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.
Another week, and another collection of random recommendations. Our adoption is moving forward at a glacial pace. And I am inexplicably (okay, very, very explicably) inspired to write posts about waiting… so stay tuned.
Quote:
Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so.
~Douglas Adams
Blog:
Sadly, our extended family has more than a few addicts in its ranks. It’s a tragic lifestyle/illness and I’m left feeling angry, bewildered and completely helpless in the face of it. Sober Bootstakes on this giant with faith, humour and the kind of wisdom that comes from “been there, done that”. Apart from the focus on alcoholism, I feel like Heather Kopp is someone I want to know and spend an afternoon gabbing with over coffee (for an introvert that is really saying something).
Infographic:
This is an incredibly accurate portrayal of my home country. I grew up in “Bibles”, spent five years in “Centre of the Whole Freaking Universe” and ultimately moved out to “Rain, Rain, RAIN” right near “Snobs”.
Along these same lines: “Everything you wanted to know about Canada, but were afraid to ask.” Surprisingly educational coming from a comedian. Three years behind the game, but I finally understand what happened when parliament was suspended in 2009.
I made my girls sit down and watch it. I know, I can hear the howls of protest: “educational stuff on a Pro-D day, what kind of monster are you?”
Beanie Baby/Hunger Games Video:
Finally, they’ve found something useful to do with all those beanie babies from the 90s! Funny and surprisingly faithful to the book, definitely worth a look for anyone who has seen the movie and/or read the book.
App
In honour of this very special holiday (Star Wars Day, duh) here is an app that both I and my 3-year-old nephew really enjoy. Feel the force on your iPhone as you use realistic sound effects to draw and swing your LightSaber and, well, that’s pretty much all it does. But it’s a LightSaber, so how cool is that! LightSaber Unleashed is a slight upgrade from the program I have, still free, and will totally make you the cool auntie.
So here’s me, wishing you a Happy Star Wars Day. May the Fourth be with you!
I made a critical parenting error several years ago. I let the hairdresser talk me into restraining B on my lap while she tried to cut her hair. Hmmm… a sharp pair of scissors + screaming, thrashing child = all kinds of stupid. Leaving with one side quite a bit shorter than the other was the best case scenario.
In retrospect, I’m sure the big chair, strange women in smocks and tray of tools on the shelf reminded her of the lab. A frequent flier in the blood test game, she was already pre-disposed to hate doctors, dentists and white leather recliners. Unfortunately, this experience added “Hair Cuts” to the list of things to despise. Her reaction from that day forward involved kicking, screaming and wedging her body in the doorway of every hair salon we tried to take her to.
The next few years, we trimmed as best we could at home. A full hair cut could take weeks to finish – a snip here and a snip there, trying to even it out as quickly as possible, before the crying and head thrashing began. Sitting up with a snack, in the bath… I even found myself sneaking into her bedroom at night with a pair of scissors (yes, after typing that out, I realize how creepy it sounds).
Finally, my hairdresser (and friend) Rhianna came to our rescue. We slowly introduced her to the idea. At first she simply came and watched me get my hair done. Then, watching her sisters and sitting in the chair. Once she sat up and had a clip put in her hair. Each visit ended on a positive note; that was the key. At the first sign of trouble, Rhianna backed off. It was a good experience.
We didn’t push her and one magical day, she sat up and had her bangs trimmed quite happily. And then the next time, the whole enchilada! All that attention from the ladies in the salon and, later, from everyone who appreciates her funky pixie “do” have done wonders. In the space of a year, she became not only cooperative, but THRILLED to get her hair cut.
Until today.
She was singing in the car, SO excited to see Miss Rhianna and telling me how “pitty” her haircut would be. But we hit a speed bump along the way. For some reason, though she has done it several times before, she decided she was NOT going to get her hair washed.
I told her that she had to get her hair washed (or even wet down) so that it could be cut. I made it very clear. She was unwilling to budge. I had chosen my battle.
