That Feeling

Last Saturday I went with some ladies from my church to a seniors’ facility.  We sat with the residents and made simple Christmas ornaments for them to hang on their doors.

The woman who sat next to me was a little reluctant at first, until we were introduced and she learned who my husband was (he’d helped her with her computer a few years ago) and that I was Kathryn With A Why.  And I was surprised to learn that she is the mother of one of my church friends.  Anyway, we hit it off and enjoyed figuring out the instructions for making the ornament together.

As we worked, we talked.  She told me some of her history – how she met her husband on the coast when he was in the Navy, and how she lived in a one-room house when she first moved to Alberta.  When we were done making the ornament, I went to her room to help with some computer problems she was having.  I updated her browser and she showed me the Il Divo music videos that she enjoyed watching on YouTube.

When it was time to go, I gave her a hug and asked if I could come back and visit sometime, maybe bring my kids.  She seemed happy about that, so that’s what I’ll do.  I think we’ve just adopted a new Grandma in town!

The neat thing is, when I started out that morning, I had planned to do good for others.  I didn’t realize I would go home with that feeling – like my heart was going to burst with joy.  I’ve had that feeling many times, but each time it’s a wonderful surprise, though it shouldn’t be.  It’s that feeling God always gives His children when they show love for each other – at Christmastime and all year long.

I wonder how many other seniors would appreciate a visit.

The Corn Invasion

Don’t worry about aliens or foreigners.  The real invaders are already here.  Corn products.  They’re everywhere!  Hiding, maybe even hurting.

I didn’t realize this until a few months ago when I ate two yummy cobs of corn.  Almost immediately the roof of my mouth felt bumpy and my tongue hurt.  After an hour or two it went away, but it left me wondering if I was allergic to corn.  Sure enough, a consultation with a Naturopath revealed that I was highly intolerant to corn (as well as a few other things).

It was easy to avoid corn on the cob, cornflakes, and cornbread, but when I started paying closer attention to the ingredients in packaged items, I realized it was a lot harder than that.  Corn is in everything!  Well, not quite everything, but a lot.

There’s corn flour, corn starch, modified corn starch, corn syrup, corn syrup solids, and dextrose (which is sugar usually made from corn) to name a few.  It’s in canned soup, taco seasoning, and breakfast cereal (including oat and rice varieties).  I even checked the ingredients on a bag of sticky rice the other day:  rice, corn syrup.  I couldn’t believe it!

When we use too much of something (even good things) we can develop intolerances to it.  I wonder if we’re headed that way with corn products.

Lots of people are out to make the big bucks.  This often means sacrificing quality for quantity.  Why not use cheap fillers, like corn, especially when they can be passed off as natural foods? 

It’s one more reason to try harder to do what we should be doing anyway:  eating a variety of foods as close to their natural state as possible.  Good for the waistline, good for the wallet.

Choose the Right

Remembrance Day approaches and once again we take time to show our appreciation for those who fought the evil regimes which threatened to destroy our freedom.  We won!  We’re free!  And we’re grateful.

At least we should be.  The freedom they purchased with their lives enables us to make choices.  Every day.  We’re free to vote, free to complain, free to go to school, free to choose our employment, free to attend church, free to write things that anger others.

As we’re reminded often, we all have the right to make our own choices.  But the bigger question is:  Are we making the right choices?  What are we doing with the freedom we’ve been given?

What constitutes a “right choice” will depend on the person making the choice and his or her circumstances, but we would do well to remember this time-honoured truth:  Every choice has a consequence.

Consequences can be good or bad, immediate or delayed, minor or catastrophic.  They can affect one person or millions.  They can be easily foreseen or a surprise.  But while we are free to make choices, we are not free to choose the consequences of those choices.  I can choose to stay up ‘til 1:00 a.m. reading, but I can’t escape the possible consequence of being tired the next morning.

Thus, instead of telling each other repeatedly that we have the “right to choose”, wouldn’t it be better to help each other “choose the right”?

How can we know what is a right choice?  We read.  We think.  We pray.  We discuss our options with those who care about us.  We make pros and cons lists.  We study history and the experiences of others.  Then we weigh the information carefully and follow our hearts and consciences.

And we remember that, like those who chose to fight for our freedom, the best choices aren’t always the easy ones.

Sweet Nothings

Oh goody, it’s that time of year again:  the day we celebrate evil and high blood sugar.

Every year I scratch my head and wonder why people find the day appealing.  My husband says it promotes community spirit.  I hope so.  I can see the fun of dressing up and pretending, but I can’t believe people actually buy blood-spattered chainsaws and horrific masks in the name of good clean fun or community spirit.

Then there’s the sugar.  Studies have shown that refined sugar suppresses the immune system and can make us more susceptible to colds and flu.  Of course, other studies have supposedly disproven this.  All I know is that Halloween seems to be a great kick-off to flu season and my kids are more likely to get sick when they’ve been sitting in piles of mini chocolate bars, lollipops, and bubble gum.

I used to encourage my children to make their Halloween candy last until Christmas – or longer – thinking that a little sugar each day wouldn’t be so bad.  I’ve changed my mind.  Maybe I’m a sucker but I’d rather have them binge on Halloween night, throw up if necessary, and be done with it.  One heavy night for the pancreas and then back to normal.

Then there’s the hyperactivity – another theory that has been poo-hooed and discarded.  Maybe I should see if those discrediting scientists want to babysit my kids the day after Halloween.

Sorry.  I wasn’t planning to treat you to a sour anti-Halloween tirade but I guess it’s a day that brings out the best in me (and so many others).

I actually planned to enjoy Halloween this year – even started putting together costumes back in August.  But try as I might, I can’t sugar-coat it.  There’s pretty much nothing I find sweet about Halloween.

