Social Media Scrooge

Citizens of Earth have lived through many ages – the Stone Age to the Middle Ages to the recent Space Age.  Currently, we’re in the Computer Age, also known as the Information Age.

Maybe it should be called the Social Media Age.  Facebook.  Twitter.  YouTube.  Pinterest.  LinkedIn.  So many social networking sites that connect us with people and information!

I often go on Facebook to learn all kinds of news about my friends and family.  At this time of year, I’ve noticed many status updates about Christmas preparations.

I’ve also noticed harsh criticism for those who like to decorate early.  In mid-November, I was shocked by the mean-spirited comments several people made after a friend posted a picture of her newly-decorated Christmas tree.

Seriously?  Of all the things to grouse about, people are choosing to get upset about decorating a Christmas tree?  Annoyed by someone wanting to enjoy the holiday season by starting early to avoid the rush and panic?

Let me explain something about Christmas:  It takes a lot of preparation and work.  You know that saying, “the magic of Christmas”?  Well, it doesn’t refer to waving a wand and having everything come together on its own.  The tree doesn’t decorate itself.  The presents don’t wrap themselves.  The turkey doesn’t remember to defrost itself and jump into the roasting pan.

Who takes care of those things?  The same person who set up her tree early and paced herself so she could keep the spirit of peace, good will, and cheer throughout the holiday season.

Don’t knock it, Scrooge.

Pro-Compromise

It’s an ongoing debate, but both Pro-Life and Pro-Choice groups have ideas I agree with.

I believe that life is precious and we should do all we can to respect and preserve it.  I also believe that freedom of choice is not only a right but a great blessing.

I also believe both groups could work on improving a few things.

The Pro-Lifers could tone down their graphic ads and shock tactics and focus more on offering help and counseling to expectant mothers who may be considering terminating a pregnancy because they don’t see any other options.

The Pro-Choicers could encourage women to make smart choices – like choosing to not use substances that impair judgment, choosing to use adequate birth control, or choosing to reserve intimacy for loving and committed relationships where a baby would be a blessing, not a burden.

I am against abortion, except in the rare instances when a mother’s life or sanity is at risk and competent medical advice urges termination.  After serious contemplation, a woman has the right to choose to save her life.

Does that make me Pro-Life or Pro-Choice?  Or something else.  Pro-Compromise?

During this time of Remembrance, I hope we will acknowledge that terminating life can have long-lasting physical and emotional consequences.  If abortion is here to stay, we need better regulation and education, more positive alternatives, honesty and accountability, and increased counseling.

We live in a great country, so let’s find a great solution – even if that solution means compromise.

Scary Jeans

In honour of Halloween, I will write about something else I find disturbing.  Skinny jeans.

The first time I saw them I sighed.  I knew that this fashion – the painted-on look – was one I would not touch.  Some people don’t care how they look in certain styles – they just wear whatever they want – but I’m not one of those people.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not a twig so I have no intention of squeezing myself into such pants and inflicting pain on myself and those who see me in them.  That’s okay.  I’m at a place in my life where I can wear my boot-cut or straight-leg jeans and say pooh-pooh to particular fashions.

My daughters, however, do care about the latest styles.  When I take them shopping and we have trouble finding trendy jeans that will fit them, what do they think?  That they’re fat.

This upsets me.  My husband is 6’4” and I’m 5’8”.  Petite doesn’t run in our family, but even when I was totally skinny at 125 pounds, I still had to buy XL pants and queen-size pantyhose.

I don’t get it.

We spend time convincing women and girls that they are beautiful “just the way they are”.  We expend energy promoting self-esteem and healthy body image.  We explain that models in magazines are airbrushed and altered.

Then we allow skinny jeans and short-shorts to take over.  I thought we had smartened up and left the era of super skinny being the norm, but I guess we’re back.

It’s scarier than Halloween.

Live Without Regret

The one zucchini plant I managed to grow in my garden this year took awhile to get going.  It started producing in August and was still going strong in September when a friend called to warn me of a heavy frost forecast.

I looked at the tiny zucchinis growing on that plant and couldn’t bring myself to pick them yet.  Instead, I got two fleece throws from the car and covered as much of the plant as I could.  It worked!  I saved my little zucchinis and they continued to grow until ready to be harvested.

Meanwhile, more flowers bloomed and attempted to turn into zucchinis, so I continued the ritual of covering my zucchini plant at night and uncovering it during the day to allow it as much warmth and sunlight as possible.

After a few weeks, I noticed the zucchinis didn’t seem to be growing anymore.  Although my neighbour laughed at me, I went on covering the plant for a few more nights.  I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing something I could have saved.

My actions reminded me of the quote hanging on my kitchen wall.  It says: Live Without Regret.

When faced with difficult decisions, I have often considered the question, “In the future, will I regret not doing this?”  Will I regret not having another baby?  Will I regret not staying home with my children?  Will I regret not covering my zucchini plant?

I can’t always avoid regret, but I enjoy the peace of mind that comes from trying.