I’m not opposed to the occasional change of mind as a parent, but I was sure we could get this done. I dug deep into my rather large arsenal of parental manipulation. Every lady in the place (including the one with foils in her hair) offered a suggestion, or 10. We tried it all.
I let her choose – which chair do you want to sit in? which shampoo? who do you want to do the washing? I gave her control – climb up yourself, tell me when you are ready, you hold the shampoo. I set the example – close watching while both sisters had their hair washed, then I stuck my own hair in the sink and even got it wet (I straightened my hair today, so this is one of the greatest examples of maternal love in the modern world). I talked it through – reason, logic, persuasion, outright begging. I offered bribes – chocolate granola bars, a new clip for her hair; I literally held a lollipop over her head to get her to put it back. Rhianna made it a game – lots of counting, tickling, fun things to look at. I played it cool – “it’s up to you, wash and cut or we can just go home,” then tried to look bored and unconcerned. I tried to make it happen – picked her up, put her in the chair and held her head back (for about 2 seconds when she started freaking). I let it go – “okay, let’s go home;” then she would call me back and get close, so very close to actual H2O, and it would all start again.
“I dunno. I dunno. I DON’T KNOW!” – her answer to every other question.
The other answer, her favourite word – “nnnnnnnoooooooo! NOOOOOOOOO! nnnnnnooooo!”
She didn’t want to get her hair wet, but she wanted to get her hair cut so badly.
If we hadn’t come so very close, so many times, I would have given up much sooner. As it was, she left with a wet shirt, 3 clumps of damp hair and a grumpy, grumpy mom. Only B can take 2 hours to NOT get a haircut.
All this on the same day as our IEP meeting with her teachers, where we discussed her recent bathroom strike. After months of staying dry, she now refuses to even try on a regular basis. At home, the bathroom is going well, but tooth brushing has become an epic battle of wills (and ultimately a headlock and quick swish, swish… since dental hygeine is not remotely optional). This is our life.
I try to remember that determination (a much nicer way to say stubborn) can be a strength for a child with special needs. I have no doubt she will need every little bit of it to succeed in this world. And I’m not going to lie, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. We’re pretty sure B’s personal motto is: You Can’t Make Me, But I Might Be Persuaded (also the title of a book by Cynthia Tobias).
If parenting B has taught me anything, it is this: There are certain things you CANNOT force a child to do, no matter how much you want to. There are tricks and techniques, but ultimately you cannot MAKE them eat, pee, blow their nose, sincerely apologize or, apparently, cooperate with the hairdresser.
So here’s me, and this is my inconvenient truth.
Can you think of anything else you cannot force anyone to do? Have you ever tried?
Also, thank you Rhianna, Kristen, Sasha and lady getting the foils in the next chair, for all your help this afternoon!
I have a stock of standard “things to say” when its my turn to sign the card.
Yearbook/Retirement:It was great getting to know you. Have a wonderful summer!
Birthday: I’m glad you were born. I hope you have a wonderful day! (pretty much the long version of “Happy Birthday”, but if you write really big, it takes up a lot more space)
Wedding:Marriage is awesome! Enjoy each other! (yes I realize this one sounds a bit smarmy, but hey, it’s honeymoon time)
Get well:Hang in there friend. We’re praying for you! (I may substitute buddy or kiddo if this is for a child – it’s so versatile)
These hallmark-ish sentiments have saved me time, and let’s face it, valuable brain space. Occasionally I am inspired and write an epistle, but most often, I’m just glad to pass the card on to the next person.
My New Baby comments have evolved over the years as I move through those necessary parenting phases: panicked, smug, overwhelmed, resigned, what-on-earth-is-that-up-your-nose, et cetera. These days I find myself parroting the advice my mom has always given. We’ll call this the “guess-she-sort-of-knew-what-she-was-talking-about-after-all” phase.
Trust your instincts.
It seemed like kind of a cop out to me, you know, back in the day when I knew so much. I mean, I had Formal Training in early childhood education, I had absorbed Scientific Knowledge, I had learned Godly Techniques… surely there was a right way to do every little thing and I was bound and determined to find it.
