Cookies

Cookie (noun) - a sweet biscuit.

It's just cookies. 

My son was pulling at my leg, trying to get me to hang up yet another ornament on the tree. To say he was excited to help make the tree pretty, would be an understatement. His dad, in anticipation of an upcoming business trip, was out trying to find replacement wiper blades, and I was a baking disaster. I'm not a great baker, but I normally get by. Not this time. 

My cookies were crumbling messes topped in chocolate and marshmallows. Sounds delicious, right? I wouldn't know, because they fell apart before I could pick them up. It was kind of reminding me of one of those photo galleries of failed Pinterest pursuits. The world would have cringed at the mushy disaster, had I taken photos.

The timing couldn't have been worse, because I had a cookie exchange in a little over an hour and a half. For a good baker, that's plenty of time. For me? I might be able to wing it, but just barely. Not to mention the fact that I was out of butter... and who wants cookies without butter? Not this guy. 

So what do I do? I start to get annoyed. It's a pretty typical reaction for me to start to guilt trip myself over not living up to the expectations of other people. I'm the girl that was always 15 minutes early, and rarely cancelled plans. But then life happened. I got married, and had this wonderful relationship that needs constant love and attention to make it work. Then I had a baby. A little boy that would probably find a way onto the roof, if I didn't always have an eye on him. A little boy that does some pretty amazing things when you least expect it... like telling the christmas tree to look at the sparkly sticker stuck to his forehead. 

I think I was in the middle of mumbling to myself about how I was never going to make these stupid cookies work, when my little guy came up and thrust another decoration into my hand. I looked down at him, and realized how incredibly cool it was that this little person was so excited about something that I took for granted every year. Here was this incredible, hulking tree in the middle of his house, and all he wanted to do was decorate it. I had to ask myself right then and there why my priority was on making a social engagement, over spending some magical time with my son. That's when I stepped away from the madness in the kitchen. 

They're just cookies. 

The cookie exchange was there for my social needs. A chance to interact with other moms that could relate to the temper tantrums and struggles with potty training. Somewhere to seek solace with some "me" time, and while I regret not being able to join the fun, walking away from the kitchen to engage my son in the magic of Christmas was such a positive thing for me. I was able to take a look at the bigger picture, and see what was truly important in that moment. 

The guilt from not meeting expectations (whether real or imagined), is not worth missing the important stuff. And if it's not important stuff... it's just cookies. 

Journaling

"This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals–sounds that say listen to this, it is important." - Gary Provost

I like the idea of making music from writing a story, but is it that simple? Can I tell an amazing story that makes people want to shout "Hurray! This is music to my eyeballs!", by varying the length of my sentences a little? It seems to me that Gary Provost is a bit of a professional who has taken it upon himself to dumb down the art of writing, so any slacker (such as myself) can feel destined to success? It's like a professional hockey player telling a 30 year old man that he too can go pro by practicing every night. I'm not saying it's impossible, just a little improbable, and maybe a heap of impractical.

Am I a cynic? Maybe.

The truth is I've forgotten so many grammatical rules in my 30 odd years on this earth. I won't even go into the sloppy mess that has become my writing, since I stopped flexing those muscles long ago. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. I shoulda practiced writing more when I was younger. But I didn't. I was a bit of an idiot, and while I regret being a bit of an idiot, at least I had some fun times!

So, I've decided to start a journal. I'm not going to waste your time detailing what I did at the grocery store today, or how often I had to clean up little accidents. I'm going to try chronicling my life in a way that is fun and relatable to my friends and family.

Any advice is greatly appreciated. Oh, and maybe a writing class, huh?!

Style

"I love classic beauty. It's an idea of beauty with no standards." - Karl Lagerfeld

A few weeks ago, I stopped in at a local beauty salon to get my eyebrows threaded. I'm always impressed with how perfect my eyebrows look after they've been threaded, so I'll get it done every year or so.

There was a woman seated in the back of the salon, waiting patiently for some beautiful henna work to dry, while her "artist" furiously attacked the eyebrows of a small girl seated in one of the two available seats in the front. I could actually see the hairs flying off the thread. There was one other woman who aside from greeting new customers with a cursory nod (and a sad looking thread hanging from her mouth), seemed intent on the task of removing any and all facial hair from the woman reclined in front of her.