Stranger Danger

This morning, on the way home from dropping my kids off at school, I noticed a boy sitting on the sidewalk beside his bike.  By the way he was holding his leg and looking at his hands, it was obvious he had fallen.  He looked to be about 10, and knowing kids don’t accept help from strangers these days, I drove on.

As I neared my driveway, I looked back to see if he was on his way yet.  He wasn’t, so I pulled a U-turn.  I lowered the passenger window and asked if he was okay.  He said “yeah” though his face said otherwise.  When I asked if he needed help or a band-aid he ignored me and pushed his bike away.

I hope he’s okay and, of course, I don’t take offense to his rejection, but when you’re a well-meaning adult wanting to help a child in need, it’s hard to know that – to them – you’re the big bad STRANGER.

Last spring my daughter was also on her way to school when her shoelace wrapped around her pedal and she crashed her bike.  A man stopped to help, but that scared her even more so she told him she was fine.  Amidst tears, she got herself unwound just as her older sibling came back to check on her.

It’s rather sad that we are taught not to trust.  There’s got to be some way to recognize real stranger danger; some way to keep our kids and ourselves safe without being suspicious of everyone.  Is education or intuition the answer?

Community Involvement

Laundry was a big deal when I was growing up.  The wringer washer required the clothes to be agitated with soap, squeezed through rollers, rinsed in fresh water, then squeezed again.  My mom usually spent two mornings each week doing this, after which she’d lug the heavy baskets of wet clothes out to the clothesline to dry.

Automatic washers and dryers sure save a lot of time!  So do dishwashers, microwaves, blenders, bread makers, computers, and all kinds of other devices that most of us now own.

Many products are even advertised “…so you can spend time on the important things...”  I’d like to know what important things we’re spending our extra time on.  Facebook?

I hope family is number one, but I’d also like to see more volunteering in the community.  Many of us already do, but with all the time we’re saving these days with our helpful doodads, we should be seeing an increase in volunteers, not a decline.

Schools are a great place to start.  We need parents and grandparents to go on field trips, extra help with pizza and sports days, reading mentors, and people to weed our outdoor garden beds, to name a few.  Last year our pancake breakfast and hot dog days were cancelled due to a lack of volunteers.

Healthy schools are at the heart of healthy communities.  With all the time we’re saving now with our fancy gadgets, why not spend that extra time getting involved in something worthwhile?

An End and A Beginning

This is it:  The last week before school starts again.

About this time every year I look back on the summer and wonder where the time went.  Did we do everything we wanted to do?  Did we accomplish our summertime goals?

For me, the first goal of summer is to relax.  Sleeping in.  Hanging out.  Playing together.  Reading alone.  Preparing easy meals.  Not packing school lunches – yay!

Then I think about the things we need to do that are easier to accomplish during the summer, like swim lessons, painting with the windows open, and having garage sales.

The away vacations and leisure activities are bonuses – things to create family memories or write about the first day of school when the teacher assigns the inevitable “What Did You Do This Summer?” essay.

The last few weeks of August take on a life of their own as we prepare to go back to school.  This year I’m determined not to fall into the back to school shopping trap, though sometimes the school supply lists baffle me.  Since when are white-out and reinforcements necessary items?  At least I’m happy to see only twelve pencils listed instead of the sixty they asked for one year in Fort McMurray.  Sixty pencils?  That worked out to more than one a week!

In any case, as the end of summer arrives, another season quickly takes its place.  Funny how that works.

Now what do I want to accomplish this fall?

Lazy, Hazy, and Crazy

The lyrics of the popular 1963 song by Nat King Cole say that it’s time to “roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer”.

“Lazy” alright.  You’d think that being able to get outdoors would automatically mean more exercise but, unfortunately, lying on the beach, lounging on the back porch, and chilling in the basement don’t seem to burn many calories.

According to the song, we should be breaking out the “soda and pretzels and beer”.  For my family it would be more like burgers and ice-cream treats and tall glasses of lemonade, but they still don’t seem to keep the bathroom scales in balance.

I have more luck keeping off the pounds during the winter when I don’t need to think twice about turning on the oven to cook up a healthy, organic roast beef dinner, and when ice-cream is used as a garnish on homemade apple crisp or peach cobbler.

The good news is: my last year’s swimsuit is too big for me this summer.  The bad news is: I get to go shopping again for a cute and modest swimsuit – one that isn’t cut down to my navel or up to my waist and doesn’t float over my head when I jump into the water.  Ah, swimsuit shopping.  It definitely makes for a “crazy” day.

I’m not sure about the “hazy” part, but if I don’t eat those fresh garden veggies and ripe summer fruit, I may need to be “rolled out” by the end of the summer.

Vacation Recuperation

My husband hasn’t earned much vacation time yet, but he was allowed to take a Friday and Monday off so we could have an extended weekend away with the kids.

As usual, our vacation consisted of travelling south to see family and friends.  With careful planning, we managed to squeeze in lots of fun and worthwhile things.

