Writing Challenge: Days 25 and 26

Another double post because I can't keep up...


Day 25: Four weird things about me

1.  Whenever I travel over water, via a bridge, I hold my breath the whole way. Also, I worry that I might drive the van directly over the edge of things at any moment. This feeling rises up when I'm passing transport trucks on the highway, too.

2. I didn't used to mind driving on the 401. Now, if I have to go past Oshawa, Peterborough or Kingston (coincidentally, my "limit" cities for hockey games and tournaments, if *I* am required to drive there) I have tons of anxiety and once chewed through six packs of spearmint gum in three hours.

3. I am afraid of things that live in water. I watched "River Monsters" once and feel that it was, quite possibly, once of the worst decisions of my whole life. And I've made some super bad ones...

4. I am addicted to J.D. Robb novels and have read every single one of them, so far. I have almost read every novel written by Nora Roberts, too. I may have a teensy little problem...

Day 26: Things I'd Say to an Ex

I'm sorry.

I love you.

Thank you.

Writing Challenge: Something I Miss

I miss lots of things:

My brother
Being thin
Sleeping past 7 a.m.
Being in school
Being short enough to lay full out in the bathtub (so, basically, I miss being 8)
Chiclets gum

My black blazer that I think I accidentally gave away to charity
Arches in my feet
Cobourg beach
Whistler and walking the Valley Trail home, no matter where I lived.
Being pregnant
Nursing
Little boy sleepers
My striped mittens
Truck stops
Having everything I own fit into a backpack
Ireland - a place I've never been, except in dreams.

Writing Challenge: Days 20-23 Because I Cannot Keep Up

Let's face it, folks....keeping up is not my gig. Clearly. But rambling about a variety of unconnected stuff IS my gig, so I'm all about this post today....erm, days.....


Annnnyhooo....

20th Question: 3 Songs on Shuffle and what my initial thought is:

(Incidentally, I did not know, until this posting, that iTunes will shuffle the music I download and then play it. Huh. Neat.)

The first song: "Stutter" by Marianas Trench. This is one my FAVOURITE car songs. My sons and I belt this one as a trio and there is usually ceiling drumming and seat grooving. Yep. We're cool like that.

Second tune: "True Colours" (Compilation) Another great sing-a-long song. We do wicked harmony with this one, if I do say so myself. A Pretty song, twisted into something louder, bigger, and blingier. As an added bonus, my sons throw themselves into the rap bit, which is hilarious to watch in the rear-view mirror. yo.


Third song: "O" by Coldplay. This is a hidden track from their "Ghost Stories" album and it closes my throat because I miss my brother and the children we were and the Fireplace Inns at Whistler, which is in no way connected to my brother, but this song sounds like how I felt, watching my very first snowfall there, a million years ago. I miss the girl I was there, too.

Maybe I just miss myself.


21st: My zodiac sign and does it suit me?


Sagittarius: (pinched from www.astrology.com)

"Sagittarius in a Nutshell:

Sagittarius seem to be guided by luck, good things happen to Sagittarius and this is usually because of their optimistic outlook and positive disposition which attracts good fortune. Despite hardships, Sagittarius is always optimistic that good things will happen tomorrow and the future carries good luck. Sagittarius have a vibrant, expansive personality that is free like a bird, Sagittarius cannot be contained. They are full of curiosity and they always look forward to the future, never dwelling on the past. Sagittarius are detached from emotions because emotions hold a person back, they do not like to talk about their feelings, they simply experience them and move on. Sagittarius can be reckless and irresponsible because they will jump at a suggestion of something new before they weigh the advantages and disadvantages. "

Yes, this is me. I am this. EXCEPT for the detached emotions bit. I have lots of emotions. I swim in them most of the time and likely express far too many of them.

Also, I spend a LOT of time in the past, in my head. Some would say too much time reliving and regretting instead of forging on, being athletic and charming and doing archery-type things...

Good thing I'm lucky, eh?


Day 22: My morning routine:


GET OUT OF BED! BRUSH YOUR TEETH! NO, YOU CAN'T WEAR YESTERDAY'S UNDERPANTS! BRUSH THEM, DON'T JUST SWISH THE TOOTHPASTE AROUND WITH YOUR TONGUE! DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE, BECAUSE IT WON'T BE PLEASANT...LEAVE YOUR BROTHER'S EYEBALLS ALONE!

And coffee. Blessed coffee....

Day 23: A family member I dislike

Seriously? No. I'm not answering this one. I am a people-PLEASER, not a family-war-starter.

Sheesh.

Writing Challenge: Favourite Colour and Five Fears

Another combination post. I think it's safe to say that this trend will continue...

My favourite colour?

Red.

Of course.

Five Fears.

Well, these are pleasant to contemplate (she says, oozing sarcasm)

1. Losing one of my children. Period, full-stop, this is, as I think it's every parent's, worst nightmare. I fear losing them in death, to a stranger, to the world. I once lost Matt in the mall for about 5 minutes and I discovered that icy, soul-destroying terror. I don't care for it. Don't care to ever experience it again and wonder how I shall ever let the children go, when it's time?

2. Dying and leaving the children behind. I've had a few friends who waged mighty battles against vicious diseases but lost. They both left behind two beautiful children and it closes my throat to think about their grief.

