Twenty Seven

Twenty seven has forever been a number I considered a good age to be. It sounds like a good age and it was a life-changing year for me. A year of beginning to make good decisions for myself and my family. 

I wrote these words and walked down memory lane for a while, to formulate the rest of what I had in my mind. Apparently I wrote everything I wanted to say before. I will attach those words rather than repeat them.

Today, is my youngest's 27th birthday. This is the last time I will celebrate this milestone year for any of my children. It will not be the last time I think of where my 28th year led.

My children, as individual as snowflakes. Each one's journey vastly different than the other's. 

My youngest has walked a walk I would have never predicted. Her personality has always been quiet and reflective. There is a lot going on underneath the surface. Just because she is quiet natured doesn't mean she doesn't have a lot to say.

It has take a lot of work to get to this age. Life has many more lessons in store. My wish for you, is no matter where life takes you, remember all you have learned along your way. Your foundation is being laid one block at a time. Start from where you are and build the life you most want to live.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life...

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Twenty Seven

Twenty seven always sounded like a good age to me. Twenty seven simply seemed like it was a 'perfect' age. Both in the years that preceded reaching that goal and the (almost) twenty seven years after attaining it.

If someone woke me from a deep, dark coma and asked me how old I was, there is a fairly good chance that my answer would be "twenty seven" because I felt that age for decades. I would be surprised to look at a document that had my age in black and white and it said "forty seven" for all the world (and me) to see. Forty seven?! I would be taken aback for a moment before I realized that the numbers did not correlate with my inner state of aging.

For me, twenty seven was a year of making good decisions. That is not to say it was a great year. It was a tough year. Within a month of turning that magical age, I left my marriage (for the third and final time) and my dad died. Within two months of that same birthday, I moved my family-of-three (me, along with my nine year and four month old sons) to a new province and found a new home, job and daycare.

The drama that unfolded during the first and second month of turning twenty seven was daunting. Ending a marriage can be a volatile time and place. Things got explosive. It got ugly. Hearts and vows were broken, never to be the same again. Sometimes, things have to get worse before they get better. This was one of those times.

It was frightening to start over in a brand new world. I had abandoned a secure and long-time job, friends who knew and supported me, a house that was no longer a home (and a pile of material possessions within it) and my mom and brother. I came to a city where I knew my aunt and uncle (and a handful of cousins who I knew by name only). It was scary and lonely. But it was necessary. That moved changed my life and quite likely saved it at the same time.

During my twenty eighth year, I rebuilt our home. No, I didn't build it from scratch. I built it from within. The collection of donations which furnished our new home became serviceable items to eat, sleep and sit on. My life had been stripped bare and it was so plain to see, all that really mattered were my children. We were tucked away in a safe and quiet oasis of 'starting over'. It was exactly where we needed to be.

That twenty eighth year was the foundation on which everything that followed has been built. It was solid. It was a year of making good decisions. The benefits were yet to be seen and there would be some more rocky times to follow. But the year of being twenty seven was the basis on which I was rebuilt. It will forever go down in my own personal history as being my most life-changing year.

When my Oldest Son turned twenty seven, he was just starting a course which rerouted his life. He learned a trade which enabled him (not only) to pay his own way while he went to school, but it resulted in a job which has provided him the lifestyle to which he has aspired towards (quite likely, ever since my twenty eighth year, when he lost all of his worldly possessions, friends, community and family when I uprooted him from a life which was killing-us-softly). Twenty seven was his turn-around year.

At the same time, my nephew (who turned twenty seven, five months before my son) was taking some of his first steps towards his own personal goal. He was pursuing his career in comedy. He has taken that ball and ran with it. He is my hero. Not due to his success and fame. Simply because he pursued his dream and made brave and bold decisions to keep pursuing it. I would say he has done pretty well (but then again, I am pretty biased). To me, success is in the pursuit of your dreams - not necessarily attaining them. He started to make this choice his reality in his twenty eighth year.

Yesterday was my Middle Son's twenty seventh birthday. He has had some pretty lofty hopes and dreams. He has gone boldly where he has never gone before. Time and time again. Before his twenty eighth year, he started his own company. He gleaned an education from that experience which I challenge any university to rival. There is nothing like Life Experience to teach you things you will never forget. He bought and (with the help and support of His Girlfriend of many, many years) has moved onto their farm. They are building a 'life' quite literally from the ground, up. He has picked himself up and carried on, despite the odds. He  has experienced more in his first twenty six years than a lot experience in a lifetime. Because he is not afraid to try.

My son is heading into his twenty eighth year with a lifetime full of his own experiences. These very experiences which have taught him so much, have also left him a little gun shy. He has made a few adjustments to his life-as-he-knows-it and is also on the precipice of restarting something new (from an old experience).