We visited my parents (first time since my dad’s heart attack), spent time with my husband’s grandma (she’ll be 91 soon), and stayed and played with two of my sisters and their families. 

We spent a day at Calaway Park, had a picnic at a spray park, visited my Naturopath, played games,

enjoyed a barbecue with friends, walked around a picturesque lake, and attended an uplifting church service where my sister and niece spoke about the lessons they learned during their recent hair-raising canoe trip down the treacherous Milk River.

 

Amidst the fun, there were some unexpected surprises:  a drenching downpour at Calaway Park, a debilitating, day-long migraine for my daughter, and waking up in Calgary the second morning of our trip to find the left back window of our van smashed out. 

 

Now we’re home, it’s time to deal with four days’ worth of laundry, a dirty and broken van, and some coughs and colds.

My grandma used to say (about her grandkids):  “I love to see them come, but I love to see them go!”  I feel the same about vacations.  I love to get away, but I love to come home!

Let the recuperating begin.
 

Hot Summer Nights

We finally got the hot summer days we’ve been waiting for.  I remind myself of this as I lie in bed at night with my sheet kicked off and the fan on full blast.

But the discomfort of hot summer nights is worth it because of all the things we can do on hot summer days that we can’t do on cold winter days.  Right?

I remember the care-free summer days of childhood.  After the morning work of weeding the garden (I was responsible for a 20-foot row of beans when I was five), there was plenty of time for playing in “Pine Needle Palace” where mud pies were served on rhubarb leaves and “Cops and Robbers” in the woods with walkie-talkies.  In the evenings there were trips to the lake or the creek to wash away the dust and sweat of the day.

I try to help my children have happy summer days like I did.  The younger ones I can hardly keep inside the house, but the suggestion to “go outside and play” is usually met with moans and groans from the older ones.

What happened?  When did “go outside and play” become a punishment instead of a treat?  Is it age?  Or apathy?

If all we want to do is watch Netflix and play on our iPads, we might as well have winter all year long.  So I’ll send my kids out and you send yours out and maybe they’ll find each other and learn what summer’s all about.

People Are Priceless

There were several things I considered writing about this week.  End of the school year, etc.  But it’s hard to focus on normal activities when so much is going on south of us.

Television and social media has been bombarded with pictures and news stories of the flooding and destruction in southern Alberta.  While some of the stories have been negative (looting, price gouging, etc.), the majority have been positive:  people helping people, donations pouring in, emergency responders working round the clock to ensure public safety.

When disaster strikes, I think it’s interesting to note our first reactions:  Where’s my family?  Is my family safe?  What about my friends?  Who can I help?

We’re willing to leave everything, grab our loved ones, and get out.  We’re willing to open our homes to family, friends, and even strangers.  We’re willing to donate food, clothing, blankets, toiletries, toys, money, and time to help those in need.

Why?  Because deep down, we know our families and friends – and all people – are the most important things in this world.

Money and possessions are nice and even necessary, but when we lose belongings it’s the photographs, family mementos, and heirlooms – the reminders of times with those we love – that we feel most sick about.

Homes and vehicles and electronic gadgets can be swept away in a moment.  But relationships last forever.  That’s why we feel the urge to help, give, serve, praise, work, lift, and pull together in times of need.  Because we know people are priceless.

I wish we acted that way all the time.

Ringing Bells

One evening a few months ago, I went to the library.  When it was time to check out, no one was at the front desk.  Instead, there was a bell and a sign that said “Ring Bell For Service”.

I stood there and looked at that little bell.  Then I looked around to see if anyone noticed me.  If they did, they didn’t let on.

So I took a deep breath and rang the bell.  Someone immediately appeared and happily served me.

For some reason, I’ve never liked ringing bells like that.  I’d rather catch someone’s eye and smile to let them know I’m ready, or touch them on the arm and say, “Can you help me, please?”

As I left the library, I thought about why I react the way I do to ringing bells for service.  I was reminded of a book I read years ago called The Color Code by Taylor Hartman.

The premise of the book is that all people have a dominant “colour” or personality type.  In a nutshell, “Reds” need power and respect, “Blues” need relationships and appreciation, “Whites” need peace and kindness, and “Yellows” need fun and attention.

I’m a blue-red.  My husband is a blue-white.  The book helped me understand myself, family, friends, and co-workers better.  I found it interesting to see how other colour combinations interact.

It turns out I didn’t want to ring the bell because it might interrupt or annoy someone – in other words, hurt a relationship.  I was being a true Blue.

What’s your colour?

Laughable Lunches

About this time of year I get tired of making school lunches.  I don’t always make my kids’ lunches myself, but I’m still responsible to have food on hand for them to put together.

Finding lunch options that are healthy, quick, and affordable is an ongoing challenge.  Unfortunately, the food industry doesn’t make it easier for me.

Some choices are obviously bad, like pop, chips, and hotdogs.  But sometimes we think we’re making healthy choices when we’re not.  For example, a regular sandwich is probably made with genetically modified wheat bread, peanut butter (hydrogenated oil and icing sugar), and jam (lots of sugar).  If we choose lunch meat instead there’s usually nitrates and other words I can’t pronounce in those.

