Let the Dominoes Fall Where They May

July 21/22 7:28 a.m.:

One week ago, I wrote the post "Come Walk With Me". I wrote about my decision to take the better of two options as I navigated my early morning. This morning I chose the alternate options.

I woke up early and was eager to jump into the day so I skipped my morning stretches. Bad news: the effects of stretching are immediate. I was much less limber as I moved about and got dressed. Good news: the effects of stretching are immediate. Tomorrow morning, when I DO decide to take the time to stretch, I'll be right back where I was yesterday.

I opted to skip my walk in lieu of jump-starting my podcast/puzzle time with my morning smoothie. No nature stories to divert my attention and get out of my head a little. Straight to the business of puzzling and listening to other people's words before I listened to my own. I missed that space to just "be". 

I have a list of household tasks to accomplish today. Windows, vacuuming, washing floors, de-cat-hairing, a side order of dusting and an errand to run. I have bookkeeping work to tend but hope I can accomplish my home-work tasks while still keeping on my top of work-from-home agenda.

House work. Work from home. It is truly no wonder why I love my little weekend oasis away from home where it feels like real life doesn't exist for a few days.

I wrote these words, walked away and tended to (almost) all of the above.

And it was good. The energy I spend procrastinating is so much better invested just DOING one thing I want to get done.

Once I start something, provided I am not distracted by something that jumps the line, the domino effect of one thing leading to the next, the next, another and yet another little task is how I manage to accomplish what-must-be-done.

I crossed a lot of hard things off my list that particular day. I had one distraction I was able to easily tend to (something that has the ability to completely derail my intentions), but I got back on track. 

It was so much easier to wake up the next morning knowing I had accomplished what I had set out to do. It was easier to WAKE up, not so easy to GET up. Those stretches I neglected before I got out of bed? When my achy body woke me up in the middle of the night, instead of reaching for pain relief in the form of a pill, I did my stretches without leaving the bed. It was all I needed to get back to sleep and live to wake up and stretch another day.

Ahhh! Sometimes those ahhh-some moments find their way into your day in the most unexpected ways. Accomplishing something you have been putting off? Ahhh-some! Finding relief through stretching verses a pain reliever? Ahhhhh. Waking up the next morning with vim and vigor to tend to the few items left on that list? Ahhh! Then tackling your day job with that same vitality and tending to one more of those tasks that have been put on the do-another-day list? Ahhh [said with a huge sigh of relief]!!

What small action can you do today to bring a little bit of that Ahhh-someness into the moment? It doesn't have to be a big thing. Sometimes simply getting out of bed and getting dressed is a feat unto itself. Other times? ONE small step can lead to another and you may amaze yourself. If not today, another day. Let ONE domino fall and see where it takes you.

Best Under Pressure

I stepped into June knowing it would be a tough month. I had a job to do and there was no option. It had to be done. And it was.

As busy as I knew the month would be, I added more to my personal to-do-list than I have done in a very long time. I got up early so I had time to walk, do my puzzles, write and tend to a few things around the house before I opened the door to my work-from-home day job. I went to my second job after that. Then wound up the day early, satisfied with what I had accomplished in the day.

Then all deadlines were met. And I crashed.

I have taken up sleeping in and all but given up walking. After a long, hard month at my work-from-home-job with no holiday in sight, I deemed this week a "mental holiday" break. I have done what must be done. I am home and available to take all calls and manage whatever work may come my way. But I'm resting my mental muscle and coasting.

It feels like the perfect holiday. 

Except the minute I don't have (what feels like) a million things to do, the smallest of jobs I normally squeeze into my regularly scheduled life feel onerous. 

There is a saying that goes something to the effect of "If you need something done, ask a busy person."

How true it is. Last month? I was conquering my world. This month is officially one week old and I am barely managing my world.

It is a hard truth but I do believe I am grateful for the deadlines within my life. They push me where I need to be and help me become the person I am capable of becoming.

Who knew?

Back in the Saddle Again

I woke up to a bird choir singing outside my window and the soothing sound of a distant train whistle when my eyes popped open at 5:00 this morning. My chosen wake-up time. My favorite sounds. Ahhhh.

It has been a chaotic time for my tired brain. Bookkeeping deadlines, tending to my aunt's housekeeping/grocery/misc needs in four days instead of five, then my own household requirements (no time for groceries there), packing what I wanted to take to my weekend oasis and heading out there in time to mow the half acre of  "lawn" (I am exaggerating the square footage but that is what it feels like when I'm mowing and use the word lawn hesitantly as the grass is sparse, I over-sprayed for weeds and killed off a fair bit and our regular rains didn't water what was left of the grass so I kicked up a LOT of dust as I mowed) before the weekend began. 

I was already prepared for company but got a side order of distraction when the fridge at my little oasis quit working. High socialization requirements for the weekend were met &/or exceeded (I'm not bragging. My expectations of myself were not high). I glided through the weekend with a dysfunctional fridge in the background of my thoughts with the mantra "There is nothing I can do about it so there is no sense worrying about it" on repeat. 

Do your best. Surround yourself with siblings and their spouses. Toss in a sister to mastermind the catering (again). Add a little family reunion. Season with a drop-by-visit with a cousin new to the neighborhood. That is my personal recipe for the most perfect unperfect weekend of the year.

After the dust settled (literally, as I think of our dusty lawn), I was left alone in my little oasis. I settled in with a few troubleshooting suggestions from www.familyhandyman.com and [drum roll please] the fridge is working again. At least this morning (Dr FamilyHandyman suggests there is a problem with the defrost heater/timer/or thermostat). 

I woke up at my favorite waking time, did my stretches (I have done neither since my string of late nights began five days ago as I struggled to meet my bookkeeping deadlines then late nights became the norm thereafter) had some cold water from the presently functioning fridge and finally felt the long awaited ahhhh-some moment I have come to know and love.

As I navigated my late nights, knowing that much socialization would be on the agenda, I slept in each morning knowing there would be more late nights on the horizon. My sleep schedule was navigated with ease as the extra waking hours at night were offset by a few more sleeping hours in the morning (I'm not bragging. I am eternally grateful for my sleeping superpowers). To wake up on a Monday morning with a spring in my step and actually anticipating the return of my regularly scheduled life is a gift I did not expect as I anticipated the weekend past.

I don't wake up every Monday morning feeling this way. It is the return to my satisfying quiet little life that is key. The fact that all the looming deadlines at my day job were met last week. Waking up to a day of high expectations is an exhausting way to greet the day.

You know you are living the life you are intended to live when you wake up, after a good nights sleep, on a Monday morning AND you are grateful to hop back on that horse and be back in the saddle again.

Priority Lists

I seem to have a mental block against the idea of to-do-lists these days. The very wording "to do" feels demanding, unrelenting and bossy. I have decided to call my list a "priority list".

I did not write such a list this weekend. But I did what was important, spur of the moment and time sensitive.

I had priorities. I simply didn't write them down, thus I could not cross them off a list.

I had telephone conversations that mattered with people I care about and that time was wisely invested. Check!

I hosted some choose-your-own gift shopping experiences and turned one of my most detested jobs (shopping) into an outing and a gift. There was a meal tossed into each gift experience. This has been my best gift-giving idea and I received a gift in return. All I had to do was issue the invitation and I received the gift of giving, conversing and a shared meal to boot. Check! Check! Check!!

