Category Archives: parenting

December 3, 2011

You Can’t Make Me!

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

There are three things I really hate:

~threatening email forwards

~chain letters with dire warnings

~worship leaders who instruct you on what to do (now everyone raise your hands!)

Basically anything where someone is trying to guilt trip, peer pressure or trick me into doing something. It may be something I would have quite happily done on my own, until I realized someone was trying to guilt trip, peer pressure or trick me into doing it. I just hate being bossed. I’m more likely to dig in my heels and do the opposite, just to prove I can.

Pass this e-mail on if you really love puppies (or cancer victims, or your mommy, or Jesus) and suddenly I’m feeling an inexplicable irritation with puppies, cancer victims and even my mom (still love Jesus).

Seven years of bad luck if I don’t forward this letter and a thrifty crock pot recipe to 14 of my closest friends and neighbours. Bring it on! Perhaps I should break a mirror and open an umbrella inside while I’m at it.

“Sing loudly if you love the Lord!” Without fail my inner Quaker awakens, craving silent contemplation.

I recall telling an overeager family member that if she wants me to be receptive, it would be better for her advice to sound more like a suggestion than an order. I’m not sure she realizes how often her strident opinions cause me to take the exact opposite side, regardless of what I actually believe. Because you can’t MAKE me do anything.

I love free will! And I would love to see others embrace it. Not their own, of course, but MY WILL… especially my children. I am drawn to the parenting books and systems that promise cheerful, obedient children in a convenient one-size-fits-all. Some of them have value and may even work. Ring a bell and your children will immediately drool… wait, I think that had something to do with dogs?

I know in theory that the best form of discipline for my children is self-discipline, but that takes time, insight and a whole lot of failure to develop. There are days when giving my children the opportunity to make good choices (or bad and face the consequences) is exhausting. And I am tempted to manipulate, pressure or trick them into doing what I want.

Free will is God’s thing. I’m sure He would have saved a lot of time and trouble if He chose to simply impose His will on all humanity. Instead, we struggle, and learn, and fail, and start over again. And He never stops loving us, no matter how messy we get. I can’t think of a better parent to emulate.

So here’s me, composing an opening to this blog post. How about: If you love Jesus, freedom and puppy dogs, you WILL repost this at least 3 times.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in parenting, personality

November 30, 2011

Christmas Countdown: Fair Trade Style

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

We are a family that counts down. We start young with “Zoom, Zoom, Zoom, We’re Going To The Moon,” and it never stops. Ask my husband, at any given moment, how many days until a long weekend, our next family holiday or the massage his doting wife promised him, and he can tell you accurately without a moment’s hesitation. One wonders what he might be capable of if so much valuable brain power wasn’t constantly engaged in keeping track of the minutes and hours… but I digress.

So, advent calanders, ya – we’re all over that. We hang a tiny little ornament on the quilted tree Oma made each night. The girls faithfully cross the days off their calanders. And we fight about which daily christmas devotionals we are going to use for the month. Right now it’s a throwdown between the cheesy, but beloved “Adornaments” and “What God Wants for Christmas”.

But the MOST crucial countdown of all is the cheap cardboard chocolate calander we get each year. I’ve been informed by experts in the field (a 9-year-old girl and her Dad) that it is not really Christmas without it.

One of the very first wails of protest when Mom’s fair trade crusade began was about this very important issue.

I was tickled to learn that there are, in fact, fair trade chocolate advent calanders to be had (Divine). Not only that, but these contain ACTUAL chocolate to pop out each day. As opposed to the brown coloured, chocolate scented ear wax we are used to. Not a bad option.

But as committed as I am to my family’s happiness and the end of child slavery, there is another virtue very near and dear to my heart.

I am cheap.

At $8-12 each, these are not unreasonably priced. BUT when each member of the family (including the one with facial hair) must have their own, that’s 8…16…24… way-too-expensive-for-mom-to-swallow Dollars.