Too Much Info

At first I thought the trend to put decals representing family members on rear vehicle windows was a cute idea.  But when I considered buying some for myself, I realized it was a bad idea.  Why would I want strangers to know how many family members, including pets, rode in my vehicle or lived in my home?

Consider the following:

Someone sees your vehicle with 6 stickers on the back:  mom and dad, 2 boys, 1 girl, and a dog.  He follows you home and learns where you live.  Later, he watches from a safe distance while a teenage girl rings your doorbell.  A few minutes later, mom, dad, 2 boys, and a dog leave.  Now Mr. Rapist knows only a babysitter and your daughter are home.  Too much info.

Someone sees your vehicle with 3 stickers on the back:  mom and dad, and 1 boy.  He follows you home and learns that you have a big house, two vehicles, and an RV.  He realizes that a wealthy family with one child is more likely to have expensive furniture and electronics inside.  So Mr. Burglar waits for mom, dad, and son to leave the house then strikes.  Too much info.

Someone sees your vehicle with 5 stickers on the back:  mom, 3 girls, and a cat.  He follows single mom into the grocery store and strikes up a conversation with her in the kitty litter aisle.  Before long Mr. Pedophile is dating mom and knows he’ll soon have access to 3 daughters.  Too much info.

It turns out those cute stickers that display our family pride are a security risk.  They simply give out too much information.  Maybe I’m being paranoid but if I ever buy them, it’ll be 5 men and 12 dogs that never leave the house.

Write, Read, and Remember

As I helped my daughter sort through her “special box”, I noticed there was a fancy journal she had started but decided not to continue because she had messed up a page and thought it was too ugly to keep.

I tried to convince her that diaries didn’t have to be neat.  In fact, sometimes the messy writing, scribbled diagrams, or tear stains are part of their charm.  She didn’t believe me, so I went to my cedar chest and dug out my box of old journals.  My children gathered around as I lifted these treasures out one by one.  I carefully opened the pages and showed them what my printing (starting at age 7), then cursive, looked like.  I pointed out mistakes and misspelled words.  They were enthralled and convinced that perfection is not the point of keeping a personal record.

What is the point of keeping a journal?  To remember special moments, learn from past mistakes, relate to youngsters, and resolve family disputes.  But most of all, to leave a record of your life so your children and grandchildren can know you.

When email came on the scene, I noticed my journal entries decreased.  Instead of spending a half hour on Sunday afternoons to write, I found myself typing emails to my family and friends instead.  But then I got smart and printed off these emails to put in a binder journal.

Then came Facebook.  I recently realized that precious information about who I am in 2012 while my children are young is being sent into cyber-wherever-ness instead of being preserved in something tangible.

So I bought a pretty spiral notebook and began to copy my status updates into it.  I add extra personal information as needed – et voila! – I’ve got another valuable record that I can read, remember, and share with future generations.

Now Is The Time

This past week marked two years since my mom was hit by a car while crossing a street in Lethbridge.  Yes, she waited for the light to turn green and she was in a crosswalk; nevertheless, a car ran straight into her.

She doesn’t remember much except lying on the ground for a long time while emergency workers assessed her injuries.  She required surgery to set a broken leg with metal plates and pins.

That wasn’t a phone call I was expecting.  Fortunately, by the time I was notified, the news “Mom was hit by a car” was followed with “but she’s alive and came through surgery okay.”

Times like this make me refocus.  What’s most important to me?  My relationships.  Does my behaviour reflect this?  Am I quick to apologize, to forgive, to spend time, to say “I love you”?  Sometimes when those phone calls come, it’s too late to go back and change things.  Now is the time.

As for driving, let’s slow down, shoulder check, put away the cell phone, and invest in sunglasses.  And pedestrians, even when you have the right of way, make sure the cars around you are stopping before you cross.  Make eye-contact with drivers to ensure they’ve seen you.

My mom endured painful physiotherapy, did her exercises faithfully, limped around on crutches for awhile, and her leg healed.  But the strain on her knee took its toll and a few months later she required knee replacement surgery and more rehabilitation.  Now she’s up and about, but the accident caused permanent nerve damage and she’ll never be the same.

Still, when I think of how that phone call two years ago could have gone, I am thankful my mom is still with us.  Who are you thankful for?  Now is the time to tell them.

Friends In High Places

I once heard someone say, “If anyone has to buy a zucchini in the summer, that person must not have any friends.”  Having just bought a zucchini, I said, “Hey!”  So we became friends and I didn’t have to buy another zucchini that summer.  Or the next.

The abundance of zucchinis this summer reminded me of this.  It also reminded me how nice it is to have friends.

A few weeks ago we ended up in Emergency (again) with our little guy.  It seems that whenever he gets a cold, he has complications – the latest ones being breathing difficulties that sent us to the Stollery by ambulance.  It sure is frightening to watch your baby struggling to breathe.  Then there are the other children at home to worry about.

Enter friends.

Friends who watch our children.  Friends who provide dinner when we’re unable to cook.  Friends who pray for us.  Friends who offer to keep our kids overnight if we have to be at the hospital past bedtime.

What would we do without friends?  I’m glad I haven’t had to find out.

In June I saw six high school girls walk past my house.  Five of them were holding some kind of electronic device, heads bent, fingers texting.  I couldn’t help but wonder if they were friends and, if so, why they weren’t talking to each other.  Or were they texting each other?  I don’t know.  But it did make me worry about the ability of future generations to make friends and communicate in relationships.

I tell my children that to have a friend you have to be one.  Sometimes we’re on the giving end, sometimes the receiving end.  But whenever someone lifts another, they are, indeed, a friend in high places.

When To Push

Don’t worry; this article isn’t about childbirth.