I have books on breast-feeding, potty training, sleep training, attachment parenting, public schools, homeschooling, un-schooling, sex talks, purity retreats, unplugging, becoming media-wise, healthy food, cheap food, freezing food and even food related crafts. I’ve read everything from Baby Wise to The Baby Whisperer, and a few times through the bible. I have gone to seminars, conferences, and retreats. I have surfed the internet, read blogs and listened to podcasts; WebMD is my home away from home. I’ve even gone back to school and studied Developmental Psychology.
I am constantly learning something new about parenting. Some of it is crap. Some of it works. Some of it just doesn’t feel right, even though it works.
And I find myself coming back to my Mom’s advice again and again. Despite having bottle fed me and put me to sleep ON MY STOMACH (*gasp of shock and horror*), she did a great job! Even without all these Important Resources.
Last week I was asked to give the talk at a church baby shower. I was psyched, because this little person is a long awaited miracle and it’s just so cool that he is here. I was also a little intimidated since my “expert” parenting advice would be presented to a group of friends who might be sitting behind us next week while I hiss cease and desist warnings to my girls who are attempting to irritate each other to death, while B has her finger deeply embedded in her nose, while I wipe breakfast off their faces with my thumb and little bit of spit (they LOVE that)… basically while my family makes it clear to all that I am not really an expert after all.
So I fell back on this, the best parenting advice I have ever gotten.
Trust your instincts.
God entrusted this child to Your care; no one knows them like you do. God gave you instincts, intuition, insights, even slightly less-than-scientific “gut feelings”. And God promises wisdom if you faithfully ask.
If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God,
who gives generously to all without finding fault,
and it will be given to you.
James 1:5
There are some for whom these instincts do not come naturally. Perhaps due to a difficult childhood, or other personal issues. They may need to develop and hone their instincts. You can LEARN to be a responsive parent.
Pray. Talk to other moms. Research. Find out what is healthy and safe. Read, read, read… It all helps. And it is important. But in the end, YOU discern what is best for your family.
Trust your instincts.
There is no such thing as the perfect parent. But there are many amazing, loving, and succesful parents out there, and they do not all fit into the same mold.
Each of my children have different needs. I have my own set of strengths and weaknesses. The circumstances of life change frequently. Our family has distinct values and priorities. We don’t fit into any mold.
Despite the assertions of many parenting systems, there is no single, foolproof method to “Grow Kids God’s Way”. If there were, our faith would be in a person or a formula. Instead, we trust the One who made us and put children in our care, by trusting our instincts.
So here’s me, Growing Kids Christie’s Way. Cause that’s my job.
I know that many of you are eager for updates on our adoption process. I wish I could give some definitive answers, but right now all I can say is that it’s looking good! These things do not move quickly, not even when I attempt to use the power of my mind to leap forward in time. But we are cautiously optimistic.
And so we imagine and dream and make plans… just like any other expectant family.
Quote
We see with the eyes, but we see with the brain as well. And seeing with the brain is often called imagination.
– Oliver Sacks
Blog
Enjoying the Small Thingshas been recommended to me more times than any other blog. And it lives up to the hype. Kelle Hampton writes about the small moments of daily life and all that she is learning about love and life through it. She is heartfelt, genuine and ridiculously likeable. But the real treasure here, are the amazingly beautiful pictures of her family (she is a talented professional photographer). I may be biased, but I especially love the ones of her youngest Nella, because she reminds me so much of my little B. It’s not really fair how kids with Down Syndrome are so much cuter than all the rest…
I dare you to read Nella’s birth story and not cry. A short version of the story is here, in the trailer for Kelle’s new book Bloom, which I can’t wait to read!
App
Last month L got herself an iPod Touch. After much debate (To iPod or Not to iPod: That is the Question) we decided to let her have her heart’s desire. She worked her butt off (Child Labour and Other Parenting Dilemmas) and saved up all her pennies. BUT she opted for a 3G, which means no camera and no photos, which was kind of disappointing.
