ring and I will never take it out.

I have two tattoos. I have one on my lower back, of a Celtic knot. I have a flower on my shoulder which I hate. I want to cover it with two flowers, a daisy for Bear and a chrysanthemum for Squirrel. I haven't found the perfect look, but I want it to be sort of 1940s style.

That a little bit of what I know about me. It seems to be such a shallow depiction of who I am. I don't really get to the core of who I am. I thought I would have figured it out by now. I guess I haven't.

He's Crafty....not

I'm trying to convince Bear to colour more. I realized that he never really colours, or draws. I can't say he likes it. Sometimes he'll paint. Not often.

We go to a Toddler Art programme before playgroup every Wednesday. Sometimes I can get him to glue stuff, but most of the time he just wants to play. He's probably inherited his lack of interest in art from me.

I've always hated art. I think it came from Grade 1. I remember this stupid woven apple that we had to make. Teacher gave us apples she had cut from red construction paper. We were to take regular white office paper and cut it into strips. Then we had to make horizontal slits in the apple. THEN we had to weave the white paper through the horizontal slits. Easy right? WRONG!

There were three or four of us who couldn't do it. We tried and tried. I remember feeling anxious and stupid and wanting to cry, and then the time was up. Art was over. It was on to gym. On to gym for those who finished their apples. Lights off in a dark room to finish the apples for those of us who didn't get how to weave that paper in and out. We sat on the floor next to the classroom door for light. I don't get why Teacher thought that turning out the lights and leaving 6 year olds alone and unsupervised to finish the project alone was a good idea. We nabbed an older kid in the hallway who knew how to make the apples. We convinced him to "help". I don't know who he was but I am so thankful that he finished that apple for me.

I have a friend who's children like crafts. They will sit and work on their crafts for hours. They will draw or paint or glue or string beads. This friend can't believe that my son doesn't like crafts. She asked what was wrong with him. Like he was defective for not liking crafts. I wanted to tell her that NOTHING was wrong, thank you very much. That my Le Leche League leader thought that kids who sat in silence diligently working on their task for hours on end were creepy. I did point out that focusing on something for about 10 minutes was normal for his age and that he was right on target with that. Who cares if he doesn't like to draw? He likes to make up stories. He likes his playmobil. He likes to tumble and jump.

Squirrel is a scribbler already. He likes to leaf through the colouring books and scribble on random pages. He loves cars. Give him a couple of cars and he'll play for 20 minutes, driving them along the baseboard, up the walls and under the table. He has even started to make the sound effects, which is really cute. He knows which ones make noise and when they don't he brings them to me and says uh-oh. I know that when he discovers that playdoh is not food and is fun to squish that he will like playdoh more than Bear does.

I love that all kids are different. And my Le Leche leader WAS right.... if all kids were quiet and diligent and focused on a task for hours on end, it would be creepy. I sort of picture a group of girls with braided black hair, pale heads bent over their paper, vacant eyes watching their hands draw red circles, round and round and round and round and round.....

Ramblings......

I was thinking today about the course my life has taken. I have wanted to be a wife and a mother for as long as I can remember. When I was in Grade 3 my teacher once asked me "Amanda, what on EARTH do you dream of all day?" I looked up at her with stars in my eyes and said "My Wedding Day!" That of course was followed by a classroom of hysterical laughter. Then teasing and speculation of who this boy in my dreams was....

There were so many other things that I wanted to be:

I wanted to be a nurse, until I realized this also included bedpans and barf and being responsible for somebody's medication, changing the dressing on wounds, weird smells, long hours and shit pay.

I wanted to be a teacher but I don't think I have the patience for other people's kids.

When I was 9 I saw an episode of Private Benjamin and wanted to be in the Army. Yep, the Army. Combat did not occur to me because in my mind WWII was the last war the world would ever see.

I wanted to go to school to be a chef. I like to cook. I'm good at it. I'm not so good with pressure.

I had a cop phase, when I wanted not only be a cop, but an undercover cop. Thank you 21 Jump Street! The thought of me being a cop is hilarious. I'm short, don't weigh a whole lot, am pretty sensitive, never kicked anyone's ass in my life and I am completely out of shape.

I of course never became any of those. I am a stay at home mom. A domestic engineer. A homemaker. A housewife.

I cook, clean, fold laundry (or make a sad attempt at doing so). I vacuum less than I should, mop even more less, and try to stay on top of the bathroom. Some days I don't do much of this. I would make June Cleaver cry. The role of "housewife" has changed so much.