It’s about that difficult question:  When do we make someone do something they don’t want to do?  When do we push?  When do we ease up?

Some things are distasteful but necessary – like taking out the garbage or cleaning the toilets.  Some things have to be done.  Some things don’t.

This past week my daughter begged to be home-schooled again.  It was okay with me, but we had to consider what was best for her.  Did she need to work through this?  Did we need to make her stick it out?

I think such decisions require us to ask at least five questions:  1) Is it necessary?  2) Is there an alternative?  3) Is it affecting one’s health?  4) Is it becoming a pattern?  5) What are the possible future consequences and are they acceptable?

Sometimes making a decision is like stepping into the dark.  Sometimes the light doesn’t come on until after we’ve taken that first step.  I found this out 17 years ago.  My fiancé and I were great friends and had the same goals but I was completely miserable when we got engaged.  Breaking it off was hard but right.  I was sad but at peace.

It’s okay to turn around if we find we’re going the wrong way.  In fact, I think it shows wisdom, character, and humility to say, “I was wrong; I need to back up and try something else.”  My mom will be forever grateful her parents pulled her out of boarding school when she was 12.  I’ll be forever grateful I was allowed to quit jazz when I was 15.

Perhaps great leaders choose to motivate, inspire, and invite because really, who likes to be pushed by anyone but ourselves?

The Shopping Cart Dilemma

I approached a woman and offered her a loonie in exchange for her shopping cart.  She took my money, I took her cart.  A few seconds later I noticed the cart didn’t have a loonie in it, so I trailed her.

As she climbed into her truck I said, “This cart doesn’t have a loonie in it.”  I thought she’d say, “I’m sorry, I forgot” and return my money.  Instead, she shrugged, shut the door, and smirked at me through her window.  I stood there for a moment, stunned.  She stole my loonie!  My precious, saved-especially-for-shopping-carts loonie!

I think about this experience often because it makes me leery during other money/cart trades.  I also feel bad that someone compromised her integrity over a loonie.  I mean, if you need a loonie that bad, just ask.  I’ll give you one.

Or will I?

A few weeks ago, someone approached me asking for a cart trade and, to my dismay, I found myself with a handful of dimes.  Now, I know that ten dimes equal a loonie – but that was my precious, saved-especially-for-shopping-carts loonie!

So I had to go to the bank to get another loonie to keep in my cup-holder.

My next grocery trip someone else approached me all bubbly and smiles, holding out four quarters.  I groaned and said, “But then I’ll have to find another loonie.”  Her face fell; I felt like a jerk and handed over my cart.

I wish I didn’t mind doling out loonies.  I wish I didn’t have to fight to acquire and keep my own precious, saved-especially-for-shopping-carts loonie.  I wish other people would get their own loonies.  I wish I could go to the grocery store without facing the shopping cart dilemma:  be sweet or be savvy?

Back to School

Kids are already back in school.  Did this summer go by fast, or what?  I’m not ready to tackle that tedious-yet-highly-creative job of packing nutritious, exciting, and delicious lunches again.

I am glad the back to school shopping is over.  Juggling supply lists, clothing lists, grocery lists, and footwear lists (come on shoe manufacturers – don’t you know we need white soles for indoor shoes?) is quite exhausting.  Add in combination locks, boxes of tissue, haircuts, registering, sharpening pencils, and labeling lunchboxes, and I’m about ready for another vacation.

This year we did some back to school shopping at West Edmonton Mall (after we shopped locally, of course).  If you do your back to school shopping there next year, may I remind you of a few things:  wear your most comfortable shoes, park close to the stores you need, and remember to take the roll of loonies out of your purse first.

With all this talk of “back to school” (including my husband who went back to school last year to work on his CMA designation) I’ve started thinking about it myself.

I didn’t go to university after high school.  I went the technical college route – one intense year of 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. classes.  It wasn’t until years later, when we paid off my husband’s student loan, that I realized how nice it was I didn’t have one.  University is an awfully expensive place to “find” yourself.

But I’ve finally thought of something I might enjoy studying at university:  Human Resource Management.  The question is:  Do I have time to go to school while managing the needs of a family of seven?  If only “Human Resource Management” meant food prep, laundry, and back to school shopping, I’d already have my doctorate.

On Religious Education

During a survey a few years ago, I recommended a comparative religion component be included in the Grade 5 Bible class.  I believed it would be beneficial for children to understand the differences (and similarities) between Christian denominations and other world religions.

At that time I also suggested delegates from the various faiths do the teaching to ensure they were represented fairly.  Perhaps this would have been too difficult to correlate, but I didn’t expect the whole program to be cancelled.  Don’t you hate it when you try to do something good and it backfires?

I believe that education increases understanding.  In a time when the words “tolerance” and “respect” are waved as banners above us, wouldn’t it be easier to tolerate and respect others’ religious beliefs if we actually tried to understand them through education?

Notice I say “tolerate”, “understand”, and “respect” – not necessarily “accept”.  We don’t have to accept or adopt something into our own lives in order to understand it or respect those who believe it.

If the Bible (or religion in general) isn’t taught in school, will it be taught at home?  I think there may be some parents who want to teach their children but don’t know what to say because they haven’t received any religious training themselves.  It can be confusing with so many differing views out there.

Lately, the loudest view seems to be non-believers screaming “No God – No Religion!” in an attempt to save the rest of us from our folly.

Rest assured there are still plenty of believers.  I love it when people tell me of their faith or how a prayer was answered.  Keep it up folks!  We can continue to believe and study the Bible even without a class at school to help us along.

Hear No Evil

I sat waiting for a meeting to start when the woman next to me leaned over and said, “Look at that young man.  He’s wearing hearing aids.”  I glanced at the person she indicated.  “Yes,” I nodded.  “That’s my brother.”

