Category Archives: Just thinking

Bigger isn’t always better

When I was young, I always thought the laundromat would be fun. It was. The first time. Then it became a chore I detested. When I bought my first house there was no dryer, so all the clothes were dried inside in the wintertime and softened with an iron or body heat. I didn’t complain though, it wasn’t my chore any more.

Growing up, my mother always did these tiny little loads of laundry and I couldn’t understand what part of “super duty” she didn’t understand. I mean if the thing was made to be stuffed, then stuff it. So when I finally got my first  complete in-house laundry facility, I did just that. Stuffed the thing full of whatever was in the hamper, dosed it with detergent and then dried, re-dried and re-dried again.

As married couples do, we divided up the chores and the laundry became mine, at which point my ex stated that the laundry pretty much did itself. He quickly learned that steps 4-6 could take up to two weeks to complete given my adversity to folding, sorting and stuffing clothes back into swelling dresser drawers. He conceeded and we began sharing the laundry chore. I still remember the cute little way he would fold my underwear and hook my socks together. Not a reason to stay married, but it had merit.

When the kids came along, things got worse; we were overcome with laundry. Fortunately, we had lots of help from his Mom, who also did tiny little loads of laundry. It was just as annoying as when my mother did it.

Once I was on my own, some good intentioned souls counseled me to do a load of laundry every night to keep on top of it. But then I was just doing laundry every night and throwing it in a hamper to be folded and sorted two weeks later.

I decided the answer was to buy bigger, taller hampers so I didn’t have to do it so often. The problem then became the hallway dressers that held our mash of clothes for weeks (sometimes folded, sometimes not).

Every morning I would mine for the right socks and underwear and gym day or regular day attire. It was a constant curse fest.

Over the holidays I had an enlightened moment where I discovered the solution to my seemingly insurmountable battle with the three extra large clothes hampers used to contain the majority (and often times all) of our clothes.

I bought three of the smallest, shallowest rectangle hampers I could find and labelled them, Korey, Justin and Mom. Now, we each put our clothes into separate hampers and on wash day (or night) I do three tiny little loads of laundry, with minimum water, less detergent (as I learned), on a shorter “light soil” cycle and dry them separately with one push of the dryer button. Then, I take each tiny little, pre-sorted load, quickly fold it, put it back in the hamper and put it away.  Laundry now takes less time, uses less detergent, water and electricity and there are always underwear, socks and pants available on our rushed mornings.

I guess our mothers were right. But, who knew I had so many bras.


Snow?

I turned the lights out at 10:30 last night, just before the big storm hit. I woke through the night, playing musical beds as the kids and I always do and I heard the wind, but didn’t look out. This morning I was met with screams from Korey about all the snow that had fallen. Pushing the door open, I found the back deck was up to my knees…now that might not be saying much, but it’s still deep when you have to shovel it.

The ex came by on a 4-wheeler to pick up the kids and plowed me out, it was the ex-swipe, not the traditional clean sweep of yesteryear. But, I’m grateful nonetheless. I cleaned up the rest, made a path for Mandy to get out the back door and waited.

The plow came by an hour later and dumped mounds of snow back in my clean driveway. I rushed out and a neighbour with a snowblower told me to take a break. Just as I was tidying that up, the plow came by a second time. I guess you shouldn’t call the plow driver a fuckin prick, because he came back a third time, just for fun.

All the snow has put me in the Christmas spirit. I called to make an appointment to have my carpets cleaned next week and have Mandy groomed. One always has to occur before the other. The Christmas tree will be hunted next Sunday and we’ll be all set. Now I just need to start the shopping.

I’m realizing that my problem with the kids not heeding me so well, is not entirely my fault, but as with everything in life, it’s my responsibility. You cannot control what you give away to someone else and that goes for your problems, emotions and money.

The kids call their Dad every time something goes wrong here and he disciplines them over the phone or talks them off the ledge. It’s not helpful. He is left with the feeling that I cannot control them so he has to step in and I’m frustrated that I’m being seen as ineffective.

I’m reminded that back in the summer I was disciplining the kids, loudly, and they commented to their Dad that they were afraid of me. I told Roger and he said, “Good. They should be afraid of you.” But, it was used as leverage to once again kick my parenting ability. It’s tough, but I’ll deal with it. I always do.


September 25

Today is my wedding anniversary. It’s funny how I still say, “my wedding”. I remember the engagement year, I constantly referred to it as mine, as if my finance was inconsequential. I was getting married, he was along for the ride.