I got together with a friend who is a spur-of-the-moment, if-it-works-for-you-and-it-works-for-me at the same kind of friend. After a few thwarted attempts, yesterday happened to work out for both of us. This was truly a gift to myself. Check!

I watched The Sound of Music in the middle of the day, so I could stay awake and savor the experience. That is all I did for three solid hours. I love the way that movie makes me feel and the memories it brings back. Watching a movie in the middle of the day is pure indulgence. It was wonderful. Another gift to myself.

Yes, I have a mental list of all the things I could have and should have done. I feel badly that I didn't cook, clean or tackle any of the many tasks I could have tended around here. I could have done any number of those tasks during the time it took to watch The Sound of Music. But I didn't. I could spend my energy shaming myself for another weekend of wasting my time. But I won't.

Instead, I shall make a priority list. I will do what is important first. Then I shall carry on with what is either next in line of importance or be willing to put it aside for that which time will not wait for.

Those conversations, experiences, visits and time to simply catch my breath are CPR for my soul. Chores can wait. Life can't.

Practising the Pause

I received an after hours text last night. While my initial reaction was to respond immediately, I thought "Wait until you get home ...". I got home and decided that "Wait until tomorrow" was the best response.

I had an important conversation yesterday. While my initial reaction was to try to offer up a solution, I simply responded, "We need to keep talking..." in the moment I was in. I woke up this morning with a possible option in mind but again talked myself down. "Think about this first ..." and see what alternatives crop up.

I felt a little angsty about both of these moments where the best answer was no answer. I must listen to that anxiety that lies beneath the surface. It is telling me something.

I wasn't sure what to write next so I walked away and made my lunch. New, fresh and less in-the-moment thoughts came to me.

At times when I've been looking for a lost item, I have found if I stop, walk away and distance myself from the cycle of looking-where-I-have-already-looked, it freshens my perspective. When I return, I have new ideas of where else I could be looking. It doesn't always work but it has worked enough times to remind me this is a good strategy.

I have many hitting-a-wall moments in my numbers work. The best thing I can do is to walk away and take myself out of the cycle of thinking-the-same-thoughts and doing the same thing over and over again, hoping to come up with the answer. Definition of insanity? All the above. My solution at times like this? This could be a good time to look for that item I couldn't find earlier.

Before hitting the "send" button on a text or email ... before hastily dialing a phone while purely in a "reaction" mode, it is best to pause first. Do I do this all of the time? Anyone who has read text messages my phone has auto-corrected can vouch that I do not. When a message is of a delicate or important nature, I try ...

When I have been hurt by words that someone has said, I try not to add fuel to the fire by reacting in kind. I say very little to nothing in those moments. But my thoughts fester when I cannot react. In the moment or after the fact. Pausing is okay. Stifling one's thoughts in the hope that there won't be a repeat offence takes me back to my days of being married. By not taking a stand, my actions were misunderstood as acceptance and I laid the groundwork for the scenario to replay time and time again.

While I am practising "pausing before reacting", I must remember action without the fuel of emotions guiding me is the ultimate goal. Inaction is different than pausing.

They say to take a deep breath and think before reacting in emotionally fuelled situations. Pause before taking action. But don't forget to act.

Just Another Day

It's Mother's Day. So many wistful thoughts are floating through my mind.

Mom, of course I'm thinking of you but that is not unusual. I don't think of you any more or any less because of a date or Hallmark occasion. I think of you because you are, always have been and always will be my mom. You are interwoven within my genes, my heart, my soul, my thoughts, my past, my present and my future. I am grateful.

I think very little of my label as "Mom" on Mother's Day because, as it is with how I feel about Mom, it is how I feel about being a mom. I don't think of the role I play within my children's lives any more or any less because of a certain date on the calendar. I think of my children because they are a part of me, my past, my present and future. They carry a part of me within them and I hope and pray it is "enough".

I like to celebrate the moments as they unfold in life. Unchoreographed, unexpected, spur of the moment little nothings that all add up to something larger than life.

As I have leafed through the decades of cards, letters, small gifts and little nothings I gave to Mom over the years, I am grateful for the reminder that as a daughter I did my best. I think it was enough.

When I sit still with my memories of Mom, of being a mom and thinking of those who are missing their mom I hope others find serenity within their day as wistful thoughts waft through their mind.

I am grateful for all the occasions that feel like Mother's Day despite what the calendar says. I am blessed to have such a collection of such memories.

Any day is Mother's Day in my little world. May you find peace within your day, any day. Let the good stuff sift to the top and lose yourself in the moments as they unfold.

Meandering Thoughts

Nothing too terribly deep or thought provoking has been tumbling through my mind this extra-long-weekend.

I have woken up to four glorious days of "I Get to Stay Home Today!!" and it has been completely and totally amazing. I love being home. I adore mornings when I awake to the knowledge I don't have to pry myself out the door. It has been nothing special but everything wonderful all wrapped up in one small package.

Yesterday, Jet (cat) & I woke up and watched Planet Earth together. This morning Ray (second cat, technically the First Cat) hopped off the bed, threw up on the floor, hopped back into his sleeping spot and continued to rest like nothing ever happened (yes, I need these gentle reminders to nudge me into remembering why I LOVE our laminate flooring). There is truly nothing like waking up to these two black kitties resting on opposite corners of our king size bed.

I issued several invitations into the world. Some worked, some didn't, some were delayed yeses, some resulted in a deep and meaningful telephone conversation instead and ALL of the invitations resulted in me cooking meals this weekend.

I don't do much when I stay home but I DO try to cook (or provide food in some capacity - sometimes it is frozen; other times it is ordered in). Some people may have done yard work and cleaned the garage. Me? I cooked. Twice. Plus, I barbequed hot dogs one night. I feel like a super hero.

I am coming out the end of four days off and I have little to show for it except for leftovers in the fridge. I have a calm and happy heart too. Does that count for anything?

Weekends such as these make me wonder what retirement may look and feel like in my small little world. On one hand, I would hate to create a life where I didn't fully appreciate these wonderful, glorious "small nothings" that mean so much to me. On the other, I totally want to create a world where these extra-long-weekends came about on a somewhat regular basis.

I am lucky enough to have some flexibility within my work world. Maybe I can recreate this four-day-weekend from time to time. Maybe I already have done this (I just checked my calendar to find I have created extra long weekends the past three months).

I do live a charmed life. My wishes are granted on a fairly regular basis. I hope I never get to greedy and hope for more than is attainable. This is a pretty good balance of work/play/family/down-time. I honestly don't believe I could hope for more.

Entitlement Syndrome

Last night's quick trip to pick up a few items on my way home from work felt like an exercise in futility.

I walked into the store and immediately found myself in the Easter candy aisles. It took but a few minutes and I found the discount mini Easter eggs I have come to enjoy, then went directly to where my official list item numbers one, two and three were located.

Item #1 was too expensive, had too many choices, then when tried to narrow down my selection I discovered I didn't want what they had. I walked away with my cart carrying only my Easter candy.

Item #2 was no where to be found. Only my Easter candy remained.

Item #3 could only be bought within a set of other items I didn't need or want to purchase. This could prove to be a very cheap trip.

Item #4 was not available in the size I was looking for but I found the silver lining when I reminded myself of the savings in buying in bulk. Cat litter never goes to waste in our home but I haven't been buying the 50 lb size lately. It is simply too heavy.