This is not a blog where you will learn how to turn a shoebox and 4 pennies into a fully functioning shoe rack. I cannot tell you how to create the perfect turkey dinner for under $10 – I have never even roasted a turkey at all. But this is one crafty/home project that fits my profile: simple, fast and foolproof. So here it goes:

I bought this advent cupboard on impulse (it was on sale and I’m a sucker for deals I don’t really need). But a stack of envelopes would work just as well. There are SO many amazing advent projects that it is overwhelming. I say, keep it simple. Who need another reason to Grinch out this Christmas.

In each “day” I put:

  • a mini muffin cup
  • filled with 5 Cadbury’s FAIR TRADE chocolate buttons (1 per person)
  • an advent verse and/or prayer (free printables)
  • a fun family activity, outing or service project for that day (written on a strip of leftover wrapping paper)
Glen and I had fun brainstorming simple things to do as a family to honour Jesus and teach generosity, without driving us to drink (well, anymore than usual).
  1. Call GiGi (great grandma) and sing her a Christmas song.
  2. Christmas party tonight – have fun!
  3. Decorate the Christmas tree.
  4. Bake Gingerbread Men with Mom.
  5. Collect as much change as you can find around the house to give to the Salvation Army Santa at the store (winner gets hot chocolate to share with everyone).
  6. Drive to Candy Cane Lane to look at the Christmas lights.
  7. Go to the store and buy food for the Food Bank.
  8. There are 12 cherry Candy Canes hidden throughout the house. Ready, set, go!
  9. Draw a picture/write a letter to our sponsored children (World Vision and Compassion).
  10. Create an e-vite and invite friends to our New Year’s Eve party.
  11. Make Christmas crafts with Aunt Judy!
  12. Everyone give a foot rub to someone else tonight.
  13. Christmas Shopping date with Dad.
  14. Paint your own pottery at the ceramics store – make a special gift for someone you don’t normally exchange gifts with.
  15. Celebrate Grinch Night – everyone wear green, eat all green food and watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Invite the neighbours to join us!
  16. Pick a project from the World Vision Catalogue to donate your charity money to (our kids save some of their allowance each week to give).
  17. Plan games and food for our New Year’s Eve party.
  18. Create a “Welcome” banner for all the family that are coming to stay with us – especially your brand new cousin.
  19. Pack for our trip – we are driving to the timeshare today. Pick your favourite carol to sing in the car (even Dad will join in) (Dad’s Note: he will??? Doesn’t sound like something he’d do.).
  20. Movie night with the Aunties – wear pajamas, eat cararmel corn and watch Sound of Music.
  21. Choose Christmas e-cards to send to Grandma Lindsay every day until Christmas.
  22. Play Christmas song charades.
  23. Chowder Party at Oma and Opas.
  24. Build a Gingerbread house with Uncle Miguel
  25. CHRISTMAS!

Advent Box – $20.00

Muffin Cups – $1.00

Cadbury’s Buttons (2 packages) – $8

This is the part where I should say “Advent family fun….ah…priceless!”

But it was actually $29.00 plus tax, which is a pretty good deal in my book and can be used for years to come.

So here’s me, 18 days until I get to snuggle my brand new nephew for the first time, 32 days until I pack it all back in rubbermaid containers and 366 days until we start it all over again.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in christmas, creativity, home-making, parenting

November 26, 2011

Wonder Woman and other Mommy Myths

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

I may have broken my foot… on Monday, but I just now (Friday afternoon) got around to getting it checked out. Hopefully it’s just a ligament thing, but apparently all this walking around, driving, running errands, carrying my kid up and down that stairs and umpteen other activities which make my foot throb are actually BAD for an injured limb. Who knew?

I would be leading the charge if it were my husband, my child or a random stranger off the street who needed a doctor’s care. But when the I am the patient, the rules are different.