Bumphas been a lifesaver! When two devices have it, they can pass pictures or contact information by simply selecting and then “bumping” together. Not only is it easy, it’s kind of fun! And now each of us can have all the photos we want on our own phone/pod/pad. Everyone’s happy.
Book
My first “official” book review (posted here yesterday), but it bears repeating. You Are A Writer (So Start ACTING Like One) is both the shot in the arm and the kick in the pants I need. It is a toolbox of ideas geared specifically towards writers, but anyone with an artistic calling could benefit.
Jeff Goins premise is simple: “Believe you already are what you want to be. And then start acting like it.” I can’t think of an area in my life where this isn’t good advice – as a writer, in my faith, as a parent, or as a human being.
Video
This week my children have repeatedly watched Ode to the Brain! by Symphony of Science (cough*nerds*cough). It’s bizarrely catchy, educational and just a scooch gross… what’s not to like? A great place to start conversations about how our bodies were put together and how they work. The human brain is probably the most amazing piece of creation there is! Yet it remains mysterious; there is so much we don’t understand about it.
In the meantime, we will set it some of what we do know to autotune and be amazed that a wrinkly piece of flesh can produce a poem, a brilliant idea… or a weird YouTube music video.
So here’s me, seeing not just with my eyes, but with my brain as well.
When people ask me what I want to be when I grow up. I think, “at age 36, WHY on earth are they assuming I’m ever going to grow up?” Then I think, “I want to be a writer.”
But I never said it out loud. It seemed akin to saying, “I want to be an astronaut.” One of those wacky, ridiculous pipe dreams that’s too embarassing to admit past the age of 8.
Then I started blogging. My mom read it. My friends read it. I wrote more and more. People who aren’t even related to me started reading it. I met an english professor who believed in me. That whispered dream was getting louder.
One day last month a stranger asked, “What do you do?”
I answered “I’m a writer.”
Turns out, I am.
Jeff Goins is like a personal trainer when it comes to writing. Not the harsh, yelling-in-your-face kind of trainer who makes you feel like a flabby, pathetic worm, but the other kind: the one that inspires and motivates you to become your best self.
I have learned so much about writing, blogging and this weird little world of social media from his blog, goinswriter.com. When I had a chance to read and review his new e-book, I responded with a dignified and professional, “Oh yes, certainly”… okay, fine, I jumped up and down waving my arm in the air: “I’ll do it. I’ll do it. Pick me! Pick me!” – like the total nerd that I am.
You Are A Writer (So Start ACTING Like One) is both the shot in the arm and the kick in the pants I need in this creative lifestyle. It is a toolbox of ideas geared specifically towards writers, but anyone with an artistic calling could benefit.
His premise is simple: “Believe you already are what you want to be. And then start acting like it.” I can’t think of an area in my life where this isn’t good advice – as a writer, in my faith, as a parent, or as a human being.
I passed a group doing community service near their “Correctional Services” van yesterday. Not exactly a chain gang, but they didn’t look all that thrilled to be picking garbage in bright orange vests. I’m sure there is some value in the task; after all, picking up toys and clothing is considered a Very. Terrible. Task. in our house. Coupled with tacky fashion options… yes, this would be punishment indeed.
I realize I spend a lot of my blogging capital on moaning and b… complaining. I apologize, but you’ll have to give this one to me, because there is nothing, NOTHING that can compete with the sheer pain and frustration of the task that has sucked my day away.
I spent the afternoon trying to print out my cousin’s wedding invitations.
I was excited about it. I got it all set up. They look really great. All 10 of them. The ones that actually worked. Only, she wanted to invite more than just 10 people, it turns out. So… I have to figure out how to get the stupid printer with the stupid ink cartridge and the stupid paper tray to do WHAT IT IS SUPPOSED TO DO!
I am convinced that setting delinquents up with a line up of clunky old desktops, past-their-prime ink jet printers and a list of crucial printing tasks would be a far more powerful deterrent than any amount of neighbourhood clean-up. Is there anything more frustrating? Anything?