3. Heights. Although I DID go on the "Drop Zone" ride at the Waterfront Festival this summer, much to my children's shock and awe. It was awful and wonderful, in the same screech.

4. That I will never actually balls up and try to write for profit. I did, once upon a time, but lost my nerve, somewhere along the way. It's coming, but it's slow-going and I want to bang my own head against the wall and ask myself, "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR???"

5. I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with....wait....somebody already said that one....

Nevertheless, I think it's one fear we all share, in one way or another.

Writing Challenge: Quotes to Live By

Boy, I'm honking at this challenge. I've skipped a bunch of days, here and am lazy, so I'm just going to answer today's challenge:

Two quotes that resonate deeply with me are these:

Photo courtesy of "Simple Reminders"



My dad has spent my entire life gently reminding me of this truth. From him, it is accompanied by a gentle tossing of his hands over his shoulders, as if to say, "It's behind you now."


The second quote that I love is part of a bigger piece called "Desiderata" a copy of which hangs on my family room wall. I enjoy the entire poem by Max Ehrmann, but the last few lines have touched my heart forever and they are these:

 

Writing Challenge: Two Words That Make me Laugh

1. Douchebaggery.

Is this not the BEST. WORD EVER? Douchebag all by itself is marvellous - two syllables, that delicious "ch" sound and a hard end. Douche. Bag. Say it out loud. Feel how lovely that is on your tongue?

Douchebaggery is even MORE delicious, isn't it? As in, "I wish he'd quit his douchebaggery ways right now!" (Adjective) OR "Stop your douchebaggery this instant!" (verb-y type word)

It's a multipurpose, made-up piece of yum!


2. Moist

This is a word that many people loathe - their reactions to its use are swift and surprisingly fierce. I hadn't really thought about moist much until an online friend expressed her misgivings about it. A mad and hilarious thread soon followed and for years afterward, we'd tease her about it, the way sleep-deprived internet besties will do.

Even now, a  decade or so in, someone will occasionally post a Moist Meme on her Facebook wall and I always giggle when I see it.

With apologies to Brooke, whom I love.

Writing Challenge: Relationship Status

I have been married to Mark for 12 years. Despite those years and the five we spent torturing getting to know each other before taking vows of forever,  we remain woefully unqualified to talk about marriage with any kind of wise authority.

In fact, I think it's safe to say that we are the cautionary tale upon which all pre-nuptial counselling sessions should be based.

We are the "what NOT to do" list.

Still...we have learned  some stuff. Well, I have. I shouldn't speak for Mark. He gets twitchy about that sort of thing.

1. Marriage works when your crazy complements someone ELSE's crazy.

When you're both control freaks who like to avoid confrontation but yell like lunatics far, far too often, this can make for a fraught relationship. HOWEVER, when the stars align and everyone's slept well and the full moon has passed and someone served lasagna for dinner, then our dysfunction can be funny. Maybe just to us?

2. Sleeping arrangements should be re-negotiated yearly. Perhaps monthly, depending on the moon cycle.

Mostly, that means that when my husband sticks to HIS side and doesn't allow his foot to stray onto MY side, all is well. When he doesn't press "snooze" 104 times before 5 a.m. well, that's loving and respectful and makes it so that I am more inclined to go downstairs and make coffee instead of passive-aggressively flushing the toilet while he's in the shower and then hiding behind the door when he yanks the curtain aside to holler.

Also, it's helpful that he can sleep through anything, including my dead-sexy sleep apnea machine.

(Dead-sexy, people. When paired with bed socks, a hooded sweatshirt and flannel pj bottoms, my bedroom attire is irresistible...)

*Pause for me to snort-laugh*

3. Communication is key.

We communicate, just not well. Do better than us and you're well on your way to wedded bliss. Or something...

Writing Challenge DAYS 9 and 10: Aging Fruit

Two topics today, short and sweet:

1. How I feel about ageism:  it sucks.

2. I don't care for kiwis. I don't like the mushy green on my tongue or the little black seeds that end up in my teeth. Also, they taste like they WANT to be watermelon, but they're trying too hard.

Photo credit: Pinterest

30 Day Challenge: DAY ??? A-Two-For-One Post

I've skipped some days, it seems. Hockey has taken over my life, as it does every winter. I don't mind so much, but will now cram two posts into one:


1. Do you have any tattoos and do they have special meaning?

Yes. I have one, on my lower back. It's a small, ancient Eyptian symbol meaning, "Freedom" something I valued highly in my 20s. I have never regretted getting it, only wish for more. Strangely, I do not have a photo of it. Must right that soon.

I'd like one to represent my sons, who are my most favourite people in the world. This is one I've been mulling over. It's a Celtic symbol for motherhood:

2. A book I love, a book I didn't.

One of my most favourite books ever is called "One Child" by Torey Hayden. I read it first when I was about 12, again as I entered my 20s and have read a half dozen times since. Torey, a teacher, tells the true story of a little girl who came into her Special Education class during the 1970s. Sheila, was wild and broken, but throughout their time together, the two formed an intense bond and ultimately, Torey's dedication and love for Sheila, transformed them both.

I now work as an EA, working with students with special needs. Entire passages of the book, are especially poignant to me now and come to my mind in full paragraphs. I wonder, sometimes, at the seeds planted, all those years ago.


