Category Archives: personality

April 29, 2013

Would You Like Cheese With That?

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Yes. Yes I would.

cheeseI’ve always been cheesy kind of gal. And I’m not just talking about hamburgers and pizza.

I savour the warm, gooey embrace of a predictable chick flick, a sappy romance novel and an estrogen-fueled women’s gathering. I’m a fan of baby showers, wedding parties and craft circles. My favourite, however, is a time-honoured church tradition: The Ladies Retreat. With youth group and summer camp in my rear view mirror, this is where I go for a regular dose of silly fun.

A lot has been written online about this phenomenon, and women’s ministry in general, over the past few years. One of the bloggers I love most wrote a piece this past weekend, while I just HAPPENED to be at our church’s bi-annual Ladies Retreat. Her account was funny, honest and mostly positive, in a surprised and begrudging way. Many I’ve read are not nearly so gracious.

I get it. I do. They’ve had bad experiences. I have too. There are judgmental cows. There are sugary sweet phonies. There are women who live to make everyone miserable in the name of God.

As someone who used to organize these events, I have heard every complaint in the book. It’s impossible to please everyone… The die-hard athletes and the girlie crafters. The all-night-gigglers and the crack-of-dawn-whistlers. The girls-who-just-wanna-have-fun and the women-with-deep-thoughts-to-share. The single-and-loving-it-professionals and the babies-are-my-life-wives. Then there’s the food and the location, the uncomfortable beds and finding a speaker who is just the right mix of fun and profound.

There’s a lot that can go wrong. It’s not for everyone. My husband would rather cut off his own thumbs than attend a men’s retreat. It ranks right up there with third degree burns and eating peanut butter for him. Knowing him as I do, this is the right call. Ladies Retreat might not be for you.

But it is for me.

Every time I read the mocking posts or hear the complaints I shrink a little inside. Suddenly I’m back in Jr High and the cool kids are snickering at me. They’re too grown up to play. I wonder if it is childish and wrong.

I wonder if I am.

I’m that dork in the front row, with tears streaming down my face as the speaker shares an emotional anecdote. I’m the belly laugh during the “share an embarrassing story” activity. I’m front of the line for silly games. I’m the introvert who is comforted by schedules and ice-breaker games and name tags. I’m the lady rushing around doing Very Important Work, so I don’t have to mingle so much, but still be part of the group all the same. I’m the one taking a nap and solitary walks during free time, because this is such a luxury. I hear God in the nature and the songs and the words of the women around me.

It’s not perfect and I barely sleep and I always have a few awkward, this-isn’t-working-for-me moments. But I push through, because there’s more good stuff than bad.

I LOVE Ladies Retreat!

So to all those people rolling their eyes and folding their arms: We get it. You’re too cynical and insecure cool for this stuff. That’s your perogative.

With a critical streak a mile wide myself, not to mention a cynical husband, it’s something I understand. There may even be some truth in it. You don’t have to come to the parade, but please, try not to rain on the rest of us.

When I look at the women I admire most, they aren’t the ones on the sidelines. Last weekend I sat beside 80-something year old Gladys. She was gearing up for the Sun Run race the next day. “I take a lot of rests, mind you, dear.” She wore a grass skirt to the tropical dinner and was front and centre, neon pool noodle in hand, for the ball relay. She knows how to laugh at herself and she’s game for anything. I want to be like her when I grow up.

I’m not in Jr. High anymore. I’m learning to embrace my enthusiastically dorky side. It’s not for everyone. But I’m glad I’m me.

I’ll take EXTRA cheese, please!

So here’s me, after a totally awesome Ladies Retreat. Carolyn Arends (one of my FAVOURITE authors) was our funny and insightful speaker – and she remembered me!!! – but I was totally cool about it (sort of). It feeds my soul – the beautiful decorations, the goofy games, the Indian Head Massage (developing a slight girl-crush on Lisa), the worship time, the hanging out with friends, the path by a waterfall, and most of all, no one needing anything from me for a day and a half!

NOTE: My friend Jessica attended this retreat with me. It’s not really her thing, but she’s a good sport like that. She has plenty of good reasons to stay on the sidelines, but she doesn’t, and I respect that a lot. Her post Be Kind to the Cynics is the slap upside the head I needed, a reminder to be more patient and understanding. It had me doing some soul searching today. Not always comfortable and rarely fun, but definitely good for the soul.

