Monthly Archives: March 2008

Jimmie and me up in a tree…

After a nice lunch with a friend I hadn’t seen in a dozen years, I headed out of town to visit my cousin, who was having a party. Being Earth Day, we lit up by candlelight at precisely 8:00. I think it was after 9:00 before we realized it was ok to resume normal living. I must admit, I did turn on the bathroom light once.  (It was dark, ok. I was in a foreign house.) Maybe they ought to recognize Earth Day during the day anyway. I’d be happy to cut the power to my house for an hour if I could actually get around sans bruises. 

I did unpower all my small appliances and nightlights before I left. Which turned into a big chore to repower on 2 hours of sleep, an upset stomach and shaky nerves from a windy drive home.

The kids did their best to cooperate with anti-social mom who actually watched tv for the first time in many months.

Jimmie’s still recuperating. We played until 3 am and he had lots of suitors. Was drop-d tuned a couple of times and fit just right under my arm.

Remember the song, Dirty Laundry by Don Henley. That line, “the bubble-headed-bleach-blonde”? I met her. Nice person. “I like country. Do you know any Huey Lewis?” “That’s not country.” I chuckled, but it actually annoyed me.

The best remark was “I’m not liberal, don’t involve me in politics.” At which point the non-political definition of the word was cited to her, very sweetly of course. Oops, do you think she’ll read this? Hey, I said she was a nice person. Perhaps just a bit tipsy and off her game.

The strange thing is guys seem to go for this. Is it that they feel manly and protective or just curious of the fallout.

But, I ought to be sweeter, I suppose. Not everyone can be on their game all the time. I even slip in the odd typo here and there and I’ve said some really STUPID things when I’ve been drinking (and come to think of it, when I’m stone cold sober).  Somehow though, I think this was life for her. I just got that feeling.

By the way, I’m rethinking the whole dating thing. I want to stay single at least for the summer. I really don’t feel the need to connect. Too bad because I just bought some prophylactics…the special kind…and I’d like to try one out. I figure a sweet dozen will last me well into 2012. I should check the expiry date, perhaps I’ll need to be less conservative.



Over the long weekend I shot some video of the kids. It’s in the editing room now and I’m having a hard time with it. I think it’s all superb, but sure it would bore the rest of the human race to tears.

The shots are candid. Two little boys playing dinkies and gearing up for the big race. JB the filibuster, holds up the starting gun creating new roads and combing his hair with a vacuum attachment. KD’s patience is tested and he loses focus. The tables turn and it’s JB who complains about the time being wasted. Two boys, 2 brothers, 2 years apart, close in adventure, inside my heart. Coming April 4, 2008.

They are playing 2 player Lego Racers now. Fortunately my laptop keys are not ergonomic enough to win any major victories, so it’s fallen out of favour.  The novelty of Mom’s computer worn off, it was only a matter of time. I’m grateful.

But wait, JB’s Christmas list includes his own laptop with the keys in front. Fortunately I won’t be able to find one like that.

Spring snow

The green is there
I can feel it

White healing
covers the wounds
of sun
and bike tracks

Fertile soil remains
aching for replenishment


“So you think everything’s going to be ok, hey.”

“Yup. Everything will be just fine.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Cause life always throws you a curveball.”

“So. Throw it back.”

“What if it’s too big to pick up.”

“Then kick it.”

Lurking around

Suddenly I feel like a piece of dirt. Not in a bad way, but ready to be the soil for something beautiful to grow through.

This month two relationships ended for me. One was a bit perplexing to my soul, not exactly an enigma, but all aglitter and then fizzled out like a sparkler— nice while it lasted but not destined to burn forever. The other gnawed at me for eons and I’m finally strong enough to move on, realizing there is no hope for anything more than a heartache at the end of each day.

What’s really bringing me down is something I have to come to terms with and it’s breaking me apart. Jimmie is too big for me. He’s too hard for me to hold. Roger let me play his vintage small body last week and I felt the difference. It was easier and I was better able to get in the groove, be myself.

So now I’m sad when I play the guitar. I’m genuinely sad. Jimmie has given me so much over the past 7 months. He’ll always be the first and the first chord is the deepest.

But like many relationships it basically comes down to money in the end, so Jimmie will stay around for a while and I’ll likely never part with him. Who knows, maybe we’ll find our groove and the size won’t matter any more.