I lugged the 50 pounds worth of cat litter into my almost empty cart and continued on my merry way.

As I walked up and down the food aisles, I was dismayed at the number of times I went to look for a specific item on the shelves and came up empty handed.

To add to my frustration, the store has done a major reshuffling of their groceries and I was having a heck of a time finding half the items left on my list.

As I checked out my cart (now filled with groceries I may or may not have really needed), it felt like this should be a cheap shopping expedition considering all the things I couldn't find. It wasn't.

I'm not a big fan of grocery shopping to begin with. Tack it onto the end of a long day and make it even longer by having to put away groceries and I was just a little testy.

I sat down at 8:30 and officially called it a day.

I woke up this morning with an "entitlement" hangover. We live in a country where we expect to find our grocery shelves fully stocked with an array of items so we can pick and choose according to our needs, wants and personal taste. More often than not, our stores do meet these standards. How dare I feel so entitled that I was a tad miffed that I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for? Shame on me.

I padded through my morning, turned on the kitchen faucet and marvelled over the fact we have clean, safe and readily available water "on tap".

I flushed the toilet and again appreciated the convenience of having the luxury of having not only enough water to take care of the job at hand, but a sewage system that is a basic part of our city's infrastructure.

I grabbed my back-up supply of frozen fruit I had on hand to make my morning smoothie. Food on hand, electrical appliances that are run by what feels like an endless source of power ...

I noticed yet another spectrum of light on the kitchen cabinets due to the angle of the back door and the way the sun was hitting the decorative light in the window. "Let there be light."

In the light of day, I simply felt grateful.

Grateful for the services that are not only provided as part of the convenience of where we live, but where our expectations are met and exceeded on a regular basis.

I saw the light. I felt ashamed of my petty grievances from last night. I thought I knew better. But I have been humbled. How dare I feel entitled to the privileged life I lead? I am suffering from a hangover of "Entitlement Syndrome". Today? I shall do better.

The Quiet Before the Company

My siblings are coming! My siblings are coming!!

Yes, a spur of the moment email suggesting we try to get together has resulted in our upcoming weekend plans.

We are a very fortunate family of four. We enjoy each other's company. We gather in good times and bad and anything in between. We haven't been together as a family for six months and the dawn of spring seemed like a very good time to invite everyone over.

We can be a little wishy washy with planning at times. So in the spirit of "Mom", rather than vaguely invite everyone saying "Any time is good with me", I suggested we try to pick a date around either Mom's birthday or Mother's Day. 

Mom's birthday was yesterday and we shall all be together tomorrow. Although Mom won't be the sole focus of our gathering, I'm sure both her and Dad will be present in spirit and mentioned often. 

I ended up with the day off from my bookkeeping job today, so I have the luxury (?!?) of six extra hours to prepare. 

My to-do-list consists of:

• make ice (freshly made ice especially for my sisters)
• vacuum "Mom's room" (the bedrooms have been sealed off from the cats since I washed all the bedding)
• wipe down mirrors
• wash couch cushions 

The list grows by the moment as I sit here with far too many extra hours at my disposal. What is my excuse not to:

• rake the yard?
• try to fix the gate latch (I miss my handy dandy handyson!)
• tidy the freezer (who really cares?!)
• prepare food?
• dust the baseboards?
• wash the kitchen cupboards?
• and the list goes on and on ...

When I had a house that was "clean enough", I had so much less to do. Now that the main floor of our home is new and basically clean, the bar has been raised. I must not only KEEP it clean, now that it IS clean, I can see so very much that has been ignored in the past (I have literally no memory of washing the outside of our tub but I'm sure it has been done in the past).

No one is coming to judge me. But with these excess hours on my hands, I feel like I should cook or something. Heaven forbid.

I tried rerouting my day so I could work this afternoon instead of this evening but that was not meant to be. I organized myself so I would have all my chores done before I left for my 8 a.m. dentist appointment this morning, thus I have created an excess of time I am trying not to feel guilty about wasting.

Sigh ...

I am a master of wasting time, so I shall fritter the hours away and revel in this sunny spring day I have all to myself. Maybe I will end up outside and things may happen. Or they may not. 

I'm grateful for the quiet before the company. I don't think I'll waste the time cleaning after all.

Renewed Standards

As I sit here in the aftermath of my rant about cat hair yesterday, I am now wondering. Is it less about the cat hair and more about becoming fussier?

I had a most wonderful weekend. It was a weekend of puttering. My goal was to deal with the excess of our upstairs, which had accumulated downstairs. A dose of income taxes. With a very nice sprinkling of family.

Saturday was my fun day. I talked with &/or emailed each one of my siblings. We have chosen a date to get together. Fun times ahead! I squeezed in some taxes and then my boys came for supper. The meal turned out well and afterwards, we watched an array of videos featuring each one of my sons. Ahhh. It was a good day!

Sunday was my reality day. I needed to do hard things. I had to start tackling the basement.

One small step at a time, this:

Became this:

I have a car full of recycling to drop off, two empty bookcases to sell or give away and a small box of give away items. I still have boxes of memorabilia, photos and other miscellaneous items to sort through. I need to create an office area to deal with all of the stationary items. But one weekend of puttering followed by another will take care of the rest.

I have overnight guests planning to come stay with us. I have been cooking meals. I have been cleaning and tidying our home on a daily basis. I stepped away from writing this to replenish my coffee and dusted the bathroom fluff, the mouldings on the kitchen cupboards and ran my new "duster" over the baseboards in the hallway.

I long for another day to simply putter away at things. I'm a putterer. It is the way I used to get big jobs done back in my more ambitious days. I simply pulled out a drawer here and there and dealt with the contents. One drawer at a time. One cupboard at a time.

I'm starting to do this again.

I have found a part of myself which has been lost for a very long time, somewhere in the rubble of this renovation. I had become the person I ranted about yesterday. I had become a person who overlooked the dirt, dust and excessive hair because everything underneath it was in dire need of maintenance.

Our renewed home is not fancy or overdone in any way, shape or form. As my oldest son put it when he walked in and saw all that had been done, "It was long overdue ..."

Having refurbished everything from floor to ceiling, it has raised my standards. "Good enough" no longer cuts it. I want to keep on top of things so I don't get so far down under the dirt, dust and cat hair that I stop caring again.

I wrote my rant about cat hair yesterday, visualising vacuuming the clean mop at regular intervals as I kept atop the cat hair upstairs. Then I started dealing with the basement. The process of emptying the upstairs began six weeks ago. Six weeks of cat hair balled up and amassed in, around and under all that had accumulated downstairs. Yesterday, I saw floor I hadn't seen in a very long time. I took the dry mop and captured all the cat hair which had come to rest while I wasn't looking.

When I looked at the mop after my light dusting, the mop was full of black cat hair. It was black. It never looks like that when I mop upstairs. Because the upstairs is ... clean!

Wafting cat hair or not, the upstairs has become a place which is actually clean. Thus, the stray cat hairs are a bother to me.

This renovation has done so much for me. It has shaken me up and awoken a part of me I thought was lost forever. The desire to clean, sort, organize and cull has sparked the part of me who likes inviting people into our home. Not only for a cup of coffee, but a meal with overnight accommodations available as needed.

I remember how delighted I was to find items which had been lost to me as we moved the upstairs, downstairs. Little did I know at the time, I would find myself and my old standards in amongst the excess as well.