Even though My Son is in a vastly different place than I was (or his brother or his cousin) as he steps into his twenty eighth year, I have a good feeling about this. Especially as I recall my own twenty eighth year as the foundation on which the rest of my life that followed, was built.

In my humble opinion, age twenty seven is a very good place to start. Happy Foundation Building Year, My Son. I can't wait to watch your year unfold.

Memories on Mother's Day

I wrote this twelve years ago. We had Mom for four more Mother's Days. I read these words today and they are true as they were the day they were written:

Saturday, May 11, 2013

To Mothers Everywhere ... "Happy Mother's Day"

I'm having a little bit of Mother's Day Anxiety. I do a better job at living up to this occasion when I am not 'on location'. Writing a letter to tell Mom that I think she is pretty special? Easy! Sending a card to mark the occasion? Hallmark, you've made a few dollars off of my ability to carry through with that. Sending a gift in the mail? Receiving a parcel in the mail is a gift unto itself. It takes the pressure off of what is inside of the packaging. I can do that. I enjoy doing that. Especially when the gift is attached to no important date.

This year, my mom is coming here. Tonight. She will be waking up Mother's Day Morning. Here. In my house. With me. In person. What in the world can I do to live up to the pomp and circumstance of such an occasion? [heart rate goes up here].

First of all, my biggest gift to you will be whatever I can manage to clean, organize, buy and arrange before your bus arrives tonight. There is so much to do. And I have so much time to do it in. But I don't want to do it. The dirt and the dust and the clutter and the disorganization have grown so big and so tall that I don't know where to begin. Honestly? I want to begin by shutting out the sun. Then you can't see how dirty everything is. Perhaps this will be your gift to me. Your arrival will force me to move. To take one step in a forward direction. And start to move the mountains of dirt around here. One teaspoon full at a time. Thanks, Mom. I will be forever grateful.

Secondly, I had hoped that some deep and profound words would pour out of my fingertips this morning so that I could print this off and give it to you as a testament of my respect, honor and love that I have for you. I know that I don't do this as often as I used to, but I have done my best to convey my thoughts and feelings as I live and breathe them. I hope that I honor the mother that you have been, are, and forever will be ... by living my life in a way that makes you proud. I hope to raise my own family in a way that perpetuates the sense of family that we have among us. I am so grateful for the bonds within our family. I can see my own little family starting to emulate what they have grown up with and it makes my heart happy. Thanks, Mom ... for living your life the way you do. For showing us 'love' is a verb. I'll never forget the story about when a squabble among my two older sisters resulted in Mom telling one of her daughters to tell the other "I'm sorry". My sister simply couldn't do it. The best that she could muster was, "I can think it ... but I can't say it". Mom thought to herself "Good enough". It is better to think something and be truthful to yourself and the world around you, than to go off spouting empty words just because you have been told to do so. "I love you too, Mom" ...

Third, I don't have a gift for you. Perhaps as today unfolds, some physical token will present itself to me so that I have something for you to unwrap. But I don't do well under pressure. Let my gift to you be the unexpected gift that may have already arrived. Or the package that will find its way to you when I find something that speaks to me. Just because I don't have a gift doesn't mean that you aren't gifted. I hope that the day is a little bit special for you and I will do my best to help that happen. But I simply fold under pressure. Please forgive me. You don't have to say the words ... I will hear them if you feel them. Your unspoken vocabulary is far louder than you realize.

Fourth, I expect no more than I give this Mother's Day. To my own children ... no physical token is required. You give me gifts throughout the year without realizing that you are doing so.

To My Oldest - the last time you were over you shuddered just a little bit when you uttered the words (to me) that you can't believe how much you are like me. Yes ...  you were talking about my our obsession with pre-washing dishes before they go into the dishwasher. The moment you said the words (again), I had an instant replay of the time you came home when you were driving your friends around in my car when you were a teen. Your friends were 'misbehaving' (I don't remember their exact actions but they were distracting you while you were driving in much the same way an out-of-control child can do) and you pulled the car over and stopped. You told them (something to the effect of) to settle down or get out. You quite physically shuddered when you told me this at the age of 16, "I can't believe it ... I'm turning into you!!"

Thank you. You have been listening all along. Your subconscious mind will remember some of the wisdom lessons that I have done my best to share with you. You will hear my 'voice' throughout your life. It may not seem like much right now but some day it will. Trust me. I know this. I cherish hearing Dad's words of wisdom when I need them the most. Mom may live five hours away but I am forever quoting her. May you remember the 'good stuff' and let the rest go. Please??

To my Second Son - you and I share a perspective about life and how we see it on a sporadic, yet somewhat regular basis. Having you back at home while you rerouted your life these past years has added a little lot of the mundane day-to-day stuff to our lives. Neither one of us enjoys chit-chat on a regular basis. We tend to steer our energy towards 'real' conversations. We have had many. Most recently, was when we drove out to see Mom a month ago. I enjoy your perspective, your passion, your integrity and your honesty. You tell me truths that I may not always want to hear but you keep it 'real' around here. You see me - inside and out. The good, the bad and the ugly. And (I think) you still love me. Words are cheap around here. We don't say it out loud. We act in loving and respectful ways. I hear you too ...