I thought about ignoring it. I thought about deleting this post or parts of it. I thought about rewriting. I  thought about chocolate (cause that always helps). In the end, I decided to add this link and hope you will read it too!

cynics

12 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in faith, personality, Uncategorized

March 22, 2013

Everything! Everything! Everything!

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Five Minute Friday:

Remember

One of the interesting side effects of being a known blogger amongst your circle of friends, is the influx of blogging suggestions. Remember when… becomes a prelude to “you should blog about that.” All the time.

When I hear the word “Remember”, I know what’s coming next. And I often do. Blog about the things we’ve waxed nostalgic about. But some of my best stories will never be immortalized online. Some, I choose to keep my own. Some, don’t feel like mine to share. And some, I just can’t remember right, no matter how hard I try.

I had one today. And I’ve been wracking my brain since I got this e-mail. The timing was perfect.

Once when I was over you told this story (the details are sketchy in my mind) but the essence of the story was a crying fit with Glen that had you repeating over and over ‘Everything! Everything! Everything!’.

I just wanted you to know that among my friends and my friends friends this has become a phrase that communicates crystal clearly when we feel like we’re waaaaaay in over our heads and we’re feeling emotional, about it.

It came up this morning again, and I felt like I should tell you that you are a legend. You should blog about it. ;)

I’m not at all surprised that I have acquired some small amount fame based on my complete emotional breakdown. Not even a little bit. I’m sure the story was both funny (at my own expense) and personally embarrassing. They usually are.

I do remember this story. I remember the day. I remember feeling completely overwhelmed, beyond words and reason. But I can’t, for the life of me, remember the comedy of errors that preceded it. The details have completely faded.

I’m pretty sure it was that magical time of the month. I had just given Glen an exhaustive list of everything that was wrong with my day, my life, my wardrobe and the universe in general. And I remember him asking what SPECIFICALLY I was upset about. No doubt so he could whip out his handy-dandy, husbandly tool-kit of advice to FIX it for me.

Rookie mistake.

Everything! Everything! Everything!

I can’t remember what EVERYTHING was that day. But it’s still the cry of my heart on a regular basis. And it really does feel better to say it. Next time you’re overwhelmed you should try it. I promise it helps. Then, maybe you should blog about it.

Remember that most of life’s overwhelming moments will be nothing more than a funny story someday.

overwhelmed

So here’s me… I spent the morning in a mall in Bellingham with my aunt and the 4 kids. B threw up all over herself and me, then used up every pull-up I had brought and one of her brother’s diapers (stomach bug is officially back). S had a meltdown and proceeded to get his head stuck under the canopy of his stroller while thrashing and screaming. My aunt walks with a significant limp, so this whole sticky, smelly, grumpy, shrieking gong show moved at snail’s pace down the length of the mall.

Everything! Everything! Everything!… indeed.

Today I’m joining up with Lisa Jo and a whole group of writers for a fun writing challenge. Though I must confess, I slightly exceeded my allotted Five Minutes today. Just one more thing to add to Everything. ;)

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..

3 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in Five Minute Friday, personality

November 15, 2012

Unstoppable?

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m awfully fond of breathing.

Usually my lungs and I are on the same page about this one, but today we are at odds. My “lingering cough” has taken a turn for the worse. When the hacking gets so bad I’m sleeping on the couch each night and I have to hang up the phone mid-conversation because I’m unable to get a word out, even I have to admit it’s more than “just a cold.”

There’s never much time for Mom to see the doctor. It falls down the list along with “pull out the refrigerator and dust the coils” and “back up computer files.” Something that really does need doing, but isn’t causing immediate problems and can just as easily be done another day. Or the one after that. Or never.

Except when it starts causing immediate problems. The kind where I have to cancel plans.

Like taking the ferry to Vancouver Island last weekend to hang out with my cousin (and longtime bff), her 5 kids and 11 newborn piglets. I was SO excited to show off my new son and enjoy a day of big-city-cousins-run-wild-on-the-farm.

Or our plans today to meet the daughter our dear friends just brought home from the Philippines. We’ve been praying for her and oohing over pictures for months. I couldn’t wait to finally meet her and have a long been-there-done-that “adopting a toddler” discussion.

Or the playdate I JUST set up yesterday with the little boy we’ve chosen to be our son’s new best friend. They haven’t met, but he’s so cute and we love his parents and it’s just meant to be. I had decided I would definitely feel better by Friday, so why not?