“Fruit” snacks have corn syrup and artificial flavours, “juice” boxes are often not juice but “cocktail” or “punch” with added sugar, granola bars are stuck together with oil and corn syrup, yogurt (the tasty, fruity variety) is full of sweeteners, and cheese strings are laden with fat and sodium.

There are healthier options out there, but you really have to search, read labels, or make it yourself.  It’s depressing.  Especially when we learn that “natural flavours” could mean MSG, ground bugs, or other nasty things.

These days, the term “healthy lunch” is laughable.  Only I’m not laughing.  I’m remembering my own school days:  “What’s that smell?  Oh, it’s just Kathryn’s lunch again – sardines on homemade whole wheat.”

I was hoping to spare my kids that, but I’m running out of options.

Bless Your Heart

Two weeks ago I got another one of those phone calls.  My dad had suffered a heart attack and was taken by ambulance to Foothills Hospital.

It turned out to be severe; one of his arteries was 100 percent blocked.  He underwent angioplasty and recovered for a week in hospital.  Now he’s home, adjusting to his new lifestyle and medications.

Considering the circumstances surrounding the attack (ie. that he was visiting my sister in Calgary just minutes from one of the best medical facilities in Alberta instead of driving through the mountains of BC, alone, as he was just two days before) I believe our family experienced a miracle.  Even the doctors said the only reason he’s still with us is because God didn’t want him yet.

Surprisingly, my dad had just undergone a thorough physical.  His cholesterol and blood pressure were good.  He doesn’t smoke.  He was a 70-year-old who acted like a 40-year-old.  How could he not have any warning he had Coronary Artery Disease?

Well, it turns out he did have some warnings.  But since he’d been given a clean bill of health, he chalked it up to indigestion or fatigue.  And since his brother died at age 70 from a stroke, he had studied up on the symptoms for stroke, not heart attack.

I heartily believe in miracles, but I also believe in being educated.  If you have any of the following symptoms:  chest pain or discomfort (pressure, squeezing, fullness), pain or discomfort in the arms, neck, jaw, back, or stomach, shortness of breath, cold sweats, nausea, or lightheadedness – call 911 immediately.

Life Stinks

Last week we bought a new sectional.  We were thrilled to find what we were looking for in our price range in town.  Thrilled…until we unpacked it and the off-gassing began.

This wouldn’t be such a problem if we could have our windows open 24/7, but we all know what kind of spring we’ve been having this year.  So I cracked the windows as much as I dared to offer some fresh air to counter the smell of chemicals.

When I asked the clerk how long it took their merchandise to stop off-gassing, he looked bewildered and suggested I spray it with a “freshening” product.  Sure, just what I need – to add more chemicals to the mix.

I once thought my acute sense of smell was a blessing to help offset my hearing loss.  Now, I’m not so sure.  I can’t stand the smell of so many things!

Like smoke.  No more campfires for me.  And here I was waiting for my baby to get a little older so we could really start camping.  It’s disappointing.

On the other hand, I’m surprised at how many people can’t smell things I can smell strongly.  We live in a world where tons of products which are not healthy to breathe are used regularly:  cleaning chemicals, fuel, pesticides, cigarettes, air fresheners, candles…

Even if you can’t smell it, you might want to think twice before you light up or spray.  Harmful chemicals and carcinogenic pollutants – many, ironically, in the name of beauty, cleanliness, or “health” – permeate our air unchecked.  And it stinks.

Too Busy For Excuses

The words “too busy” are a pet peeve of mine.  I try not to say them (although they may slip out occasionally) and I cringe when others use them.

I don’t mind the word “busy” on its own, or even “very busy”, “crazy busy” or a multitude of other words to describe “busy”.  But adding the word “too” makes all the difference.

“Too” is absolute.  No room to squeeze anything else in there – which wouldn’t be a problem if that’s what we really meant.  But “too busy” became annoying when it became an excuse – when we should be saying:  “I don’t want to”, “It’s not something I care about”, “I’d rather watch TV”, or “I didn’t have time because I procrastinated.”

We all have the same number of hours, days, and weeks.  It’s up to us how we use that time.  There are some people who are extremely busy on a regular basis and we all have days when we’re maxed out.  I get that.  I think everyone gets that.  So why not be honest about it?

Some look at “too busy” as the polite way of saying “no”.  However, for someone like me who thrives on heart-to-heart communication and meaningful relationships, “too busy” means “I don’t trust you enough to tell you what I really think or feel.”

Instead of saying, “I’m too busy” I’d like to hear: “I can’t sanely fit anything else in this week.”  Or “That’s not on my priority list right now.”  It would be refreshing to hear truth, not excuse.

A Mother's Day

After almost fifteen years of marriage and five children, my husband knows better than to ask what I’ve done all day.  Some days I proudly announce what I’ve accomplished.  After all, I’m a make-a-list and get-things-done kind of person.  I like checkmarks.