She was visibly embarrassed so I continued, “I have a hearing loss too.  It’s hereditary.  We got it from our dad, who got it from his mom, who got it from her dad – and we don’t know how far back it goes.”  This educated woman seemed very surprised to know that someone with a hearing loss could speak normally.

Why do auditory impairments seem to be considered a worse disability than vision problems?  I mean, I’ve never encountered someone leaning over to say, “Psst!  Look at that person wearing glasses!”

Are glasses more “acceptable” than hearing aids because they’re more common?  Or because they’re hundreds of dollars less expensive?  Or because glasses have evolved into stylish accessories whereas hearing aids are rather limited in the fashion arena?

Two of my children just got new hearing aids.  One needs them more than the other, but the eldest has wisely decided she’d prefer to miss as little as possible when starting at a new school.  They’ve discovered something we would all do well to remember:  The disability is NOT the wearing of glasses or hearing aids.  It’s the being unable to see or hear properly.

I have a high-frequency loss which means I read lips, I can’t hear whispering, and high sounds drive me crazy (like a dog?).  When I tried hearing aids a few years ago, I realized just how loud my kids, hardwood floors, sirens, silverware, and water can be!  So until the things I really want to hear outnumber the things I don’t want to hear, I think I’ll continue the way I am.

Mosquito Madness

I’m melting!  I just hope I can get this article written before I’m reduced to a puddle under my desk.

I’m also scratching.  The only place worse than the ankle for a mosquito bite, I think, is the instep of the foot.  Or the palm of the hand.  Or the eyelid.  Come to think of it, I guess there really isn’t any good place from which to have my blood sucked.

My dad isn’t a cursing man, but mosquitoes have brought him to the brink.  I remember him setting up citronella candles and other burning buckets and coils that were placed strategically around the campsite – defying any and all mosquitoes to attempt entry.  I’m surprised he didn’t have us tie dryer sheets to our belts.

Unfortunately, I’ve inherited my dad’s mosquito-enticing blood and my mom’s aversion to heat.  Sweltering days sap my energy and give me headaches, so I prefer to go outside in the cool mornings and evenings.  But the moment I step outside, those menacing mosquitoes are there waiting for me.

Since I can’t stand the smell of spray-on bug repellant (thank you, asthma), I’m pretty much stuck inside on humid summer evenings.  I guess it’s time to plant citronella around my house and buy a mosquito magnet.  Do those things actually work?  Thankfully, I have an enclosed deck that allows me to feel as though I’m outside while reaping the benefits of screened protection.

There are some things I love about summer:  the lazier days, bright flowers, sun-ripened fruit, refreshing dips in the lake, and not having to carry a shovel in my trunk.

But those mosquitoes have got to go.

Watchful Citizens

Last week a friend of mine posted on Facebook that there had been an abduction a few blocks from her home in Fort McMurray.  Roads were closed, police out in full force.

The next day another friend posted that HE was the one the police were looking for.  He had been on the way to the park with his two children when it started to rain.  His autistic son began to scream and run, so he gave chase with his 4-year-old daughter on his shoulders.  Someone heard the screams and saw the man running with a little girl on his shoulders – and came to the wrong conclusion.

Some think this story is hilarious.  I have mixed feelings about it.  Of course I can see the humourous side and I’m thankful it has a happy ending, but I find it rather alarming that an entire city was disrupted and the police’s time wasted because of a misunderstanding that could have been avoided if the witness had spent a few more seconds to understand what was really going on.

On one hand I want to say “thank you” for watching and helping to keep our children safe.  It’s nice to know people are willing to step in and be good Samaritans and pro-active bystanders.

On the other hand, sometimes I wonder if we are too quick to assume the worst of parents and others – labeling them neglectful or abusive without any real understanding of what’s actually going on.  As in my friend’s case, how many innocent situations are being turned into dramatic, traumatizing ones?

But speaking of traumatic events, I’m sure nothing could be as awful as having a child kidnapped, so let’s continue to be watchful citizens, using our brains and our intuition to keep our neighbourhoods safe.

Preparation Paranoia

Several months ago when the power went out unexpectedly, I realized how much I rely on electricity.  Without it, the food in my fridge goes bad, my house gets cold, I walk into walls in the darkness, and I have no entertainment or information by way of computer and television.

Besides losing electricity, other types of “disruptions” could place us in various states of emergency.  Forest fires heading our way, heavy rains and flooding, tornados, ice storms, droughts, and even terrorist attacks.

Each type of disaster requires slightly different preparation.  A speedy evacuation would require grab-and-go, 72-hour-kits that include identification, toiletries, extra money, and a change of clothes.  Flooding could necessitate having clean, bottled drinking water on hand.  Severe winter storms that knock out power would require alternative heat sources such as wood stoves or generators.

Often when a natural disaster strikes, neighbouring communities reach out to help.  But what if they couldn’t get to us quickly or there was a wide-spread disaster like an EMP?  Would we have adequate supplies – food, water, fuel, medical supplies, toiletries, etc. – on hand so we could hunker down and be okay in our homes?

Lately, “hoarders” have been getting a bad rap on TV, but there is a big difference between carefully planning, storing, and rotating emergency supplies and actual hoarding.  It makes sense to store at least 3 days of food and water in our homes, and preferably even more.

Lord Baden-Powell was on to something when he declared “Be Prepared” as the Boy Scouts of America’s motto.  It’s good advice for all.  Any type of preparation (getting an education, having a savings account, carrying a spare tire, practicing fire drills, attending a prenatal class) reduces stress and worry.  It’s not paranoia to be prepared; it’s preparation that keeps the fear away.

Synchronized Sleeping

Kids are awesome.  So awesome, in fact, that I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when my youngest leaves home in about 18 years.