I sometimes wonder if it was really so much like it was portrayed on Leave it To Beaver and other shows of the era. I'm thinking the 1950's stereotype of a woman waiting by the door, pipe and sherry in hand for Husband Dear. Was she really all neat and tidy? Were the kids washed and patiently waiting for their dinner, which was already made? When the kids wanted to go out and play after dinner did they really say "Ah Gee!" when Pop said no? Really?

When Husband comes home the kids are rarely clean. One of them will have the recent snack smeared across their face. They're tired. I certainly am not waiting by the door with a pipe, and if I had a glass in hand it would be empty, because I drank the sherry, or more likely rum and diet coke, that was inside. I am not neat and tidy - my hair probably hasn't been brushed in hours. Bear doesn't blurt out "Ah Gee!" when we tell him he can't play Star Wars after dinner. I can't imagine what June would think when she saw his reaction.

If my family was anything like a 1950's TV family they wouldn't be mine. Husband finds my disorganization and messiness frustrating and brain scattering. I find it imperfect, yet endearing. It's not that I don't care. I do care. I'd love to have a clean house at all times. I do care that the fridge stinks because something is rotting in there and I don't know what. I care that there is dog hair on the floor. Yes, it is weird that there is a bottle of perfume with a missing cap on my counter. Messy faces - meh. It's part of childhood.

I do care that my kids experience life. I love to take them out to the park, or the petting zoo. I like going on walks and telling them the names of flowers. I like taking them downtown to experience urban culture - street performers, tourists, cool stores, good food. How can you NOT go to the beach at least once a week when you live as close to the ocean as we do? The thing is, if I was stuck at home with a duster in hand we wouldn't do these things. These things are so much more important than a clean house.

Besides, most stay at home Mamas know that the monotony staying home all day, day in and day out only ends in a trip to Rancho Relaxo. Or a sanatorium, if you lived back then.

Anya Josephine

I'm sitting at the computer tonight, drinking tea, and thinking of my best friend, Anya. She calls me Panday. She lives far away. I haven't had tea with Anya in 3+ years.

She has been my friend for 15 years. I was her Maid of Honour when she got married. She would have been my Maid of Honour too. She wasn't able to come to the wedding because she was pregnant, and not allowed to board a plane. I opted not to bestow the title of Maid of Honour on anyone, because only Anya deserved it. We also knew that she was a Matron, not a Maid, but Matron made her sound like a prison warden, or some mean old woman, like Katherine, Catherine Brooke.

She was my friend when I was anorexic. She yelled and screamed and cried at me to eat. She loved me through my recovery. When my home life wasn't good she'd drive 45 minutes to come and see me, just to make sure I was OK.

When my first love shattered my heart to pieces she brought me daisies, took me to lunch and then on a drive to Chuckanut Drive. She didn't even seem too mad that I fell asleep after all that driving either. Did I mention that if fell asleep because I drank 3 Long Island Iced Teas in the middle of the day? Chuckanut Drive is a lovely road in Washington that is nothing but farms and trees. Beautiful.

We went on crazy trips to Bellingham to go for Taco Bell, when Taco Bell was only South of the border. Taco Bell when you're 19 is heaven. Taco Bell when you're 32 is totally overrated.

We'd go to the tea store at Park Royal and buy all sorts of delicious tea - earl grey/jasmine, jasmine on it's own, and one incredibly lovely one called Cream. Yummy. Sometimes we'd drink tummy tea, which was some sort of variation of peppermint, for sore tummies.

She didn't get mad when AF came in the middle of the night, ruining her cool dinosaur jammies. I was horrified. She was all "whatever" about it.

Once we went out after midnight and wreaked havoc on her neighbourhood. We took For Sale signs from people's yards and placed them on unsuspecting homeowners half a block down. The thought of someone getting up in the morning, looking out the window with the morning coffee in hand, going "what the hell?" drove us into hysterics.

We would go to Kmart and laugh at those creepy half doll bodies, or doll heads, that old ladies knit lavender skirts for. You know the type? Some were even made up to look like hookers. We named one Vera. If we were feeling really sassy we might move stuff around - put some underwear in with the chocolate bars. Yes, we were very mature for our age.

My favourite thing was listening to Modest Mouse, or Hayden under a blue light, or surrounded by multi-coloured Christmas lights in June. There is something so warm and comforting about that thought, still.

She has a great husband, and a beautiful little girl who I had the privilege of meeting 3 years ago. Her little girl is nearly 5!

Anya is patient, kind, funny and a beautiful example of a woman following Christ.

Anya Josephine. My best friend.