Now, I'm not the most social of creatures, but I do enjoy observing what's going on around me. Some people might just consider me creepy. Potato, potato. Personally, I like to take in what's going on around me. On occasion, I'll pick up my phone and immerse myself in the online world, but usually I find what's going on around me far more interesting than any dramatic conversation on the net.

But, this was one of those days where I wish I wasn't paying attention.

There were two girls in there that day. One was already under the thread beside her mom, and the other was waiting beside a middle aged woman on the seats beside me. I think maybe five minutes passed, and soon the mom and daughter were finished. The woman stood up, and told the esthetician to "take it all off", while gesturing broadly at her face. The girl, however, seemed immediately nervous and just shook her head. Her mom instantly got huffy, saying something about not being a baby and how it doesn't hurt that much. Why can't you be more like your sister? Yeah, that was thrown out there. Then, to add insult to injury, this stranger got involved, and started to say how her daughter was frightened at first too, but then she finally went through with it when she was 12.

Yeah, 12. She said it like she was an old maid.

The little girl burst into tears, sobbing violently beside me. I tried valiantly to assume detachment and disinterest, to lessen the embarrassment this poor girl was feeling. It took everything in me to not get involved in what was going on. By the end of her little rant, I was grinding my teeth (not good, considering I was just at the dentist). However, her mom eventually relented, but only after making it abundantly clear that she was disappointed in her daughters lack of interest in female bonding time. I was relieved when she was finally gone, and I could unclench my teeth.

I'm sorry, but the first time I ever had my eyebrows threaded, I was somewhere in the neighbourhood of 20. It hurt. A lot. I mean, how could it not? Someone is tearing hair out of your face, right next to your eyeballs! I'm lucky if my eyes aren't watering when I'm done.

Shaming your child into adhering to your standards of beauty is just sad. But, maybe I'm the wrong person to comment on this kind of stuff, considering I was raised by a man who didn't understand female social conventions at all. I think my leg hair was bordering on yeti, by the time I convinced him to buy me a razor. But that's it, right? I convinced him that I was ready. I wanted to shave my legs. It was up to me to define my own standards of beauty and style.

Thanks for being awesome, dad.

Motherhood

"Mothers are all slightly insane." - J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Reading this was like being throat punched with truth knuckles. I now realize that while I may feel exhausted all the time, it's but a small part of the bigger picture; I'm just a little bit insane.

On Friday, I actually cried on the floor. I curled up in a ball and cried for 2 minutes, before getting up to vacuum the stairs in an attempt to center myself. Who acts like that?

Well.... I guess I do.

Spending any time on facebook had me thinking that most moms just laugh the bad days off with witty puns, or the hours of screaming were matched by calm mommy resolve to make it better. Did other moms feel isolated and hopeless sometimes? Were there days when they thought they were the biggest mess in the world, and their poor child was going to be forever damaged by their inability to be a high functioning, rational adult? Was I willing to reach out and ask anyone about it? Not really.

But then, one day, I did. And then I did it again another day. I've had some amazing conversations with other moms about parenthood, and the personal challenges they've faced along the way. I wasn't told to just suck it up and deal with it. I was never made to feel as though I was wading around in a mess created by my own ineptitude.

We're female gladiators, fending off physical attacks from pint sized monsters; we're therapist to the sometimes mute and impatient; we're audience to the most hilarious comedians on the planet; we're the safety blanket when life is a little bit too threatening to do it alone; we're the maid that cleans up all the little accidents, and the not so accidents; we're the chef that always get the most terrible reviews; we're the nurse even when we're also the patient; we're the insanity that they'll remember forever.

Parenting is a balancing act. You need to make sure your child's needs are being met, while making sure that your relationships are being nurtured. And don't, for a second, think that it's okay to neglect the relationship you have with yourself. I know I fall prey to forgetting this, or I write it off as being 'selfish' behaviour. But, a happier me is a happier mom.



Sometimes you need to fall down to learn how to balance.



I guess I just fell down for a minute. Time to get up and try again.