Well, I do know one thing I plan to do.  Sleep.  The whole night through.  Without interruptions.  Won’t that be blissful?  Unless, of course, I’ve forgotten how to sleep by then.

I do get uninterrupted sleep occasionally – like when the planets are on the same side of the sun or something.  But that doesn’t happen very often.

It’s not my baby’s fault.  He’s a pretty good sleeper when he’s not sick or teething.  It’s my nocturnal preschooler who keeps me up late then climbs into our bed a few hours later, kicking my husband downstairs to sleep in the spare room.

Even when we all manage to synchronize the timing of our shut-eye, the sleeping habits of seven people don’t always mesh.  One of my children sleep-talks.  The other night she sat up in bed and yelled, “Who wants ice-cream?”  At least she’s friendly.  We also have a few snorers, a teeth-grinder, and the bed-roaming preschooler who prefers to sleep perpendicular while offering regular swift kicks to the head and stomach.

If you don’t have young children at home, please be kind to those of us who show up late with bleary eyes and tousled hair.  Just be thankful we’re there – with pants on.

And if you’re a new parent, take heed to the counsel “Sleep when your baby sleeps”.  Unless you luck out like my sister did and get children who sleep for 12 hours straight, it may be the last time in a while that you get to enjoy synchronized sleeping.

Aha Moments

Last week I wrote about Duh Moments, but I much prefer Aha Moments - moments of clarity, inspiration, and understanding.  Aha! I get it.  Aha! I know what to do.  Aha! I am wiser as of this moment.

Some Aha Moments are too personal to share in an article like this (no offence – if you’ve had them you know what I mean).  Some are profound and life-changing.  Others are like insightful splotches of light on the sometimes foggy path of life.

I experienced an unusual Aha Moment in high school when I was having trouble in math.  I studied and worked at it, but the light bulb remained off.  So I went to bed.  While sleeping, I dreamed of the concept I was having difficulty with.  In my dream the math made perfect sense, and when I awoke the clarity remained.  Aha! I could do it.

Most of my Aha Moments follow a pattern:  After serious thought, study, and contemplation, the ‘bing!’ comes suddenly during a quiet moment when my mind is relaxed – often while doing dishes, taking a bath, lying in bed just before or after sleep, or while enjoying the tranquility of nature.

Unfortunately, we live in a very noisy and busy world – conditions that are not conducive to regular Aha Moments.  Music, information, and electronic blips and bleeps come at us from every angle, requiring us to make a concerted effort to turn off these distractions if we want to think properly.

To be tossed on the winds of media and popular opinion is a frightening thing.  We need those grounding, directional Aha Moments.  Regularly.  So let’s turn off the iPhones, find someplace quiet, and take time to ponder the questions of our hearts.  If we listen, the answers will come.  Aha!

Duh Moments

I’ve had a few excellent “duh moments” recently which I thought I’d share with you.

First, when I was prepping my garden this spring, I mentioned on Facebook that I hated pesky crackgrass.  A friend of mine asked what we were smoking at our place since there was quackgrass or crabgrass but no such thing as crackgrass.  Duh.

Then I was at a retirement party and we had to leave early because my uncle was in town for the evening.  As we were making our apologies, I said, “My uncle from – uh, is it Yellowknife that’s in the Northwest Territories?”  For some reason I get Yellowknife and Whitehorse mixed up.  Once I even said Yellowhorse.  Duh.

Just last week I was going through a receiving line at a wedding reception.  To the mother of the groom I said “welcome.”  Fortunately I realized my blunder, laughed about it, and said, “Did I just say ‘welcome’?  I mean ‘congratulations’!”  Duh.

None of these can hold a candle to my super-duper duh moment aka “my most embarrassing moment” which happened in Grade 8.  The class was about to start and the teacher said, “Kathryn, bend down.”  I didn’t know why he would say this, but I obediently ducked my head.  He looked at me strangely and said it again, so I bent down further.  By this time the kids around me were laughing.  I was completely bewildered.  He said it again.  This time I got out of my desk and crouched next to it.  The whole class roared.  Then I figured it out.  He was saying “pen down” not “bend down”.

We all have the occasional duh moment.  If we laugh it off, apologize if necessary, and move on, they just make life more interesting.

Choosing Coverage

Summer’s here!  Out come the lighter clothes.  Unfortunately, light seems to be synonymous with skimpy and cool seems to equal cleavage.  Why is that?  Aren’t we encouraged to cover up to avoid UV exposure?

Okay, who am I kidding?  I don’t care about your exposure to the sun.  That’s your choice.

What I do care about is how we dress in places of business and education.  Places where our husbands, fathers, brothers, sons, and other good men have to be every day.  In those places, it’s not about fashion.  It’s about respect and service, and showing too much skin is simply not respectful.

There, I said it because the men aren’t going to.  They’re afraid you’ll tell them to mind their own business and stopping looking, or call them perverts and complain about harassment.

Most men aren’t creeps or perverts.  They’re just men.  Sometimes they’re like a deer caught in the headlights.  It’s like driving past the guy on the bike with his crack showing…  Do I want to look?  No!  Are my eyes drawn there until I realize what I’m looking at?  Yes.  Blech!

Consider this:  1) If you dress provocatively, you don’t get to choose who notices.  It might be the Hot Hunk, but it might be the Corner Creep.  Or it might be the Good Guy you work with who now feels uncomfortable around you.  2) If you’re showing skin to get attention, wouldn’t you rather know it was your pretty eyes, your witty intellect, your dazzling smile, or your caring heart that first attracted your special someone?  Not your skin.  Everyone has skin.

Let’s make life a little easier on the decent men in our midst – especially in places of business.  Let’s give ourselves – and others – the respect we deserve by choosing coverage.

