Author Archives: So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

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

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I'm a bookworm, nature lover, kick-boxer, candy fiend, sci fi geek, home body, progressive Christian and part-time student. I love my crazy life and the messy, fun, stubborn, silly, brilliant people who populate it.
May 3, 2013

What I’m Into (April 2013)

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

Ever wanted to be a fly on my wall?

Of course you have.

Unfortunately I don’t have any openings in that department, so here’s a list of “What I’m Into” as of last month – part of Hopeful Leigh‘s monthly link up. It should give you a feel for life at our house. Just add copious amounts of Wonder Pets, dirty diapers and shrieks of happiness/rage/frustration/surprise/just-trying-out-my-lungs-to-make-sure-they-still-work… the kids are pretty noisy too.

what I'm into

Books:

  • divergentDivergent by Veronica Roth – I’m a sucker for dystopian fiction. This book has all my favourite things: a tough but relatable leading lady, a strange and horrifying new world, with just enough romance to keep things moving. In this new world all people are sorted at age 16 into 5 factions, which were created to counter what they percieve is the most dangerous human failing. These subcultures are called Candor (people are deceptive), Amity (people are too aggressive), Erudite (people are ignorant), Dauntless (people are cowardly) and Abnegation (people are selfish). Beatrice just turned 16…
  • The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown – I’m crazy about Brene’s TED talk on the importance of vulnerability. She is brilliant! Her book is more of the same, not quite as compelling, but still plenty to chew on. Self-help isn’t my favourite genre, but I still found this a good mix of entertaining and challenging.
  • coloursThe Colours of God: toward an emerging theology by Dave Phillips, Quentin Steen and Randall “Peg” Peters – So much of Christianity, and the emerging movement within it, seems to focus on what we oppose; this book is about what (and who – hint, it starts with an ‘e’ and rhymes with shmeveryone) we are to embrace. Although the discussion format takes some getting used to, this unique vision of how to BE church is intriguing.
  • Wrestling with Angels: Adventures in Faith and Doubt by Carolyn Arends – I’m reading it again. I’m loving it as much as ever. Enough story to make it feel like light reading, but enough profound to reach deep into my heart and soul. Just what a busy mom like me needs.

TV Shows:

  • It’s more than a show at our house. Chopped has become a favourite game for the big girls. Just like on the show, each participant is given a basket of 4 mystery ingredients. They are given 20-30 minutes (depending on the round – appetizer, entree or dessert) to prepare something delicious, creative and beautiful. They must use all 4 ingredients in their dish. Their Mom (I mean Judge) must eat it and declare a winner. Sometimes the results are surprisingly tasty. And other times… that’s what mouthwash is for.
  • Although I continue to dislike cooking, for some bizarre reason I enjoy watching almost anything on the Food Network – Top Chef Canada, Restaurant Impossible and Pitchin’ In are my favourites. None of them are “must see” but if we have some down time I’ll look for them.
  • Fringe – still working my way through the first season on Netflix. It is creepily fascinating. I can finally see Joshua Jackson as someone other than Pacey. Though I’m still rooting for him to get the girl.

Movies:

  • The Host. I’m always nervous when they make a movie based on a book I love. But, they did an okay job. It’s tricky transfering complexity of plot and depth of character development from page onto screen, so at times they choose simply to focus on kissing instead. I wonder if the editor was a teenage girl? More likely they were hoping to entice this audience. I’d still recommend it – just read the book first, okay?

  • After a week on my own with the kids I missed my husband so much that a few minutes after he got home I ran out to see a movie. Oblivion was pretty good. The entire movie is spent trying to figure out what happened and what is happening, but not so confusing that my brain hurt.

Music:

  • Phillip Phillips, despite his ridiculous name, is the flavour of the month. Most of the time I don’t bother with a playlist – just put his album on shuffle. So good.
  • I downloaded The Parson RedHeads’ latest album and it’s pretty good. They were amazing live, which is saying something, because I don’t even like that sort of thing.
  • It goes without saying that The Airborne Toxic Event is usually heard somewhere in our house throughout the day. After my groupie experience at the beginning of the month, I appreciate them more than ever. Their song Timeless is on repeat in the car. The girls and I had a great discussion about the phrase “Oh my God” as we listened and concluded that in this song it is a good thing, because those who grieve aren’t being flippant.