This is a problem for me. I hate cancelling. I hate it.

Not only do I miss out on the activity, but I have to rearrange my plans and change my expectations. I hate that too. But the worst part is: I have to admit my weakness.

I can’t do it. I can’t blame the kids or the weather or the economy or the politicians or even my husband for being unreasonable (as he is wont to do when I overcommit us). I have limitations and I’ve just run smack dab into them.

I HAVE to get better at noticing those ahead of time. Apparently acute bronchitis doesn’t need to get this bad. If only I would slow down and rest. You know, BEFORE coughing up green and sticky all the way to the walk-in clinic. I’ve had pneumonia more than once and that’s where I’m headed if I don’t slow down.

There is a time for pushing through and getting things done. There is a time for rest.

There is a time for making plans. There is a time for cancelling and rescheduling and just letting things go.

There is a time for doing, making, cleaning, teaching, writing, talking, fixing, helping… There is a time for breathing.

So here’s me, *hack, hack, hack* and it’s time to rest, even if it kills me. Because in the long run, it’ll kill me not to.

5 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in home-making, personality

October 2, 2012

5 Things You Didn’t Know About Me

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Finally! A post all about me, me, me…

I enjoy reading these on the blogs I lurk on ahem… follow. So I decided to link up to Jessica Bowman’s 5 Things You Didn’t Know About Me post, with my own never-before-revealed-on-this-blog facts.

This is a picture of me,
if I looked like Uma Thurman.
And was in jail.

1. I prefer going to movies by myself.
This is not to say I don’t enjoy going with friends (and my studlier half). But, as far as I’m concerned, SOLO is the best way to enjoy a film on the big screen.

I used to slink in, embarrassed to be alone, imagining looks of pity and derision on the faces around me. “I’ve got friends! It’s not what you think…”

In those days, I felt defensive and ashamed of my unorthodox preference. No longer!

I don’t have to share my popcorn. I can pick any mindless sappy/historical/comic book/sci-fi/action flick I want (preferably all rolled into one movie). I don’t have to explain who that man in the hat is or that he’s actually having a dream right now or why the blond girl is ACTUALLY his sister. My conscious mind can be entirely enveloped by the plot without distraction. I can relish my few blissful, responsibility-free hours.

2. I have my next tattoo all planned out.
I love the two on my ankle. It took me 8 years to get the guts to actually go through with it. I got them to remind me of my sons, Noah and Simon, and the afterlife where I will see them again someday. And just a tiny little bit, to feel like a badass (which would have worked so much better if I hadn’t gotten pretty, girly butterflies; also if I hadn’t worn socks around my Grandpa for 2 years).

The next one? The Hebrew words “b’tzelem Elohim” which means “in the image of God.” If I can remember that about myself… if I can remember that about everybody else in my orbit… won’t I do better in life?

3. I am writing a novel.
At the rate I am going, I expect it to be finished by early 2042. Seriously, I only have a prologue and some of the first chapter, but the stories are spinning around in my brain and the characters feel like real people to me. I’m just worried that I don’t have the writing chops to do them justice.

I’m enjoying all kinds of writing. But fiction is new and different and exhilarating. I’m just one more dreamer with “Write a Book” on my bucket list. I don’t expect fame or fortune. Or even a publisher. I just want to finish telling this story. And maybe I’ll even let someone read it someday. Maybe.

4. Each time someone tells me they read my blog, I am simultaneously thrilled and horrified.
I’m crap at taking compliments. And usually people follow that revelation with some type of positive reinforcement. I’m just going to assume that everyone who doesn’t mention that they read my blog, does read it and hates it. It’s really awkward to bring up in that case. So, thanks for not mentioning it.

As for those who do: it feels kind of like you just admitted to seeing me naked. Which is awkward for both of us. And kind of scary. And I never know what to say. So I usually mumble something self-deprecating and change the subject.

But mostly, I’m thrilled. So thanks.

5. Every single blog post I write goes on the chopping block at some point.

I never feel good about actually posting anything until after I hit ”publish.” And sometimes I wish I could take it back immediately.

But I make my peace with it eventually and I’m glad to have it out there (or I wouldn’t be doing this at all). If Glen didn’t edit and approve of almost every post, this little hobby would have stayed in my imagination along with hang gliding and mixed martial arts.