Thank you. You make many, many days 'Mother's Day'. You do things without me asking you to. You do things when I ask too. I know it is ever-so-much-easier to do something when it is your choice ... I thank you for doing the 'hard stuff' when I know you'd rather take a memo and get back to me. You have been the 'Man About the House' that I have never had. Not since Dad ... not since Dad ... Thank you doesn't even begin to cover it.

To My Youngest - you are wise beyond your years. You have enveloped the characteristics of your older brothers and wove them into something unique and special within you. You have inherited and embraced the characteristics within your dad that I loved. You have only just begun yet I see the path that you are headed towards. You were the gift that I did not ask for, yet I received anyway. You talk with me about your days, your hopes and dreams ...  yet you listen to me carry on about my mundane little stories too. You know of what I speak when I talk about my frustrations within my little daycare family. And you lead by example. I am learning from you ...

Thank you. You listen to my little rants. Oh, except for those times when you sort of shake your head a little bit after I've spoken a little too long without breathing and say, "What?" Yes. I know. I do it too. So did your dad ...  so did your dad ... (please remember to honor that side of yourself). You are patient and caring. You see beyond the obvious and you are looking ahead with your head secured tightly. No rose colored glasses perhaps, but the ability to see through the clear reality-tinted ones is a gift. Embrace it. When you look back on your life one day, I am wondering whose words of wisdom will come back to you. Mine? Or your own??

To My Mom - see what you have done? Do you see what I see and feel within my little family? This is the greatest gift that you have given to me. The ability to parent my children in the best way that I know how. I was a different parent to each of them at different parts of my life. I did the best I could with what I had at the time. My Oldest does not recognize me as the person who raised him. For that, I am both sorry and grateful. I'm grateful that I improved (?) with age ... but sorry that he was the one who took the brunt of my learning curve in the early years.

Thank you, Mom. Words can't begin to encompass my gratitude. But I try. I will continue to do my best to carry your wisdom and lessons and words within me. I promise to hang on and cherish the good stuff and let the rest go. We are imperfect people in an imperfect world. We teach our children what we know when we know it. But most of all ... we teach by example. Thank you for setting the example that you have set for me. Thank you for enduring the 'hard stuff' so that you can sit back on a day like Mother's Day and feel the goodness that you have created come back to you. May that be the gift that you receive. Not just from me. But from all of those who you have mothered along the way.

There you go, Hallmark. I did it my own way. I may not make greeting card brevity requirements, but I did what I set out to do (I think ... I must go back and reread this now!).

It is kind of nice to have a special day to honor your mom after all. No matter where she may be. We carry our moms within our hearts and we share what they gave us to those who touch our world. I think moms everywhere know this. May the moms who are looking down upon us feel all that we are feeling. Sometimes ... the words simply don't have to be said. They know. Because we feel it deeply and act accordingly. Please know and be comforted that your mom knows how you feel about her. Wherever she may be ....

Who Am I?

I may be having a late-life crisis. I don't know. I'm struggling. That is all I do know. Not struggling in a hard, life defeating way. Simply struggling to find the piece of myself that breathes life into my soul.

Writing has been the backbone of who I am, how I help myself, how I find myself when I'm lost and how to see answers unfold before me as I put words to the page. If I don't write, who am I?

I have always worked. Work always has its challenges no matter what I do, where I work or how I find a way to pay the bills. My work life has always been cyclical. I despise new jobs, not knowing what I need to know and struggling to meet the demands of a job. I love the middle. The part where I am comfortable, know my way around and I feel mostly satisfied at the end of a week. Then there is the end. The part where I'm searching, feeling "this" isn't right for me any more. Where do I go next? I have landed on my feet at the end of each one of these work cycles but I'm aging out and my desire to start a brand new job is nil. I don't want to start anew so I can't end this cycle. Maybe that is exactly where I am meant to be. Because if I don't work, who am I?

I am also nearing the end of my active parenting role. I will always BE a parent but my well worn phrase these days is, "I want to be a parent, the noun. I don't want to actively parent, the verb." I feel so ready to have my adult children show up on my doorstep (and vice versa) and just chat on a adult to adult level. We are all human, so there will always be the back and forth supportiveness that comes with the role of parenting. I will not abandon my adult children but I'm ready for each of us to live independently of each other. Once my last child leaves the nest and I find myself alone, who will I be if I'm not parenting?