Blogs:

  • The tagline alone is worth the read: Living my life as is, instead of as if. The Actual Pastor has been my go-to destination this past week. It’s awesome. Go read it.
  • I love getting to know a brand new blog. Not just the writing, but the writers themselves. Mewhoami is a kindred spirit. I especially enjoyed Trapped Within – a slice of life, from her son’s perspective. For many parents, autism is something bad to be stomped out at all costs, but to others it is a unique perspective and a mystery to be unravelled. Love.
  • Have you ever found a poem, just a little piece of prose in an unexpected place? It might be the work of Poem Elf. She sets poems free from books, leaving them in public places for everyone to enjoy (then tells the tale on her blog). I’m so glad I stumbled on this site. Poetry isn’t my first love, but it is something I really enjoy in small bites. I’m enjoying this gentle education.

App:

good readsGood Reads is the newest reason I love my smart phone. When I’m at the bookstore, or library, or snooping on someone else’s shelves… and I see a book that looks interesting, I just scan the barcode with my camera and up pops a listing for it. After seeing the rating and reading a few reviews I can decide if I want to add it to my “To Read” list. I can also type in an author or title if that’s easier. The best part is the running list of books I want to read, books I am reading now and being able to rate/review books I’ve just read. Every bookworm needs this app.

Other things I’ve loved this month:

  • At the beginning of the month we spent one day in the hipster mecca, Portland. I would love more time to explore someday, especially Powells Book Store (taking up 4 stories and a full city block of books, books, books… including enough used books to win over my frugal little heart). Such a cool city!
  • Which brings me to the absurd show Portlandia. It’s Red Green for hipsters. It’s the only reason I have the YouTube app on my phone.
  • With more and more sunny days, it’s time to turn my attention to that important spring activity: avoiding yard work. I’ve heard friends complaining about putting it off until the last minute, then doing a haphazard job of it. Amateurs. The best way to avoid it is to run away from home; bring some food and enjoy the sunshine where someone else has done the yard work. Around here we call that a picnic and it’s my favourite thing to do with the kids this month.

On this blog:

little mirror, little me – was written in the car on the way home from Portland. I was thinking about my girls, especially C. I constantly see myself in them, in their strengths and their weaknesses. It is both gratifying and terrifying.

So here’s me, and the stuff I’m into.

9 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in favourites

April 30, 2013

Through the Eyes of my Story

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

This is my story.
It covers me,
every part.
I wear it like a uniform
in my head
and on my heart.

This is my story.
Bittersweet
on my tongue.
Can I ever taste another
without flavouring
it wrong?

This is your story.
When I look
at you I see
Your words through the eyes
of my own
biography.

This is your story.
Who am I
to judge you?
For whatever brought you this far
and carries
you through.

This is our story.
We are a people
who cry
To know and be known
until the day
that we die.

This is our story.
It was meant
to be heard
By each other and by the One
who first gave us
the words.

story glassesThere is power in story
To face failings and faults,
To embrace healing and laughter,
To trace the hand of God.

So we plant our stories
In the hearts and the minds,
Of all who will listen
And respond in kind.

So here’s me, one last poem for National Poetry Writing Month. In my mind, the scariest kind of writing of all.

9 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in poetry

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

April 23, 2013

It’s the Little Things

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

Sometimes it’s the little things.

That tiny little detail, on top of a mountain of craptastic, that sends you falling to your knees.

Literally. “God help me, I am circling the drain.” On my knees.

strawIt wasn’t the 3 hour getting-out-of-bed, running around and refusing to sleep marathon. Despite our removal of all toys/books/stuffies from the room.

It wasn’t the severe lack of sleep after a wakeful night “sans Daddy.” I never miss him more than during that 2-5am stretch of horrible.

It wasn’t trimming the littles’ bangs going horribly, horribly wrong. C warned me, “Moooom, not a good idea…” Perhaps people will assume they did it to themselves. What kind of Mom would do that to her own child?

It wasn’t the salt shaker malfunction adding an unexpected Cup of seasoning to the dish. So much for meatloaf.

It wasn’t B peeing, through her pullup, on the McDonald’s play structure, dramatically showering the table below. Nor even the fact that a family from our school was there to witness our fun evening. Nor S immediately running through the puddle of urine.