Crash Course in Homeschooling

The 2011-2012 school year officially ends this week.  But it ended a month ago for my homeschooled daughter.  Working at your own pace is one of the benefits of homeschool.

Throughout the year, whenever I mentioned homeschooling, the reactions and comments were varied:  “Why? Children need to socialize!”  “Good for you. I wish I had the patience for that.”  “I homeschooled once; best thing I ever did for my son.”

It took me a while to figure it out, but there are different kinds of homeschooling.  First, there’s “home-educating”, which is basically a philosophy that children will learn at their own pace when presented with learning opportunities.  This type of educating works best when parents are dedicated and plan to teach their children at home indefinitely.  This wasn’t for me.

Instead, we chose a blended program of homeschooling which means my daughter was doing the same curriculum as those attending school, simply doing it at home.  “Blended” means I was her teacher for some of the courses (music, foods, textiles, art, and religion) and she had other teachers for her core subjects.  She could email, fax, call, or instant message those teachers if she needed help that I couldn’t provide, and they were in charge of marking her tests and assignments.  E-lives even presented regular virtual classroom experiences with other children.

Homeschooling isn’t for everyone but it can be a great alternative for various reasons.  I was relieved when my daughter approached me about homeschooling this year.  I was suffering from post-partum anxiety so it was a relief to have her home with me.  I helped her; she helped me.  That’s what family is for.  Now that she’s had a break from pre-teen social fickleness, she’s ready to go back.

Thank you homeschool.

Matrimony and Money

Ah, June, the traditional month for weddings.  I was a June bride myself fourteen years ago.  It was a perfect day - the only hitch being the photo session running a little longer than planned.

When I added up the receipts later, I found that the entire weekend – including my dress for $1000, the 5-day rental for a mini-van, the photographer, the flowers, the rings, and the reception buffet – cost about $4000.  Not bad, I would say.  And it was all planned and executed in four months.  Even better.  And we’re still happily married.  Best of all.

I think it’s safe to say that happy marriages aren’t founded on expensive weddings.  In fact, who would want to start a marriage deep in debt because of a lavish, one-day party?

There are lots of ways to curb wedding expenses.  I made my own veil for $16, as well as the dresses for my two flower girls.  We chose arm bouquets which were far less expensive than the dense round ones that used to be popular.  We asked our groomsmen (my husband’s three brothers) to provide their own black suits.  We had a friend do the music.  We chose free venues for the wedding and the reception.  My mom organized the buffet.

I’m glad we chose to have a simple, affordable wedding.  I won’t pretend it was the most elegant wedding ever, but it was right for us.  We wanted to focus more on the devotion than the decorations, the promises rather than the presents, the commitments instead of the cake.

Maybe in a few years, when we’ve proven that we deserve it, we’ll have a more elaborate party – one that we can invite our children and grandchildren to.  Now that sounds like fun!  Let’s see…what colours should I choose?

Fathers Needed

When my son was born a year ago, my mom couldn’t come to help like she usually does (she had recently undergone knee replacement surgery).  Instead, my dad came to lend a hand.  He played games with the older children, did dishes faithfully, and vacuumed.

Late one morning I caught him on the back porch cleaning the vacuum filter with a toothpick and tweezers.  This simple act of service – doing this thing he knew I would never have time to do in the next several months – brought tears to my eyes.  That’s my dad.  Forever helpful, forever compassionate.

Is it any wonder I feel extra safe and extra loved when my dad comes to visit?  No one can ever take the place of a good dad.

Fathers are different than mothers.  That’s the way it’s supposed to be.  Among other things, they are great at wrestling, giving horsey rides, and teaching kids on a physical level.  Moms are usually better at nurturing and teaching on an emotional level.  The actions and teaching styles displayed by both parents are important in the healthy development of children.

Why do we belittle the role of fathers and downplay their importance?  Why do we let Hollywood tell us that we don’t need dads in the home?

All I need to do is look at the expression on my daughter’s face when her daddy tells her she looks pretty in her new dress, or performed well in a recital, or needs to do better at cleaning her room.  All I need to do is have my husband be away for an entire day to know how much we need him.

Fathers, we love you.  Please spend time with us.  Please be good to us.  The truth is: we need you desperately.

My Kind of Therapy

Around this time every year, I begin therapy.  My start time depends on the weather, but it’s usually sometime in May.  I pull on some gloves, take a breath of fresh air, and stab the ground with a fork.  The healing begins.

There’s something therapeutic about gardening.

It’s hard work cultivating, pulling out those pesky weeds, getting the soil ready for planting.  My muscles ache the next day or two so I give myself a break before I get down on my knees to start the planting.  In go the carrots, lettuce, zucchini, spinach, peas, Swiss chard, tomatoes, and chives.  And flowers, we can’t forget the flowers!

I anxiously watch the sky for sun and rain, and scour the ground for the first tiny green shoots to poke through the soil.  When I see them, I rejoice!

What is it about planting and caring for a garden that’s so soothing, so therapeutic?  I don’t like the dirt under my nails.  The weeds are annoying.  Sometimes the crops are disappointing.  Occasionally the deer and bunnies get to the plants before I do.

Yet there’s something about a garden, something about working to help the earth produce, something about growing nutritious food, something about nurturing, something about being outside, enjoying nature…feeling, smelling, tasting…seeing the worms wiggle through the dirt.

Both my grandmas had very green thumbs.  The one in New Zealand even won an award for her gardening skills and the grounds she cared for.  Maybe someday, if I continue with my therapy, my thumbs will turn green too.

Until then, there’s nothing quite like biting into a crisp, garden-fresh carrot.  Mmmm.  Let the therapy begin.