I feel so ready to be done working yet the financial feasibility of living life without a regular paycheque is daunting. On days when anxiety rises to uncomfortable levels, I pull out my spreadsheets, update my net worth and try to guess what my financial needs will be when I stop working which stops me cold in my tracks. Working to age 70 and beyond seems to be the only consistent answer I come up with. Thus, the end-cycle of my present day work situation will most likely be followed by the need to start anew. I have fretted about my finances since I was a child. Always dreaming of how I would save up for the next goal, pay the bills, pay off debt, attempt to save regularly. If I didn't worry about money, how would I feel? 

Little stuff. The annoyance of cat hair verses the love of my favorite furry friends. If I didn't have cats, would I be content?

Home ownership and maintenance. The demands of owning a home are without end. I watch home renovation shows and long for low maintenance, minimal possessions, a four season sun room and convertible spaces to allow for overnight guests. City verses small town living. Having two homes to choose from, where would I choose to live? Where do I want to be to BE when I finish working?

I spent my entire childhood wanting to grow up. I grew up and discovered being an adult is hard work so I shifted my focus to the day when my children would leave home, I would be done working and living in a house that felt like home in every nook and cranny.

If all my wishes came true and I was living that idyllic life, who would I be when my days are not filled with what fills them up today?

Who WILL I be when I grow up?

No answers today. Only questions.

Gender Reveal

Gender reveal parties seem to be all the rage among new parents. I tend to get my hackles up when I hear the words. Do I feel this is worth acknowledging and celebrating? Yes. But let’s let the child decide when to reveal their gender.

Gender is something we grow into and feel out along the way. It is uncovering and discovering our inner selves. It is figuring out if what is inside of us matches what is on the outside.

One’s sex assigned at birth is biological. It is like hair color or the size of our nose. It is what it is. Until one decides they want to color their hair or get a nose job, if what is on the inside doesn’t match what is reflected in the mirror.

Discovering and revealing one’s gender is a concept that is relatively new to many. I admit I am one of those people. Until recently, I didn’t fully grasp the idea that sexuality and gender are two distinctly different concepts. They are interconnected but they are not the same. That is, until my youngest child, who was determined to be male at birth, revealed they felt more comfortable as a female.

As I write this, I have a hard time referring to my youngest with he/him pronouns. Using the wrong pronouns wounds my child’s integrity. They/them pronouns were a transition. A stepping stone to she/her.

It has taken time to take this all in and comprehend it as much as I possibly can. I’ve come a long way and I have a long way to go. But I do believe the time for a gender reveal party has come.

I just want to announce to the world, “It’s a girl! I have a daughter!!”

Rebirth

Today is my youngest son's twenty second birthday. It is no wonder when I sat down with an empty page, pen in one hand and coffee in the other this morning, that my pen started to ramble on birth and rebirth. My thoughts took me down memory lane as I thought of the birth of each of my sons and how I was reborn each time.

My firstborn son was born in August. By January, I was separated from my husband and the need to become a self-supporting parent of one was my guiding light. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Thankfully we had my parent's home and support to weather the storm. I not only found one job, but two. In short order, due to a subsidized mortgage offering, I was able to qualify to purchase a townhouse for us to move into.

1978 My First Time Reborn - Baby. Divorce. Start a job. Buy a house.

My second son was born in September. By December, I left my on-again-off-again marriage for the third and final time. Dad died three days later. His funeral was back "home"- where our family originated and my first home. One off hand comment to the effect of "You should move back 'home'..." was all I needed to set the wheels in motion. That is exactly what we did.

1987 My Second Rebirth - Baby. Divorce. Find a new job. Move to a new province. Create new life.

My third and final child was born in June. By December, I had applied for a year's leave of absence from my employer to test the waters to see if I could open a daycare from my home. I did exactly that and I've never looked back.

1998 My Third Time Reborn - Baby. Leave job. Strike out on my own. Work from home. Become a full-time parent for the third and final time.

The birth of each of my children changed my life, changed me and redirected me towards a better path. My children were an average of ten years apart in age so perhaps my life was in need of a major change at each of these pivotal decades.

It often feels easiest to just keep doing what we are doing and not shake up our world too much, too often. Once every ten years or so worked for me. In fact, as I wrote those words I quietly wondered if I reinvented myself ten years after my youngest child was born. And I did.

My youngest son's father and I broke up late spring. The life I had imagined myself living evaporated into thin air. I was lost. I spent the summer painting and maintaining our home. When winter set in, I started down the road to collecting family memories and binding them together in the form of a book. The following spring, the first book of a series of two was almost complete.

2008 An Unexpected Rebirth - Separation. Ambition. Motivation. Finding myself and my place within our extended family. The birth of two books of Family Memories.

The last decade's transition was less about birth and more focused on loss. Mom's last year was life changing. In September, the wheels were set in motion to create a life where I could be exactly where I wanted to be. Mom's health situation was diagnosed in February. She focused on her continued independence and did not want us to worry. To be able to go out to Mom's on a whim, in good times and in bad was exactly where I wanted and needed to be. She died in September. It was my final year of being a daughter. It is a year I will never regret.

