The Top of The Hill

This week I turn the age that some people decide to stay at forever.  No, not twenty-nine; the other one.

Late January is a nice time to have a birthday.  It’s far enough from Christmas that I have money again, and it’s something to look forward to during the cold, winter months.  Well, that was when I actually looked forward to birthdays.  Now I can totally understand midlife crises.  I’m almost there.  Eek!

The first half of my life was all about growing, learning, and looking to the future.  Graduating, falling in love, getting married, having children, buying a home, pursuing careers, chasing dreams…

What will the second half be like?  I guess that all depends on my attitude and the decisions I make.  With five children, though, I’m pretty sure I’ll have grandchildren to love and spoil.  That’s something to look forward to.

The year I turned twenty-two was my hardest birthday because I realized I wasn’t where I had hoped to be by that point in my life.  But with that realization came the motivation to take control and make decisions that would move me forward.

My husband’s birthday is the day after mine.  One day every year (my birthday) he can claim that he is three years younger than me.  Calling your wife old on her birthday is not a wise thing to do, so I pat him on the head, snarl, and remind him that I’m not quite a cougar.

On my birthday, he takes me out to eat.  On his day, we share a cake and open presents.  When he turns forty, however, he has requested his own cake with forty candles to blow out.

We’ll see; by then he may have realized he’s reached the top of the hill and want to stick his head in the flames instead.

Tooth Fairy Economics

The Tooth Fairy is behind again.  At the rate my children are losing their teeth, one can hardly blame her.

Unlike Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny who can plan in advance for one special night, the Tooth Fairy has her schedule sprung upon her by temperamental teeth.  And unlike Santa and his magical elves, the Tooth Fairy works alone.

Every now and then, when a tooth lies unclaimed for a day or two, my children issue a not-so-gentle reminder:  “Mom, is the Tooth Fairy dead?”

I’ve heard that some children get big bucks for their teeth – like five dollar bills or more.  No wonder people complain that raising children is expensive.

One friend admitted that her son received five dollars for his tooth because that was all she had on her at the time.  Oh, the importance of a well-stocked change-jar!  Without elves creeping in to replenish it, the Tooth Fairy needs to make sure she has dimes, quarters, or loonies available at all times.  Pennies reproduce on their own.

The Tooth Fairy in our home knows that little ones who don’t yet understand the value of money would rather have ten sparkly pennies or five shiny dimes to jingle in her purse or pocket rather than a boring five-dollar bill.

Plain and simple, old teeth just aren’t worth much – except for, maybe, those teeny-tiny cute ones, poking through swollen baby gums, white and sharp, appearing amidst tears and cheers.

If lost baby teeth are worthless, why are the contents of the Ziploc bag in my jewelry box growing?  Why is it so hard to throw away those disgusting little things?

I guess no amount the Tooth Fairy settles on will be correct since no one can put an accurate price on what those baby teeth represent:  invaluable memories of precious childhoods, passing entirely too quickly.

Fads of Fashion or Sense of Style

My daughter has a feather in her hair.  It didn’t sprout spontaneously from one of her follicles but was skillfully placed there by a stylist and secured with a special bead.  Her friend has one too.  So does her friend’s friend.  They’re everywhere.

I think it’s weird.  No weirder, though, I suppose, than the bushy hair and plaid bell-bottoms of my birth decade or the “bangs to heaven” and neon shoelaces of my teenage years.

Let’s face it:  Most trendy fashions are weird.  Why do we let ourselves get sucked into the madness?

At least this feather-in-the-hair is just a fad and not a long-term commitment like tattoos or piercings.  At least she won’t end up with scars or infections or wrinkly, green lines in thirty years.  No, I guess the blue and black striped feather in her hair isn’t too bad.  She wanted it.  She researched it.  She asked permission, argued her case, booked the appointment, and paid for it.

I’m glad she chose a feather and not some outrageous dye-job or cut.  Granted, this is coming from a woman who has never dyed her hair or done anything different with it since 1992.  As the gray creeps in, however, I’m beginning to see the virtues of streaks.  It may be time to rethink my conservative outlook on hair.

Fortunately, that’s what personal style is all about.  Unlike fashion which changes daily and is influenced by people who know nothing about us, style is about personal preference, lifestyle, and taste.  It’s what allows me to say no to low rise jeans that I can’t quite stuff myself into or stiletto heals that weren’t meant for chasing toddlers.

Some fads are fun, but thank goodness for the sense of style.

If I Had Three Wishes

A few months ago I wrote an article about my calculator dying and my husband wanting to buy a new TV even though the old one still worked.  Two weeks after that article went to print, my husband’s wish came true and Zenith passed away.

What if this column is magical?  What if the things I write about come true?  Oh the pressure!  What should I write about?  World peace?

We’ve all played the game If I had three wishes, what would they be?  Thankfully, many of my past wishes haven’t come true.  It’s nice to know someone of superior intelligence is looking out for me, tossing out my dumb ideas.