The walk-in clinic physician explains in a slow, patronizing way that if it hurts – don’t. do. it. Clearly, HE doesn’t understand a very important fact. I am not a mere mortal: I am the mom!

There are playdates to arrange, groceries to buy, meetings to attend, doctors to visit, pharmacists to bawl out… And when I’ve taken care of everyone and everything else, then and only then can I address my own needs. Usually this is somewhere around 9:37 at night – at which point I can focus on what really matters: facebook, pintrest and eating my weight in fair trade chocolate.

I’m quite familiar with the concept of injury and recovery. After all, only two years ago I broke my foot (in exactly the same place) and after only three weeks I finally found time to seek medical care. Three x-rays, two bone scans and 11 weeks in a stylish grey boot were my reward for delayed treatment.

Medical professionals, women’s magazines and Oprah are always telling us that we need to take care of ourselves and not just everyone else. We nod our heads and hum in agreement. Sage advice. So true.

And then we carry on exactly the same way. Or maybe it’s just me? Lunch consisting of scraps that the kids left on their plates. Exercise plans deferred to sew ribbons on ballet slippers or shop for a last minute birthday present. Missing the fun during special events and visits with loved ones, because I’ve spent the whole time rushing around making everything perfect.

It’s not a bad thing to put others first; to experience moments of complete selflessness. But I need to find balance. After all, this motherhood thing is a marathon, not a sprint. And I’m not going to keep up if I am hobbled (literally) by shortsighted decisions.

All my life I was taught the rule: “Love others, as you love yourself” (Galatians 5:14). This verse loses its steam if we believe we are second class citizens. If I were to take care of my children the way I take care of myself, I would delay medical attention, forget to feed them, cancel their plans in favour of mine and banish them to the kitchen during parties.

I count too. And I’m not hurting anyone by counting myself in. It will make me better (and more spry) in the long run.

So here’s me, lazing on the couch with my foot up ALL NIGHT LONG!

P.S. – FYI, I have PLENTY of selfish habits I need to work on also. It’s not all self-sacrfice, all the time at our house. But that’s a post for another day.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in parenting, personality

November 24, 2011

It’s a Worrisome Life! Pharmaceutical Error and My Little Girl

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

In one of my favourite movies of all time, there is a subplot about a drunk and distraught druggist who makes a dangerous error (say that 10 times really fast). Fortunately, the young shop boy steps in and saves everyone from what would have been a fatal mistake. This morning we discovered that our baby girl is the victim of a pharmaceutical error herself, not fatal, but potentially serious.

A rather common side effect of Down Syndrome is hypothyroidism – low thyroid. We’ve spent the past several years working with her pediatrician to keep her level JUST RIGHT. Too high and she gets hyper, jittery and is unable to grow. Too low and she is lethargic, listless and also, unable to grow. Left untreated, low thyroid can cause brain damage.

A few months ago we realized that B needed another dosage adjustment. When I went to pick up the prescription I was surprised that it read “take 1/2 a pill daily”. I had hoped that a higher dose would mean an end to fiddling with that stupid pill cutter. I asked about it – gutsy for someone like me, who prefers not to make waves. “Isn’t she supposed to take the whole pill?” But I was assured that this was the correct dosage.

Apparently, I’m no George Bailey. I didn’t question it. I mean, I trust these people. They wear white coats for Pete’s sake; if that doesn’t spell “trustworthy,” I don’t know what does.

These past few months have been difficult in our house and at school. B has not been herself. She’s been irritable, needy and unfocused. I wondered if it was the adjustment to a new school year. We’ve had numerous discussions with the resource and classroom teachers, daily strategy sessions with the S.E.A.’s (teaching assistants), and notes flying back and forth about what to do. I wondered if she was coming down with something. We’ve taken many sick days, even antibiotics at the height of her distress (though her ear was only slightly red). I wondered if we are just crappy, crappy parents. There’s a distressed e-mail to a behavioural interventionist in the draft box of my computer.