Some things have been kept. Others have been discarded, recycled or given away. I think I'll keep my standards. I've missed this part of myself.

Let Kindness Win Today

If anyone spoke to any one of my children the way I speak to myself, I think the mother bear in me would come out and I would wrestle them to the ground. I would make them apologize and promise never to speak that way to my children or anyone else like that ever again.

I have high expectations of myself. If my role is to take care of children, I "should" myself to death. I should be more attentive, more creative, more fun, cook better meals, do more and simply be more.

When I write, I compare myself to others who have honed the art of writing to a level I know I will never attain. I should edit myself more, be more attentive to my overuse of "that" and "..." and brackets and there are so many ways I should do better, write more and write outside of the tiny box I live in.

As a friend, I know I should initiate contact more. I used to email people on a semi regular basis. Why did I stop? I don't call, I don't write and I am pretty sure people aren't receiving my ESP messages. I should be more, do more, call more and just be a better friend.

I could go on all day about all that I am not but instead I shall reroute my story and tell you about yesterday. Yesterday was the most wonderful kind of day within our daycare world. As I lived it, I was continually beating myself up. My inner voices had two names "The Critic" and "My Kind Side"

The critic - "You should take these guys outside!"
My kind side - "But they are happy and content. Let them play."
Critic - "You should be paying more attention!"
Kindness - "They are okay. They do better when you aren't hovering over their every move."
Critic - "You should make them a better lunch!"
Kindness - "It is just one day. They love alphagetti and hot dogs! Make it easy on everyone today."
Critic - "Let the older ones play through quiet time!"
Kindness - "Everyone does better with a piece of quiet inserted into their day. They need it just as much as you do. YOU need it to be your best self for the remainder of the day..."
Critic - "You need to take these guys out to play in the 'forest'!"
Kindness - "You enjoy them enjoying their forest and nature and hills just as much as they do. Yes, take them to the 'forest' and savor the moments."
Critic - "Take more pictures! Their parents need to see what you are seeing!"
Kindness - "Watch them, listen to them, remember this. It doesn't last ..."
Critic - "We should have gotten home sooner! Parents are waiting for us!!"
Kindness - "Their parents are grateful we took time to go on a little adventure. They arrived early. You couldn't know."

This conversation ran through my mind all day. It was relentless. But "Kindness" won.

We went with the flow, kids were kids and we enjoyed "little moments" all day long. Lunch was a hit, stress levels were low, expectations were moderate, contentment was high.

Children playing, happy sounds, pleased parents created a memorable day in such a small way.

Let "Kindness" win today. Give yourself a break and (try to) silence your inner critic. The Critic has a job to do. It reminds us to keep striving to be the best we can be. Just don't let your critical side break you. Remind yourself "Kindness Wins" and just do your best. It is all we can ever do. Some days, your best is better than others.

Let yourself off the hook and talk kind to yourself today.

A Little Bit of Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing

A little bit of knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Thank goodness the one thing education-after-high-school taught me was that the more I learn, the more I realize there is SO much more I do not know. Thus, I (think I) know when it is time to call an expert.

I am trying to help Mom out with some "land stuff". The details are tedious and boring but one fact of the matter is that I am dealing with stuff that could trigger taxes of all kinds. So after consulting with someone I know and trust, who does not know a lot about farm taxation, I thought I would go directly to the source. I called Revenue Canada.

Big mistake. HUGE mistake. If you read no further than this, please learn one thing from the error of my ways. When dealing with taxation, call an accountant who specializes in the field you are questioning. Do NOT call Revenue Canada.

First of all, I was transferred to six different people in six different departments before they answered the question I did NOT ask and eventually told me exactly how to word my original question so I (eventually) ended up in the right department on the seventh try. You need an education in how to speak Revenue Canadaese. It is a language I do not know and the slight bit I thought I knew got me into trouble. Not with Revenue Canada. Revenue Canada and I are just fine. It was the hot mess of confusion left in my wake after that ill fated call that was the trouble.

Looking back, I know I learned a lot of things I will need to know one day. I am very grateful that "day" was now and not at a time when things are a little more emotionally charged and I will not be thinking straight. I am very thankful for the lessons I learned. But I learned them the long and hard way.

Talking with Revenue Canada helped me understand I needed to talk to an expert in the farm accounting field. I consulted my good friend "Google" and came up with information that seemed to be the answer to my questions and I followed where that trail led. Thank goodness I was not in a state where I needed to act immediately.

An agent representing the company I found came to my home after my daycare day was done. You would think that would be ideal. It was not. I was forced to open my door and "talk business" at 7:00 p.m. at night. First off, I am usually in my pajamas by then. My brain waves are slowing down. I am in "sleep mode". Instead, I actually felt I had to clean my house in order to open the door to this stranger who would not answer any of my questions for free. Instead, he led me down his garden path and it sounded like they had all the answers to my questions AND the questions I had not yet thought to ask. BUT they would need (what sounded like) a contract and a two  year commitment. Whoa, Nellie!!

I shut the door at the end of that tortuousness ordeal at 8:30 at night and I felt desperate. When the going gets desperate, the desperate go to bed. And that is exactly what I did. Clarity and answers always find me in the morning. Never at night. I trusted a good night's sleep and a clear brain would tell me what I needed to know. And it did.

A few phone calls to the right people, referred to me by someone I know and trust, directed me exactly where I needed to go. Last night I went there. And it was good.

An "expert in the field" alleviated all of my immediate worries. They clarified the information I was given by who I mistakenly thought of experts prior to all of this. I went to their office, at 6:00. I was back home by 7:00 and in my pajamas, right on schedule.

He answered every question I had. He "has my back" if the going gets tough (or over my head). He put my mind to rest for the first time in weeks.

I am surrounded by people who think I am better than I know I am. These very same people think I am smarter than I actually am too. I am grateful to live in a world where I have to grow to meet the standards people already believe I have. I am very fortunate. The opposite end of this belief system would kill me slowly.

I am even more grateful for the extra bit of education I have taken along my way which taught me what I need to know the most. "The more I learn, the more I realize there is so much more I do not know." A little bit of knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Unless you take that information and share it with an expert in the field (who preferably comes with a personal reference).

I shall take what I have learned and move forward. Thanks for believing in me, Mom. You have led me where I needed to go.

Here Goes Nothing

I am sick to death of thinking, breathing and living through the minor house renovations around here as of late.

This house and all that has been done, needs to be done (and redone) and will never get done have permeated every thought I think and every breath I take.

So many of the "professional jobs" have left a trail of things-to-be-fixed in their wake. Today, our garage, playhouse and a basement windows will be replaced. Tonight, the interior of our newly cut "egress window" in a downstairs bedroom will be done.

All I can wonder is "How much more will have to be done &/or redone?" at the day's end. "Will they do the job I hope and expect them to do?" "How many unexpected expenses are going to crop up now?" "Why did I start all of this in the first place?"

The high cost of home ownership is heavy. I know I will not regret a penny spent on taking care of the four walls which shelter us from life's harsh weather.

But I do not like how these household renovations have dominated my thoughts and how it has shifted my focus to all of the inadequacies of the workmanship, the fact that things that were done became "undone" and that there is simply no end to this.

There is no end but at least I did what I could.

I have two used gallons of paint that are bought and paid for so I can continue painting for some time to come and it wouldn't cost a penny. Just time.