One of my least favourite books is "The Shack" - a story about a man called "Mack" who loses a child, meets God, finds peace and redemption. The book was written, I suppose, to be uplifting and spiritual but  I was left feeling manipulated and depressed. I forced myself to finish it, but immediately wished that I hadn't.

30 Day Writing Challenge: DAY SIX: Who Fascinates Me and Why

I don't know what happened to Day 5....it disappeared somewhere inside the chaos of my week. Day 6, according to the original list, tasks me with writing about someone who fascinates me and why.

This was much harder to contemplate than I'd anticipated, but it's Friday and so I'm cutting myself some slack:

I am a big fan of the TV show "Love It or List It" which airs on the "W" Network.

The hosts of the Toronto version of the show are called David and Hilary, a real estate agent and a designer, respectively. The two bicker and bitch and verbally stab each other throughout the show's one hour run. Sometimes hints of affection peek through too, although whether they're real or contrived is hard to tell.

Hilary's job is to redesign a couple's home in order to convince them to continue living in it. David Visentin, the real estate side of the bickering duo, is meanwhile scouring the city for the couple's dream home, in a bid to have them sell their home (post-renovation) and buy a newer, better, bigger one.

David Visentin from 'Love it or List it" Photo courtesy of the W Network

I am FASCINATED by David - I often find myself wondering if he's actually as impatient and eye-rolly as the show suggests or if it's all put on for TV.

Still, I love his eye-rolling wit and his dry, self-effacing humour.  I love the way he sighs at his partner's insults and never seems to get really, REALLY angry with her. I love the way he cut through dithering and bullshit and the way he sort of smirks at the camera whenever he's the last one to leave a bathroom.

And his suits...I love them, too.

One day, I shall FB/Twitter stalk him and ask all kinds of impertinent questions but for now, I just enjoy creating back stories for him while I sit in my pyjamas, casting judgement from my couch.

30 Day Writing Challenge: DAY FOUR (10 Interesting Things About Me)

"Interesting" is relative, I suppose, but I have mulling over this post all day. It's harder than it seems, really, to come up with facts about myself that are new and/or interesting.

But here goes, anyway:


1. I hate feet on feet. Baby feet on mine, adult feet on mine....ugh. Nope. Get 'em OFF OF ME! It sort of drives my husband crazy, especially since I pull socks on my feet before climbing into bed, but really, he should stop trying. That definitely drives me crazy.

2. I have never smoked pot. I know, right? Seems totally out-of-character, but it's true. In related news, my Facebook status tonight was all about how the spaghetti sauce I made to go with our pasta smelled like pot. Hey, I may never have smoked it, but I've definitely smelled it.

3. I just asked my kids and I think that their ideas warrant sharing here:

a) I'm funny.
b) I wear glasses.
c) I love them.
d) I'm a good cook. (Please see #2)
e) I'm obsessed with Facebook.
f) I made up a "Swear Jar" to curb my own cursing
g) I sometimes take naps on the couch.

4. My husband is now chiming in:

a) I have "the tingle" (a kind of knowing, like pre-cognition or memory-capturing. It's weird)
b) I don't actually DRINK the Baileys I talk about drinking, I just think about it and then drink tea.
c) I hate being wrong, even though, according to him, I am often wrong.

5. I love eternity scarves. If I could wear one every day, I would. This could become a problem soon. It might already be one...

6.  I am sad that this is so hard...

7. Whenever I visit my parents' house, I spend the first few minutes moving through each room and opening their closets, inhaling the scent of home and making sure everything is where it's supposed to be. I am beginning to realize that this is not a charming quirk, but is perhaps a bit obsessive and maybe a little bit...creepy.

8. I don't really care if #8 is creepy...I'm doing it anyway.

9. I don't swim in large bodies of water that are not pools because things LIVE IN THE WATER. Those things might eat my feet. Or me. Nope. Not doing it.

10. Whatever, Mark. I am usually right. Except for all things math. Then, I can be counted on to be wrong. Also, I cannot parallel park at all. I will drive three blocks and walk before even trying.

30-Day Writing Challenge DAY THREE: My Earliest Memory

I think I was three, so this must have been 1976 or so.

Christmas Eve - long after night had fallen. I woke up needing to pee and so padded across my bedroom, barefoot and desperate.

"Mummy?" I peeked out into the darkened hallway, crossing my legs underneath my nightgown, dancing a little. "I need to go to the bathroom."

I waited, willing her to hear me over the classical music that was the soundtrack of my childhood.

Nothing. I re-crossed my legs and crept a little further into the hall, squinting down the stairs into the family room, where my parents usually sat, chatting and listening to music.

"Mummy?"

No answer.

I was alone.

Suddenly terrified, I wet myself, standing right there, in the hallway. And then I cried.

I cried while I ran back into my room and jammed my wet nightie into the dirty clothes hamper. Cried as I pulled a fresh, clean one from my drawer and over my head. Cried some more as I dragged myself to the couch, tucked myself into the corner of it and then directed my gaze to the Christmas tree lights, blazing merrily.



Vaguely, I wondered if Santa would take me with him when he came, seeing as I was all alone now. I wondered too, what I'd done to make my parents leave me behind - surely I hadn't been that naughty?