Two days ago our family doctor phoned with the results of our much dreaded blood test. Apparently, her thyroid levels are way too low. I was confused; we had just upped the meds, so if anything it should be slightly high… Then I remembered my unease at the drugstore counter.

Sure enough, we’ve been giving her half the required dosage. And our pediatrician was pissed. It is behind the lack of energy and focus, the irritability, the general malaise.

At that moment I went through what psychologists may call “rapid cycling” – many strong emotions in quick order:

Guilt: I should have caught this. I did catch this. Why didn’t I catch this? Self recrimination is my super power.

Relief: It could have been the leukemia my darkest fears were whispering about. And it could have been much, much worse. If we didn’t catch it in time, it may have done permanent damage.

Fear: What if it did do permanent damage? Will this set her back? Will she ever recover? She was learning to read, doing so well and now she can barely stand to look at a book with me.

Anger: I have a powerful urge to find that careless pharmacist and squish him like the worthless insect he is.

More guilt: Because that’s just how I roll.

Gratitude: This explains so much and it’s an easy fix – just a pill a day for a happier child! How often can you say that?

I should have trusted my instincts. I have said it before, our instincts as parents are not infallible, but they are a God-given gift. It doesn’t matter what expertise and professional training the wildly intelligent people we deal with have, when push comes to shove, I am the expert on my child. If something feels wrong, it probably is. One of the best things I ever did was find a doctor who respects that.

All behaviour is communication. Whether it is saying “I’m tired,” “I’m hungry,” “I’m overwhelmed,” or “I have a deficit in an important growth hormone”, kids who act out are trying to tell us something. When I can’t figure out what the naughty behaviour means, I tend to chalk it up to random, unspecified grumpiness. That’s not without merit; Lord knows, I experience enough of it in my own life. But it is important to check for a physical reason and even visit my doctor when the behaviour seems uncharacteristic and out of control.

So that’s the moral of the story for me. It’s been a hard lesson. From now on I will listen to my gut and to listen to my child.

So here’s me, rehearsing my lines for the showdown at the pharmacy. No, I won’t be crushing anyone like a bug, but there will be a strongly worded complaint form filled out… um… if it’s not too much trouble. Stupid Canadian politeness! Stupid intimidating white coats!

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

November 22, 2011

The History of a Tantrum: For the Well Meaning Bystander

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

Have you ever seen an adult dragging a small child kicking and screaming down the street, stuffing them in a vehicle and peeling off down the road? Just so you know, it might be me. I sometimes wonder if you passers-by have a moment of concern about this situation. I wouldn’t be offended if you took a second look, I’m all about protecting children.

No doubt you would soon notice that A) the shrieking midget in question bears a striking resemblance to her “kidnapper” and B) the perpetrator is exhausted, overwhelmed and most likely close to tears herself. No one WANTS to be that parent, the one getting all the pitying and/or disapproving looks on the way to the grocery checkout. If you think it’s a pain to be stuck on an airplane with a crying baby, try being the Mom who feels the weight of everyone’s displeasure.

I remember the good, old days. The “I have one well-behaved child” days when everything was neat and orderly, and I had all the answers. I knew in theory that there might be more to a situation than I could see, yet my inner dialogue usually went something like this “Tut Tut… listen to that bratty child carry on. Some consistent discipline and clear expectations is just what she needs. I would never let MY child behave like that.”

It’s not that my opinions and experience as a parent and daycare teacher were wrong. Reality is just so much more complicated (and exhausting) than all the theory in the world. I look back at that smug, certain parent I used to be and I cringe. I was so quick to offer answers and advice, so sure that I understood the challenges of parenting… so completely untested.

So, next time you witness a monumental melt-down give me a break. If you have to look, look closer. My daughter may be 7, but she is developmentally delayed and so are her emotions. There may be a long and complex back-story to this split second in history. There may be extenuating circumstances. Or there may be no good reason whatsoever, just a bad day all around.