But sometimes I sit down to rest in the evening and wonder what I’ve done.  I mean, I’ve been MOVING a lot, I just don’t see much progress.

The fact that I have a 23-month-old son and a 4-year-old daughter is probably explanation enough.  If it’s not, let me tell you about a day I had a few months ago:

The preschooler let the toddler into her room.  He promptly climbed onto the 7-year-old’s dresser and threw a jar of change onto the floor.  Of course the jar smashed, so cleaning up glass and money became a top priority.  Shortly after I finished that chore, the partners in mischief decided to crumble a chocolate chip cookie on the living room rug.  While I was vacuuming and cleaning chocolate off the carpet, they got into the cooler and scattered picnic supplies all over the sunroom.  By noon I managed to get dressed, make lunch, and go to the school to pick up my 11-year-old who had almost fainted because she went to choir before eating lunch.

That night I sat down discouraged.  I hadn’t accomplished anything.

Except…  The kids were still alive.  They were fed and tucked into warm beds.  And the house was still standing.

Those, I decided, were worth 500 checkmarks apiece.  Score!

It's Nice That You Can

When my oldest child celebrates her birthday, I also mark my anniversary of becoming a Stay-at-Home Mom.  As I trained my replacement at work, co-workers asked, “Are you planning to come back?”  I answered honestly, “No. Not unless something goes wrong.”  Several women replied wistfully, “It’s nice that you can stay home.  You’re so lucky.”

I’ve often wondered what they meant by that.  Did they think I could stay home because we were well off financially? 

When our daughter was born, we lived on my income in a one-bedroom apartment.  My husband was in his third year of university, paying tuition with a student loan.  We didn’t own a car or a couch.  We walked or took the bus everywhere and relaxed on an old loveseat from my parents.

But that was the plan.  Before we married we decided to do whatever it took to allow me to stay home with the children.  We still believe it’s the best place I can be right now.

It’s a choice all parents must make at some point.  Who will care for your children?  Single or divorced parents have less options – God bless you for working to care for your families.  For the rest of us, it can be a hard decision.

Lately we’ve been contemplating Disneyland.  By the time the baby is old enough to enjoy it, we may have enough saved.  Of course, if I was working outside the home we’d be able to afford it sooner.  But we’ve chosen different priorities.

Yes, it is nice that we can…make choices.

Little Climbers

The first phrase I spoke was “Get down!”  I said this sternly after standing in my high chair.  No doubt I’d heard those words a few times.

Some grandparents secretly – or not so secretly – chuckle to themselves when their escapist child winds up with an escapist child, or their drama queen granddaughter is as dramatic and stubborn as their own daughter once was.  Those grandparents would be laughing at me now too.

“Get down” has been spoken frequently in our home the past thirteen years.  Also “Get off” (the counter, the dresser, the piano) and “Get out” (of the fridge, the pantry, and the dryer).

It’s a sad day for me when the baby learns to drag chairs across rooms.  Nothing is safe any longer.  HE’s not safe any longer.  This morning he climbed on a chair, stuck a knife in the toaster then smeared butter all over it.  That was a new trick.  Dancing on the table and swinging the chandelier is an old one.

All of my children have been climbers.  I’m sure many parents can empathize.  We really should organize a Parents of Climbers support group.

For now, I’m done with chairs.  I’ve stacked them in the sunroom. We’ll bring them in for dinner, or saw the legs off the table.  If you come to visit, bring a pillow.

But it’s worth it.  Someday my chairs will all stay where they belong and I’ll long for little grand-climbers to come and visit.  And I’ll chuckle as I watch my kids pull them down, off, and out.

iPod Game

This winter, my daughter saved up the money she earned dog walking.  Now she has a cute, annoying, iPod.

I must admit, it can be a useful thing, especially when she’s away from home.  She can text, email, find directions, input reminders, take pictures, listen to music, and even play games.  Games.  Bonus.

What I dislike about iPods – or any portable electronic device – is the amount of time spent on them at inappropriate times, a trend that seems to be increasing.

We’ve made some rules for iPod use in our family – like when we should be talking to or listening to other people, or even doing something like watching a movie together – THE GADGET IS OFF!

I’ve started playing my own iPod game – without an iPod.  It’s called, “What Are They Doing With Their iPod?”

When someone stops dead in her tracks at the grocery store and stares into the palm of her hand, what is she doing?  Checking her grocery list?  Calculating price per gram?

Or when he takes his electronic device up to the salad bar, is he texting his wife to see what he’s allowed to eat?  Looking up calories?  Sending a picture and message to his friend: “food looks good tonight – come on down”?

Or when a couple stands together, embracing, looking at their separate iPhones, are they calling other people or texting sweet nothings to each other?  I don’t know, but either one sounds terribly romantic.

What I find most alarming is how often I can play my game.

Celebration Times

We just finished two of my favourite holidays, Valentine’s Day and Family Day.  Two days to celebrate love and togetherness.  I can get on board with that.  I just wonder who decided to put them so close on the calendar.  Why not spread the love throughout the year?