We laughed together today exchanging happy anniversary greetings. But, you know, it’s sad for me. It wasn’t what I meant to have happen, the ending, that is.

Maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself, which I really have no reason to feel. I’m in a good place. Plenty to keep me busy, lots of growth opportunities, two amazing children and a dedicated and loving co-parent. I don’t consider myself a single parent. A single mom perhaps. I definitely chose the right father for my children. It’s just too bad we weren’t the right couple.


Comment vous appelez-vous?

Je m’appelle Heather.

Moi, je parlez français.

Comment allez-vous?

***********

I was saving french lessons for retirement, but a good opportunity presented itself, so I jumped at it. A fellow yogi, who was also my son’s soccer coach this summer, is in my class. She’s a lot of fun, so Wednesday evenings will be entertaining to say the least, except for next Wednesday when I have to go to night court for my speeding ticket. Oh, I didn’t tell you about that?

Beautiful spring afternoon and I’m leaving work with Jimmie on my back, heading for guitar lessons. When I came out the side door of my building, Bob Dylan’s bus was parked on the street. A rental security officer asked me politely if I wouldn’t mind walking AROUND the bus. To which I responded, “Excuse me?” He repeated his request and I gave him a puzzled look, “That’s kind of dangerous, don’t you think?”

Pissed off, I walked straight into traffic without looking, just hoping for a photo-opp of me and Jimmie sprawled on Duke street because some washed-up singer thought I might be interested in looking at him while he sat on his bus. And, I mean no disrespect to Mr. Zimmerman, but, come on. Unfortunately, traffic was light.

Things got worse when I arrived at guitar lessons and told Roger of my trouble. He got me all worked up and told me I should have said, “Yes. Yes, I fucking mind walking around the bus. This is my sidewalk, I pay taxes for it, and I’m going to walk on it.”

Needless to say my brain was off writing this blog post on the way home from my lesson and wouldn’t you know, a very nice police officer thought he clocked me breaking the limit, slightly. I kindly accepted the ticket, but showed up in court two months later to plead not guilty and get my day in court. Next week is it. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Just to top it off, the next morning, while I’m impersonating a pace-car and cruise-controlling at 50 kmh, radio reports of the Bob Dylan concert went something like, “he didn’t say hi, bye, kiss my ass, or even acknowledge where he was. Just played and left. No encore.” How is that entertainment? No where near as cool as french lessons.

Salute, mon amis.


Back to the old grind

That’s what my mother always says when vacation is over. Both of my kids are now in school. Justin did very well on his first and second day. He had a little meltdown on the third day, but we got through it. Broke my heart to see him, arms outstretched, crying for me while the teacher carried him in. She said he stopped crying at the classroom door but when my friend and I peaked in the window he still had quite the lip on during Oh Canada. He was fine when I picked him up though so he’s ok, no lasting trauma.

I got my credit card bill this week. I have got to curb my appetite for boosting our local economy, or get another job to support my spending habits. Anyone need a writer, web consultant, massage therapist, hairdresser, a psychologist perhaps? Oh, there are no limits to my talents.

Korey’s soccer party was last Saturday at our friends’ house. They live just behind us so it was convenient to travel back and forth to grab clean, dry clothes, feed Mandy and get their jammies. The party lasted 11 hours (1-midnight). The kids stayed up the whole time playing in the basement. The adults talked, played cards and even had a little sing-song with Jimmie. I now have six layers of calouses on my fingertips, but it was worth it.  

Almost the entire soccer team was there, plus siblings: fourteen boys and one girl. At one point she and Korey went upstairs alone to play with her brother’s trainset. That’s Korey. Always ready to make sure everyone feels included and special. She’s in Justin’s class but Korey and she have become good friends over the summer.

It was a great time with some wonderful people who know how to have a good time. I feel blessed to have them so close. I was nervous because our friends just moved into a new house and I’m famous for spilling, scratching, dropping or otherwise marking new abodes, but I came away clean this time. I’m not sure what the downstairs looked like. I did hear the kids were throwing things at the ceiling at one point. Maybe next week we’ll have a painting party.

Actually, being in a fresh hosue made me long for new digs. Not likely going to happen soon (see above). However, I did pickup a good tip:  Instead of changing the colour of your paint (if you still like it, of course) simply use the same colour and then you don’t really need to do all that cutting in that’s so time consuming. I’m syked about this, can’t wait to spruce things up around here. Fall fix-up will begin oh, maybe this weekend if I don’t go to the cottage or have a date. Do you think I would attract any men if I put up a profile on a dating site looking for someone who wants to help me paint? Free beer & wings, after the painting is complete, that is.