As I began to mentally tally my potential transgressions, there was a sudden whoosh of cold and then there they were, my parents. Chattering, calling "Merry Christmas!" over their shoulders and waving into the dark night behind them.

As they came laughing into the room, they spied me and stopped in their tracks, happy smiles gone.

"Elizabeth?" My mum, her voice gentle and low, moved to sit next to me on the couch.

"I had to pee!" I wailed and then hurled myself into her arms, sobbing wildly, not even caring that she was still wearing her winter coat and that it was covered in snow. "Where did you gooooo?"

"We were just next door, love. Just wishing the neighbours a Merry Christmas. We were barely gone and you were sleeping...."

"I HAD TO PEE!" I bellowed a second time, furious with them that they had not been where they were supposed to be, that I felt compelled to report my movements to them at all, (which was not their doing, just a funny little quirk of mine) and had, as a result of both, peed on the carpet on Christmas Eve.

...

Years later, I am mostly over this early trauma. But I'll admit this: whenever I wake up in the night to use the bathroom (something that happens far too often for my liking, really) I will always detour into my children's bedroom on the way back to mine....just to make sure that everyone is where they're supposed to be.

Funny, isn't it, the stuff we carry?

30 Day Writing Challenge: DAY TWO (First Kiss and First Love)

First Kiss

I was 14 and standing where two dirt roads met, holding hands with a boy who’d likely learned to walk on them, barefoot. He was older and probably wiser about a lot of things I had no business knowing and his hand was on my hip, warming my skin with a heat that had nothing to do with being cold.

When his lips covered mine, I sucked in my breath and shoved the gum I’d been carefully chewing to the roof of my mouth, willing it not to fall as his tongue met mine. Shocked, I opened my eyes and stared at his eyelids, squinted closed under a furrowed brow. He was concentrating very hard, it seemed. Finally, I yanked my mouth back from his and into the sudden gap, fell my gum. It landed in a green mess on the ground between us.

 We both looked down.

We both looked up.

And then we both used our sleeves to wipe our mouths, giggling.

I met him again when I was about 24. He was a customer I was serving at a local truck stop where I’d been for so many years, it felt more like a series of conversations over coffee, than work.

In any case, I teased him, the man before me, grown tall and handsome in a hard-life kind of way. Running my fingers across the tattoos that covered his arms, I traced a snake up to his neck and smiled at his friends: “This guy here...he was the first boy I ever kissed.”

And he chuckled and they hooted, the way I knew they would.

“I was,” he drawled, a bit embarrassed, a bit proud, I think. “We had no business duelling tongues that way, then, did we?”

I laughed out loud; charmed at the old-fashioned words and the shy way he delivered them to me, looking down as he was, at his boots.

“I guess not, but there’s no telling that to teenagers, is there?”

“Guess not,” he agreed and then snagged my hand in his. Surprised, I kept my fingers in a loose fist, until he gently pried them loose and pressed a small rectangle into my hand.

And he waited until my eyes met his and then he winked.

I uncurled my fingers and then burst out laughing, delighted: there, in the palm of my hand, sat an unwrapped piece of spearmint gum. Green, like the gum I’d been chewing, all those years ago.

“Now, every time you chew a piece of gum, you’ll think of me,” he said quietly and then curled his hand back around his coffee mug, titled his gaze up to mine and grinned.

That same sexy, dangerous grin that had captured my teenaged imagination – and mouth - a decade before.

I think of him from time to time.  Usually while chewing spearmint gum.

 It is, after all, my favourite.

 

 

First Love

It was glorious and hot and messy and heartbreaking and breathless and angst-filled and funny and not and I will always love him because he made the plain girl that I was, feel beautiful.

 

 

30 Day Writing Challenge: DAY ONE

*Last month, a friend tagged me on Facebook, offered up this challenge. Happily, I accept!*

Day One:

5 Problems With Social Media

1. That the person we craft ourselves to be on social media, is NOT, in fact, the person we ARE.

We, as a society, are presenting only our best selves, our polished homes, our shiniest moments. Some people feel that this is the same thing as lying.

Maybe it is, but somehow this doesn't bother me as much as it probably should.

Why WOULDN'T I want you to see my children smiling instead of rolling their eyes, my hair on a good day instead of a usual one and be offered a glimpse of the state of my mind kitchen most mornings, versus last night when I was just too tired to deal?

2. When other people post photos of me on Facebook.

I want to grab those people and shake them and say, "Are you SERIOUS, right now? Why would you DO that?"

Cut that sh*t out, people! If I have more than one chin in the photo, either because of the angle at which the photo was taken or because I have gained too much weight, I DON'T WANT TO SEE ME on Facebook. Unless I've vetted myself beforehand. (Please see #1)

3. That online relationships and friendships are shallow and one-dimensional.

I think I'm supposed to agree with that one, too. Except that I don't. Well, not entirely. SOME of my online friendships are superficial and light and I like them that way. Other online relationships are rich and full and enrich my life in ways I sometimes feel that I don't deserve.

I need and appreciate both kinds, as much as I appreciate that I can engage or not with all of my peeps when it works for me.