This afternoon as my howling child trotted down the sidewalk of a busy street, all by herself, in the rain, without a jacket – it was all of the above. She had just had a blood test. It happens every few months and lately, each one is worse than the last. While two lab techs hold her flailing arms down, I try to keep her still, pin her legs down with my own and sing”Jesus Loves Me” in her ear. I haven’t yet found a way to make her understand how necessary this is. No amount of candy bribes, stage appropriate explanations and fun games in the waiting room seem to make a difference. She gives me a look of such utter betrayal each time. Then it gets even worse when they slap on the band-aid, something she hates almost as much as the needle itself. The minute she was off my lap today, she was out the door and down the street with me in hot pursuit.

In the end, it was only a moment in time, a bad moment, but over quickly. She’s happy now, showing off her war wound and telling her daddy all about her “dee-do” (which we think means needle). She is painting a picture with bingo daubers while her sisters are doing a science experiment (aka – messing up my kitchen). And suddenly I’m feeling like a good mom again, but I’m pretty sure I was this afternoon too, even though it didn’t look like it.

So here’s me, with a lot fewer answers, and hopefully, a lot more compassion for the next tantruming child I meet.

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

November 16, 2011

Everyday Adventures

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

20111116-225159.jpgWe almost gave up. The wind was picking up and I could feel the damp seeping into my wool socks. We had slid down icy embankments, skirted the semi-frozen river and scrambled up the snowy hillside half a dozen times. All we had to show for it was frozen fingers and scratches from the thorny branches.

While their baby sister cried from the cold, the two big girls started bickering and I began to seriously question whether I was even fit to parent. I know Glen was wondering the same thing. Whether it was kindness or survival instinct that prevented him from voicing it I will never know, but I could see it in his eyes. This expedition into the snowy wilderness had been my idea… for fun… on our holiday.

Then it happened! The moment that changed this train wreck of a morning into a cherished family memory. Stories will be told through the ages about the greatness of this moment. It will long be lauded in poetry and song.

She found it! Nestled amongst the roots of an evergreen in the middle of the forest. A small weather-proof tube wrapped in green duct tape. C has an uncanny ability for finding things, and she cemented her place in family legend by finding our very first cache.

I have always wanted to try geocaching, and for some reason a trip to the mountains in the middle of winter seemed like an ideal time. We have tagged along with friends before, but this was our first attempt at the hobby. Basically, it’s a treasure hunt using a GPS and co-ordinates you can find on the internet. (Or, download a totally cool app onto your totally cool iPhone and it will walk you through the whole process.) Enthusiasts have hidden caches of all kinds all over the world. When you find one, you sign the log, take a “treasure” and leave a token of your own behind.

A small plastic frog is hardly booty to write home about, but to my kids it has inestimable worth. We did that! Together! Against all odds! Through rugged terrain (if you’re 7-years-old) in a harsh climate (if you are a west coast wimp like us), undertaking the daunting task of navigation with a team leader who has the directional ability of a… (what is something really dumb?).

We were so excited, we decided to keep going. While Glen and B went back to the cabin to prepare hot chocolate and compliments for my brilliant, brilliant idea, we found two more caches. The girls and I have caught the bug!

Why do something as mundane as take a walk, when you can hunt for hidden treasure? It may seem a bit silly, but that’s the beauty of it. Sometimes we get so caught up in the serious business of living that we forget that adventure lurks around every corner.

Suddenly, getting lost is a chance to explore a strange new land. Who knows what you may find? I explore a lot. See above re: directional ability.

My mom used to say that only boring people get bored. I may have repeated this a time or two thousand to my own kids. I think it’s time I took my own advice. Life is mundane only when I forget to look for the magic and the miracles.

So here’s me, finding treasures in normal life.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in creativity, parenting

November 12, 2011

The Destroyer

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

“Some have come to build, I have come to destroy.” – Sun Tzu, The Art of War

It has been a difficult week in our house. Our cute-as-a-button, darling girl has left a path of destruction in her wake. A month of illness, an ear infection and adjusting to full days at school have left her understandably needy and slightly grumpy. This never bodes well for our possessions.