*Side note: There are people who might criticize or judge you as a parent. They might even be moms themselves. I'm focusing this blog on the positive responses, because they are more prevalent than the negatives. Sometimes we just get too wrapped up in the negative, because it highlights all the most insecure thoughts that we've had.

Be candid with your non-mom friends too. I've found some pretty solid support from people who can empathize with struggles that I'm facing as an individual.

Random

I think today is going to be random day. It soon became clear that the internet was conspiring against me and my attempt to find a meaningful word of the day for my blog. My first search attempt brought me fomite (even spell check is telling me this word is bonkers).

Fomite is an object (as a dish or an article of clothing) that may be contaminated with infectious organisms and serve in their transmission. Try to remember that the next time someone tries to poison you with their tainted food. 

My second search attempt brought me kamikaze. I haven't been feeling particularly reckless or self destructive lately, so this didn't apply either. 

I switched to searching for quotes after my first two attempts bombed. I got this:

"When birds burp, it must taste like bugs." - Bill Watterson 

It's so profound! So.... Perfect! 





Okay, I'm reaching here. In all honesty, I grew lazy and picked the third option for the amusement it provided at 7:30am. So, when life gives you lemons (or burping birds), you better make some pie! 

I just realized this is my first post since turning 32. Way to keep it mature and sensible, huh?! Yeah, that's what I thought too. If you can't have a little fun now and then, what's the point?

Maybe I'll take this as a lesson to simplify things a little bit, and make a point of doing something silly or fun each day. Tomorrow I'll start by hiking up a mountain with my husband. 

32 will be a great year.... I can feel it. 
  

Confidence

"We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face... we must do that which we think we cannot." -Eleanor Roosevelt



At some point I lost my understanding of what true fear really was. I guess growing up watching scary movies, reading horror novels, or even being exposed to the world news, drastically altered what I felt fear should be. You should fear the creepy pedophiles that might try to kidnap your kids, or the terrorist that might attack your home, or maybe the cougar that has been hunting in the woods behind your house. But, how often do you associate fear with getting into your car, and going to the grocery store? That was my conundrum.

Just a couple months ago, I was quietly perusing the chips in our local Walmart (I'm all about the class), trying to decide what flavour my husband wanted me to pick up (he has a habit of finding my shopping list and adding a few of his own suggestions), when I was suddenly taken over with this overwhelming need to escape. Everything seemed suddenly too bright and loud, leaving me a sweaty gasping mess within seconds. I needed to get out of that store right now. I'm happy to say that I resisted the impulse (or should I say panic) to flee, and breathed my way through the rest of my shopping trip.

That, my friends, is fear. It's overwhelming and, at times, completely irrational.

Oftentimes I'll look back on a panic attack, and wonder what the heck came over me. Shopping is not supposed to be a scary thing. I'm not threatened at the grocery store by anything tangible... as far as I know, the produce is still incapable of full on premeditated assault.

I find that I'm overwhelmed with the same fear when I'm out exercising in a public place. I feel like the world is just waiting for a chance to judge me. Probably because I've always been so hard on myself, and feel that the rest of the world is just there to confirm all the negative emotion floating around in my head.

"My butt shakes like a waterbed being belly-flopped on by a gaggle of 5 year old boys."

"I probably sound like a wounded elephant lumbering through the forest, while attempting to breath through a straw."

I know I'm not alone with this fear. I know that for a long time I put off getting back in shape, because I didn't want to face the potential ridicule. What I didn't admit was that the ridicule was coming from myself, and not from some random stranger on the street.

So, as you may know from reading previous blog posts, I tackled this fear by signing up for a 5K run. I had no choice but to train, because I was committed to making this happen. I guess that's what happens when you're a highly competitive person. I'll compete with myself any day.

And, for the first time in my life, I set out to an incredibly crowded outdoor running track, and put my floppy jiggly bits on display for the whole field to see. At first, it was unnerving, but soon, it was empowering.

It's amazing what a little fear can help you accomplish, if you embrace it instead of hiding from it.

Terror

Last night I was afraid to go to sleep. When it came time to say "goodnight" to my husband, he insisted that I take a night light to bed with me. A bright one. At first, I felt a little foolish taking it with me, but I soon felt more grateful than shameful.