When everything works tickety boo, technology is a gift. The other 93% of the time, it is the bane of my existence.
This is the part where I usually add some pithy, transcendent moral about life or God or the beauty of the universe. Not today. We have friends coming over soon and I am going to eat muffins and pretend that none of this ever happened. Tomorrow is a new day. And Staples is only a short drive away.
So here’s me, formulating plan B. Yellow post-it notes, red crayon and the words: “Wedding. Be there.” I think it has a certain charm.
What other creative punishments is the modern correctional system overlooking?
Last night I snuggled close to Glen, looked him deeply in the eyes and broke the news.
“Today, I bought myself a little boy toy.”
It’s a testament to the seriousness of the situation that he didn’t snicker or even make a “that’s what she said” joke.
I bought a little stuffed dog. It barks when you push the tummy. It’s blue.
After years and years of pink, purple and whatever material has the most sparkle, I shopped in a new section of the store. I never intended to raise girly-girls, but they like what they like. So I steer clear of dinosaurs and cars and super heroes and anything blue. Until yesterday.
I justified that I could give it away if it doesn’t work out. I hastily explained that it could just as easily be for one of our nephews.
But I was lying.
To myself.
Because I bought it for him. It’s his. I wanted to have a connection to him.
Glen was right to ask the questions he did.
“Is is too late? Have you given your heart away already?”
So here’s me, buying blue, because hearts can’t be protected. Not mine anyway.
When you’ve lost more than one child, you learn this. Even if this adoption doesn’t work out, I will need something to hold onto, something to mourn. So I bought myself a little boy toy.
It has been a long and exhausting week. Finals are behind me. Glen is home from his business trip. My keys are safely in my purse. And I am ready for my imminent crash.
Why is it that I go into overdrive when I’m playing single mom? I always get WAY more done than normal when I’m on my own. It’s one of life’s great mysteries.
Here is a quote I needed during what we are now referring to as: The Incident
Quote
An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered.
An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered.
— G. K. Chesterton
Video
I saw this one awhile ago and enjoyed it more than ever when I watched it again this week. I think it’s because I’ve given several versions of “the talk” this year. No matter how cool I am, or how much of a sexpert I have become… it’s awkward. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the immutable rules of the universe – children and parents discussing sex is inevitably uncomfortable.
For some reason, there is a little animated film at the end of her talk; it’s kind of a cute.
Book
Before sitting down to finish this blog, I began gathering my supplies for that most sacred of all times to a parent. The grand finish line on the week: the moment when ALL my children are in bed and I am no longer needed, in demand, or wearing pants. No, this is not ANOTHER post about nudism, I’m a HUGE, HUGE fan of pajamas.
While choosing a book to read, I realized that I had no interest in a)learning anything, b)feeling any sort of angst or c)being motivated or inspired in any way. I know what you’re thinking, reality t.v. it is. BUT I did find something on the bottom of my bookshelf that fits the bill. Chicken Poop for the Soul by David Fisher. It was intended to be a gag gift from my sister, but I’ve enjoyed it immensely. The subtitle is: Stories to Harden the Heart and Dampen the Spirit. If anyone has ever hinted that you may have a dark and sarcastic sense of humour, this book’s for you!
App
This week we got an app called About Me! which allows you to enter your name and birthday so you can find out all sorts of interesting facts: name meaning, number of days you have been alive, famous people who share a birthday, historical events that happen on your birthday… Don’t tell the kids, but the ensuing discussions about Abraham Lincoln and the emancipation proclamation, Gene Kelly and Nazi Germany, are actually EDUCATIONAL. We were having so much fun figuring out all sorts of obscure facts about ourselves, that they didn’t even notice the teaching/learning/broadening horizons that was happening. And the cherry on top, as always, is the fact that this app is free.
WARNING: be careful not to get the about.me app, which is completely different; a social networking app where you can send out all sorts of personal information (and a picture) of yourself and find out the information of anyone who is nearby. Basically, my every worst nightmare as far as my children are concerned, wrapped up in a single app.