His Grace is Sufficient

Wonderful the matchless grace of Jesus,
Deeper than the mighty rolling sea;
Higher than the mountain, sparkling like a fountain,
All-sufficient grace for even me;
~ Haldor Lillenas ~

Today I'm thinking about the incredible grace that has been given to me, from my Savior. It is so important to me to share that with my children. We've been dealing with some frustrating issues with Bear right now. It is less than easy to show grace right now, far harder than I ever thought it would be. I've had to ask myself over, and over - Am I acting like Jesus would want me to act? Would he be proud of me? Too many night these past few weeks I've gone to bed feeling like a fool.

It is important to me that my kids know I love them. Not in a "Mommy loves me because I'm her son" type of knowledge, but I want them to know from the deepest parts of their hearts, that I love them fiercely.

I want them to know that there is nothing they can do that will change that love. There is nothing they need to do, nothing they need to be to make me love them more. I love my kids so completely. I want to be a walking, living testimony to Ephesians 2:8-10

8For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— 9not by works, so that no one can boast. 10For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

My love, sweet babies, is unconditional. I am so sorry that I fail at showing you that some days. Thank you Bear, for always forgiving me when I ask. Thank you Squirrel, for whispering in my ear today "la law loo", and following it with a big smooch.
You both most certainly have my heart.

Just a little Respect?

Today I had one of those days where I felt like I did everything wrong. I'm letting the stress of this party get the best of me. Really, who yells at a four year old who doesn't put their jacket on the instant they are asked? I guess some people do, but it's not my thing. I know what I should do. I could have made it fun. We could have had jacket races, or put it on backwards and pretend to not notice. I could have taken the fact that he was playing a really cool computer game into consideration.

Instead, I behaved like a child who wasn't getting what they wanted and the wanted it NOW. I yelled. I threatened. I begged. Then I yelled loud. That got him moving. Ick.

I'm trying to figure out why I want instant obedience so badly. It infuriates me when my kids don't comply. I *know* at this age it isn't about defiance. He's engrossed in a game. He needs more time to transition. Instead of expecting him to march to his shoes and jacket like Friedrich VonTrapp I could have given him more warning. As an adult I don't like to be told to do things. It's nice to be asked. And it's nice to be asked nicely.

I like to ask myself how I would like to be spoken to. Why can't we show kids the same respect? What makes them any less different than me? Really, when I order my kids around they get this message - Biggers order littles around. It's OK to be rude if you're a grown up. It doesn't mean that I have to ask in a sickening sugary sweet voice to put on his jacket. But I could make the request and wait. Ask again. Ask if he needs help? Assist if needed.

Matthew 7:12 states "Do unto others, as you would have others do unto you."

I don't think that I was very obedient to those words today. I failed, and I failed miserably.

Bear, as usual, accepted my apology with a great big grin and a "I forgive you Mommy". I know that God forgives me too.

Birthday Planning Blues

I am having house guests in 48 hours. I have 48 hours to deep clean my bathroom, clean the playroom, vacuum (and stay on top of the dog hair) wash the floors, fold about ten loads of laundry, clean the spare room and wash the floors in the basement.

I also have to buy all the stuff for the birthday party - plates, cups, napkins, balloons, a Buzz Light Year Pinata, all the crap to put in the pinata, plan and prepare the food and the loot bags and the games..... the list goes on and on and on. And the cake. HOLY CRAP. The freaking cake. I just remembered I have to order the cake.

Bear's birthday party is on Saturday. Today is Tuesday. Well, its Tuesday night which means that I really only have tomorrow and half of Thursday to get my house is presentable shape. Mother in Law arrives from far, far away sometime on Thursday afternoon. Thank the Lord the party isn't at my house. I don't know how I would have fit 12 bouncing 3-5 year olds in my house, plus their parents. I am ever so grateful that my Mom is hosting the party at her house.

I used to be so organized. I would write lists, and sub lists and I'd have it all squared away at least a week beforehand. The rusty wheels are turning in my head. I thinks I have a plan.....

I'm going to buy loot bags, but I'm going to turf assembling them. Once the kids are done beating the crap out of Buzz and all his guts spill out they can collect said guts and put them into the bags. I can find cool stuff to put in there - pencils, stickers, whistles, and candy. Can you really go wrong with candy?

I'm starting to feel like I can do this. I really think I can. I honestly wish I had more confidence in myself. It would eliminate so many tears, so many fistfuls of hairs being ripped from my head. Sure, the BC Liquor Board may see a decrease in sales in April and October but I would have my sanity intact.

Happy Birthday Bear

Bear is four years old today. I can't believe he's four! We've had a great day so far - chocolate cereal for breakfast, presents, and McDonald's for lunch. Nana and Papa are coming for dinner, which is hotdogs. We'll be detoxing for a week but you only turn four once, and you only have one birthday a year. Happy Birthday my sweet Bear.