It wasn’t the double melt-down on the way out. Not S’ supersonic screams of indignance (granted, he wasn’t the one who peed on everyone, but nevertheless we had to leave). Not even when B started her I’m-so-mad-I-could-spit… so-I-WILL trick, interspersed with dramatic shouts of “NEVER! spit NEVER! spit NEVER!” while I dragged her out.

Today, the only thing I couldn’t handle was realizing my flannel pjs were still in the wash.

I’m not difficult to please. I don’t ask much of the universe. After surviving a day like this, all I ask is to recline in comfortable fuzzy pants. That’s it.

It seems silly. But it really was the last straw.

After a mini-meltdown I realized that lo and behold, I had another pair waiting for me. Like a gift from God, fresh from the dryer. And that made it all better.

Sometimes it’s the little things.

So here’s me… not a day I’d like to repeat, but at least it makes for a good story. We have a lot of those lately. At least my prayer life is on the upswing.

7 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in parenting

April 19, 2013

Nothing Left to Give

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

Sliver by sliver they carve off a piece of me.

From my heart. And my time. And my energy.

It’s an all you can TAKE buffet.

They need cleaning and feeding and calming and leading.

They need talks and rides and hugs and hi-fives.

He needs reassurance and affection, and he deserves perfection.

I should meditate and pray and examine all my ways.

But there is scrubbing and mopping, with no sign of stopping.

Work needs focus and insight, to get it done right.

I want to keep in touch, but it’s already too much.

There’s only so much to go around,

and I’m done.

April 017

Nothing left to give.

I distract myself with things that require nothing,

Silly books and tv and internet and food.

But they are empty and give nothing back.

I’m as depleted as ever.

Nothing left to give.

…

Then I notice, the people and tasks that take so much,

give so much back as well.

If I take the time to receive it.

If I slow down long enough to appreciate.

Just a little space to notice, to accept,

and I’m renewed!

A sloppy kiss, a snuggle in my arms, filling my heart with their sticky charms.

Without being asked they lend a hand, turning out better than hoped or planned.

A willing partner, a listening ear, a hand in mine and I’ve nothing to fear.

A still, small voice that whispers “peace”, not one more person I have to please.

A place to hide, my own retreat, messy but mine, and that can’t be beat.

Knowing and learning, measured success, giving purpose, letting me be my best.

Family who walk beside me, even far away. Friends to cry with and laugh and play.

There’s more than just me to go around,

and we are strong.

photo project 001

I’ve been given so much.

They aren’t my burden, they’re my blessing.

So here’s me, tired, but so grateful for my babies, and my big kids and my partner in crime.

For my faith, my home, my calling, my family and my friends.

It’s not an easy life, but it is a good one.

8 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in home-making

April 14, 2013

Groupies Need Groupies Too: A Love Story

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

My husband is a cool guy. In temperament, if not fashion. He accessorizes with adjectives like steady, dependable, logical… not given to flights of fancy or emotional outbreaks (totally my department).

Which is why it surprises most people to know he is a SUPER fan. A trivia spouting, memorabilia collecting, cyber stalking, concert hopping, backstage haunting, true disciple Groupie. He doesn’t scream like a teenage girl or throw his underwear, but it’s a close thing.

Under that stoic exterior runs a vein of intensity. A passionate devotion which very few things incite. Things like…

His wife (score!)

His children

His favourite books

His hockey pool team

And his favourite band: The Airborne Toxic Event

Setting the Stage

You can imagine the thrill… the joy… the utter celebration when he heard they were coming to the Pacific NorthWest this spring! Three shows in three nights were within reach: Portland, Seattle, and Vancouver. You couldn’t tell by looking at him (his excited face looks pretty much the same as his cleaning-out-the-garage face), but he was ecstatic.

There are very few things my husband enjoys more than a rock concert. Certainly nothing I can publish on a PG blog.

My appreciation for live music, however, lies somewhere between blech and meh. Between the crowds, the noise, the standing, the haze of weed and nicotine, and the ringing in my ears that lasts for days, I’m left feeling like a cranky old woman longing for home and flannel PJs.

It’s not the music. I love the music. I simply prefer singing along in my car, or in the shower, or dancing around my house with the volume up and the headphones on (which is probably really good for my hearing). Sometimes I even listen to The Airborne Toxic Event.

I’ve done my time. I’ve seen more live shows than most hard-core music fans. Conversation starters like “remember that time we saw Def Leppard AND Tom Cochrane?” or “remember that cold, outdoor music festival in a muddy field in the middle of Podunkville, Nowhere?” are followed up with “which time?”