Her usual M.O. is to hide things. To be fair, this is not trouble-making behavior. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to help. She sees me bustling around, putting things away, so she does the same. She may have inherited a touch of OCD from her parents. One of her favourite forms of play is to carefully arrange rows of toys, books, socks… (whatever strikes her fancy) into different patterns.

Unfortunately, her organizational plan and mine don’t always mesh. Which is why I often come across unusual things such as: potatoes in the Tupperware drawer, socks in the pantry, and cash in the recycling bin.

Although her intentions may be pure and honorable (or more likely, impulsive and benign) this hiding habit does cause problems. On two separate occasions we have had to send guests home in borrowed shoes as B has industriously stashed theirs in some obscure hiding spot. When we express alarm and concern she will eagerly join in the search, but rarely does she recollect where she put that special item.

NOTE: We later found one of the shoes in the downstairs shower and the other set had been stashed behind the books on the bottom shelf of Dad’s home office. STILL Missing: 1 DS game system, several DVDs, a favourite stuffie, a toothbrush, and various odds and ends too numerous to mention.

Recently, she managed to reach her box of CDs, remove each one from its case and hide them in an undisclosed location. The only survivor happened to be in the player at the time. The others remain M.I.A.

I’ve duct taped the slats of her bed and moved furniture around to eliminate some of her favourite hidey holes. We have worked hard to give B an idea of where things are SUPPOSED to go. She loves helping unload the dishwasher and putting dishes where they “live”. I’m optimistic that once this is firmly established she will become our most diligent tidy-upper. Someday I plan to label almost everything in our house to this end. You know, when I have some free time (ha!).

20111112-123402.jpg

Things have been getting better… until this month. We first noticed it with her contributions to her sisters’ homework. Some added embellishment on a title page, unique decorative elements on math pages, and most shocking of all: an actual bite taken out of one assignment. “My sister ate my homework, for real!”

She is immediately disciplined, apologizes and seems genuinely contrite, then I open up my iPhone box and find the pocket guide ripped into tiny little pieces. It took me 1/2 an hour to figure out how to turn the ringer from ‘silent’ to ‘loud’. Grrrrrr!

If one more person tells me what happy and easy children with Down Syndrome are, I am going to kick them in the shin. Then they can help me pull every single card, from every single game we own out from under her dresser and put them back in order. Because, honestly, I’ve just left them there. I’m too tired to face it.

Am I frustrated? Definitely.
Overwhelmed? Occasionally.
Amused? Often.

It’s at times like this that I have to have faith that our parenting methods and our God-given instincts will work in the long run. It’s happened time and time again. We don’t usually see results in a timely fashion, but consistent, patient and firm is bound to pay off… right? That or we seriously consider life in a human bubble – for me.

So here’s me, blogging from the road, on the way to a week-long family holiday. Just what the Dr. ordered. If nothing else, she can rip the cabin apart for a change.

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

November 5, 2011

Imagine That

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

When I was a child, one of my best friends was a girl named Casey. She looked just like me; she had short red hair and even a matching jean jacket. She was tiny; in fact, she only came up to my waist. She didnt speak much at all, but she always thought my ideas were great and played with me whenever I needed her.

When I was a child, there was an elevator in our downstairs bathroom. I was the only one who ever used it. It took me anywhere I wanted to go. My favorite destination was Mrs. Kangaroo’s highrise apartment, which seemed like an exotic locale to a suburban kid like myself.

When I was a child, I lived a double life: mild mannered school girl by day, crime-fighting dog in the afternoon. It was hard work defeating the forces of evil, so when Mom starting doing afterschool care I recruited a whole team of yapping police puppies. Together we brought villians to justice and imprisoned them in the guest room closet.