A year or two ago, a local gas station had a promotion going:  Buy a full tank of gas and get a free lottery ticket (for a multi-million dollar jackpot).  My husband and I aren’t gamblers, but we received tickets twice when we gassed up.  It sure was fun to talk about what we would do with several million dollars!  I can see why gambling is addictive.

Most of our plans for that money involved eliminating debt in both of our families, building a dream house (modest and totally energy efficient), and starting a business.

Astronomical amounts of money and defying death aside, we can make many of our own wishes come true.  It’s called setting goals, making resolutions, following our dreams.  It means being motivated enough to take a chance and get to work.  Write down a plan.  Post it on the fridge.  Be accountable.

Why wait for someone else (or the lottery) to make our wishes realities?  This year, make your own three wishes come true.

Spoiled Rotten

The fun part’s over.  The shiny delights under the tree have turned into annoying objects in need of homes on the toy shelf – preferably before I break my neck tripping on them.

Sometimes I think Little House On The Prairie Christmases would be lovely.  You know, the ones with an orange, a stick of candy, and knitted mittens wrapped up in brown paper.

Can you imagine what our kids would say about that?

My kids are spoiled.  I never meant to do it but when they complained about fast food and not getting to watch a third DVD on the way to Calgary, I knew it had happened.

My kids aren’t the only ones who are spoiled.  Remember those modern luxuries that became conveniences that are now must-haves?  Microwaves, dishwashers, remote starters, cell phones…

Yeah.  We’re all spoiled and each generation seems to get worse.  But these are advancements that improve our quality of life, we argue.  Yes, most of them do, I suppose.  We are truly blessed.

It wouldn’t be so bad if we understood that we are spoiled (I mean blessed) and appreciate it, but along with this spoiling seems to come an attitude of entitlement and expectations for more.  We’re blessed rotten.

Could we ever return to oranges and mittens?  Even switching back from iPads and Xboxes to jump ropes and LEGO would be a step in the right direction.

Why not try spoiling our kids in other ways – like home-cooked meals, bedtime stories, lots of chores, family camping trips, and saying “no” once in a while?  Ah, yes, time and attention instead of things.  Then our children would be truly blessed instead of spoiled.  They would be whole instead of rotten.  Blessed wholly – as all children should be.

Home For The Holidays

When I was single and living in Calgary, travelling home for the holidays meant an eight-hour journey through the Rockies into British Columbia.

The first year I took this trip, I put my life in my brother’s hands.  He put me in an old Chevy with a leaky radiator.  It was minus twenty-five and we crawled into Nanton just as the car died.  With cardboard in the grill we continued on, detouring around a twenty-one-car pile up, then creeping up and sliding down Kootenay Pass.  We arrived home after midnight, cold and exhausted.

The return trip was even worse.  Kootenay Pass was closed so we had to take the ferry which, due to high winds, was shut down right after we crossed.  Then we found ourselves stuck in a snow bank on a nearly deserted road.  Fortunately, three big guys in a pickup truck lifted us out.  We continued to Fernie where we spent the night trying to get warm.

The next year I took the bus.  It was a holiday-crowded overnighter and my seatmate was a clean lumberjack-look-alike whose legs were too long for the seat.  When I awoke, I apologized for using him as a pillow.  He said, “That’s okay, you can sleep on me anytime.”

You never know what might happen on a bus.  My dad learned this in 1961 when a large, white-haired woman wearing a red coat boarded and the drunks in the back began to sing Here Comes Santa Claus.  Luckily the woman wasn’t offended and the passengers enjoyed the moment.

However you choose to travel this holiday season, I hope you do so safely.  If you drive, why not tuck a shovel, candle, matches, blanket, and extra drinking water in the back seat?

Season’s Greetings, Merry Christmas, and Safe Travels to you and yours!

The Magic of Giving

My first Christmas away from home was spent in Montreal with a roommate from Italy.  We couldn’t be with our families, so on Christmas Day we went to a long-term care facility to feed those who couldn’t feed themselves.  After lunch we went from room to room, visiting, admiring family photos, and singing requested carols.

One woman scared me.  When we went to her room, she hissed with bared teeth and foul breath, “I’m gonna die!”  Fortunately, a friend who was with us knew what to do.  He removed the angel from his lapel and gently pinned it to her nightgown, explaining that this angel would keep her company.  Her face softened and peace filled her eyes.  I marveled at the difference this kind but simple gesture had made to a frightened woman.

Not many days later we found her bed vacant, and I was extra grateful that we had spent some time and shared a little joy with her on Christmas Day.

Subsequent Christmases have come and gone, filled with friends and family, parties and concerts, good food, and plenty of presents.  Still, something about that Christmas in Montreal stands out from the others.  Gifts were few and family was absent, but joy was abundant as I learned that most important lesson:  When we give, we can’t help but receive.

That is the magic of giving.  When we spread love and joy by selflessly giving to others, we feel love and joy in our own hearts.

There are so many ways to give:  donating to a food bank; letting someone ahead of us in line; inviting a widow for dinner; shoveling a neighbour’s driveway; writing to a lonely uncle…  The possibilities are endless...and so is the magic of giving.