As Glen outgrew his love of 80s hair bands, our family outgrew frequent concerts. Not only is there the expense of tickets to consider, but babysitting and that most precious commodity of all: time. So, he started going without me (insert huge sigh of relief).

Usually, he’s able to harness the inestimable power of “The Concert Buddy.” Eric is his go-to guy, but there’s a list in his head. When he asks you what kind of music you like, he’s not just making conversation. But, he’s not opposed to going all by himself if need be. Like I said: Super Fan.

But this time he wanted me to come with him.

…really?

…ummmm

…doggonit

…okay

The Getaway

Grandpa Barb and Grandma Bill (as they’re known in our house) drove out from Calgary the week before. I updated my Anal Mom Family Manifesto Handy Babysitter’s Guide with our schedules and health care numbers and emergency contacts. I gave myself numerous pep talks about my baby (he’s in his own house, he loves my parents and knows them well, his sisters will help, there’s nothing they can’t handle and I really, really, really need a break). And we set off for Portland.

It was our first getaway since adopting the boy 8 months ago. The first extended “Just Us” time in a couple of years. And boy, we needed it.

I had planned our first romantic getaway a bit differently. There would be sleep. And room service. And sleep. And lingerie and candles and romance. And more sleep. There would be NOTHING on the schedule (except for sleep). There would be NO demands on us. We would do anything we wanted. For a change, it would be all about ME, ME, ME.

Instead, we had a deadline. The show started at 8:00pm. So naturally, we had to be there by 4:00. Super Fan isn’t interested in leisurely drives or romantic dinners, it’s all about Front Row seating.

Seating. That’s the other thing. There’s no actual sitting. Not for Front Row people. Sounded miserable to me.

We brought our camping chairs and umbrellas and warm clothes. I was briefed on concert line etiquette. Apparently, there are rules.

The Wait

Here’s where I admit, I wasn’t looking forward to this experience. At all. And he knew it. We arrived in Portland amidst a flurry of “thank yous” and promises to make it all up to me.

groupie loveTurns out, our extensive line prep was unnecessary. We were able to spend the afternoon in the bar downstairs from the concert hall, keeping an eye on the door and policing the line up with a judicious use of guilt and peer pressure.

Turns out, the “we” wasn’t just Glen and I, with nameless strangers in the line up; it was a strange community of instant concert friends. Some Glen knew from online or previous shows, some we met that day. There was a kinship as we snacked and drank and peeked out the window at passing band members and swooped in for pictures and handshakes and “I can’t believe it, he totally put his arm around me and gosh, isn’t he dreamy and WHY do I look so goofy in this picture of us…” and talked music (and I just nodded my head and tried to look intelligent).

Turns out, those 4 hours were kind of fun, even for an introvert like me. There were fans from different generations – parents and their grown children. There were single folks and couples and professionals and students. There were people who lived down the street and people who flew in from Idaho and people who took a ferry and drove half the night. There were people who scraped and saved to find their way there and some who didn’t give it a second thought. As different as we were from each other, we were a team. We were galvanized by the inevitable line-cutting drama (insert grave head shake here). We passed the time getting to know each other, sharing pictures, exchanging e-mail addys, handing out concert advice and taking turns going to the bathroom (with one eye on the line cutters all the while).

Turns out, Glen got to go in and see the band! They agreed to put their handprints on a canvas as a fundraiser for the Down Syndrome Research Foundation. I’ve not seen him that nervous in a long time. Nor have I seen him so elated, when he came back and told me how kind/cool/funny/wonderfully human they were, how one of them remembered meeting him before, how they took a picture of his new Airborne tattoo and asked him what song he wanted to hear.

How he didn’t request his favourite song in the world, but mine: The Graveyard Near The House.

Awwww.

airborne

This canvas will be auctioned off to raise money for the Down Syndrome Research Foundation.
If Glen can part with it.

The Concert

As promised, there was no sitting for us. But there was a lovely fence to lean on, right at the very front. It might have felt claustrophobic, with all those other people pushing up against me. But by now, I knew them – Stephanie and her best friend from UVic (it was her first concert and she was SO excited), Karen and Mistie (who also have 4 kids close to the same age as ours and are very sweet), Kari, Andy and her daughter Kara (yes, the Kar- thing was a bit confusing), Elva (who calls me Mrs Glen, has great concert connections and takes care of everyone), Morgan and her parents (she helped Glen with the handprints and felt like it was a favour to her), and all the poor schmucks who came after 7 and didn’t get a great spot.