2017 Focus on Being a Daughter - A diagnosis. Moving through. Being there. Loss. Moving on.

I'm in between major decade transitions at the moment. I sense another transition is in the air. I am reminding myself to focus on the moment. Moving through the challenges. Being there. In the midst of the seriousness, our home is going through its own transitions and re-inventing its purpose which is a delightful diversion to all that is going on in the world around us.

Focus on the moment. Be grateful for what "is". Be there. Be motivated. Keep reinventing yourself as the world moves on. One forward step in front of another.

It is truly no wonder they call the birthing process "labor". It is a labor of love but well worth the effort.

Opening a Book - The Gift of Words

I have been filling myself up with other people's words recently. I have been reading.  It has been thoroughly enjoyable.

After watching the movie "Judy", I was interested in finding a biography on Judy Garland. I was in the biography section in the library unsuccessful in my quest, when I found Sally Field's memoir "In Pieces" and Chrissy Metz's (from "This is Us") book "This is Me".

I believe I found the books I was meant to read. The thing I love about both of these books is they are autobiographical. No one from the outside, looking in has written the words. They are first person, told from their personal point of view.

Their stories both go back to their first memories, their childhood, the circumstances they were raised in which resulted in a lot of memories about their mothers. As an imperfect mother in an imperfect world, I read their words from the perspective of my own children.

If my three sons were to write a book about their childhood, the mother they knew, their father as they knew him, the circumstances, their challenges, my failings leading up to the people they are today, it would result in three completely different stories.

As I read Sally and Chrissy's books, I thought the same rang true as they spoke of parents as they knew them. Both Sally and Chrissy had other siblings. It sounds as though different children within the same family were treated differently. To write this without context sounds harsh. But from my own personal experience, I know I was a different person as I raised each one of my boys.

Youth, inexperience, struggles within the marriage, finances, job security, my own personal character flaws, outside influences ... everything changed as I went along. I did the best I could at the time and my best changed and evolved over the years. No matter how much I learned along the way, I still made mistakes.

I love the way Sally Field summarizes how she feels as she brings her book to a close. She acknowledges the changing theories on raising a child, she writes of how important the infant to independence years of caring for a child are but she emphasizes that who you become as a person and a parent for the rest of your life matters a lot.

We are all imperfect beings doing the best we can with what we have. I challenge anyone out there to say they have been perfect. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we repeat the mistakes, recycle them, relive them and continue to relearn the lessons we were meant to learn.

We all have different "starting points". We were all raised differently, we have different gene pools, we internalize the world in our own unique way. Some of us learn faster than others. Some may be trapped in circumstances they cannot leave.

Chrissy Metz summarizes it by saying "Hurt people hurt people". Everyone has a story. I am so grateful to have read Sally and Chrissy's stories. Stories where they simply tell the facts as they remember them. Their truth. They don't point fingers and blame others for their circumstances. They acknowledged they wouldn't have become who they needed to be without the challenges they overcame.

I am grateful I stumbled upon autobiographies. They were interesting to read, I learned a lot and these books have piqued my curiosity to learn more, read more, write more and write better.

These little gifts were courtesy of my local library. All for the cost of $0.00. Reading is free of charge. Learning is optional. I love the door these books opened. I appreciate the perspective I have gained as a result of these personal memoirs. Thank you Sally and Chrissy.

The Wonder of Motherhood

I do believe watching mothers in their natural habitat is one of the wonders of living on a farm. Mother cats, to be more specific.

The cats here on the farm are all descendants of the original Mother Cat. I am not sure of their exact lineage but I believe I am correct to assume all the mother cats are sisters, cousins or aunts or nieces to one another. In other words, they have all known each other since birth.

This creates a perfect co-parenting environment. The momma cats will step in to relieve one another. The kittens and teens have a strong bond with each other and every mother figure in their lives. Other than the odd hiss when someone oversteps a boundary, these cats lead an incredibly harmonious existence.

Then there is the Language of Mothering. One certain meow meant, "I have a mouse here. Come and get it!" Another specific meow was a momma cat calling out to her newly independent kittens who were out discovering the farm. There is the purr of contentment of a brand new mother as she nurses her newborns. The subtleties of the mews, meows, purrs, trill of a meow and the throaty mrrowl each have their own meaning.

Mother cats seem to have an ease about letting go when it is time for their kittens to set out and discover the world.

Yesterday morning when I went to feed the cats, the three youngest kittens were missing. I called out, I shook the cat food dish and when nothing drew them out I peered up into the loft. Not a kitten in sight.