I am NOT, as it turns out, the kind of person who appreciates pop-bys, in real life or on social media. I need a moment to take a breath before opening the door (or Facebook) to others - just as I enjoy the chance to type out my thoughts before sharing them (I often don't know what I think or feel until I've written it.) This perk in not available to me in real life, where I often speak before thinking and say the wrong thing...

4. Social media encourages "hashtag thinking" and the dumbing down of big thoughts.

Ever tried to distill a thought, idea or phrase into 140 characters, well? It's an art form. It's a mental challenge, it's a gift and it's not a dumbing down...it's a lifting up. The ability to tease, intrigue and inform in as few words as possible is a  beautiful and charming skill.

As for hashtags...I dig 'em. In the overall, I mean. They add flavour and spice to a simple post and some of my friends plant their best words after the # sign. It's a bit of a fun game, really, finding the wit and wisdom, allsmushedtogetherlikethis.

5.  On social media, some stuff just isn't true.

Yep. Social media is rife with lies and miscommunication. Some people share opinions as though they are FACT and others share lies as though they are TRUTH.

Our computers aren't able to do the critical thinking for us. That's still on US, to do the work.

Go figure.

For Luke, As He Turns EIGHT!

Darling Luke,

This is the smallest and quietest of the gifts I plan to give you tomorrow, as you turn 8. It's the least expensive and the one you're not really expecting (though you might be. It's hard to know, because you see so much more than I ever remember to give you credit for which is, frankly, a little scary, a little bit cool) but it comes from the deepest part of my heart, which is where the wish that was you, was born.

What a gift you are, Luke, to me, to our family, to the world, though they may not yet recognize their luck just yet. Behind your shy lurks a most hilarious jokester and a kid who, once he forgets himself, can move mountains and hearts with his smile.

Do you know that, before you were born, as I watched your brother gently place his head on my growing belly, I loved you? I loved you when you were just a speck of life, flickering under my heart. In it.

And during these past eight years, I  have grown to love you even more. I love your laugh - such a deep, rich and entirely joyful sound. I don't hear it often, for you are often busy watching and thinking serious thoughts, it seems. But when you smile and it reaches your eyes and then that glorious sound comes up from your belly, it takes my breath away, it's so beautiful.

I love your fierce, my boy. Even when you roar with indignation or frustration, you amaze me with your clarity and your honesty. You humble me with both, Luke, especially when you show me truth about myself, about the world, about a moment. No one brings me to it faster than you do. Thank you, my son, for your gift of sight.

I love your tender heart - hidden behind bluster, but always true. I love the way you save your best hugs for bedtime and how you laughingly cling to my neck, my arms, my legs, trying to topple me into your love for just a moment longer. Even as I protest and gently pry myself loose, there are nights when I know that I will miss those moments the most, as you grow older and further away from the boy I adore and closer to the man I will be proud to call my son. I miss him already.

In the meantime, know that I thank God every day for helping you choose me - I can never tell you enough when you ask, "Is it hard, being a mum?" how it is the greatest privilege I have ever known. How blessed I feel, every day, to wake you with kisses and hugs. How even when I'm hollering at you to "Hurry up and brush your teeth!" I am always, always in love with you - the boy who fills my heart with gratitude and awe, simply because he exists.

Your sense of humour, amazing vocabulary and awesome dance moves don't hurt, either, by the way. I also dig that you get me and mine and can sing harmony on almost any song I sing. Mad skills, Luke. You got 'em.

I love you beyond my juiciest words, more than all the stars in the sky and from the deepest part of my heart, where the best miracles dwell. You are mine and I am a better mother because of you.

Thank you for my best eight years and for choosing me.

Happy Birthday, Luke.

I love you.

Mummy

For Matt On His 10th Birthday

Darling Matthew,

I know, I know...these days, people call you "Matt." I'm sorry. It's just taking me a bit to get used to. Now that you are 10, I am almost used to being a mother.

Last night, I told you the story of the night before and the day of your birth - how you surprised everyone, especially me, by being early, but surprised no one, especially me, by being such a fierce little warrior.

My sensitive, sweet-natured boy, at your core, in your deepest heart, you are still a warrior. How I (mostly) love to see your fire when you have perceived that something is unjust or unfair. You are fierce and loud and so very brave, choosing your words with precision and mounting an argument without a qualm.

I am proud of the friend that I've seen you become to a select few, but how you continue to be friendly to most people who cross your path. I see you trying very hard to be kinder to your little brother because I have asked you to - I love your heart's efforts and his smile when they work.

I love your humour and your unselfconscious laughter. I love your preening and your shy and your determination to score one more goal, take one more shot, read one more page, have one more minute. It's hard to deny you these moments because your victory echoes in the heart just over the spot where you grew in my belly.

That's a funny thought, isn't it? That I could feel as you do, simply because I am your mother. But I do. And long before I was your mother, I was a daughter first. And once, a long, LONG time ago, I too, turned 10. I have not forgotten, my boy, the slight awe and the wonder of finally becoming an age that had seemed so far out of reach. I have not forgotten the weirdness of those years, when my heart both pushed my own mother out, even as another part opened up to her and begged her to stay.

Well, maybe I have forgotten some of it, love, which is usually when I holler and yell and we fight and spit daggers aimed for each other's eyes until one of us remembers to be a grown-up and stops. Mostly that's me, but sometimes it's you first and oh, Matt, how proud I am of you in those moments.