I wasn’t looking forward to the two opening acts. I mean, isn’t it enough that I came to see one concert?

However, the first act was excellent. The Parson Red Heads (excellent name) were pure Portland with their plaid shirts and bushy beards and folksy-hipster style. The music was just my style and the words… well, I’m a writer, so that’s the kind of thing that makes me fall in love with a band.

The second act was misplaced. I felt bad for them. They might be the best screaming thrasher band in the entire NorthWest. How would I know? It was so loud you couldn’t hear the music. Besides, I hate that kind of thing. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one, since their reception was lukewarm at best. But, there was a videographer filming some of their songs for their new album. And I felt so bad for them. So whenever the camera panned our way, I screamed my head off and jumped around like a real fan. I’m sure suburban soccer mom isn’t their usual niche, but who knows, maybe I’m in their music video now.

Finally, the main act arrived. They reminded me of my boy, with all that energy and jumping around. Did I mention that I was a bit homesick by now – how sad is that?

I’ve been to a lot of concerts. From U2 to Petra to Jann Arden to Coldplay to Arcade Fire. And I’ve tolerated them all.

This was one of the best ones, top of my Most Tolerable List. They are excellent performers. I knew all the words to all the songs (inevitable if you happen to live with this man). They are more storyteller/poets than simple songwriters, which appeals to me the most of all. It helps that I’d heard all the back stories of each song, what they meant and where they came from. Somehow it means more knowing the context. I cried when they played Timeless.

What’s more, they seemed genuinely surprised and deeply grateful that we all showed up. I hope that never goes away, because it’s so appealing in a rock star. And a human being.

But the best part was the Huge Ridiculous grin on the man beside me. It’s kind of amazing to me to see him so exuberant.

with Mikel

Goofy Grin with lead singer Mikel, showing off his tattoo,
and for some reason, giving us all the finger.

The Romance

Over the past couple years it’s become easy for me to think of Glen as “the other parent” and “the guy who does the banking” and “the man who holds my hand.” More co-worker and teammate than person in his own right. It’s easy to forget that he exists apart from our world together.

He was pretty thrilled that I shared this concert/road trip with him. I thought I was a pretty darn-good wife for giving up my romantic weekend dreams. Turns out, it WAS a romantic weekend after all. Better than anything I had in mind.

He shared a corner of his world with me. I got to know him better. In a new way. And he was genuinely surprised and deeply grateful that I cared enough to show up.

Sometimes love looks like this.

I recognize it, because he’s done it for me so many times. At every sci-fi movie he’s sat through. In the museums and art galleries he’d rather just bypass. On mall benches and ski lifts and holding my purse while I ride the roller coaster one more time.

Concerts aren’t my thing. But he is.

In fact, I’m a SUPER Fan.

So here’s me, and lest you think me too heroic, I got ME time too. I spent the next morning in a huge bookstore, the afternoon poking around Seattle and the evening BY MYSELF in a hotel room with a movie and pile of junk food. I felt so bad for Glen, having to go to another concert while I revelled in the quiet. To each their own.

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in marriage

April 13, 2013

Freshly WHAT?

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

Today I was Freshly Pressed.

Naturally, I called my husband right away, to tell him the good news.

“You were freshly WHAT?!”

I suppose it does sound a little unsavoury, if you don’t know what it’s all about.

It’s something I put on my list of 37 birthday wishes this year, right after Snorkle on the Great Barrier Reef, before See Les Miserables (which is coincidentally coming to Vancouver in June, just in case my husband is reading this). It’s like a pat-on-the-back and a see-you’re-not-just-kidding-yourself-about-this-weird-hobby, all rolled into one.

What I didn’t anticipate, is how incredibly intimidating it is.

freshly-pressed-circleWordPress.com is a powerhouse online. They also happen to host my blog. From time to time they pick a blog post to highlight/promote to other bloggers in “Freshly Pressed.” This week I participated in a poetry writing challenge, and my poem was one of the ones chosen. Which is, like, totally awesome (and apparently has me regressing back to my valley-girl days).

All kinds of writers and artists and creative types have read my words. And poked around my blog. And some have even started following it.