I always joke about pulling the blankets up over my head, to ward off potential boogeymen, but there was no joking going on night before last. It was a night like most other before it. I read a bit of my book, and then settled in to meditate as I drifted off to sleep. I never expected that less than 2 hours later, I would be woken by my own screams and a terrified husband charging through the door.

It took me a long time to still the shaking in my hands, and settle back to sleep. My very patient and loving husband abandoned his video games to protect me from imagined terrors, and stayed close for the rest of the night. Poor guy had very little space to sleep in, because I wouldn't budge out of the middle of the bed all night. I have never been so frightened in my life.

From the age of 12 on, I spent much of my spare time reading or watching frightening stories. The supernatural fascinated, yet never became a reality to me. Night terrors make the supernatural come to life, and that is downright terrifying. At least this experience has taught me greater empathy for how to respond to my son when he wakes screaming from all the terrors of the night.

I was working on another blog post, but I put it aside for a couple days. It's called "Procrastination."

Challenge.....

.... accepted!

'Twas the anniversary of my nation's birthday that marked a milestone for me. On July 1st, I ran my first 5K since having my son. It was so worth the heat. Did I mention we were having record breaking temperatures that weekend? We, on the wet west coast, are not accustomed to temperatures anywhere near the mid to high 30's, but we went there on the weekend. Just in time for my poor, under-trained self to run like the wind. Okay, so the wind I was not, but I did fairly well.

My husband was a great coach, and a wonderful motivator. He refused to run ahead of me, and even insisted that I cross the finish line first. I do love him, so very much. When I wanted to walk, I was given exactly 1 minute.... but even then, if I seemed really tired he would let me go with a few extra seconds. It's what I needed to get me through it. I'm really very proud of myself, and plan on celebrating by registering for another 5K in September. Here's hoping the training goes better for that one!

The run ended up being for a great cause, with all proceeds going toward the Canadian Diabetes Foundation. I like good causes. Our friends were even sweet enough to register our little guy for the kids 1K, so he would have something fun to do while we were off sweating in the trees. My sister in law joined in the fun, by escorting the little man on his meanderings through the trails. I think everyone had a great time. I'd love to do it again next year.

It really was a wonderful weekend. Before race day, we went up for a couple of nights to visit the in-laws and my grandparents on the beautiful sunshine coast. L got to play on the "beach" beside my grandparents place, and enjoyed checking out his great auntie J's carvings in the shop. Big love for the owls and ducks!  We played pool with mother and father in law, with a meager (but well deserved) win for team McCrabbs (that would be myself and hubby). Apparently my father in law is really enjoying his retirement, and spends a great deal of time honing his billiard skills so he can put all us younguns in our place. Mother in law played with L, changed diapers, and gave us some time to shower and unwind. We thank you!

We need to do it more often. If I could live there, and harass my family every single day, I would. But, alas, they have to deal with harassment from afar. Love to you all.

Motivation

I'm running a 5K on July 1st. Go me! Okay, maybe not so much. I'm nowhere near ready. When I started this journey, I was sure training would go smoothly and I might even lose some weight along the way. Uh huh. My family ended up sick for over two weeks, so my tight seven week training schedule was cut right in the middle.

I'm using an iphone app called C25K (couch to 5 km) to help me train for the race. With the app, you start out alternating between running and walking, until you gradually eliminate the need to walk entirely. At the time that I got sick, I had worked my way up to 4 weeks of training.

So,  considering I was almost flat out for two weeks, you would think common sense would prevail, and I'd set myself back at least a week. Common sense, you say? Yeah, no. When it comes to exercise, I fail miserably at making good choices. I felt like a baby hippo, or maybe a really overweight sloth, being chased by a cheetah. I'm sure other people passing me must have thought I was either going into cardiac arrest, or having a very hot seizure. It was not a pretty sight.

However, that was nothing compared to the next week when I took my impatient toddler out in his stroller. Not only did I think I was going to collapse from exhaustion, but every single time he would call out to me, I would die a little inside. I just knew as soon as I choked out one response, there would be a ceaseless barrage of questions that would require similar retorts. I could hardly catch my breath, least of all speak at the rate that he expected.