 Those are glimpses, you see, of the man you will one day be and I see him more and more, as time moves past me. He is wise and good and funny and fierce.  Just like the you of today, only taller. And he has a cool car. I can't remember which kind, but you'll know it when you see it. Remind me, ok?

In the meantime, know that I love you beyond words, more than the whole of the universe and always from the deepest part of my heart. I love that in being born, you gave me this life as your mother and that now, 10 years later, I continue to find such joy in that role and in you and in our shared days.

You make me laugh and cry and ponder and question and think and wish and dream...just as you did long before I met you. You're kind of magic, you know?

The day you were born was the day my heart's desire came true.

Thank you, as always, for choosing me.

Happy Birthday, Matt.

I love you.

Mum

Family Rules: 2015

Family Rules

Brush your teeth. Pick up your feet. Do as you've been told, when you're told. Close the fridge. Wipe up the juice. Don't use a tea towel, use paper towel. On the counter. Tie your shoes. Hands to yourself. Don't stomp up the stairs. Eat everything on your plate. Get your feet off the seat. Take your garbage with you. Did you brush your teeth? Don't put the empty pickle jar back in the fridge. CLOSE THE FRIDGE! Finish your water bottle. Finish the whole bottle. STICK YOUR HEAD UNDER THE TAP, YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANOTHER BOTTLE! Be kind to your brother. Say please. Say thank you. Get your feet out of his face. The couch is to be shared. Turn off the video game. Turn OFF the video game. TURN IT OFF! Give me those headphones, I'll give them back when I get my voice back. Keep asking questions, yes. Questions are good. Get in the car. IN. Get in the car. Hands inside, guys. Hands inside. Use soap. Do as you're told, when you're told. Change your underpants. No, you wore those yesterday. Yes, you did. Why are you still arguing with me? Go to your room. Don't stomp, Daddy's sleeping. Close the door quietly. Wipe up the crumbs. There. RIGHT THERE! HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE THEM??? Find your glasses. Turn off the video game. Clean your glasses. Turn OFF the video game. PUT THEM ON YOUR FACE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Wear sunscreen. And repellent. Well, hold your breath then. Burned is worse. You can SO breathe, stop being dramatic. Yes, I'm trying to kill you. You've found me out. Because you didn't brush your teeth. Dude, I can smell you from here. Get in the car. Hands inside. Tie your laces. You know that thing you do, when you drag your feet across every surface like a Neanderthal? Stop doing that. Tie your laces. No, you didn't. If you had, I wouldn't be asking you. Leave the window control alone. No it wasn't him, it was you. His control thing is on HIS side...HANDS TO YOURSELF! Find something to do. Rinse the dishes first. Towels on the rack. Towels on the rack. Brush your teeth. Fine, sleep naked, I don't care. Get your bum out of your brother's face. No, I was RIGHT HERE. Yes, I saw. He did not. GET INTO BED! No, only one chapter. One. That's what I said. One. Less if you keep this up. Get your feet off the wall. Yes, they ARE dirty. Because you didn't use soap, like I told you to. Get your FEET OFF your BROTHER. Your bed. No. No sleepovers with each other. Your bed. NOW. Lights out. Lights out. Stop scaring him like that...no that's not an alien come to take you away, it's your brother. Yes, I can smell AND see him.  Because he didn't use soap. Snuggle down, now. Put your sillies away. Have good dreams. See you in mine. Well, because it would be lovely, wouldn't it? Because in my dreams, you use soap and brush your teeth and get in the car when I say. Never mind. Forget it. Know that I love you. Yes, I do. No, not more than your brother, differently. I'm sure. Because you're different people. Stop asking questions. For the love of GOD, please go to sleep. GO TO SLEEP! We'll try again tomorrow...

God's Pool

At Mass this morning, a guest priest asked for prayers for our country, that we might stand firm and protest same-sex marriage and abortion. My sons, standing on either side of me, turned their handsome faces up in confusion.

Huh?

"Does he mean boys can't marry boys? Mummy, you said they could."

For a moment, I could say nothing. My youngest Red is a week away from receiving his First Communion, which is essentially, being invited to sit at the Lord's table.

 I walked away from it for many, many years but found that I was drawn back to the ritual and community, especially when I became a parent. I have sometimes wondered at the wisdom of returning to a church whose ideas I do not wholly embrace, nor support. Some, I outright defy.

This is one of them.

"Some people believe that only men and women should marry," I finally whispered, "But I don't. I think God wants you to love who you love and that's that."

"But can we still come here if you think that? For my communion? I'm learning all the songs, even though the words are hard."

In my mind, I pictured myself gathering up my children and making a big show of huffing from the pew and into the aisle, incensed and hollering, "MY God welcomes everyone to His table!" and then storming out. Alas, I am not that brave, so instead, I sat when I should have remained standing and tugged them in close to me.

"God says that whenever two or more people get together and sing about Him and pray to Him and enjoy their time together, He's hanging out, too. Invisibly. And He loves us. Period. Full-stop. Forever. So, yes, we can come here. Especially since you're learning all the songs."

"But...why did the priest say that?" This from my oldest, the champion of "Why?" questions that make my head hurt.