Which is wonderful, of course. They’re all very encouraging. I’m kind of amazed at how many there’ve been. I’ve looked at some of their blogs and I’m impressed. I like these people.

The intimidating part, however, is that all kinds of writers and artists and creative types have read my words. Are reading my words. Right now.

And I realize that I start way too many sentences with the words “And” or “But.” And I tend to ramble. And I talk about snot a lot; and other bodily fluids which aren’t nearly as cool as snot. And I rarely post poetry, because it feels more likely to be misunderstood, more naked, than my usual. And part of me wants to duck and hide and change how I do everything from now on.

My words aren’t always pretty.

My life isn’t that glamorous.

My ideas aren’t new.

I’m just me.

But that’s always been the point of this blog. So it’ll have to do. And that’s all there is to it.

So here’s me.

Thanks to Freshly Pressed for the somewhat intimidating, but ultimately thrilling compliment!

And thanks to my long time readers, who’ve given me the confidence to keep trying all this time. I like you best of all!

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in creativity

April 8, 2013

little mirror, little me

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

20130409-010752.jpg

When I look at you
 I see myself
undone...
 potential untapped
 brilliance undiscovered
 creativity unexplored
 vacuum sealed in the 
cellophane of childhood.

When I look at you
 I see myself 
unveiled...
 impulses unedited
 words unscripted
 feelings unrestrained
 the stark honesty of an 
undiluted soul.

I see the me I wish I was.
 The flesh and blood reflection of all
 my could-haves
 and would-haves
 and should-have-still.

I see the me I wish I wasn't.
 The pint-sized mimic of all
 my fearfulness
 and mindlessness
 and my selfish will.
little mirror
 little me
 Be better than I am,
 Better than I could be.

little mirror
 little me
 Like me, but so much more
 Extraordinary.

So here’s me, waxing poetic for National Poetry Writing Month.

165 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in parenting

April 5, 2013

Mostly Happily Ever After

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

Five Minutes Friday

Today’s topic is: AFTER

GO

ever afterOnce upon a time…

Authors, screenwriters, journalists, historians, storytellers of all kinds… we’re all about the “once upon a time” – the big event, the climax of the plot, the exciting/terrifying/shocking turning point. It’s where the glamour and romance live. Boy meets girl. A child is born. With this ring, I thee wed. Rest in peace.

They’re the turning points in our story. They loom large over our Everyday Days. They’re outside normal.

But that’s where most of life is lived. In the happily (or pretty-happily, or kind-of-miserably) Ever After.

I think somewhere along the line I started living for the bigger moments. I thought these were the ones that would change my life. Moving to a new place. Having a baby. Finishing a renovation. Going on a trip. Adopting a child.

Waiting for the next big thing. Counting down days. Dreading it or Dreaming about it. Always looking for what comes next.

And I missed out on Today. The little moments of now. The slow erosions and subtle build ups that make a life. Habits. Rituals. Small triumphs. Minor disappointments. These are the meat and potatoes of life.

Because AFTER they rode off into the sunset… they loaded the dishwasher and brushed their teeth and clipped their toenails. The fair maiden hogged the covers and Prince Charming snored. Building a life happens in a thousand small moments that Disney never immortalized on-screen, but that doesn’t mean it’s not magical.

It’s time to focus my lens on Today.

STOP

So here’s me, living my pretty-happily, so-tired, mostly-content, doing-the-best-I-can, thanking-God-for-everyday Ever After. There’s a lot less sparkle than the fairy tales, but the leading man is pretty great and the little people make me laugh.

after

Joining Lisa-Jo for her Five Minute Friday Challenge again.

Here’s how we do it:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat on the prompt “After” with no editing, tweaking or self critiquing.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in {you can grab the button code in my blog’s footer}.

3. Go and tell the person who linked up before you what their words meant to you. Every writer longs to feel heard.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Five Minute Friday, OneWord 2013: Today

April 2, 2013

One Thing To Rule Them All

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

I had planned to blog last week during our holiday. Not cause I have to. Because I really want to.

I envisioned myself writing deep thoughts about God and life in my brand new notebook as our mini-van winds its way through the Rocky Mountains. Or perhaps curled up with a pen and paper in front of the fireplace, trying to recapture the hilarity and wonder of a new family adventure. At the very least, I would have time, away from chores and telephones and teetering piles of laundry, to polish up one of the many half-finished posts in my drafts folder.

But no more whiney posts about parenting. Not again. I’ve done way too much of that.