I fritter away an awful lot of my time. I really do.

I feel incapable of doing anything of substance after my daycare day is done. I don't want to spend my weekend "wasting" my one day off doing work around the house. Socializing takes an energy equivalent to working around the house so I seem to need to offset "social time" with "down time" to replenish my resources.

Yet when I actually focus on any one of the household tasks at hand, I am energized with more ambition than I had to begin with. The more I do, the more motivated I become. Then "real life" walks in the door and drains me of what I thought I had.

So I am walking into this day with a state of great ambivalence. I am eager to get this work done yet fearful that it will create more work that I don't want to make time for.

I think I just stumbled across the key to my discouragement. I don't want to make time for this house work. I just want to sit still in the state of it being done. Over. Complete.

If I have invested the time &/or money to get the job done, I don't want one more domino to fall. I just want the job done right. From start to finish. The end.

I want the job my dad would have done...

Yes Mom, I understand what you are saying when you said no one can hold a candle to the way Dad worked. No one.

He was but one man, but he was the one man who could do a job from start to finish and finish the job at hand.

Work Done, Work Undone, So Much Work Left to Do

And so the pendulum swings ...

After my "high as a kite" day on Saturday, I could barely sleep that night. Perhaps that large cup of coffee after supper wasn't the wisest idea but I kind of liked the idea of prolonging my wakefulness after a such a good day.

My mind was busy all night, thinking of all that needed to be done to "undo" what has been done by my team of worker bees.

A month ago, my Handyman Guy fixed the screen door so it actually latched all by itself. Last week, my Fridge Mover Guys (yes, our new/used fridge had to be replaced, which meant moving the broken fridge upstairs and out the back door and moving the new (much larger) fridge through the same door and back downstairs) did something to the door-closing mechanism and it stopped closing by itself again.

Our Back Alley Workers backed into our fence a few months ago and after it was repaired, the gate would only open wide enough for a person to walk through it. So, Saturday morning, I had that fixed so it now fully opens. Only now, the gap under the gate is now large enough for our cats to crawl out under it.

We had window cut into our downstairs bedroom and they had to displace an extraordinary amount of dirt to dig the window well and they messed up our perfectly good, freshly laid landscape fabric and rocks which my son did for me only a month ago.

Not to mention the ice sled full of dirt which was left on the lawn. I thought I would just slide it onto the driveway and see if I could give the dirt away to someone who wanted it. Not only did the sled full of dirt start to kill the lawn where it sat but I couldn't even begin to budge it by myself.

I went outside and was thwarted at every turn.

I did come up with a "solution" to the gap under the gate:

Then my son helped me move the ice sled full of dirt off the grass and at least onto the rocks, to give the grass a fair shot at survival:

                                 

I googled "screen door won't latch" and figured out how to fix the hydraulic door closing mechanism on the screen door (but it still isn't as good as it was):

I thought I could fix up the landscaping rock by our new basement window but I got back there and realized I really didn't know what to do, needed to wait for the surrounding dirt to settle first anyway, nor did I have the tools I needed to do the job. So this is the before and after picture of our newly fixed "dog run" area:

 

When I came back into the house, all I could think of, was all which was just new and improved already in need of adjustments and repair,

One step forward, two steps back.

This whole domino effect of home renovations is taking the wind out of my sails. I know now, that we should have installed the new basement window first and then fixed up the dog run area. But it was the new and improved dog run which was the catalyst to everything that followed.

One small home improvement which I could not have done myself led me to a list of things I could accomplish.

One small action sparked more drive and ambition within me than I have seen in the past five years.

One domino tipped over created a whole raft of other dominoes to fall.

I don't regret it for a moment.

But is it too much to ask for one action not to cause the undoing of that-which-has-just-been-fixed? It's bad enough to have to do things once. But twice?

Good day, bad day. Work done, work undone.

It's kind of like making your bed in the morning. Is it really worth it when you know you will just be messing it up again?

Doing laundry, buying groceries, washing dishes, mowing the lawn, filling up the gas tank, haircuts, pedicures and washing one's hair. Life is full of things which are in a constant loop of needing to be done over and over and over again.

That's life. It's the "high cost of living". The alternative is not a good one.

What if we couldn't replenish our groceries, our gas tanks or didn't have a closet full of clothes to create laundry in the first place?

Yes, I am blessed to have a home in need of some TLC. I know this.

It's just harder to manage when the dominoes create such a flurry of spending. I need to put a cap on that and it isn't easy when that which has just been done creates a whole new raft of things to do.

I just want my "worker bees" to leave things in the same working order in which they found them. I want them to clean up their messes and not leave a bunch of "broken toys" in their wake.

Is that really too much to ask?

Stuck in Perfection Mode

"This" is why I do nothing. Because when I do decide to do "something", I have expectations. I don't think I expect perfection but maybe I do.

I hired a painter to paint the bathroom for me because there were some really big patch jobs to be done and I knew I didn't have the skill level to do them right. So I hired an "expert".

Okay, maybe he isn't an expert. Maybe he is a jack of all trades, self taught and a learn-as-he-goes kind of guy. His motto seemed to be "I do the job I would do for myself. If it is not good enough for me, it isn't good enough for my client."

Perhaps I should have toured his home first to see if our acceptance levels are compatible.

Well? I should have surmised our perfection levels were askew when I showed him various things around the house that I was wanting to repair or replace (after I found out he dabbles in a little bit of everything):

• a crooked screen door that doesn't close properly and where you can see a ray of light from outside, at the top of the door - his response? "Well, screen doors do that."
• exterior doors that don't feel "secure" to me because the deadbolt doesn't latch/click completely when closed? "That doesn't matter, in fact it's even better because it is less likely to break if it doesn't 'click' closed."
• a broken piece of plastic that (I thought) was the only thing that is keeping one entire pane of glass in the screen door (he explained later, that there is a bead of silicone most likely holding it in place) "It still looks okay, I wouldn't worry about it." I'm not concerned about the appearance! I simply want that long, skinny pane of glass to stay where it belongs.

If he didn't profess to be close to perfect, I wouldn't have expected so much. But every step along the way, he told me how he was better than the last painters who were here. He showed me his tricks and although I didn't really see what he was talking about, I nodded and smiled.

The job is "technically" complete (pending my approval). The patch jobs are really, really bad. I am not good but I think I could have done just as well as he did. I'm pretty sure of it. That is why I quit painting.

I haven't paid him a penny. He brought the imperfections to my attention (or did he just respond to my staring at the glaring imperfection of it all?). He said he will redo it today if I want him to.

When I asked him what he would do if it was his house, he pointed out the stipple missing from the ceiling (he said he didn't include ceilings) and the paint chips on the painted tiles behind the sink and said, "Since there are already so many things that are wrong here and this is just a quick patch up job, I'd probably just leave it."

Not impressed.

So I will nicely ask him to do his best to fix up the patches and while he is at it maybe he could touch up the places where his paintbrush missed when he was cutting in along the vanity. 

He has installed a new light and will install new taps and towel racks. He said he would do some minor fix-ups on my existing doors. 

If he still has time on his clock, I will ask if he could sand down the bathroom vanity cupboards for me. I was going to get him to paint the cupboards for me but I am very pleased he completed one job before tackling the next. Our "fussy meters" are not in sync.

I am not good. But I can do just as good of a job. And my hourly rate is a lot cheaper.