Their mother didn't seem bothered by their absence and ate her breakfast without a care in the world. After everyone ate and lavished on any cat love that was being doled out, I asked the momma where her babies were. Eventually she seemed to understand my query and headed off towards the barn. I could hear the change in her meow. She was calling out to her children. No answer. She got closer to the barn and didn't enter. She headed towards the wood pile alongside the barn and continued to call. In no time, one, two, three kittens bounded into view and acknowledge their mom. She looked up at me as if to say, "Don't you worry ... I've got this".

I was the human being, supposedly with common sense and reasoning power. Yet I was the worrier. Last week, these new kittens were just starting to venture out of the loft. This weekend, I was greeted by three frisky kittens who were exploring their new surroundings outside the cat house. Add a day, and they were off to the wood pile. 

In no time at all, they will be teens and pushing even more limits. Discovering more. Going further. Testing their "wings" so to speak. And the mother cats are good with this. It is the natural order of things.

If only we could live in harmony the way these animals do here on the farm.

The dogs stand back and respect the smallest of the independent kittens when the kitten hisses and teaches the dog where his boundaries are. The mothers all look out for each other's kittens. The kittens all play, wrestle, sleep and share their mothers with each other. The mothers simply love their children, love their children's children, love their sibling's children and so on and so forth. And they are raising generations of kittens who are doing exactly what their mother taught them.

The dogs quietly watch over their world, protect their boundaries, respect their feline companions and life is good. 

If only life was so simple off the farm. It could be. If only we could simply be kind to one another, respect each other's boundaries and look at life one moment at a time.

And Then There Was "Life"

Another weekend post from my son's farm:

It started with an innocent glance out the window. I noticed one of the cats walking towards the shop. She hopped onto the dog house with the cat condo in the attic and then entered. I thought to myself, "If I was a cat, that is where I would have my kittens." And thought little else of it. Until ...

I went to feed the cats and heard this mewing from above. Not in the loft by the window but along the wall beside it. All three little kittens who live up in the loft were accounted for so my heart skipped a beat when I thought, "Babies!"

I hopped up to take a peek and sure enough. The Mama Cat who had been hissing at everyone and everything upon my arrival the previous night (I had wondered if this could be a sign she was in labor because this seemed out of character for her). Sure enough. I peeked in and saw one proud Mama looking up at me as if to say, "Look what I did!!"

I marvelled at the wonder of life on the farm and then started to ponder what may be going on in the cat loft in the shop.

One particular cat was at my side and a bit ahead of me as I made my way. She quickly hopped into the cat loft ahead of my arrival. When I couldn't see inside, I used the camera on my phone to take this:

I was 95% sure this meant there were kittens. But my suspicions were not confirmed until my next trip back. As I approached, the suspected new mom made her way just as I arrived. Sure enough, there was the tell tale sign of mewing kittens as soon as they knew their mom had arrived.

Then I had the opportunity to witness another act of mothering. I heard an unfamiliar meow that caught my attention. Immediately I noticed one of the "teen" kittens running to the sound. As it turns out this was this guy's mom and he knew she had caught a mouse for him.

This is as close as I could get to "Little Smokey" last week:

She/he was too timid to make it down the cat ramp onto the platform where all the cats get fed. I tried and tried to coax her down but she just wasn't ready. But this weekend, I'm almost certain she remembered me. When I arrived Friday night, she was the friskiest of all. It as if she was saying, "Look at me! Look what I've done!! Look at me now!!!" And when I went to pick her up, she didn't even struggle or act uncomfortable. It melted my heart just a little. Look at her now:

All in all, it was a most excellent day. I bonded more with the dogs. I gave the rabbits some treats. I simply soaked in the day and its small wonders.

The sun set upon another most excellent day on the farm. And it was good.

The Miracle of Life

As my sister-by-marriage and I were sitting waiting for Oprah to step on stage, our conversation was all over the map. We went from the inane to the serious and everything in between. Her brother had died just one day previous and he was never too far from our thoughts.

I retold a story she had heard before. The one about the time he borrowed $50.00 to buy me a birthday present and I ended up with a $5.00 pair of earrings. His explanation was that he had hoped to gamble with this money and pay back a larger previous loan, as well as get me a gift. I was lucky to end up with the earrings.

She nodded when I added "I think I have told you this before..." but I had one addition to the story I had not revealed previously. "I think that was the night our son was conceived...." I kept track of these things and according to my calculations, my birthday was the only "unsafe" day we took a chance on love. I thought this new information would add an upbeat spin to an old story as we rewound the years and talked of that which was light and easy during her brother's and my courtship and marriage.

Our conversation took off on a new direction and my story was soon forgotten.

Enter "Oprah!". Oprah is an incredible story teller and there is a reason behind every word she speaks. She talked about her existence and being born at the precise moment she was born, in the exact place she was born, to the parents who conceived her. The timing, the place, her mother and the way she was raised were all instrumental to Oprah becoming "Oprah!" - the celebrity who was up on the stage, talking about some of what she has learned by interviewing 37,000 people over the course of her television show.