This holiday week was chock-full of inspiration.

  • Easter week… bringing one of the greatest showdowns of these modern times – Jesus Christ vs. Chocolate. Who will capture the heart of our generation?
  • The Rocky Mountains – my very favourite place ON EARTH. Ten thousand Japanese tourists can’t be wrong.
  • Spending time, real memory-making, road trip taking, in each other’s pockets until you want to scream, time as a family.
  • Glen’s Grandma’s 90th birthday – bringing in cousins and uncles and one incredibly beloved nephew from far and wide; showing off our new addition for the first time; celebrating a woman who isn’t Great because of her many years on earth, but because of who she is and how she loves.
  • Finally introducing the boy to MY Grandma (clearly we have an embarrassment of riches in the Great-Grandma department) – by the time we left he had decided she was his favourite adult, ignoring the rest of us and dragging her away when the rest of us tried to talk to her.
  • My brother-in-law changed his FaceBook profile picture to a red equal sign (the internet is awash in the gay rights and the bible debate). I wanted to “like” it, but I wanted to explain that to everyone who might not understand why I do.

So I started about a dozen different posts, in my head and on paper. I tried. I really did. To write something touching or eloquent or provocative or even readable.

But the voice in my head sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher.

Wah-wa-wah-wa-wah.

I was defeated by the one thing that trumps inspiration. It puts basic intelligence in a headlock and flushes all my emotional energy right down the toilet. It squeezes my physical body like a dish rag, until I am literally begging for relief. It is the one thing that rules them all.

Sleep.

Specifically, a desperate lack of sleep.

430amThe boy has discovered that he can escape his play pen at nap and bedtime. So he does. Over and over and over again. Apparently, this is so much more fun than actually sleeping. He cruises right past tired (which is a sweet time of eye rubbing and snuggling and big yawns) right into over-tired (which involves frantic hyperactivity, screeching at the top of his lungs and dramatic tantrums).

We tried everything. Rocking, singing, cuddling, co-sleeping, absolute quiet, ignoring him, gentle discipline, cough syrup, putting him down early, staying up late, skipping nap, liquid melatonin, begging, yelling, praying… we asked for ideas on Facebook. We even drove into the city to buy a tent to put over his playpen (which he broke in about 5 minutes). In the end, we spent hours and hours holding him in his bed until he fell asleep. Every nap. And every bedtime.

One night we played this game until 4:30 am. By that time, both he and I were crying.

I am barely human after 3 am.

Naturally, he wakes up at 7 am. Every morning. No matter what.

This changed the trajectory of our family holiday. Glen and I barely saw each other. I barely had time to shower, much less think or write or create. We didn’t tackle nearly as many activities as we had planned. We weren’t as witty or interesting or wow-look-how-cool-they-still-are-even-though-they-have-such-a-chaotic-brood-of-children as we had planned.

I’m not going to lie. These are the times I wonder… what have we gotten ourselves into? I’m not nearly as calm and patient and put-together as I hoped I’d be. I’m not the Mom I should be. I rely on DVDs and iPhone games and counting down the minutes until nap time.

And the selfish part of me resents all those people relaxing in the Banff Hot Springs while we usher two screaming, poopy children back out after the least relaxing 3 minutes of our day. And I wonder if I’ll ever finish a conversation at a family gathering without darting away to rescue someone’s purse or flower arrangement or too-close-to-the-edge-of-the-table drink. And I’m tired. So incredibly tired. All the time.

But.

And here’s the part that matters, even though it’s not all that touching or eloquent or provocative.

For every miserable, smelly, irritating, exhausting challenge they bring into our life, there is a heart warming, sweet, wonderful, life affirming moment that makes it all worthwhile.

At 4:30 am, I cried tears of frustration as the boy screamed and fussed. In his thrashing he managed to twist himself out of my arms and smash his head against the wall on the way down. The sound just makes me feel sick. It was a low point.

He immediately stopped screaming and fighting and scrambled into my arms. “Mama! Mama! Mama!” Rubbing his face into my neck while I checked for a lump and kissed it better. He stroked my hair and wrapped his legs around my waist and his eyes finally, FINALLY closed.

I guess I’m easy to please. Because that little cuddle made the whole wretched night worth it.

He’s still my favourite boy in the whole world.

So here’s us, home to recover from our “vacation” and not a moment too soon.

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in parenting, special needs