So here’s me, slightly less mysterious than yesterday.

8 comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in personality

September 18, 2012

Breaking Up With Normal

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

From: Christie
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2012 4:27 PM
To: Normal [mailto:conform@JustLikeEveryoneElse.com]
Subject: It’s over.

Dear Norm,

I’m sorry. I’ve chased after you most of my life. But I’m done. We’re through.

I know it’s not cool to break up by e-mail, but it’s your own fault. Despite your constant presence in my life, you’re hard to pin down. We don’t really talk. It’s all hidden pressures and unspoken expectations. Not healthy at all. I’m not angry. Really. I’m just done.

It’s not you, it’s me.

After all this time, I’ve outgrown you. I’m finally ready to admit after more than 30 years that you’ve never been my type. Because a relationship like this shouldn’t be so hard.

I’m tired of checking with you about what I should wear – sometimes your suggestions are uncomfortable. And I know we never saw eye-to-eye on hair. You make me nervous when we go out. What should I talk about? Which opinions can I share? What parts of myself should I hide? I know you’re thinking “the hair, that crazy hair” – but I kind of like it the way it is. So there.

You’ve changed.

It’s not all bad. I’m glad that you are recycling more and have dialed back the racism. But I hate the unhappy marriages, the workaholism and anorexic body ideals. Democracy is great, but it’s not always the best way to decide what is good and right and true.

If that’s not enough, you’re constantly reinventing yourself. And it’s exhausting juggling the different versions of you. There’s “Church Norm” who’s really into Jesus-talk, but kind of gossipy and judgmental. She tries to do a lot of good, but is arrogant and clumsy about it. “School Norm” talks a good game, but expects everyone to act and learn and regurgitate in exactly the same way. She’s inflexible and competitive, and sometimes more of a hindrance than a help to learning. “Hipster Norm” prides herself on being edgy and enlightened, but often forgets to be kind. Cynical and sarcastic makes for a funny punchline, unless you are on the other end of the punching.

Without even realizing I was doing it, I’ve tried to keep up with you. And I don’t like juggling the different versions of me either.

I’m ready to just be. Rough edges, awkward pauses and comfortable pants… the me who isn’t trying so hard.

I’ve met someone.

I’ve met a lot of someones, actually. People who dance with their dogs competitively. People who sell their belongings and move to Africa. People who dress up in costume for movie premieres. They’re offbeat. Out of step from the rest of us. Flat out weird sometimes. Which kind of freaks people out.

But here’s the thing: they’re awesome. They are fun and passionate and not afraid. And that’s looking pretty good to me right now. That’s what I want.

I hope we can still be friends.

There’s nothing wrong with you. I’ll raise my children to respect you. I’ll teach them to be appropriate, even socially acceptable. But they are special and unique and ultimately, I don’t see you as a life long companion for them, either.

We’re just not that into you.

I’m sure we’ll run into each other from time to time. After all, you’re insanely popular. That’s kind of your thing.

So, no hard feelings, k? I wish you the best… or the average, rather. Cause that’s more “you” after all.

Christie

5 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in creativity, personality

March 5, 2012

The Great Educational Debate: Grades vs. Learning

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’ve had a recurring nightmare for the past few weeks. Perhaps I should call it a “day-mare” since I’m usually awake when it slithers into my conscious mind.

I’m at the University, where I started taking classes in January. With shaking hands I turn in my Developmental Psychology paper, worth 60% (60%!!!!!!!) of my final grade.

In the inexplicable way that dreams often do, I skip ahead to the return of my graded essay. On the top is a giant red F.

F for fraud. F for faker… F for Failure.

The teaching staff morphs from my likeable Scottish professor into a group of angry, faceless beings. They shake their heads in disgust and instruct security to escort me from the premises immediately. I am ordered never to return again.

This neurotic little fantasy has not inspired me to greatness. I stare blankly at my laptop with the words 60%, 60%, 60%!!!!! echoing through my mind. After two weeks of false starts and half-hearted research The Impact of the Environment on the Cognitive Development of Preschool Children is no closer to being done than when I started. The pressure is paralyzing.

On the other hand…

It’s so different with my English assignments. I was thrown the first time I received one back with only witty comments and suggestions scrawled in the margins. I looked carefully through each page and even on the back. No mark.

I’ve been conditioned to work for a grade. I was slightly miffed. If I am not being measured, does it even count?