Oh well, whining isn't going to get me anywhere. Cheers to hard work, and self motivation!

Nonpareil

:having no equal.

I've had this heading saved for a few days now, struggling to find a place to start. I feel like I should be writing about something profound, but I'm not feeling too profound at the moment. So, different approach.

Imagine it's between 5:00 and 5:30 in the morning. It's the height of summer, the sky is clear, and while it's warm, there's a cool fresh feel to the breeze brushing gently across your skin. You can hear the birds singing sweetly in the trees, and the soft hum of traffic somewhere off in the distance. As the sun begins to peak through the trees, the grass lights up like a crystal sea, shimmering and undulating at your feet. There's a coyote 200 yards from you, you both pause and consider one another briefly, before he lopes off into the nearby woods.

Now, how do you feel?

This is what I left working in an office for, and I never looked back. At one point, I felt like I should pursue higher education, and get back into office work. You know, make an adult of myself. But now I realize that I was right in following my happiness. That when I was working outside, I felt peaceful (even on the rainy days). I remember one day it was raining so hard that I soaked through two pairs of rain pants, and spent the remainder of the afternoon sitting in a pool of tepid water. I spent that afternoon laughing and singing to myself. I'm sure I looked a bit maniacal, but who cares? It was fun!

So, to use my word of the day.... I feel like the working experience described above, is nonpareil to any other that I have experienced.

Where's your happy place?

Beauty

Writing about art again? Yeah, I'm fun that way. 

I think I've been more inspired to get back into the loving of art recently, because my husband has brought home a couple new pieces for me. I even cried when he brought in one of the pieces as a mother's day gift. Yep, my husband has thawed my cold heart with the gift of art. We'll just ignore the fact that I will cry at almost the drop of a hat, a trait that I swear I get from my dad (Armageddon, dad? Really?). 

So, here it is!

Beauty, ain't it?! I thought so too. 

And one more:

My photography skills are not the greatest here, but you can tell how rad it is regardless. The artist drew both of these gorgeous works on his computer drawing pad thingy. Yes, I'm that tech savvy. I love it, no matter the medium. I think he has extraordinary talent. 

In comparison, here are a couple pieces by my little picasso:

I think he might have a fighting chance to compete against the greats of his time, no?! I have to be honest that it has taken me quite a bit of control to get over my compulsive need to keep things tidy while he's producing his artwork. One thing that has helped me let go, is designating an area for arts and crafts only. That way when we have paint splattering everywhere, and some "oops I just drew on the wall" moments, I don't get so tense. It's all good. 

Lastly, I thought I'd show something that I started working on while waiting to get pregnant with my son. I was so excited to one day be a mom, that I thought I might try shaping what it would look like. I didn't account for swelling, and the spreading of my already there birthing hips. Yuh.

I haven't touched it in over two years, so dust and hair have made it their home. 

Anyway, here it is:

In my previous post concerning art, I mentioned that I often hit walls with my creative ability. With this one, it was proportions, and the placement of the hands. I'll get back to finish it one day!

Happiness

Happiness is a tricky mistress.

Anybody who knows me even a little, knows that I'm an anxiety attack waiting to happen. I analyze every little thing that I've ever heard, seen or felt, until I can't remember how it all began. 

Like many people, I was living under the false perception that having anxiety at all was just not normal. I tried so hard to adjust my thought process to one that was more positive, while pushing the anxiety down. It didn't work. In fact, it made things worse because I became fixated on the fact that I was losing this power struggle with my anxiety. I was focusing on my problem instead of just saying "oh hi there, anxiety! You're totally welcome here, but I don't have time to give you attention right now." Seriously, how much better is that?! 

I've learned to ask myself if the thought I'm having is helpful, and if it's not, I can just move on while making room for the emotion that the thought has created. This is a pretty big breakthrough for someone with panic disorder, let me tell you! I was at the point in my life where I couldn't even go out to a restaurant to eat, because my social anxiety was so high that I had to leave after a few minutes. I not once, but twice left a movie theater because I had a panic attack within the first five minutes. I was just so afraid that I would get anxious and lose control, that I did get anxious and lose control. It was bloody bizarre. Socially, I constantly wondered what people were thinking of me. Could they tell that I was just a big 'ole fakey mcfakerson going through the motions of social normalcy? Probably not, but I was convinced that I just wasn't fun to be around, or that people were silently judging every little thing that I did.