So much for the idea of finishing that book I started reading sometime around Christmas time, during my holiday. I recently reread what I read in January to refresh my memory. I may have to reread the first half of the book one more time before I manage to sit still with it.

This nasty quest for "perfection" or simply "better than I could do myself" is cutting into my holiday time.

"As bad as I am and as good as you are, I am as good as you are as bad as I am." ~ Mom

Maybe that quote doesn't apply to electrical, plumbing, jobs that require muscle, precision and skill. But I think my painting is "good enough". Now that is something I didn't want to learn today!

Dad was pretty close to "perfect" when it came to home maintenance. I remember well, the way he handled those "patch jobs" while painting. I have no idea how he did it. It took time and many, many (many) repeat steps of patch/sand/paint; patch/sand/paint but when he was done, the job was done right. 

I don't know who has that same code of perfection these days. Perhaps "perfect" is not worth it. "Done" and "good enough" are the goal. Right? 

I suppose. Just not when you are paying someone by the hour.

The Fine Art of Gifting

Some people have a knack for buying gifts for others. I'm not one of those people.

I have become so very jaded in this whole gift exchange tradition that seems to go hand in hand with this time of year. 

It feels so very wasteful (to me) to give and receive gifts which will be shelved, regifted, donated or never appreciated in the manner in which they were given. 

When helping my Oldest Son pack up his house when he moved, I was dismayed to find gifts I had given him collecting dust in his basement. Unopened. Unused. Unappreciated. 

One of those gifts was a mailbox (with mail inside of it). If I remember correctly, his 'true' gift was inside of an envelope within that very mailbox. The mailbox was just a creative 'box' to  hold the gift within. When I mentioned this to him years after I found his unopened mailbox he was surprised to hear there was a gift within the gift. He chuckled and said it probably got thrown out.

Last year, my Youngest Son wanted to give something to his older brother. I knew space was of the essence within my Second Son's new home so I suggested he shop for very practical items. There were a few frivolous items within his gift package but all in all, it was a gift for every room in their new home. Perfect! Or so I thought ...

I found several of those items sitting on the shelf in my basement a few weeks later.

My Youngest Son wants for nothing. When I asked him what he would like to open up Christmas morning, he told me there was a game for his PlayStation he would like. That day. That could be his Christmas gift. And it was.

There are no gifts for my children underneath the tree this year. I'm not doing this to be Scrooge. I'm doing this because I'd rather do as my Second Son suggested to his Older Brother: 

My Oldest seemed to adopt the tradition of giving after he received a gift so he could reciprocate 'in kind'. Which meant if he got a gift card for "X" amount of dollars from someone, he would turn around and give a gift card for the same dollar value in return. My Second Son said, "Why don't you keep your $50.00 and I'll keep mine and we will just say we bought each other a gift?"

Isn't this pretty much the case of much of the forced gifting which goes on this time of year? 

I resent the gifts I buy just because I am on the receiving end of an exchange of gifts. I try so very hard to turn that situation into a giving-from-the-heart gift instead of giving-from-the-credit-card. 

I spend far more words than money this time of year. I write Christmas cards because 'words' are my gift. There are probably some who think "Oh no! Here comes a wordy message from Colleen again". But hey! I didn't lose anything but the price of a stamp and the Christmas card (purchased on sale, after Christmas last year). 

The gift is in the giving. When you give from the heart, you receive just as much as you give. 

I share a piece of myself with every word I write. I feel like I have sat down and had a conversation with the person I have just written. 

I can't scrimp on words. I just can't. I have tried.

When I distributed the books I put together for Dad's family, I was unexpectedly surprised when family members asked me to sign the book. Anyone who knows me, knows the only thing in the world I 'simply' sign my name to is a blank cheque or credit card purchase. Everything else? Sorry. You get a pile of excess words.

A friend of mine (who also runs a daycare from her home) asked me if I give a gift to the parents of the children I babysit for. My immediate response was one simple word. "No". I was aghast. The idea had never crossed my mind. 

Until I remembered what I do instead of running out and buying something which may never be used. I put together a Christmas Yearbook for each of my daycare families. Filled with pictures, silly poems and a 'visual' of the year we just spent. Something which most likely will never get thrown out or shelved or be unappreciated. Because it comes from the 'right place', it doesn't even feel like a gift. It is simply sharing 'what I do best' with an appreciate audience.

I spent an extraordinary amount of time and effort putting together this year's Christmas gifts to my daycare family. I wrote (I hyjacked Dr. Suess's format) and illustrated (inserted, copied and pasted pictures) an ABC book specific to what and who I know my daycare family relate to. Our yearbook is jam-packed full of photos from the year, a cheesy poem, a 'letter' from me and (of course) some words to accompany each page of photos.

I feel very good about the end result. 

I love when my gifts cost more time than money. That is how I know I did it right.

But now I am feeling like my own family has been cheated. I don't know if the creative juices will come up something before the Big Day or not. Sometimes creativity and ideas pour out of me. Other times? Not so much. We'll see.

I am going to be so relieved to put the season of forced gifting behind me. I much prefer to give when the spirit moves me and I find a perfectly appropriate gift and idea. And simply act on it impulsively. 

I usually come through in the crunch. But sometimes I don't. If you are on my list, don't worry. I've checked it twice. You are on the nice list. But I'd rather give nothing at all, than to give something which has been forced. 

Some people have this whole 'gifting' thing down to a fine art. I am a small bit envious of you. But I'm not going to take that away from you. Because that is your gift. 

When I receive a gift, the gift is in the thought. The effort. The time. The mere act of giving. I don't even have to unwrap the present. I could simply hold an empty box filled with good intentions, wrapped up with a pretty bow and I would be grateful. 

Hey!! I think I'm onto my next big idea! An empty box filled with good intentions. Now that is my kind of gift.

Happy Gifting to All!!

12 Days Before Christmas (a very un-Christmasy post)

My thoughts have been far too serious to rush through them in the mornings the past few days.

Do I long for the mornings when the way I roll out of bed inspires a train of thought of little consequence but I write it out anyway because it is just one of the many ways I amuse myself? Not really. Some days it is best to let the deeper stuff 'steep' for a while. Let's just say I've been brewing a cup of tea that may or may not be worth sharing one day.

I reread something I wrote a year ago (It's Not Only Kids Who Wish For Christmas Every Day) and I couldn't believe the similarity between this year and a year ago. And the year preceding that one. I think that is why I am having a very hard time stating with certainty, the answer to the question of the hour "What are your plans for Christmas?"

The answer in my heart is "I want to go where I most need to be".

I like loosely choreographing life, so I can follow the path of least resistance. I am a little bit resistant to planning. Especially at Christmas time.

Weather overrules all else at this time of year so as much as we think we can plan, there are forces beyond our control at work to keep us where we should be.

My mind goes back a few years ago when I didn't head out on the highway after Christmas due to weather. That decision kept me home. That choice guided me (and my mom and my sister) to be where it mattered the most.

I hope this is a light and easy Christmas season. I hope the sun shines and the roads we need to travel are the ones that remain safe and obstacle free.

If the sun shines down upon the plans-I-have-in-progress, I will take it as a 'heavenly wink' from above, that is where I should be.

I won't obsess about the weather. It, among so very many other things, is completely out of our control.

I am walking gently through these days, ever-mindful of the fact that life as we know it can change in the blink of an eye.