But I find myself craving these assignments. They flow easily. I enjoy them. It is some of my best work.

Because I forgot…

I attended a workshop at school last week: Study Skills for the Mature Student. Despite my penchance for slurpees and children’s fiction, the university has decided I am “mature”. It sounds so respectable. I’m not about to argue.

The speaker reminded us that we are here to collect knowledge, not grades. Marks do not always reflect learning. And my GPA is not a measure of my worth.

She seemed like a nice kid. And frankly, it’s the same advice I’ve given to my own kids. I know this. Now that I’m “mature” I shouldn’t need to be reminded of the obvious. But I do.

So I set aside my need to get an “A” on my psych paper, which somewhere along the way became a way to prove my worth to the entire academic community (who, I’m sure, are on pins and needles wanting to know just what I have to say). In fact, I chucked the whole topic and started over again. Successful Ageing: the Cognitive, Emotional and Social Effects is working out much better for me. And no, the irony of the topic does not escape me.

What works and what doesn’t…

The entire educational system is structured around extrinsic rewards; the carrot and the stick, so to speak. Jump through these hoops and you get such-and-such a number or letter to reflect your value. Do not perform according to some, often arbitrary, standard and you will be punished.

This kind of conditioning works fabulously for simple, mechanical tasks. Eat your supper, get dessert. Ignore your chores, no TV. But it doesn’t work so great for anything that requires creativity and complex thinking.

In fact, studies show that incentives, especially high value ones, have a very NEGATIVE effect on creative productivity. They are not the motivating factor we expect. Rather than performing better, people perform WORSE when a reward is on the line. The “carrot and stick” of extrinsic motivators inhibits innovation and discourages critical thinking.

People are inspired to greatness by intrinsic motivations: curiosity, imagination, creativity, and personal satisfaction, to name a few. We were designed to learn and grow. In a pressure-free, encouraging environment we do this so much better! This is the reason my ungraded assignments excite my best work, while the high pressure paper overwhelms me entirely.

Dan Pink gives a brilliant talk called The Surprising Science of Motivation which makes this point better than I ever could! He is mostly interested in its application in the business world; companies who make amazing strides by loosening control. Instead of bigger incentives, they are giving autonomy and a sense of purpose to their employees, with remarkable results.

What would happen if we did the same thing in education? Students who learn because they are interested in the discussion and excited to play a part, not merely regurgitating what the teacher wants to hear. Nurturing thinkers and artists and builders, not a pecking order based on a narrow set of skills.

I’ve had a few teachers who truly believed this over the years. They seem revolutionary, more interested in what I had to contribute, than in measuring me (or themselves). There’s a reason they make so many cheesy “teacher-inspiring-a-tough-inner-city-class-to-greatness” movies. Because teachers like that really do exist and they make all the difference.

So here’s me, 60% certain that the grade on my paper does not define me.

1 comment   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in creativity, personality, school

February 10, 2012

Mom Shrugged

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

My daughter threw up this morning. She leaned over her bowl of Mini-Wheats and puked up her daily vitamin. Half crying and half choking, she looked up with an air of bewilderment as we rushed to her side.

Nothing breaks my heart quite like that sad little face and the pronouncement of “owie tummy, Mommy.”

I should have noticed sooner…I should have scooped her into my lap…I should have bought more ginger ale…I should wash our hands more often…I should feed her more vegetables…I should buy organic…I should give her the latest trendy-hippie-health-freak-immunity-boosting-super-food…I should know what that is…I should have kept her home from school yesterday…I should put her in the bath…I should scrub the tub out more often, it’s gross…I should stay home from my class this afternoon…I should have finished my paper yesterday…I should worry less about rearranging my day and more about my little girl…

And the guilt game plays on and on and on… just like every other day in the life of a Mom. Though to be completely fair, I was an expert player long before my children came along.

A modern day Atlas, with the weight of the world on my shoulders, my reach often exceeds my grasp. I’d like to end poverty, cure the Aids pandemic, reorganize the storage room and teach my daughter to read, all while maintaining my ideal weight. I’d like to write a book, master every spiritual discipline, earn a PhD and design a Martha Stewart home with paper mache and a $10 budget. I’d like to teach seminars like: Flawlessly Understanding the Entire Bible, Effortless Parenting to Produce Perfect Children and, most impressive of all, How to Potty Train Your Special Needs Child in a Single Day (because I really should have figured all this out by now). I’d like to be everything to everyone.