So here’s me, my name means “anointed follower of Christ”, I was born on a Thursday and, according to average life expectancy, I have lived 46.5% of my life. I’m not sure if that makes me feel young, or old. Almost half over…
Blanche Dubois, a character in the play A Streetcar Named Desire, is NOT my ideal woman. I’ve always thought she was pretty much an idiot. As she is led off to a mental institution, bewildered and weak, she spouts her famous line “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers”.
Apparently, she’s not the only one.
This afternoon I made a crucial error. I bumped the car door as I got out to fill it up with gas. Which apparently locked it. With the my keys inside. And my bag. And my phone. And my sanity!!!!
I was on my way to pick up my kids from school. Glen was unreachable. I felt the panic rising… What am I going to do? Who am I going to call? Why does my Dad have to live so far away?
The gas station attendant barely spoke english. Poor guy couldn’t understand what this crazy lady was babbling about. Each time I tried to explain the situation, he would ask if I wanted a receipt with that.
Using the international language of charades I managed to communicate my need for a phone and called the school to let the administration know that: I was a loser, and deadbeat parent, and had NO idea how or when I could get to the school to pick my kids up, and p.s. I’m kind of freaking out.
The school secretary was calm and understanding. She assured me everything would be fine; they would sort things out.
Thank you Mrs. L for being a friendly voice when I needed it most!
A young couple overheard my frantic call and witnessed my rather undignified mime to the clerk. They offered to help.
My new friend Nick rummaged through his van full of tools with a capable air. In one of my most unfeminist moments, ever, I let out a sigh of relief that a man had come to save me. Though, to be honest, a handywoman would have been every bit as welcome as a handyman.
When nothing seemed to work, they drove me home to fetch a wire coat hanger and waited while I pounded on the door and yelled “It’s MOM!”, trying to convince my at-home-sick eldest that just this one time she should come open the door. Back at the station, we spent another 1/2 an hour trying every trick in the book to jimmy the lock. I had never met these two before and maybe I never will again, but for that 1 hour, they were my best friends.
Thank you, thank you, thank you Nick and Megan!
Trying to break into a distraught lady’s car works like catnip for the macho-protector type. Guy in the blue hoodie, chef from the nearby Sushi restaurant, grey haired man in a sedan… they flocked to me, eager to weigh in on the process. Some tried their hand at my fishing-for-the-lock-with-a-coat-hanger game. It reminded me of that claw arcade game or something from a carnival. Step right up, for the ultimate test of skill and manliness! Sadly, much like the fair, no one can actually win this game.
Thank you random strangers for trying, anyway!
Meanwhile, in the gas station, shift change (thank goodness). As I approached the woman my slow, deliberate speech probably seemed somewhat obnoxious and faintly racist. Especially considering her english was every bit as good as mine; probably better, since at this point I was pretty flustered. She didn’t blink as I made something like 27 calls on their phone – to the school, to my daughter, to the only friend’s number I could remember…
What? I don’t need to remember that kind of stuff. I have an iPhone, SO that I can have immediate access to every number I’ve ever called, tweet about the situation in real-time and keep Facebook posted on every boring detail. You know, for the times when I don’t lock the stupid thing IN THE CAR!
Thank you gas station lady for letting me tie up your phone lines!
Not only did the SEAs and teachers supervise my children during this time, they managed to unearth an old booster seat and drive them home. What’s more, we now have a poster coloured during this after school session which can commemorate this special time forever.
Thank you already overworked, underpaid teaching staff for going above and beyond the call of duty!
Despite the seemingly unending line of car-thieves-in-training, I decided to call BCAA. But apparently the membership is under my husband’s name. And he has to be there. With the card. And I can’t reach him.
Unfeminist moment #2, as I tell my sad story, beg for help… and cry. Like a pathetic, helpless girl who really wants her husband to rescue her. Or her Dad. Or MacGyver, ’cause I’m sure he could get me out of this with a toothpick and a piece of lint.
Anyway, the crying thing… totally works.
Thank you soft-hearted man at the other end of the phone!
