Forgiveness

- the intentional and voluntary process by which a victim undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding an offense, lets go of negative emotions such as vengefulness, with an increased ability to wish the offender well. (Thanks, Wiki!)

I've been seeing this image floating around facebook lately. I get the idea behind it, but I don't think it should be left so.... I don't know, stark.

We are not infallible creatures. There is absolutely no way that any of us have gone through life without hurting someone, at some point. If we think we have, we're just lying to ourselves. Some of us have said and done some pretty hurtful stuff, some unintentionally, others (maybe) intentionally. The truth is, we do awful things when we're scared, hurt, mad, ignorant, or even lacking confidence.

I remember in kindergarten, there was this little girl who looked different from everyone else. She had cracked, dry skin, no eyebrows, and she wore the kind of wig that really doesn't disguise itself well. I must have been all of 5 or 6, and had no idea why she looked so different. The other kids started making comments about how ugly she was, and me being the little meek follower that I was, I joined in. 

Not a day goes by that I don't think of that girl. As an adult, I know she must have been sick. As a mother, it saddens me to think of someone being as cruel to my son, as we were to that girl. It eats me up inside. Asshole doesn't even begin to describe my behaviour.

I wish I could go back and give her a hug. 

Just once.

Guilt from events like the one in kindergarten, compounded with teasing throughout the years, has made me a more empathetic person. That's usually how it works, right? We punch someone, they punch us back, and we realize "wow, that hurts. I better not punch them again, otherwise I'm getting hit back!" We learn there are consequences for our actions and behaviours. However, this doesn't mean that we happy glide through our adult years without fault. We still lose ourselves in the moment, and say or do hurtful things. It happens, and it will probably continue happening for most of us (you zen people who have reached enlightenment might be home free. Good for you.)

So, if you picked up a plate and threw it on the ground to see what happens next, only to realize "crap, it broke!", what would you do to make it right? You'd probably find some seriously strong glue, and carefully start piecing that thing back together. Especially if it was something important to you, or someone you love. I guess some might just sadly dump it in the garbage bin, but if you ignore the problem and just toss it away, it just festers and turns your insides sour. 

You might be wondering still what my point is. The point is the plate might be broken, but with a little time, patience and care, you can do your best to get the pieces back to where they were before. The plate will always have a memory of the break. It will never forget that you dropped it on the ground. It will have visible scars, but with proper care and treatment it will last a lifetime. 

We all have scars from the hurt others cause, but it's what they do to help heal you that makes all the difference in the world. 

Practice forgiveness, be accountable for your path, apologize when needed, love deeply, and laugh often. 

Life's just too short for all that other crap.

Passion

noun  
"a strong or extravagant fondness, enthusiasm, or desire for anything"

A while back two of my cousins were having a conversation about pursuing their dreams, and one of them said "write a bucket list." I heard about this little bit of wisdom and decided a bucket list would fulfill my every dream, and immediately began jotting down ideas on my "brief moosages" notepad. 

Poor, naive, optimistic me. Have you ever sat down to write a bucket list before? Sounds easy, right? Maybe if you're one of those special people that actually know what you want to be when you grow up. It was like someone had just asked me to build them a house. I wouldn't even know where to start! I need nails, right? Some wood? Yeah. My shopping list for building a house is almost as pathetic as my bucket list. 

You know how you see those crazy people camped outside their favourite store, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the next overpriced gadget? Yeah, I used to laugh at them too. Okay, I still laugh a little, but at least those people have a passion for something! I don't think I've ever felt that passionate about anything in my life. I'm secretly jealous of people who are that passionate about phones. Could you imagine how excited they get about the big things, like eggnog. 

So then I asked myself what I would do if I won millions of dollars. What would be my big impulse buy. The answer? Art. I would fill up my house with beautiful paintings and sculptures. I would spend my days learning about drawing and art history. I would marvel at the beauty of nature, as I flew around the world in my private jet. I'd only be a little bit pretentious, I promise! 

#1. Make something beautiful and sell it. 

Now, why would I want to make something, only to sell it right away? There is absolutely nothing more flattering than some stranger offering you money for something you created. They like it so much, they're willing to pay you their hard earned (or borrowed) money. 

Now that is worthy of a bucket list.

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.