So I feed myself a steady diet of comparison and perfectionism (and chocolate; there’s always chocolate).

While I may huff and puff and sigh about my problems with guilt, I still hold onto it with an iron grip. On some level I must believe that it is the engine that drives me. It’s a bad habit I keep returning to.

According to Greek mythology, Zeus condemned Atlas for his support of the Titans in their war against the Olympians. As a punishment, he was sent to the western edge of the earth and forced to hold the sky on his back. He literally became the axis upon which the heavens rotated.

I can relate. It’s hard being the centre of the universe.

This week was a complete write off. The flu took it’s toll. I spent entire days in bed. I missed meetings. I wasn’t there to pack lunches or drive kids around or check up on homework. And guess what? The world kept on spinning.

I am learning to ask for help, to accept it graciously and to put down burdens that aren’t mine to carry. Every day I must resist the siren song of pride and insecurity, and remember that boundaries and limitations are a blessing, not a curse. I find my worth, not in perfection or accomplishment, but in being the unique person God designed me to be.

The chorus of “should” begins to quiet when I remember my inestimable value.

I am just doing the best I can. And that requires no apology.

So here’s me, posting my life-writing paper as a blog post, because I just don’t have the energy to write anything else.

1 comment   |  tags: , , | posted in parenting, personality

January 17, 2012

The Great Boot Debate of 2012

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Call it karma. Call it genetic predisposition. Call it reaping what you sow. I call it parenting the child I deserve.

She is me. In so many ways, good and bad. A smaller, spunkier version of myself. And usually that seems like a good thing.

When I was 12, I put my foot down… right into a snow bank. What self-respecting 7th grader would wear ugly, clunky snow boots when they could be rocking a pair of thin white sneakers with flourescent green laces? So what if I had to walk 3 blocks to the bus, knee deep in the snow? What is a little suffering in the name of fashion?

Moms just don’t understand. After as much arguing and weeping as I dared, she decided to let me try it my way.

It took almost a week for my toes to thaw out.

I grudgingly wore my boots the next day. Lesson learned. Sigh.

Me 2.0 has had several upgrades. She is funnier, more creative and, oh happy day, even more stubborn. Excellent.

This morning was a blow out. Her black boots with the silver stars no longer fit. It takes her 20 minutes to squeeze her feet in and she can’t do the zipper up at all. I have 2 pairs that are a bigger size, but apparently the Hannah Montana pair her sister loved are “so embarassing” and the other pair “don’t work at all”.

With over a foot of snow in the school yard, we are out of options. We only have about 1-2 weeks of snow each year, so there is no way I am buying another pair. The school is not as forward thinking as my mother with her let-them-suffer-that’ll-teach-em philosophy. So she has to wear them.

By the time we were walking out the door (15 minutes late, mind you), I was in full froth. Almost an hour of relentless bargaining, whining and outright wailing had taken its toll. In my loudest Angry Mom Voice, much louder than I intended, I yelled “THEY. DO. NOT. FIT. YOU!”

YOU… You…you….echoes through the neighbourhood.

As my howling 4th grader throws herself into the van, I look up to see two sets of neighbours loading their own kids into their vans. Trying to pretend like they weren’t looking. Fantastic.

No one can push my buttons like this kid. I’m pretty sure she was put on earth lest I become conceited about my life and my superior parenting. And she is doing a fine, fine job.

After school, we talked about it. I apologized again (this time with my teeth unclenched) and I told her a story about the olden days when florescent colours were cool and I longed for sneakers in winter. I’m sure we’ll be recapping this discussion again tomorrow morning, but I think I’m ready for it.

The boots might not fit, but she does. Here, with me, always. I thank God for her, especially those rough edges that remind me so much of myself. My children are the best curriculum He’s ever given me. As I teach her, I am learning too: to be teachable, to choose substance over appearance, and that life may be full of necessary unpleasantness, but a good attitude can make all the difference.

I see the best of myself in her also, and am amazed.

I wonder, when God looks at me, does he see himself?

Creative.

Compassionate.

Kind.

Patient (okay, probably not that one).

One day when my little girl is all grown up, she will spit on her thumb to wipe the schmutz off her child’s face and come to the shocking realization: “I’ve become my mother!”