I know some holidays are anniversaries of historic dates – like Canada Day and Remembrance Day – that shouldn’t be changed, but why do we have to stick to dates chosen centuries ago for strange reasons?

Like Halloween.  I’d rather not pretend that spirits have easier access to the mortal world on October 31^st and choose a bright, warm day for a dress-up party so we don’t need to fit costumes over snowsuits.

A few extra holidays would also be nice, like in January.  New Years hardly counts.  It’s more a day to recover from the night before and mourn the end of the holiday season.  We need a “We Made It Through January Day” at the end of the month.

It would make more sense and foster national unity if all the provinces celebrated holidays on the same day and everyone had the option of taking those days off work.

I’m glad we celebrate Thanksgiving at harvest time rather than as a kickoff to the Christmas season.  And even though Jesus wasn’t born on December 25^th, I think observing His birthday then is a nice way to end the year.

It sure is great to have so many things to celebrate!

Yearning To Create

A few weeks ago, while sitting in Emergency waiting for my daughter to get stitches and thinking about an article that was due in a few hours, I realized I needed to cut back.  So I’ll be writing every second week instead of weekly.

I believe this will be my 70^th article for the Town & Country.  Granted, that’s not a lot compared to fulltime journalists but, believe it or not, writing a weekly column does takes a fair bit of time and creativity.

Sometimes I’m full of ideas but low on time.  Sometimes I have time but no ideas.  It seems as though I’m allotted a certain amount of creative juice per week and when I’ve used it up, it’s gone.

I especially noticed this while homeschooling, pregnant, and writing a column in Fort McMurray.  I had to quit the paper because all my creativity was, apparently, going into educating and gestating.

As much as I enjoy writing, I often feel the need create in other ways, like building block towers with my son, learning to compose, or catching up on seven years worth of scrapbooking.

My older sister is very crafty.  She has a blog (yearning to create) with this quote: "The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul." (Dieter F. Uchtdorf)  I think that’s true.  Everyone I know enjoys creating in some way – whether with words, paint, plants, fabric, yarn, wood, hair, furniture, or old cars – the desire is there.

Don’t fight the yearning.  Create.

Lost Laundry

A week before Christmas I sent my best jeans to the laundry.  This means I carried them downstairs and put them in the blacks-and-blues pile to await washing.  A week later I noticed they hadn’t yet returned to my closet.

I asked the child on laundry duty that day if she’d mistakenly sorted my jeans into someone else’s pile.  She said no.

So I scoured my closet to make sure they hadn’t fallen among the boxes of wrapping paper and presents hiding there (original place to hide gifts, I know).  No luck.

Now, losing small items in the laundry, like socks, is a normal occurrence.  I simply treat the remaining sock as if its partner is there, knowing that the rogue sock will turn up eventually (usually).  Sometimes it takes awhile, often showing up under a bed or stuck inside another item of clothing.

But pants?  I’m no waif.  We’re talking size 14 women’s jeans here.  There’s no way they were sucked into the pipes or blown out the dryer vent or static-clung to the inside of a sleeve.

I guess stranger things have happened, though.  Like random shoes on the side of the highway.  How does someone lose a shoe on the side of a highway?  Were they sleeping with one leg hanging out the window?  I don’t know.

Anyway, back to the jeans.  I knew they had to be in the house somewhere – unless there really is some supernatural, clothes-snatching phenomenon at work – so I checked my daughter’s room and found them in a pile of clean laundry still waiting to be put away.  Mystery solved.  And it only took me two weeks.

I’m thankful that my children help with laundry.  Now it’s time to teach them how to find things.  And put stuff away.  Wish me luck with that.

The Wrong Country

I celebrated my birthday in the middle of a blizzard.  A friend called to wish me happy birthday and asked why in the world I didn’t stay in New Zealand where I could blow out my candles on the beach.

Believe me, I’ve sometimes felt like I’m living in the wrong country.  While others are loading up their skis and snowboards, dragging out their sleds and skidoos, and lacing up their skates and snowshoes, I’m doubling up my socks and sweaters.

My aversion to winter sports may have started my first year in Canada when I was two and couldn’t see over the snow drifts.  Or maybe that same winter when I walked onto an ice rink in regular boots, slipped, and whacked my head.

Sledding is about the only winter sport I’ve ever enjoyed.  Growing up on the side of a BC mountain it was kind of hard not to.  Yes, I’ve done my share of sledding, also enduring the related injuries, including the worst bloody nose I’ve ever had when I crashed on crusty snow.

Skating and skiing were part of our PE curriculum (I think).  At least they dragged us off to the rink and Red Mountain ski hill enough times.  I tried, but I knew things weren’t going well when the teacher asked, “Kathryn, would you like to help the Kindergarten class put on their skates instead?”

I just don’t get what there is to like about skiing.  It’s cold, it’s fast, it’s high (chair lifts: “don’t look down, don’t look down”), and one can snowplow for only so long.

I’m glad many of you enjoy winter sports; I wish I did too.  Maybe I really do have Kiwi climate preferences in my blood.  But if I lived there, I wouldn’t get to shovel walks, drag garbage bins through snow, or start my car a half hour before I go anywhere.