"Because he believes it. Because it scares him. Because the world is a different place than it used to be, when men couldn't marry men and women couldn't marry women. He's sort of...stuck there."

"But who's right?"

"Who do you think is right?"

"You."

"Why do you think I'm right?"

"Because you said that if we want to marry a man then you'd be ok with that because it means you get to have more sons to love. And God helped us choose you to be our mummy and so if He chooses us to marry a man, He's really choosing you for them, too. Or them for you. Kind of. Do you know what I mean?"

I closed my eyes, offered up a silent prayer of thanks for these tiny souls. "Yes. Yes, I do. Now let Mummy pray here, ok?"

"Ok," my youngest again, tugging impatiently on my arm, "Can you pray that the person I marry has a pool?

I opened up one eye. "A pool?"

"Yeah. God would probably want me to have a pool. And a diving board to practice flips. I bet He's choosing that for me right now. I just have to wait and find out."

I guess we all will.

That God. He's so funny.

Life With Molly the Dog

Molly the Dog, ours since Christmas 2013, will be going home today.

Mostly, I am happy for her - and for us. Her new home is a horse farm, where she often goes to play. My friend, Raphael already loves her and she, him. She will be happy and free and beloved: knowing that makes this ache in my heart not as painful as it might be.

Today, I offer some snippets of life with Molly the Dog, as we knew it, culled from my Facebook page:

 

 

It's a good thing I got paid today because Molly the Dog just ate my LAST pair of sandals. I got them last pay day. Since that time, she has devoured my old sandals, a pair of flip-flops and my slippers.

It's no use complaining to Mark because he has told me a dozen times not to leave my shoes all over the place and I have cheerfully agreed and them promptly forgotten.

I hate when he's right.

 

 

 

So, if you were Molly the Dog and managed to snag one of those white things that covers the screws in the base of toilet and you raced downstairs despite your person hollering at you to "Sit, Molly!"...where would you hide it?

 

 

I cracked the back door open to let Molly the Dog outside. She sniffed the air, looked up at me as if to say, "Are you KIDDING me?" and then turned and swished her way back upstairs. I'm pretty sure I heard her "Hmph!" as she settled down.

I DO wish she'd learn to communicate her feelings more clearly...

 

 

Molly the Dog just stalked, killed and ate the BIGGEST house centipede I have ever seen.

Molly the Dog is my new hero and is hereby forgiven for every single status update containing curse words that I've written since bringing her home.

 

 

 

 

 

Molly the Dog did not get to the dog park today. To demonstrate her displeasure, she ate Mark's ball cap, one shoe, a tiny birchwood canoe off my dresser.

Just now, she decimated a roll of paper towel and when I looked over and asked, "What have you DONE?" she farted.

Molly the Dog is a pre-teen boy in a dog's body.

 

During Parent-Teacher interviews, I left a lasagna cooling on the stove.

While we were gone, Molly the Dog ate it. Well, most of it. The rest, she dragged across the kitchen floor, the dining room and the family room.

For dessert, she ate my phone.

Molly the Dog is now in the newly-resurrected crate.

Molly the Dog is grounded.

 

 

 

 

Molly the Dog during a rare, calm moment.
 

Dear Molly the Dog,

I am so mad at you right now, I can't even look at you. Partially, this is my doing for not following through on the "Come!" portion of your TWO rounds of obedience training. I was lulled into complacency, it seems, when vigilance was needed. There talk of electrifying the fence, my girl. And that chain that so terrifies you? Get used to it, until I can figure out how to keep being your owner without losing my mind.
And therein, lies the rub: it goes against your nature to be chained and tied and boxed in. It goes against my heart to be the one who chain and binds you when the beautiful dog that you are only longs to run freely.
I cannot decide if keeping you is selfish, or if offering you a different home where you can roam and run would be...

St. Patrick's Day 2015

Sometimes love means letting go.

 

Steady as you go, Molly the Dog.

 

Remember love.

 

 

 

 

 

For Sara

Several years ago, a group of strangers gathered at another stranger's house, bearing gifts of wine, cake and friendship. Then, we called ourselves the Twitter Ladies as we'd "met" on Twitter - all of us, save one, transplants to the Friendly City in which we live.

That first evening was hilarious - no sooner had we kicked off our shoes at the door, we were kicking off our nerves and our fears and our sense of weird about being in a stranger's home with women from the internet.

We swiftly assigned nicknames and monikers with the ease of new friends aiming to become long-term ones (mostly this was to differentiate between the Jens, who became Baker Jen, Nurse Jen and Preacher Jen, respectively) Our numbers have fluctuated over the years and we are now the Quinte Women's Respite Commission, which makes me giggle even typing it. We are each other's respite, for sure.

Sara was the youngest of us, then and remains the youngest of us now. She is impossibly beautiful and gentle-voiced. She chooses her words with absolute care and moves without any superfluous gestures whatsoever. She is a writer, a teacher, a community activist, a traveller, a dreamer.

Sara, Kyle and the aptly-named Jasper the Dog

She is my friend.

And she is also leaving.