There's No Place Like Home

We added a few days to the long weekend and headed south for a vacation.  We attended a Valedictorian niece’s graduation, visited my husband’s grandma in a nursing home, celebrated our son’s first birthday, played games with my sisters, and watched fourteen cousins of varying ages interact.  It was wonderful!

But when we passed Edmonton on our way home, I got very excited.  The anticipation of getting home was greater than the anticipation of going away.  I couldn’t wait for my own bed, my own bath, my own kitchen, my own closet, my own computer…

Vacations are fun, but there’s no place like home.

The place we call home can change many times during our lives.  When I left home at the age of 19 and moved to Calgary, I still considered my parents’ home in BC to be my true home.  “I’m going home for Christmas” I would say.  I’m not sure when I stopped thinking of my parents’ home as my home; I think somewhere around the time I got married and started my own family.

I sometimes miss the acreage where I grew up, but that’s what memories and photographs are for. 

As I’ve moved from city to city, I’ve learned that home isn’t so much the location or the structure, but what’s inside.  We fill our homes with the people and things that we love, that make us comfortable, that make us happy.  It doesn’t matter if it’s an apartment, a mobile, a mansion, or a tent.

I’m thankful my parents (who are both 70 this year) realize this.  They took their most precious possessions and favourite furniture and moved into a seniors’ lodge.  They’re downsizing, reducing their luggage, understanding the vacation will end someday and they might as well be prepared for that inevitable, joyous move Home.

Garbage, Garbage Everywhere

When the snow melts, spirits rise.  We can’t wait to see the grass turn green and the wildflowers bloom in the ditches.  But before we can see those beautiful sights, we have to endure an ugly one:  garbage everywhere.

How does it get there? I wonder.  Are there giant crows (like in Fort McMurray) who know how to lift the lids of metal trash-bins?  I haven’t seen any here.  Maybe the wind blows it in from neighbouring communities.  Maybe a garbage truck threw up.

It can’t possibly be the obvious, can it?  Are people really throwing coffee cups, fast food containers, and diapers out their windows as they drive along?  I refuse to believe it.  I can understand the occasional apple core tossed out, but paper garbage?

Oh, I get it.  The litterers are being kind.  They want to give town workers, inmate work parties, and youth groups something to do every spring.

I also wonder about the overflowing trash bins I see on garbage day.  Bins so full the lids won’t close.  Our family of seven makes less than two bags of garbage and one bag of recycling most weeks.  What’s going on at these other houses?  How do they make so much garbage?  Did I miss a memo or something?

Now and then I open my van door and a receipt blows away or a water bottle rolls out.  But I quickly grab it or have one of my children go after it.  “We don’t litter,” I say.  “We want to keep our world clean.”

You’d think, with all the talk about saving the environment and desiring to reduce our ecological footprints, we could start with something as simple as composting, recycling, and keeping our own garbage out of the gutter.

Elections - An Exercise In Trust

I’m taking a break from my bullying articles this week to write about the upcoming election.

Normally, politics is not something I write about, since plenty of other people do.  All I will say about our local candidates is that I was impressed when _____ came to my door.  She seems to be approachable and down-to-earth and I believe that, if re-elected, she will “take honesty and common sense to the table”.  The others I have yet to look into.

Elections are a matter of trust.  Who do you trust enough to represent your voice?

Too many of us rely on opinions in the media or what our friends have to say instead of doing the work of study and research ourselves.  We need to ask questions of our candidates, scour their websites, read factual articles, and know their platforms.

If you wanted to know Canada Post rates, would you talk to the UPS guy?  If you wanted to learn about Catholicism, would you go online to read what an ex-priest had to say or perhaps watch The Exorcist?  Of course not.

But when our votes are swayed by attack campaign ads, someone else’s opinion, a catchy, meaningless slogan, or the sign on your neighbour’s lawn, that is, in effect, what we’re doing.

Discussing opinions and debating issues is fine, but not if that’s the extent of our research.  The smart thing to do is go to the source to find out what they have to say about themselves and their party.  If we mull that information over, make a decision, see how it feels in our gut, and then go to the polls, we can trust ourselves to make the right decision.

The Perfect Mother

Did you have a good Mothers Day?  I hope so.

Some of my Mothers Days have been better than others.  One year I found myself in tears because it felt like a day to celebrate The Perfect Mother ideal rather than The Imperfect Mother reality.  Instead of feeling appreciated for what I was, I saw my many flaws.

Then I got smart.  I took a closer look at the mothers around me.  I have a mother, a mother-in-law, three sisters and four sisters-in-law who are mothers, and many friends and acquaintances who are mothers.  That’s a lot of mothers to observe, including myself.

Guess what I found we had in common?

Nothing.

Except that we’re all mothers.

There’s the mother who plans her life around her children and rarely does anything without them, and the mother who lives her life and squeezes her children in there somewhere.  There’s the mother who sprays everything with disinfectant, and the mother who thinks a little dirt never hurt anyone.  There’s the mother who sees nothing wrong with an occasional swat on the bottom, and the mother who gives only time-outs.  There’s the mother who dresses her kids in designer clothes and tells them to “stay clean”, and the mother who dresses them in stained pants and says “get dirty”.  There’s the mother who watches her child’s diet carefully, and the mother who feels that childhood is a time for sweets and treats.

Yup, we’re all different.  When it comes to mothering, there’s no one right way to do things.  Sure, there’s always room for improvement, but remember this:  not everyone decorates cakes, sews clothes, throws parties, and braids hair like they do on Pinterest.  So give yourself – and other mothers – a break.

 

The Perfect Mother is the one who loves her children and does her best to care for them, realizing that some days are better than others.

Anniversary Tickets

This spring marks my 20-year anniversary as a licensed driver.