One of the best things my parents ever did for me was to nurture my imagination. They did not dismiss my flights of fancy as childish and unimportant. Instead, my mom set a place at the table for my invisible playmate. She overlooked my damp socks from playing in the shower stall downstairs and holes in the knees of my pants from crawling around the house for hours at a time.

They fed me a steady diet of books and unstructured free time. My mom freely contributed old blankets, sheets and clothespins to the fort building cause. Somedays I ate my lunch in a cave of wonders than bore a striking resemblance to the underside of our dining room table. I remember her packing snacks in the backpack of this intrepid explorer and listening patiently to the blow-by-blow of my adventures.

While I grew up with fond memories of imaginary friends, my sister Esther had an imaginary enemy. We used to choke back our laughter as she would angrily recount her latest fight with The Girl. “You won’t believe what the girl did now!” I remember watching her stomping around the backyard, yelling at thin air.

My other sister Colleen played pretend in her own way – fashion shows, tea parties and impromptu concerts. She spent her childhood decked out in lace and jewels, wobbling around the house in my Mom’s shoes. There was no such thing as too fancy in her book.

I’m sure there were times it was inconvenient and downright messy, but my parents knew that this was the important work of childhood. We were flexing our creative muscles and practicing the people we were going to become: me, bossing folks around and making up stories; Esther (the law student), railing at the injustices of society; and Colleen (the musician), bringing beauty into the world.

I’d better go now. There’s a little tiger in my living room and she’s getting hungry for lunch. I hope she doesn’t eat me!

So here’s me, years later, still talking to myself when there’s no one around.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , | posted in creativity, parenting

November 2, 2011

Middle of the Road

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

20111102-141639.jpgIt had such a promising start. For the first time in… let’s be honest, ever… I sent my daughter to school with a thermos full of delicious, homemade vegetable soup. Homemade – by me, and not just the kind where you open a packet and add a few things to feel like you’re somehow contributing to the process. I cut all these vegetables with my own two hands. Eat your heart out Betty Crocker!

I’m afraid the day didn’t live up to its potential. According to my nine-year-old, it will forever be remembered as one of the worst days in the entire history of bad days. It wasn’t the math quiz or even the science test she forgot to study for. It wasn’t post-Halloween letdown or friend drama. It was the soup.

It’s not what you are thinking, really! I know I have repeatedly decried my ability as a cook, but this is ridiculously yummy soup. I’m eating some right now.

The problem was a SLIGHTLY loose lid on the thermos. Just loose enough to let the liquid seep out and pool in her bag, soaking books, gym strip and a collection of Very Important Things that she apparently carts back and forth to school each day: a mirror, a pencil sharpener shaped as a bear, a clip from the chip bag, an old paintset, an umbrella, a special bag of kleenex, a single glove and several broken pieces of pencil lead (which she diligently collects and counts; she is now up to 2,382). At this point my little hoarder-in-training began to notice a certain stickiness down her back and legs. When she opened her backpack – soup everywhere.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, gym class that day consisted of a run around the field. Wearing her everyday shoes instead of runners, she slipped and ended up face down in the mud. So much for that new hoodie. I’m not quite sure why she chose not to call home for a change of clothes (and some more soup), but I’m proud that she tried to make the best of it.

Some kids are quite resilient to this sort of thing; it just isn’t that big a deal. But my little C is not one of those types of people. Spending an entire day sticky, muddy and smelling like vegetable soup was quite the dark night (day) of the soul for her. And it was entirely my fault… mea culpa, mea culpa.

And I know just why I did it. You see, last year I had a bit of thermos problem. Since my girls don’t really like sandwiches, we tend to use them a lot, and I’ve always been kind of paranoid about potential spillage. So I put those lids on with extreme prejudice. Unfortunately, the whole point of the thermos is that it can also be opened – by tiny, little hungry hands. More often than not, they would have to get a class moniter or teacher, and occasionally even trot down to the office to find someone to open it. As if that isn’t embarassing enough, there were times NO ONE could open it. By the third time one brought home an unopened, uneaten thermos of lunch, I knew I had to change my ways.