 

Or have a white Christmas.

Anticipation

This time last year I wrote an article called “The Top of the Hill”.  It was about me turning thirty-nine and dreading turning forty.

Well, this week I’ll reach that milestone, and you know what?  I’m fine with it.  No big deal.  I’m forty!!  I’ve earned my gray hairs, spider veins, and skin tags!

Before I turned thirty, I also panicked.  And I’ll probably freak out about turning fifty.  But I’m starting to see a pattern:  Sometimes the anticipation is worse than the actual event.

It works the other way too.  Sometimes the anticipation is better than the event – like the vacation you planned for a year then vomited the entire time.

When I was a teenager, the thought of moving away from home was frightening.  I couldn’t fathom ever being ready to live away from my family.  But I did it.  I lived on my own for six years before I got married.

My daughter worries about moving away from home.  I tell her not to worry – that when it’s time, she’ll be ready.  Funny how that works.  Anticipation can help us to prepare for and accept what’s coming.  A wise man once said, “If you are prepared, you shall not fear”.

Then there’s cleaning toilets, ironing, and dusting – three chores I detest.  When I anticipate them, I am miserable.  When I jump in, get it done, reward myself, and bask in the triumph of a job completed, I am happy.  Why do I waste time and energy dreading things?

I hope that as the years go on, I will wisely remember to savour each moment and each challenge, looking forward – with the joyous, motivating kind of anticipation, not the worrisome, anxious kind – to what the next day will bring.

Reading Week

The week before Christmas was a bust, but the week after was perfectly lovely.  My kids were occupied for hours at a time playing Just Dance on the Wii, so I got to snuggle on the couch and catch up on my reading.

I love to read.  When I have a book on the go, I feel like I’ve always got something to look forward to.

My favourite genres are historical fiction and Christian romance, but at Christmastime I love short stories like A Stranger For Christmas by Carol Lynn Pearson and Christmas Jars by Jason F. Wright.

Lately I’ve been savouring Richard Paul Evans work, including his latest series – The Walk.  Last year The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows impressed me.

I prefer books that uplift and inspire.  I need to be a little more informed, happier, wiser, or motivated after reading a book.  If they don’t meet my criteria I feel cheated, so I’m also very picky about what I recommend to others.

For me, it’s not enough to be a page-turner.  I don’t like feeling disturbed or scared, but I guess some people do.  This past Fall I was dismayed to see some of the titles listed on the order forms that came home from the school.  It made me wonder if we’re putting literacy and the ability to read above the quality of what’s going into our heads.  I believe the books we read contribute to shaping our characters and identities, for better or for worse.  And once it’s in, it’s there to stay.

As a youth, a teacher shared the following quote with me:  “Some books are meant to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested” (Francis Bacon).  I agree.

Healthy New Year

This past week, before the New Year and its accompanying resolutions, I managed to lose five pounds.  I think that’s the first time I’ve ever made it through the holidays without having to undo a button on my waistband!

Unfortunately, I can’t recommend the diet plan I was on.  It’s known as “The Pre-Christmas Flu”.  Believe me, coming down with the flu less than a week before Christmas was not fun.

Twelve days before Christmas my eleven-year-old started us out.  Two days later the four-year-old succumbed, then my husband.  Six days before Christmas it was my turn, and the others, except the seven-year-old, quickly followed.

All the pre-Christmas outings and gift-giving we had planned for the week before Christmas quickly fell off the calendar, replaced by exciting events such as going to the hospital for chest x-rays and dragging ourselves to the store for more juice and Advil.

After 24 hours I thought I was getting better, but I quickly learned that for the next several days my legs would feel like jelly, sorting laundry would leave me short of breath, and the fever and chills could revisit at any time.  I’ve always been skeptical of flu shots but I can see why anyone would want to avoid what we just went through.

I was very thankful we were well enough to host family for the red-letter days – with a considerate warning, of course, that there had been recent sickness in the house.

Now the New Year is here and, as always, health is one of my top priorities.  We even got a Wii (finally) and Zumba for Christmas to help us with our exercise goals.  No matter how that goes, however, I am definitely starting the year of 2013 with a renewed appreciation for good health.

Christmas Spirit

I started the season by writing a short story, The Christmas Condition, about a young woman whose first Christmas home after moving to the city isn’t quite what she expected.  Eventually, she learns that the condition of her heart is more important than the conditions around her.

With those sentiments in mind, I got off to a good start – thinking of others, feeling the joy, not stressing over things that don’t matter.

Somehow, despite my good intentions, the evil elf squeezed his way into our home and began to spread anti-Christmas tidings.  Don’t you hate it when the “bah humbuggers” ruin things for the rest of us?

A few nights ago I couldn’t take the negativity anymore.  I mean, when you get to bickering over which holiday movie to enjoy as a family, things aren’t going well.  So I went to my room and finished reading a favourite Christmas book.  Then I stared at the ceiling for awhile until I had an idea.  Not just an idea; inspiration: “The only person you can change is yourself.”