Ten years after I got my license, I got my first ticket.  It was a speeding ticket for doing a whopping 50 km/hr.  To my disgrace, however, it was in a 30 km/hr school zone.  Before you think I’m a completely horrible person, let me tell you why I didn’t slow down that day:

My husband’s shift had recently changed from Monday - Friday to Tuesday - Saturday.  I was used to shopping on Saturdays and not worrying about school zones.  Suddenly my shopping day was Monday but I was still thinking “Saturday”.  It was my first time out alone since giving birth to our second child, and I was heading to a mall to do some Christmas shopping.  I was very excited and took a route I didn’t normally take.  It was morning and the sun was shining in my eyes; hence, I didn’t even see the sign.

After I got my ticket, I cried all the way home and for most of the day.  I had just blown our Christmas budget on a speeding ticket and, of course, I felt bad about speeding in a school zone.  Thankfully, the judge said I didn’t look like a speeder and he reduced my ticket so it wouldn’t affect our insurance.

Ten years later, which was a few weeks ago, I got my second ticket.  Wouldn’t you know it, this time it was a parking ticket while I attended a candidate forum prior to the recent election.  Just doing my duty to be an informed voter and – BAM!  Beware: Active and thorough Peace Officer in town.

For my 30-year driving anniversary I’d prefer another kind of ticket – tickets for a Broadway musical.  But just in case, I’d better cut down on my jay-walking.

Community Challenge

This will be my last article on bullying.  Thank you to those who have encouraged me and shared their own experiences and insights into this far-reaching topic.

These have been difficult articles to write for a number of reasons: 1) Everyone seems to have an emotional investment in the subject so I felt the need to write sensitively, 2) It’s an expansive topic that has so many angles, many of which I’ve barely scratched the surface, and 3) Since I’m not a perfect parent and love is often the last thing I feel when I see a bully at work, I’ve sometimes felt hypocritical while writing.

But I have learned a lot, and awareness and education was my goal.  As a result of this focus, at family mealtime we now ask each other: “What did you do today to be nice to someone?”

I’m happy to know that local high school students have been working on anti-bullying presentations to be offered to younger students.  Awareness and education are key.  I believe the girls who bullied my daughter were nice girls who didn’t realize they were actually being bullies when they gossiped and excluded.

One of my readers sent a link to a program I think sounds fantastic: http://www.rachelschallenge.org/.  The goal of this program is “…to inspire…and empower every person to create a permanent positive culture change in their school, business and community by starting a chain reaction of kindness and compassion.” (from the Rachel’s Challenge mission statement)

Instead of focusing on the negative (bullying), the idea is to focus on the positive (kindness).  If one person has the courage to reach out in kindness and compassion to someone each day, imagine the difference that person could make.  I can do that!  So can you.

And if you and I can make a difference, just think what a whole community could do.  The question is, are we up to the challenge?

Bye-Bye Bullies

I’ve written about bullies and victims and parents and teachers, but I haven’t written about another very powerful group of people.  People who could, if they wanted to, reduce bullying substantially.

These people are the bystanders.  Bystanders are usually the peers of either the bully or the target.

What would you do if you witnessed an assault in progress?  Would you be scared for your own safety and run away?  Would you physically intervene, yell “Stop that!” or hide while you called 911?  Would you stand and watch, maybe catch it on your iPhone to broadcast later on YouTube?

Statistics reveal that bystanders are present in 85% of bullying instances and reinforce the bully in 81% of these instances.  This means they help the victim only 4% of the time; yet, when bystanders do step in, bullying stops within 10 seconds. (stats from an anti-bullying presentation sent to me by a grade 9 teacher)

The reasons most bystanders don’t do anything are: The bully is someone others look up to and want to associate with.  They want to side with the bully because then they feel strong.  They’re entertained by the bullying.  They don't think speaking up will help.  They're afraid that if they say something the bully will turn on them.

Saying something as simple as “knock it off” can take away the bully’s power and end the bullying session.  If there is a fear of danger, walk away and call for help.  Even asking for help anonymously will help put a stop to future bullying.

Pink Shirt Day (that sparked this series of articles) stemmed from the actions of two brave bystanders at a school in Nova Scotia.  When a new student was bullied for wearing a pink shirt on his first day, these students bought 50 pink shirts and asked their classmates to wear them.  The message they sent was clear:  No bullying here.  Bye-bye bullies.

Tough Love

Imagine that your child is being bullied.  Your Mama or Papa Bear instincts flare to life and you want to teach that bully a lesson.  You instruct your child how to fight back or you step in angry, yelling…

This is a natural reaction.  But does it really fix anything?  It might save your child from that bully, but does it help the bully’s next victim or the bully himself (or herself)?

In my last few articles, I have used the term “bully” to describe those who inflict some kind of pain upon others.  We think of bullies as powerful and predatory when, in fact, they are weak in some way – insecure, intolerant, arrogant, entitled, abused, or afraid.

Today, let’s put the label of “bully” aside and think of them as the people they are, hurting and searching for a way to feel better.

Referring back to the above example, what would happen if we pushed our initial “fight back” instincts aside?  What if, instead, we explained to the bully firmly and kindly that what he’s doing isn’t right and won’t be tolerated, but that we like him anyway.  What if we encouraged compassion, understanding, and even friendship?  What if we rejected the negative behaviour while acknowledging the worth of the individual?

Two very different men named John, many years apart, wrote:  “All you need is love” and “Love one another”.  Perhaps they were on to something – something profound, something even life-altering.

Children are so impressionable.  Before they become hardened teenagers or adults who need to be fired, fined, or incarcerated, we can help them by doing what is right, even though it’s tough.  We’re not slaves to our instincts; we have the ability to choose, to learn, and to change.  And so do the “bullies”.