I will send cards and letters as the spirit moves me (it hasn't moved me much but it has definitely steered me in the right direction) and hopefully make a small difference in someone's day when they find a personally addressed envelope in the mail.

I will do the best I can, with what I have, to walk in and through this season of expectations, with my expectations set on 'low' and my hopes set on 'high'.

Not your typical 12 Days Before Christmas Post, but it will just have to do.

This is Not My Story (but I think it needs to be told)

I've been holding this in for a while. I do not know where my fingers are going to take me this morning but I have to set them free and write because they woke up on fire this morning.

I woke up with a *plethora (I have never said or written that word aloud but my fingers told me to write it) of words within. These words are aching to come forth and be heard. My heart was palpating and the blood was rushing to my fingers. "Write! Write it out!" they demanded.

So here goes. I do believe I have to rip off the band-aid quickly and without thinking. This may be raw and wrong and too much and too personal. You have been warned. Perhaps this is the part where I should copy and paste this onto a document for my own private reference at a later date. But the message is not just for me. It's begging to be told.

I want to write this from someone else's perspective. I have not been inside of this person's head but I wonder how it would feel if I was.

I have wondered over the years. I am wondering more, now that I have heard the words aloud and I believe a great truth has been spoken.

What does it feel like to walk through your life and not feel free to be exactly who you are and who you were meant to be? How does it feel to think 'who you are' is not 'who the world expects you to be'? What if you feel this way and you cannot and do not tell a soul. You keep it to yourself. You don't share your thoughts, fears or worries with your parents or your siblings or to anyone who is in your inside circle. Because 'who you are' does not conform to the world's expectations of you.

You probably do not wake up one morning feeling like this. There must be (but I do not know because I have not walked this path - I am only guessing from the limited life experience I have been handed) a quiet question mark as you make your way through your growing-up years.

I only know what it is like to be a girl. As a girl, it was the most natural thing on earth to pretend to be a mom and a princess and a bride and have a pretend wedding and a pretend marriage. I had my first crush on a boy when I was in grade three or four. I danced with a boy. So of course I thought I would marry him. Inevitable. Right?

Okay, what does a boy dream of? I somehow doubt there is an exact parallel, as I think of my three sons and the little boys I have babysat along life's way. Boys are a little bit more rough and tumble but when intermixed with little girls there is also a world of make believe that has encouraged nurturing and fathering and being a dad.

So even at a young age, we are starting to feel out who we think may grow up to be one day. When does one start to realize they don't see themselves falling into the roles life has set out before us as 'the norm'?

I don't know. I only know life, from how-I've-experienced-it. But I think it is safe to say we start to feel an inner sense of 'who we are' at a young age.

Children of today are growing up in a world where the definition of a typical life is being broadened to include many different kinds of partnerships. Unless they grow up in a two father or two mother home, do they 'see' other families and accept them at face value? Or do they still fall back into the 'boys marry girls' and 'girls fall in love with boys' (and vice versa) as the way life is expected to unfold?

I don't know any of these answers. I have only my perspective. I try to look at life and see it through eyes with peripheral vision. I don't want to see life as black and white or straight and narrow or right and wrong or anything other that it is. Life is a million shades of gray intermixed with every color of the rainbow. Life is complicated. Life is not what it appears to be.

So take all of these questions and interject them into a young child who grew up in the 1930's. A time where people didn't air their dirty laundry. A time when modesty in every way was the norm. A time when you 'didn't talk about those things'. A time when (at least from my perspective in this generation I am living in) life appeared to be black and white (even though you have to know that all of the colors and shades and hues of life were and always have been there).

What if ... you grew up in that generation and you 'knew' you were never going to fall into the roles you saw modeled throughout your life? What if ... you knew you didn't have 'those feelings' that would bring marriage and children into your world? What if ... your own mother didn't even know the definition of the word "homosexual"? And what if ... 'that' is exactly who you were discovering yourself to be?

What if ... you never ever told anyone your most innermost truth? What if ... you lived your entire life time being the absolute best person you knew how to be - the kindest, most compassionate, caring and empathetic person ... and never admitted 'who you were' aloud to anyone in your inner circle?

What if ... you moved away from your family so you could live your life as honestly as you dared thousands of miles away? What if ... even within that life oh-so-far-away, you felt the need to keep your secret from those you worked with, befriended and came to know?

What if ... you knew no other way than living your life as you knew it and it wasn't who you really were inside? What if ... you felt you were carrying the world's biggest secret inside of yourself because you could not say the words out loud?

I cannot begin to know what it is like to walk in another person's shoes. I try them on but they just don't fit. They are uncomfortable and unfamiliar and when I take a step, I have to shake them off immediately because they are all wrong for me.

So I look at those 'shoes'. I admire them for what they are, on the person who is wearing them. My feet ache when I think of my feet 'in those shoes' but I still try to imagine what it is like for the person who can wear them.

Personally ... I know I cannot hold secrets inside of myself. They have to seep out to those I trust. It started very, very slowly a very, very long time ago. But what I realized is there is no greater feeling than the feeling of befriending 'someone who knows all about you and likes you anyway'. I discovered this within my friends and I have learned to trust more people with 'who I really am'.

Someone I know and admire and respect and trust in a way I would feel about my own father entrusted me with their 'secret'. What they told me did not change one thing I felt about them. I admired, respected and trusted them even more than ever before when they said the words they had held inside for a lifetime.

I am angry at a world that would make an individual feel the need to protect themselves by keeping silent. I am angry at a world that judges and hates and labels. I am angry that anyone would feel the need to keep a secret locked inside of themselves ever since that secret was nothing more than a wisp of wondering.

I am grateful our world is becoming more open and honest and brave souls have opened doors of communication and knowledge and understanding to make it easier for the children growing up in this scary place.

I am beyond grateful this person finally said the words aloud. Words, once spoken release the power that holds you hostage when you keep them locked inside.

I have written all of these words yet I have not said the words aloud. "I am gay", he told me. And it did not change one thing. Not one.

There is absolutely nothing in this world you could tell me that would change the way I think of you. Nothing. 

The delicate house of cards he has built around himself has started to fall. A whole 'deck of cards' has been strewn about at a time when he was already in a fragile and delicate place. He is exactly where he needs to be to help him pick up the cards and rearrange them into 'the hand he was dealt'.

But it is not going to be easy. He has lived in that 'house' his whole life. It's hard to begin again at any age. At age 85, I would imagine 'this' is the last place he thought he would be.

My heart is aching for this gentle, gentle soul who I admire in a way I admire no one else. He entrusted me with his words and Mom asked me if I thought he told me so I could tell others.

I am telling you now. This is not my story. I am only guessing. I don't know how it feels to be in his shoes. I am grateful he spoke to me. I will be ever-so-gentle with his truth. He is special in every way. Always has been. Always will be. Nothing has changed.

*Plethora - a large or excessive amount of (something). Synonyms: excess, overabundance, superabundance, surplus, glut, superfluity, surfeit, profusion

It is Good to Have a Bad Day

Yesterday was 'one of those days'. I was very disappointed in myself because one should not be having one of those particular kind of days on their fourth day back to work, after a two week vacation. But I did. And there is no going back now.

While we are living those days (that I am so afraid are going to be on the reel of highlights when my life flashes before my eyes one day), we can't see beyond that moment. "I feel this way and I am justified in feeling this right now! Just let me be this way and act in this manner right now because I just need to ride the wave..." are the gist of the thoughts that I am thinking when I am at my worst.