Words from my novelette’s main character echoed in my head:  “I realized that my Christmas cheer was conditional – based on events that were happening NOW instead of THE EVENT that happened two thousand years ago.”

Was it possible?  Was I allowing my Christmas cheer to ebb and flow based on the actions of those around me instead of what was in my own heart?

I said a quick prayer then asked, “Who wants a story?”  Three of my children gathered around to hear an inspiring Christmas tale.  As we snuggled, our hearts filled and spilled with love, patience, forgiveness, selflessness, and gratitude.  The Spirit of Christmas, which is the Spirit of Christ, was back.

To you and yours this holiday season, I wish you hearts full of peace, love, and joy.

Ho Ho Ho or Boo Hoo Hoo

Seven years ago, upon the advice of a family member who said if we wanted our kids to trust us in the big things we shouldn’t lie about the little things, I broke the news to my six-year-old that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  She seemed to take it well.

The next year, however, she sadly admitted, “I wish I still believed in Santa.”  I decided then and there that I would let my children discover the truth about Santa when they were ready.

This doesn’t mean I actively lie to my kids.  I simply play the game and let them believe – the same as I do with the Tooth Fairy or when I eat their playdough cookies.

It’s not that hard to allow the fantasy without the fraud.  When they see Santa at the mall and ask, “Is that really Santa Claus?” I say, “No, that’s just someone dressed up like Santa.”  When they ask, “Does Santa really climb down chimneys?” I say, “No, there are lots of houses without chimneys – like ours.”  When they ask, “Is Santa real?”  I say, “What do you think?”  Then I praise them for their deductive reasoning, welcome them into the “grown up” world, and remind them to keep the secret so it stays fun for the little ones.

I don’t think allowing children the excitement and wonder of believing in something magical is a bad thing.  Of course, we make sure they understand the religious side of Christmas first and foremost – that we are celebrating the birth of our Savior, not Santa Claus.

But what’s really great about the Santa tradition is that it motivates adults to be selfless.  It’s a time when we think about bringing joy to others by giving anonymously, without expecting anything in return.

And that’s definitely a good thing.

The Cost of Democracy

(I'm a few months late posting this one!)

It’s been almost a month since we watched the US presidential election with interest.  I thought Governor Romney would have made a fine president.  I believe he has unique business experience and education that could have helped America at this time.

But the majority chose to re-elect President Obama, who also has many great presidential qualities.  I hope his policies and promises will improve circumstances for our neighbours to the south (though I’ve been enjoying the exchange rate the past few years).

Our democratic system allows us to elect those who share our ideas on what government should be doing (or not doing) for the people.  We research, we campaign, we argue, we vote, we wait…  Then we mourn or rejoice.

What comes next is the part I don’t like:  the mud-slinging and criticism.  If they lost, why kick them while they’re down?  If they won, they are now elected officials deserving our support.

I’ve been disappointed at some of the phrases used to describe the election and Mitt Romney, like “crushing defeat” and “cloudy future”.  The swing state percentages were very close, and being only 3 million out of 120 million (roughly) away from winning the popular vote doesn’t sound like a “crushing defeat” to me.  And if someone of retirement age who is independently wealthy and surrounded by a large and loving family has a “cloudy future” then what does that say for the rest of us?

Governor Romney spent a lot of time, money, and energy to give Americans a choice on the ballot.  That alone is worthy of praise, not scorn.

Whether American or Canadian, we should thank all who run in municipal, provincial, and federal elections – including those who lose.  If we don’t, we may find the cost of democracy is that no decent candidates will want to run in the future.

Are You Ready?

Last weekend, with some careful planning and faithful babysitters, my husband and I attended three parties in two evenings.  All of them were enjoyable, and I got to brush up on my small talk questions and answers.  One of my favourites:  “Are you ready for Christmas?”

I don’t mind this question, though I never know quite what to say.  The simple answer is “No, I’m not ready.”  The more complex answer is “Will I ever be ready?”  On one hand, I still have lots to do to prepare for the big day.  On the other hand, I’m not rushing around in a panic and I realize I’ll never be completely finished all the things I’d like to do.  I could always bake more cookies, deliver more goodies, send more cards, sing more carols, buy more gifts, spread more cheer, and do more service.  And then there are the outdoor Christmas lights I don’t think I’ll ever get hung.

I’ve learned that preparing for Christmas is best taken care of one day at a time.  We do the most important things first then fit the extras around the big stuff.  I like Steven R. Covey’s analogy where he fits rocks into a container then pours sand around them.  They all fit when the big stuff goes in first.

Just like life.  When we prioritize and do the most important things first, everything else we need to do will fit.  Are we ever really ready for the things life throws at us?  Probably not.  But we do our best to prepare then trust things will work out.

Now it’s one week ‘til Christmas and to answer the question, “Are you ready?” I’ll say:  Since Christmas – and a happy life – is about generously giving and graciously receiving, I hope I’m always ready but never quite finished.