With greater wisdom, I’m sure my next relationship will be easier to hold too.

Happy Easter

The house is quiet now. The kids left with their Dad for Easter Sunday.

At the crack of dawn JB crawled in his bed with me while KD made the “we’re up” call to begin the Easter morning ritual. Mandy won the egg hunt through the night and the bunny had to re-cloak while the kids were scurrying for chocolate. Six Webkinz he brought. They are all safely snuggled in their beds. I’m sure it will be a computer day at Dad’s today. I’ll see them bright and early tomorrow morning and we’ll share the day, high on chocolate and lots of love.


Easter always brings me down. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s the christian sorrow associated with the death of Jesus…have you ever been to a Good Friday service? I went once and am scared for life…will not go back. My God doesn’t want me to feel shame, sorrow and pain. My God supports my path to joy. Sure, we all must feel some pain to recognize our joy and create boundaries for ourselves, but why all the drama? I’m glad to say Alleluia today and let go of my attachment to anything other than the present moment.


A group of women bloggers are gearing up for BlogHer ’08, set for the Canadian May long weekend in Chester, NS. I visited Sweet | Salty for the first time in a while the other night and, as always, was absorbed in the prose of such a profoundly spiritual woman who has lived through more than I care to experience, save for her words. From there, I met Thordora who questions the existence of God and anything beyond the flesh of this lifetime. And that got me a thinkin’. I actually drafted a response to an extremely thoughtful and respectful thread, but abandoned it. I needed more time and it was already 3 am.

I remember the tsunami disaster, and watching—as we sat comfortably in our Christmas sparkle—the devastation, loss and pain left in its wake.

The story of the father who clung to his 2 year old while struggling against the power of the wave, and then losing him while trying to grasp a stronger hold. He watched helplessly as his son was taken away. “Daddy, I’m scared,” were the last words that father heard. On the boy’s tiny arms were inflatable arm bands  and I remember scouring the tv screen for them each time I joined their sorrow-filled world, listening for a miracle in my ears. 

The group of children who were found in a circle, holding hands. Their last moments of life, huddle together for comfort. The mother who had to choose between two sons, but was rewarded with the life of both.

I’ll stop there for fear of frying my keyboard.

I’ve had sad moments close to home too, watching my Dad immobilized for fourteen years unable to communicate with us. As a family we gathered round him, and stronger together we dealt with the loss of a great man. But alone, I was weak, tortured by the why of it all. When he finally left us, my soul rejoiced in the freedom of his body and spirit. Although it was still hard to say goodbye, it was his time to leave us to fend for ourselves without the magnet of him to bond us together. And so we do. Perhaps for Mom, but mostly I believe because we all now see the frailty of life and how inconsequential pride and possession are to the human spirit.

I do believe there is a higher power, but not some sole king that determines our destiny or decides who, what, when and where. I do pray. I pray for my children’s health and safety. I pray for mothers and babes in wombs. I pray for people in need and families in sorrow. I pray for a peace within myself and that others may find peace too. 

When I was young, I would pray to God; leaving everything in “his” hands. It brought me comfort then—still does from time to time when the load seems too heavy to bear—but didn’t necessarily bring me strength within myself, so I would fall asleep each night petitioning “him” out of fear and insecurity.

But one message that stuck with me from Sunday School is that we are created in the image of God. So with the authenticity of a child, I started praying in the mirror. It brought me the strength I longed for and over the years, and through my experiences, I’ve learned to cultivate that feeling of God within myself.

I’m not saying I’m God. I can’t perform miracles, unless you see miracles in being a mother, a good friend and the deep desire to love another human being unconditionally. I have limits. There are many things beyond my control. The ground we walk on has its own energy, I am unable to control that. What happens inside someone else’s soul that directs their path in this lifetime, is not my business. The only thing I can control is my reaction to the events around me.

After the tsunamis, Larry King brought a group of religious leaders together to help explain why; and where God was in all of this. The clear message they agreed on is that God isn’t in the event itself, God is in the response.

It’s easy to blame God when things go wrong and give credit where miracles exist. But it’s as hard for me to comprehend that some “one” is responsible for this as it is for me to look up to the stars on a dark night and wonder why we are even here to begin with. So I don’t.

I do teach my children to pray. For safety and health and those they care for. I also teach them to discover within themselves the goodness and love that can change the world. My theory is that prayer is thought and our thoughts create miracles every day.