I replay the moment later in the day and chide myself for being so immature and wrong and short sighted and unrelenting in simply letting things slide.

Then comes the part where I replay those moments out loud, with another human being (that is older than three years of age) and I hear the whole story. My side, the other side, the outside-looking-in-side.

I am very fortunate. My Youngest Son is my biggest fan, critic, advocate and teller-of-what-he-sees-and-feels. He sits quietly among many hours of my Daycare Days and says very little at times but whenever he acts and reacts to the kids, it is with a complete sense of calm, control and modulated tones. One would never tell from the outside, looking in if he was upset in that moment. Me? Not so much.

When you spend your day in a one-to-three-year-old world, without adult intervention, there are moments that are simply ... hard.

Yesterday, I was craving adult conversation and intervention. A perfect moment in time presented itself and the opportunity to speak adultese to a person who understood multi-layered conversation was at my fingertips. But I lost it all in a moment. A child started crying and quietly sobbed, "I want to go home..."

Everything stopped. I think the world even stood still for a second. It was a plea for help and I was the only one who could walk through the anguish with my little girl.

One would imagine that in the world-of-daycare, that I have heard this plea often. I haven't. Children may think and feel these thoughts at the onset of their day or if they are sick or simply missing their parent. But it has been the very, very rare occasion where the actual words are uttered (welcome to my world of one-year-olds).

As a rule, there is a sense of fun, play, activity and friendship which overrules homesickness within our days. Yesterday was not one of those days.

One of our friends was missing. She is going to be gone for (almost) three weeks. This was her friend's first day with out her. Sometimes, one never quite realizes the impact of one person until they are missing. Yesterday was that day.

My little homesick girl was not feeling well. She was missing her friend. It was hot outside. It was close to lunch time. Her mom had told me to call if her daughter didn't seem to be feeling well. My instinct was to call her immediately. My head told me to take care of the basics first. Lunch. Go inside and cool off. Modulated voice, kindness, empathy, caring and trying to put myself in her shoes came immediately into action (hey! I just realized I am not so terrible after all).

We got through that moment but there were simply so many more. There was crying. There was unkindness. There was boredom. There was bickering and arguing. There was more crying. I didn't get my adult-fix and I was wearing thin.

I simply could not wait for the day to end. Then as it ended, my Real Life walked in the door, at the same moment my Daycare Day walked out. There was no time for transition. I wasn't grounded when a friend called and simply needed an ear. She only had one of my ears because the other one was full of the 'chatter' of a parent returning, looking for a missing hat; followed by my Youngest Son's update from his day out with friends at The Ex (and soon needing a pick-up).

One moment segued into the next and I never regained my bearings until my head hit the pillow. I wasn't even busy. I was simply 'in demand' by the over-three-year-old crowd that I had been craving - the companionship that I had wanted all day.

Before my head hit the pillow last night, my Youngest Son and I talked about 'my day'. His sense of seeing and feeling things, comes from a place of 'being there'. He has been one of my daycare crowd. And he never forgets what that feels like. He brings the voice of his childhood (translated into the children presently in my care) and he gives me a very good sense of what it is like from where my children stand. He is the voice of reason.

We volleyed words back and forth. I felt like a total schmuck because I lost my cool resolve and became frustrated in the moment. The moment passed very quickly and within a few minutes we were all sitting and reading and singing and all was ever-so-much-better. But (in my mind) I should not have had 'that moment' at all. 

I am very good at beating myself up. Please don't help me...

Then I woke up this morning. I was greeted by one of my daycare-promoting-sites needing an update. This always results in a general overhaul over everything promotional concerning my daycare. I update my sites and start selling myself again.

As I went through the process of 'selling myself' this morning, I could see what yesterday brought to light. I was seeing the value of my 'bad day'. It promoted a conversation with my son that helped me see what I needed to see. An encounter with a daycare-child-of-my-past (now in her second year of university) opened my eyes to see a direction that I would like to go (I think we need some older children in our midst!).

Looking at the day in the light of a new morning with only the shadow of the 'mistakes of the past' behind me I realized that if I thought every day was a great day, there would be no room for improvement. There is always room for improvement.

That is the value of a bad day. The contrasts in life center us and bring us to the place where we most-want-to-be. That very same bad day could have sent me packing and looking for a different career. But it didn't. It was truly not that bad. It was simply not the day I want to have flash before me in my 'This is Your Life' movie reel. It is a day that will make that very same movie, the movie that I most want to see one day.

Bad days can help us to become better. Or not. It is truly our choice. But it is a choice. I choose to find the value in a day that felt bad-at-the-time and turn it into a tool to make tomorrow a better day. And to be willing to do it all over again when it happens again. Because it will. It always does. Hopefully I will evolve to a new level of learning as the lessons of life keep repeating themselves. Sadly, I recognize this lesson from one I did not learn before.

Life is generous. It keeps giving you the same lesson over and over again until you learn. Unfortunately I must be a slow learner.

Today is a new day. Take your lessons learned and run with them!

The Mountain

I stood at the bottom of the mountain and gazed at the climb ahead. It didn't look so steep when I set out to conquer this mountain, when I stood in the foothills and stared up at the mountain in the distance.

I started my trek, over estimating my endurance, my physical and mental stamina and set out like a dreamer thinking "I can do anything I set out to do!"

I started walking towards the foot of the mountain which was becoming larger and larger with each forward step. "Oh no. What have I gotten myself into?", was the thought that kept creeping up into my subconsciousness.

"I can't do it!" "It is to steep and too big and too tall!" "I am not good enough to finish what I have started!" "Why in the world did I invite so many people along with me into this unknown land?" "Who in the world do I think I am???"

I stood at the bottom and I looked up. I looked way, way up. I could no longer see the peak. Too many clouds were in the way and they obstructed the view of the clear path to the top.

I don't know how long I stood there, immobilized by not knowing how to navigate beyond what I could not see. It was too long. I became paralyzed by the enormity of the mountain in front of me. I would have turned around and walked the other way if I did not have so many people at my side, ready to join me when I started taking my first upward step.

One step. One forward step took me just a little bit higher than I was before I started moving.

I still couldn't see the top of the mountain. Storm clouds were brewing. I had to hunker down and weather a storm or two. But the moment the skies cleared, the top was still so very far away that I did not have the energy to move.

Then it happened. Oh, so slowly and gradually. I started taking a few steps here. A few steps there. Those who had joined me in my trek helped me through the toughest spots.

Suddenly (or so it seemed), I was midway up the mountain.

I still had so very far to go. But there was a difference. I could look back and see the distance I had put behind me.

I was energized by this revelation and just kept climbing.

I am not at the peak yet, but I can see it! At long last, I am up beyond the clouds and I can see the top of the mountain. It wasn't so big after all.

Yes. My Family Book Project is three chapters away from 'complete'. There is much polishing, editing and revising yet to do. But it is near. It is oh-so-very-near.

I can taste it. I can see it. I can feel it now.

Do you know the most amazing part of all?? From this point of view, I can see the next mountain I want to climb. It doesn't look as tall...

When you are stuck at the bottom of your mountain, just take one forward step. You will be one step closer to where you want to be and one step further from where you began.

It is hard. Man! It is hard. But one forward step at a time takes you exactly where you need to be. Eventually.