Oprah then told us the odds of each and every one of us being born at the exact time, place and to the parents we have. There are so many factors to consider. The fact that our parents met at all. The fact that once meeting, all the stars were aligned at the precise moment in history they were, in order to make conceiving a child a remote possibility. Then you add in all the stuff one learns in science about the number of eggs and sperm and everything else involved in the technicalities of conception. Once conceived, so much can happen that could interfere with the chance of this baby ever being born.

There are millions of factors to consider and it is nothing short of a miracle that each and every one of us in existence due to all of these stars aligning. She gave us an exact statistic in the above equation. I didn't write it down but according to my Google sources, the odds of us being born at the exact time, place and circumstance we were born is about 1 in 400,000,000,000. We are ALL a miracle!!

I turned to my sister-in-law and simply said, "That was a pretty incredible birthday gift, wasn't it?"

So much in life is all in the way you look at it. I never once thought of the true gift I received that one fateful birthday ...

Sisterhood

I'm off to see my sister through marriage today. As I reflect upon the history of that marriage, the good stuff is sifting to the top.

I was young and very alone when I married my husband. I secluded myself from the world around me because I was not comfortable within the world I suddenly found myself in. I was seventeen years old, pregnant and married.

Enter my new sister-in-law. She was elated to know she would be an aunt. I was so wrapped up within my own head at the time I didn't see the gift I received through marriage. A sister. A sister who not only was very close to my own age BUT she also lived in the same city.

This gift would be unwrapped very gradually. Each of us were busy living our own separate lives. At one point in time, we were both separated from our husbands at the same time. That is when I remember a bond starting to form.

We have both been through a lifetime of upheaval between then and now. There has been heart ache and sorrow. There was a time when it was too painful to be close. My sister-in-law's brother was breaking our hearts and she very bravely took a stand. "He's my brother. I'm sorry. I just can't be a part of this."

I have such respect for her for taking a stand and creating boundaries within the relationship we had. There was a time when we simply didn't speak of her brother but as time went on, I came to know her brother as the man she knew and I was able to share some insight of the man I once knew with her.

Her brother/my ex-husband, died yesterday.

My sister-through-marriage decided to go ahead with our original plan to see Oprah. I was honored to walk through this time with her.

I packed up our old wedding album to bring along with me. If I had only known who she would have become to me, she would have been standing at my side that day.

We may not be blood relatives but thanks to the children my husband and I had together, we share a blood bond through my boys. I not only gained two children thanks to my husband, I gained a sister. Better than that, I have a life long friend and we share a bond like no other.

Our marriage may not have been made in heaven but I certainly gained some earthly angels due to that union. And I am grateful.

The Little Things

Life is not all about the big, the grand and the extravagant. The good stuff is often hidden within the fine details that are almost imperceptible to the naked eye. My second son is all about those details.

My son has been instrumental to helping me out with renovations on a rather grand scale this year. All I can say is I'm glad he owed me some money, otherwise I fear I could not have afforded him.

He set his "customer rate" pretty low on his latest home maintenance/renovation project. He scaled down the hours he charged, he didn't include the time he spent picking up materials nor the time it took for him to return the excess, he didn't tack on mileage or even gas costs. For that alone, he earns merit points for which I cannot place a price.

Then there are the many things he does which go above and beyond the call of duty. The garage is cleaner and so much less cluttered than he found it; he culled through and got rid of some excess; he organized what has accumulated throughout the renovations; his attention to detail before, during and after the projects he has taken on have been second to none; he listens to my rambling thoughts and sifts out what is needed to make the decisions required to move forward and through whatever he has offered to take on; he has sacrificed weekends, holidays and time away from his own home and relationship to help me out and he remembers the little things I say.

I mentioned I hate mowing the front lawn because of the sagging branches of the fir tree in our front yard. I feel like I have creepy crawlies all over me after dodging and ducking under the low lying branches. I say these things and half forget I've said them. Until I find my son outside with a ladder underneath the tree, cutting off a half ton's truck bed worth of branches to create some walking room and tidy up underneath the tree.

Before (a close up)

After (a full tree view which does not do justice to the height of the lowest branches)

He does like to be nourished during his work day so for the most part, all I am required to do is to cook a few meals, run the odd errand and clean up the path of work debris along the way.

In return, I will find a pot of coffee he has made or find him sitting on the deck listening to the bird couple who started nesting in our attic arguing about whose great idea it was to move into a house renovation project in process. 

Not only do I appreciate the scope of work my son has taken on and the details he foresees and/or runs into along the way (then overcomes them) and his expertise in knowing what to say or ask about when I'm talking to others involved in this house project ... but I enjoy my son's company, his sense of humor and his overall work ethic.