What happens when we die? My faith in the power of spirit tells me there is more beyond this lifetime. In the mansion that is Heaven, with lockers and fresh towels by the gold-lined pool and angels feeding us cream-cheese on wheat-free crackers? Probably not, but we’ll be safe, touching those that need us. I believe souls can join together whenever we reach for them. Whether they are here now or separated by that fine line. I believe Liam is with Kate and Justin and Evan and Ben, and he will be, until they are ready and it’s time for his soul to move on. But Kate needs him still so he remains safe and sound within her.

But, I haven’t lost a child and I’m not asking for that lesson. So forgive me Kate if this doesn’t resonate with you, it’s just how I see things. It’s what gives me the strength to send strength to you.

And Thordora, I’ve haven’t watched my mother be taken away by cancer. However, I too, don’t remember a presence in the ER after my father died and we pawed over his body for what seemed like hours. But I do feel him when I need him, when I open up to the thought that we are all more connected than we think.

That’s what brings me comfort. Thought I’d share.

God, if you’re there, I haven’t forsaken you or my teachings, just choose to experience you in my own way. You represent love to me. I hope that’s ok.


Growing loosely
free of pain
absorbed by trust
exponent faith

Dangling timbers
silent of fear
whispered solitude
reluctant tears

Asperous memories
unbound by the soul
reward awaits

Bones on a string

For the past few days KD has been talking about this new trick he wants to teach Mandy, but we never seem to get around to it.

This morning, I woke up late and began the usual morning rush. I told the boys to get themselves dressed and then go pick out some cereal while I had a quick shower, which was rudely interrupted by screams from JB that KD was hurting him. I yelled, but only to get their attention over the water. After my shower, I quickly dressed JB who didn’t quite understand the instruction and then headed down to oversee the milk pouring.

In the meantime, KD was gearing up the trick. He greeted me downstairs with a piece of string, tape, a milkbone, the kitchen stool and big eager smile. “Tape this to the ceiling and we’ll get Mandy to jump for it,” he said. “Where did you learn this?” I asked. “I just made it up,” he grinned.

So, here I am, running late, kids are dressed but not fed and I’m standing on a stool, naked, taping a piece of string to the ceiling and tying a milkbone to the end. I smiled watching KD take his role as spotter so seriously while I teetered on the stool.

Mandy couldn’t reach the bone. She tried but the string was too short. I held the bone up over my head, close to the end of the string and she managed to snag it. KD was ecstatic. The glee in his eyes was worth it.  All that’s left now is a rogue piece of tape on my living-room ceiling and warm memories of being a Mommy in the moment.

Not my Mommy

The other day I dropped JB off at the sitter’s. Another little boy there asked me for a kiss.

JB ran interference, “Yuck. Don’t kiss him Mom.”

“Oh, I’ll just give him a little kiss right here on the cheek.”

With the strangest look on his face, JB said, “I don’t think that’s ok with me.”

Great line buddy, I’ll have to remember that one next time I get a booty call.


JB wanted to wear a pull-up tonight so I obliged. I know, I know, it’s regressive and not “allowed” by many manuals. But do you know how many months I regained watching him run around in a diaper and a sweatshirt? KD told him he was going to tell everyone. JB didn’t think that was too cool and made him promise not to say. But, it didn’t deter him and he asked for a clean one after his bath, not that there was anything wrong with the first one, except that KD had ripped it open a bit.

He’ll often ask me to hold him like I did when he was a baby. It’s comforting to him and to me. A second chance really.  He’s sleeping now with a “fresh” diaper. I’m sure it will be dry in the morning. If not, I’ll slap my fingers.

At night we’ve been watching this show called, “In the Night Garden“. It’s bedtime Teletubbies and starts with a child being put to bed with a gentle massage of the hand and then moves to a wonderland full of little characters and strange happenings. KD and JB love it and it settles them for a good night’s sleep. It’s actually aimed at young children from 1-4, but KD (almost seven) thinks it’s really cool. Perhaps JB can counter KD’s diaper tale. I have to admit, I don’t follow it so well. I’m usually asleep by the time IgglePiggle is finished his waves and giggles.

The yelling has been silenced these past few days. I’ve resorted to slow, low, deep, whispered requests. Yesterday KD pushed JB off his chair and in my best Horatio Caine, I said, “KD. K-D. You could have hurt him badly. KD. K-D. Don’t. Do that again.”