Sara and her travelling-partner-for-life,  Kyle are both gypsies at heart. At month's end, they are heading to Alberta, having gamely spent their first year as a couple here in Ontario. Those of us who love her (and him) wish them nothing but oodles of luck as they embark on this very exciting adventure. But....we will miss her. I am the Storyteller of the group and of course, I have some things to tell her:


1. I am proud of you, my friend. This is a big deal, moving away from all that is familiar and all those who are dear. Though I know your heart has longed to return to the province of your childhood, I know too, how hard it is to leave behind the woman you've grown into here, in the pretty city by the Bay. I know that it has been a privilege to watch her. Now, I'll just have to do so through my computer.

2. Pictures. Take lots of 'em. Document the awesome views and the mundane moments...but not so much that you forget to live in them, either. Share them, love. With those who've made a similar journey and who have sepia-washed memories of their own, and with those still dreaming of becoming someone more, in a different place.

3. Miss us. Miss the loud and the messy of our lives, spilled out onto every table we've gathered around. Miss the laughter and the bawdy humour of women who maybe freak you out a little, but who adore you and see in you, our younger selves. Miss the magic of belonging to something bigger than you, than all of us -  the women who surround you in your journey are all facets of your own heart. And all of us will miss you.

A photo of Sara and Kyle's new home, that I shamelessly pinched
from her blog. That's the kind of friend I am.

Steady as you go, Skipper. Carry our love in the pockets of your heart.

Meeting Jason...

*One of my new favourite phrases, as I settle into my 40s, is "That God. He's so funny."

I am not a particularly religious person. By that, I suppose I mean that I am not a regular church-goer and my faith, while strengthening, is often fraught with doubt and questions. Despite them, every once in awhile, I receive a gentle nudge from the universe - one that lets me know that I am on the right path. I call that God, but whatever floats your boat works for me, too.

This piece, lifted directly from my Facebook wall shortly before Christmas, 2014, is a vivid and pointed "steady as you go, Skipper" moment, given to me by a lonely, troubled stranger on a rainy winter's night. *

I have been given the enormous privilege of being one of a Circle of Accompaniment for my dear friend, Jen, who is seeking ministry with the United Church of Canada. Tonight's meeting was the first of many with her circle and it was interesting. Even MORE interesting? What happened before:

Before the meeting began, I volunteered to open the church's locked side door to those attending. A lone man appeared, seeking the pastor, or he muttered, "someone to talk to," hastily yanking his tattered hat from his head as I ushered him in, out of the rain.

Together, we searched the meeting rooms, interrupted some strangers, but found no pastor. At a loss, I gestured to the bench in the foyer and so he eased himself down and then looked up at me.
"I just need someone to...listen, " he said quietly. And so I sat, too.

Opening up...

 

 

He said nothing for awhile, so I didn't, either. To be honest, I was a little bit afraid of him and his need and worried that perhaps I shouldn't have let him in. This was not my church, or my home and its congregation were strangers to me. I tried not to fidget and willed someone - anyone - to come and tell me, tell us, what to do.

"You know what's hard?" he asked, turning a battered face to mine, eyes blazing.

I shook my head.

"That there is no place for me to go, when I need to. The library will close soon and I have no money for coffee. I don't want a fucking coffee anyway, I just want someone to take these thoughts out of my head for awhile. Where's the pastor, that's what I want to know. WHERE THE HELL IS HE?"

"I don't know. But...I have a cell phone. Is there anyone you'd like to call?"

"Look at me! Do I look like the kind of person whose call would be answered?"

I blinked, afraid. "Uh...well, maybe not. You look sort of scary and mad. But you SOUND like someone who's smart and aware. And you need those thoughts out of your head, right? You could call up anyone and leave them on their voice mail, if they don't pick up."

With a loud bark, he BURST out laughing, and I jolted, which made him laugh even harder. I chuckled along, in that "ha-ha-holy-shit-you-freak-me-out" kind of way, until he stopped and then stuck out his hand for mine. "I'm Jason. Who are you?"

"I'm Liz."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're not to supposed to encourage the crazy people, Liz?"

"Well...yeah. But I can't seem to help myself. It's a curse, really."

Jason pitched over laughing again, while I sat there trying to figure out what to DO. And then he got up, jammed his hat back on his head and turned to haul me to my feet. I asked him what he was going to do.

"I'm going to go now, Liz. It was a pleasure meeting you. Thanks for making me laugh. I can probably hang onto my head until I get to the next church."

"Well, good luck. And Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you, too. And hey, if anyone ever tells you to stop talking to the crazy people, you tell 'em to go f*ck themselves. Got it?"

Got it.

That God. He's so funny.

Welcome, Sailors!

And so...a new journey begins.

I "retired" my old blog "Life With Bellymonster" in August of 2014. At that time, the stories I wanted to share were not mine to tell. Most of them still aren't, though perhaps one day, they will be.

However, it  became apparent, by the rapid and almost immediate lengthening of my Facebook status updates, that I simply cannot NOT blog. Somewhere, I still needed a place to share the extraordinary lessons I am learning as I move through my days. They are not always happy ones, but nor are they always hard. I have also discovered, in sharing, that the lessons are not only mine: there is much to be said for letting another's story change one's own.

Safe harbour

Mostly, I hope that this space will become a harbour of sorts - where I can share and reflect upon the stories others bring to my sphere. And where you can dip your feet and heart in, every now and again, for some inspiration, or simply, a shoring-up.