Yoga classes started again tonight. It’s nice to see new people in the class and watch their amazement at how they can move into asanas so effortlessly. It’s almost like experiencing it yourself all over again. And, I’m back to guitar lessons tomorrow. I’ll walk to work, Jimmie on my back, entertaining the smiles from passers-by. Often people will ask, “care to play a tune?” The dumbest question is always, “What’s that on your back?” I’ve stopped responding. 

Maybe I could busk for some extra cash!


Prince Charming

What exactly am I waiting for? I was brought up in an environment where Dad earned the money and Mom ran the house, until of course Dad got home and then Dad ran Mom. Sounds dreadful to me but that was the nuclear family.

So I’m independent. I take care of myself and I do what I want. Of course, I’m plagued by fear of success and still hear my past whispering, “don’t do that, it will never work.” The trouble is I’m just a bit too lazy to fight it. Or maybe I haven’t found something worth fighting for. I play with my dreams, and simply dipping my toes in the water has been, until this point, ultimately satisfying. Now the wet piggies are a screaming reminder that I really haven’t jumped and relied solely on myself and my talents. 

Having two children is another excuse I use to stay in the safe zone and wait for someone to rescue me from this treadmill of lucidity—where I can see clearly the life I want, but lack the guts to move closer to it.

What would I do if I could do anything? I’d be more available to my children, teach yoga, write, speak, heal people, learn more of life’s ways—enjoy the connections of life and ponder their energy. I try to bring this to my everyday world now, and it’s gratifying to watch mainstream begin to accept what I’ve known for so long. It makes me hunger for more.

Of course, I want all of this and abundant prosperity. Perhaps it’s my attachment to money that’s holding me back. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t own a wide-screen, or TVO or even stainless steel appliances. I drive a seven year old car and only buy clothes on sale. So, it’s not like I live beyond my means or take pleasure in extravagence. I’m simply afraid to sacrifice what I have to obtain the life I want, without a backstop and someone to hold my hand.

Crazy hey?


Just writing

Random thoughts:

It’s 10:24 pm and I’m just starting this. I guess it will be another late night.

Getting up early when the kids are not here is virtually impossible.

I miss my kids.

Mitch is still in even though I forgot to vote last night. I guess one person didn’t make a difference this time.

I’m feeling blocked. Thus this mess of thoughts to break through the clutter.

I saw colour tonight at yoga. Maybe I’ll be seeing auras soon….oooh, creepy, I know.

I can do a headstand without hands.

I can finally do the scorpian against the wall.

The handstand I still need help with.

I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts. Seriously, that was the song that just sailed through my mind. Written by Fred Heatherton in 1944 and made famous by Danny Kaye.

Wikipedia is by far the best thing since www.

Pokemon shall remain a mystery to anyone over the age of 20.

Chocolate and peppermint are an awesome combo.

This trail is leading no where fast.

Maybe I’ll simply go to bed.


Redirecting Anger

A while back I contacted a boy from the past and the response wasn’t quite what I was expecting. As it turns out though, all the right things he said in his response were just, well, words on my screen. He was dodging bullets, not stopping long enough to quantify his prose.  I’m still pissed off about it. Mostly at myself for letting it bug me so much and falling prey once again to someone who doesn’t seem to have the capacity to measure up. It would be nice if I were wrong about this. Time is the greatest tattle-tale. 

Just to punish myself further I left the door open for my nemesis to saunter back in briefly. I’m always so cool you know, taking life as it comes, not thinking of tomorrow so much, just enjoying the moment. But, as it always happens, what I truly want sits beside me, patiently tapping me on the shoulder. “Lock the door, seek further,” it coos. “You’ll find the right person to share this marvelous life with you.”

These are the best years of my life. My mother is alive, my children are young and I’m healthy with a bright future and lots to look forward to. Somewhere in my subconscious I’m listening to an old worn out record that would serve me much better as remolded vinyl. I do deserve the best. I offer it and expect it in return. Most importantly, I am ready to accept no less.


Favourite Song

I thought I would capture this for perpetuity, that is assuming Youtube and this blog never go away.


Stop making sense

I learned early on that good things do follow bad and I thought I would share this learning with the boys. So I say on the way to town after a slight change of plans and boiling dissapointment.

 “We may not have gotten to do what we wanted to today, but something good will happen, just wait and see. Good things always follow bad.”

The response from Korey, “What do you mean? That doesn’t even make any sense. What are you taking about? Mom, you’re stupid.”

I’ll just let that sink in.