Realizing that anxiety is normal has taught me that I can be open with it. That I can be vulnerable, and express my insecurities and fears with people... within reason, of course. Some people just aren't ready for that kind of emotional closeness. And, the best part? The realization that there are kindred spirits everywhere out there.... sometimes in the least likely of places. 

So, to all my internet friends... please don't mentally kick yourself if you can't change that negative thought  into a positive one. Don't berate yourself for failing to be strong enough, or more in control. Recognize that what you're feeling is normal, and then determine if it's helpful and requires your attention. Because sometimes we just put too much energy into the thoughts that aren't going anywhere, ya know?!

Happiness is such a profound state of being. Allow yourself to be sad, angry, anxious, fickle, giddy, jealous, and maybe even a little crazy. Just BE! 

Inspiration

I love art. I told my husband that if we ever won the lottery (assuming we ever bought a ticket), he might have to stage an intervention to curtail my art purchases. I don't think there are enough walls in the world to house the amount of art I would be satisfied with.

Now, ask me how much art I create. The answer is sad, but I really haven't created as much as I would like. I always end up getting to that wall in my creativity, well before I complete my work. There's always something else that the piece just needs, but I lack the imagination to figure out just what that certain something is. So, I shelve it, and rarely ever get back to it. Procrastination sucks.

Solution? Art classes! I went by one of those 4 Cats art studios today, curious about toddler programs, and walked away with the intention to sign myself up as well. Seriously, a splatter room. What could be more therapeutic than chucking paint at a canvas, without worrying about the mess?! Control freaks everywhere rejoice!

And yes, my next birthday party will be celebrated in the splatter room. Nothing says early thirties like messy fun.

On Being Me.

Today's word: Acceptance

Some people are just incredibly witty and fun. They have all the right words at all the right times, and they know just how to make an awkward situation lighter. There are days I wish I was that cool. My brain seems to interpret most pleasant conversation as an act of terrorism, sending me scrambling in the opposite direction whilst mumbling an unintelligible response. Don't get me wrong, I can usually keep okay conversation with people I know quite well, but I can very easily forget where I'm going with a conversation. Attention span is limited with this one. 

Sometimes I wonder if it's because I'm narcissistic. You know, if the conversation isn't about me or something I like, then why bother? Alas, no. I absolutely despise being the center of attention at any time, and I will check out of a conversation if It's beyond my intellectual reach. Sometimes I'll admit that my fellow conversationalist needs to dumb it down a notch, but other times I'll just fake my way through. At least when I'm faking it through, I'm asking lots of questions to try to figure out what the heck we're talking about. This happens fairly often with my husband and my father in law. Smart guys, both of 'em.

So yeah, I admire these witty and fun people. I think they're cool, and I've always wanted to be cool, but I keep missing the memo or 'how to' book.

I think most of these 'cool' people have a pretty good acceptance of who they are without validation from others. That's probably where I've failed all along. I'm a people pleaser from way back. When I was young, I rarely spoke up in conversation, preferring to listen to what was being said around me. I learned what people liked, and what they didn't like. I knew what decisions were good, and which ones were bad. I basically had a blue print on how to do things the 'right' way, as far as everyone the I admired was concerned. Or at least I thought.

Here I was, making decisions based on my perception on how people would react to them. Constantly worrying that one wrong move would send someone marching out the door, never to be seen again. I approached all relationships with the belief that it was my behaviour, and not me as an individual that people were sticking around for.

It's taken me over 30 years to finally realize that not everyone is going to like what I do, say or think, but that doesn't mean that they don't like me. It's also taken me 30 years to realize that absolutely no one wants, or deserves to be placed on a pedestal. There is not a single person out there that knows what they're doing with this life.

So, while I might never be one of the cool kids, at least I can be happy in the knowledge that I can truly accept myself as I am.




Geek is the new cool anyway... am I right?!