As I waited for the locksmith, it occurred to me, I didn’t have my wallet with me. Instead, it was by the front door. In my other purse. At home. Another fine move, on an already stellar day.
I was told I would need to provide ID, proving I was at least the WIFE of an account holder. Now, in a rational moment I would have thought: oh well, what are they going to do to me if they open the car and I don’t have the ID right there? Lock it all back up again? Sue me? Raise their eyebrows? Speak to me sternly?
All terrifying prospects, so I started calling my one phone friend, again (btw, sorry for all the messages/hang ups on your answering machine, you shouldn’t have such a memorable phone number if you want privacy and stuff). She was able to swing by my house and bring me my wallet.
Thank you G, for bailing me out! As usual! Please don’t ever, ever, ever change your number.
Now we get to the really EXCITING part of the story. The locksmith came and I recognized him. I played it cool, because he was obviously working hard to be incognito. He popped open that door in 20 seconds flat. He assured me it happens to everyone, which is what we call a “kind lie” in our house. He asked if my kids were okay. He told me not to worry.
He was slightly more svelte than I expected and he had shaved off his beard. But I recognized him: the white hair, the moustache, the rosy cheeks, the slightly German accent, the fatherly glow, the jolly… I’m sure it was him.
Thank you Santa-in-coveralls, for saving me. And my phone. And my sanity!
It’s easy to be cynical these days. In a world of Amber alerts, sex offenders and identity theft, strangers usually seem like a threat. We’ve had our credit card info stolen 3 times in the past few years. Our car has been broken into even more often than that. We’ve called the cops twice since we moved to this town; once because a man was being beaten senseless in our driveway. There are a lot of creeps out there.
But, if nothing else, today proved that there are a lot of good people in the world too!
So here’s me, not my finest moments… but I’m happy to know that the kindness of both friends and strangers is pretty reliable when I need it most.
When have you had to rely on strangers?
Also, any stories about locking yourself out?
That helps me feel less stupid, or at least less lonely in my stupidity…
After 17 years out of the classroom I returned to school as a “Mature” student this January (they keep insisting that I’m mature, and I’m not going to tell them any different). It was equal parts terrifying and exciting. It sure has given me a better understanding for what my children went through when they started at a new school after years of homeschooling. Of course, I was lurking the parking lot, so it’s not like they were really alone.
Today my Life Writing professor returned this piece I wrote at the beginning of the year. As I look back on how I felt it seems a bit silly, but fears often are. It doesn’t make them any less real.
My First Day of School
I hemmed and hawed. Red, black, blue… heck, I even have purple. How are they doing it these days? It’s the computer age now, perhaps the entire argument is moot? Do they even use ink pens in University?
As all the boys and girls come to class with their laptops, netbooks and iPads, I will sit at the back of the room clutching a handful of ballpoint pens and all the courage I can muster in my sweaty hands. Is a look-of-sheer-panic “in” or “out” this season? I’ll need to see what Teen Vogue has to say on the subject.
It’s been 17 years since I’ve been in the classroom as anything other than the guest speaker or class Mom. I’m not sure what to expect and that terrifies me. Usually I’m the one doling out comfort and reassurance, lectures about “Behaviour I Expect” and advice on how to make new friends.
Who’s going to hold my hand on the first day of school?
So here’s me, months later and a veteran student. Turns out my friend Beth was in my classes. I tried to get her to hold my hand, but she insists on taking notes. I made new friends along the way. They didn’t hold my hand either, but I’m okay with that now.
It should be obvious, and it certainly is enshrined in law regardless, but every picture and word on this blog (unless otherwise indicated) is the sole property of the author.
In honour of this very special holiday (Star Wars Day, duh) here is an app that both I and my 3-year-old nephew really enjoy. Feel the force on your iPhone as you use realistic sound effects to draw and swing your LightSaber and, well, that’s pretty much all it does. But it’s a LightSaber, so how cool is that! LightSaber Unleashed is a slight upgrade from the program I have, still free, and will totally make you the cool auntie.
So Here's Us... 