Oh sweetie, you’ve been there all along!

So here’s me, counting down the days until I can start giving my grandchildren ugly, clunky boots. Then I will sit back and watch the fireworks. And I will laugh and laugh.

2 comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in parenting, personality, spiritual

January 2, 2012

Outgrowing New Years Resolutions

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Hello, my name is Christie and I am a list addict.

I have discussed this predilection before (The “Honey Do” List). If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m kind of a nerd. My absolutely favourite flavor of list has always been Resolutions.

There is something so intoxicating about this fantasy of future perfection. So, each year, I carefully craft a comprehensive manifesto for the year to come (okay, that sounds a little Una-Bomber-ish, but it’s an accurate descriptor). My administrative little soul shivers in pleasure at the thought of measurable targets and color-coded schedules. As if that’s not embarrassing enough, I’ve been known to alliterate the list categories: Health, Home, Happiness, Helping Others, Holiness… (a disturbing symptom of Sunday sermon brain rot).

This excess of order in the creation of my Resolutions has no actual benefit when it comes to their execution. I think the word is dissonance, as I cheerfully munch my way through a jumbo bag of sour patch kids while neatly formatting my diet goals for the year. In fact, the more time and energy I pour into drafting elaborate goals, the more I avoid any real action. I can ride the wave of optimism and good intentions for days, even weeks, before it all comes crashing down. And it always comes crashing down. The more elaborate the plan, the more spectacular the fail.

But this year will be different. No, I’m not giving up entirely. There is something inspiring about a new year and a new beginning. I am not willing to give that up, but I am changing my approach. Here’s a few things I’m trying to do different this year:

  • Let God weigh in. Too often I bring God a list of my objectives and plans, expecting that He will be thrilled that I thought of Him at all. Good things, valuable things that I’m sure will please Him, like a cat dropping a dead bird at her master’s feet. But my Maker has a better idea what I need and who I am becoming than I do, so why not consult the expert right from the word go?!
  • Focus on Being, Not Doing. Changing what I believe, my attitudes and my feelings, is so much more complicated than reading my bible each morning or eating leafy greens with dinner. But it is the only way for my resolve to outlast that early January idealism. It is more about my heart than teeth clenching, white knuckled willpower (which is good news, since I’m not so great with the willpower).
  • Keep it Simple. Instead of a long-winded list of Resolutions I am joining the One Word project this year. It’s such a great idea – find a single word to build your whole year around. In the next few days I’ll be posting my One Word 2012.

So here’s me, facing a year of change and upheaval without a mission statement or exhaustive list of goals. I’m not going to lie, it’s kind of relaxing! I should have done it years ago.

What are your resolutions this year? Do you have a structured timetable or cute acronym to keep them all straight? (Do you need one? I have years of experience after all!)

4 comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in christmas, personality

December 28, 2011

Basking in the Glow

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I like to organize. Cupboards, drawers, storage rooms… When I find the time to tackle a project, it is strangely addictive. Though the world spins out of my control (how dare it!), I am the master of this small domain. With each item I discard or donate, I hum an anthem of freedom. Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!

But the moment of true decluttering nirvana comes at the very end. When each item is in its place… boxes and bins neatly labelled and lined up for inspection. Ahhhhh.

For the next several days, I find myself returning to the scene of my great triumph. Each time I pass by I must pull open the door and gaze in wonderment. Is that the Hallelujah chorus I hear in the background?

Where I once would squint my eyes, reach in to grab the needed item, then hastily slam the door, now I linger. After overhauling the craft cupboard, I pulled a chair in from the kitchen so I could eat my lunch while basking in its tidy glow.

Is this strange? I wonder if my world is too small and trivial. Perhaps I should get a life… or hours of therapy.

But celebrating our successes, even the small ones, is important. Especially the small ones. Because a life that is full of celebration is a victory in and of itself.

This week between Christmas and New Year’s is a pause. The holiday craziness is over, but the vortex of real life has yet to begin. I’m sure that I will get caught up in the promise of resolutions and new beginnings with everyone else. But this week I will pull up a chair and bask in the glow of the year that has been.

So here’s me, thankful for a line-up of successes big and small.

Renovation. B reading her first words. Understanding God in a new way. Discovering blogging. Grand opening. Art and worship. Pointe shoes.  Family vacations. Online community.

What successes are in your line-up? Have you taken time to “bask in their glow”?

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