So this year I bought new thermos’ and vowed to use a light touch. I wish I could say the soup incident was the first of its kind. This year my kids are bringing home soggy lunchbags and damp backpacks. In trying to fix the problem, I over-corrected.

Last month we spent a weekend in the mountains with my in-laws. The timeshare had a games room in the basement; all kinds of arcade games, free and unlimited. I became obsessed with “Long Haul Trucker”. I can’t blame the kids either, since I snuck down there without them one night in my pajamas.

I am bad at it – really, truly terrible. By the end of the weekend, I had made it to the first checkpoint only once. I would watch my brother-in-law calmly drive down the middle of the road and blow past checkpoint after checkpoint. When my turn came, I couldn’t seem to maintain balance. As I drifted too far on one side of the road, I would swerve to the other and before I knew it I was all over the road – veering first one way and then the next. Once again, I seem to constantly over-correct.

I do this in life too. When faced with a problem I often react by veering to the extreme. Sometimes it is a reaction to my upbringing. My parents are very easy-going and take life as it comes, but I feel the need to schedule and plan everything I possibly can (and some things I can’t). Other times I am trying to replace a bad habit with it’s polar opposite. This is why, all too often, my diet attempts end in a sugary blaze of shame, then back to a week of rice cakes and cabbage soup, and so on and so on.

Take a deep breath. Release that white-knuckled grip on the wheel (or thermos). And remember that most of the time, the best path to where I’m going is the middle of the road.

So here’s me, packing sandwiches from now on.

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October 26, 2011

Happy Endings

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

I sat in the waiting room of the Ministry of Children and Family Development today. We had a meeting with our adoption social worker. There was a woman beside me whom I’ve never met and will never see again, but she was so familiar.

It was none of my business and perhaps I should have politely tuned her out as she spoke to the receptionist. But I didn’t. The person she was supposed to be meeting with was running late, but come hell or high water she was determined to wait.

“I don’t care how long I have to wait or what it takes. I want my daughter back.”

She wasn’t belligerent or aggressive. She didn’t raise her voice or make threats. But she was fierce. She had a primal energy. And I knew that we were kindred. Because I am a Mama Bear too.

In my mind I imagined a gritty backstory. Traumatized by her drug dealer/pimp/corrupt cop boyfriend, she is fighting her way back with the help of a inspirational social worker. I picture an Aboriginal Robin Williams/Sydney Poitier at her side instilling a never-say-die attitude in her. The music swells as she sees her beloved child again, but alas, there is the evil ex-lover and his scuzzy lawyer. I hold my breath and suddenly Wylie Coyote drops an anvil on the bad guys. Cue the laugh track. Now roll credits, as they all ride off into the sunset.

But this is real life. There are rarely bad guys dressed in black and good guys in white hats. Just screwed up people trying to prevent the even more screwed up people from hurting the innocent.

I don’t know this mom’s story, but I can only assume that it must be a tragic one to end up in the waiting room of the MCFD. When child protective services are involved, no one escapes unscathed. Not the biological parents whose lives were already out of control. Not the professionals who have to make impossible decisions and navigate an unwieldy beauracracy. Not foster families who open their homes and their hearts to someone else’s pain. And certainly not the children who find themselves at the mercy of a system which can’t help but damage the very ones it was designed to protect.

I can’t help but feel like some sort of scavenger. If things work out as we hope, we will be wading into someone’s very worst nightmare to find our own happily ever after. I know it is possible; in fact, it is what makes adoption such a beautiful thing. But it is a beauty born out of loss and pain.

I worry about that mama bear. I hope the system can do right by her, and by her daughter, whatever “right” may be in this particular case. Chances are, the damage is already done. There are no carefree happy endings in the foster care system.

So here’s me, looking for a bittersweet ever after.

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