It's all in the little details. Whether it is a home renovation project, a work situation, relationship or simply the way one chooses to live a life. It is the small stuff that makes the biggest difference.

Thoughts of the Past

Another day, another birthday. As the birth of my youngest son loomed on the horizon I had one small wish. I hoped it wouldn't land on today. Today is my ex-husband's birthday.

It was a foolish wish but it was granted none-the-less. My thoughts of the anniversary of today and yesterday's anniversary are wide and diverse. As are my thoughts this morning.

My ex-husband is not well. The details are not mine to share but there is a story behind those words. Our parting was messy, complicated and we could never quite come to terms with a life where we were friendly but not a couple. So we remained complete and separate entities from each other.

After reading a biography recently and watching interviews with the author, she advised everyone to write their own memoirs. Not necessarily to share with the world but simply to chronicle your life. I took this to mean that in the act of writing, she unravelled some of her own thoughts and feelings about a rather complicated upbringing.

This statement made me think about the relationship I shared with my ex-husband. We were polar opposite of each other and people often wonder what brought us together. I wish I had a clear answer. I often glaze over the memories of our courtship and marriage and wish I had an arsenal of good stories to pass along to our children.

Our separation was not pretty. Our relationship was unhealthy. I felt the need to protect our children and do my level best to raise them in a manner in which history did not repeat itself. Our oldest son retained the memories of living within the confines of our marriage. Our youngest son was three months old when we left. He grew up not knowing his father but I remember his innocent years when he would comment, "My dad could fix this..." if only he had one (were the words I heard but were never said aloud).

There are chapters which could fill the gap between "then" and "now". I was a third party to the attempts of communication during the missing years. I did my level best not to influence our children's thoughts about their father but instead let his actions speak for themselves.

The father/son relationships never happened. There doesn't appear to be a story book ending in sight. I am afraid time is running out but there is little hope of changing the ending.

My oldest son gave me some insight on how he felt when long term relationships ended. He once told me he had to either love her or hate her. There was no middle ground for him. I wonder if that is how his father felt...

I'm walking into uncharted territory here but I have one wish. I would like the opportunity to sit down and reminisce with my ex-husband so I could piece together his memories with mine and remember the good times. I would like to have the full story in my head when I think of the story of "us".

This is something I have wished for, for forever but I dared not cross the line drawn in the sand between us. Is it too little, too late? Or is it simply too late? I simply want to have memories that remember the reasons we married and kept reconciling. I want to have something light and easy for our children to remember when they think about "us".

Long ago, I came to terms with our past. I would often say that I didn't love him or hate him. I simply felt indifference. Indifference is the opposite of love.

I would like to amend my previous statement to read that I have a healthy acceptance of what was, what wasn't and that we tried, tried and tried again to make our relationship work. I have forgiven myself for being unable to make this work but more importantly, I have accepted the fact that it simply couldn't. For reasons out of our control.

The story of "us" is a part of my life. I wouldn't change it if I could. The story of who we were together forged a big part in the person and parent I became. I think the struggle was worth the result. No regrets.

21 Years

Twenty one years ago today, my youngest son was born. As I woke up this morning, thinking of this anniversary, I scrolled through my own personal archives and thought about my own life at the age of twenty one.

By the time I was 21, I had been married, had a baby, divorced, had worked at a bank for three years, bought a townhouse and then remarried my ex-husband. My siblings were ages 32, 30 and 16. All I remember about my actual birthday is that my brother gave me a special birthday gift to commemorate my 21st birthday. Mom was 53 years old; Dad was 56.

I lived a very sheltered and protected life until I married. I had a lot of life lessons thrown at me in a short period of time but thanks to a strong and supportive family, I weathered the storms and came out standing. I had lived a lifetime by the time I was 21.

I look at my youngest son and I see myself before the world started teaching me "all I needed to know". I look at my younger self and the words young, naive and impressionable come to mind. If someone had told me what was to come, I may have locked myself in a room and never come out. I wouldn't have thought I could handle it.

We all have different lessons to learn, new roads to travel and challenges that are unique to each one of us.

I look at my son and I am pleased. I like him. I like his style. I like his quiet demeanor which masks the deepness of his thoughts and his perspective of life. I see bits and pieces of the best of the people within his world intertwined within him, mixed with the essence that is "him" and I enjoy the person he has become and is becoming.

My biggest concern is wondering how he will weather the storms of life. He has had some tests but I know there will be more. He is a sensitive soul. He watches the world around him, listens with his whole being and his interpretation of life as he sees it opens my eyes.

None of us can predict the future that is headed our way. My biggest wish for him is that no matter where life takes him, he will have the ability to weather life's storms and come out standing. I want him to feel the strength and support of family. I hope he feels safe within his world and will always know he has a soft place to fall here within our home and family.

He is the youngest of three brothers with a twenty year age span which separates them. What I am liking best about the age he has become, is that he is starting to "catch up" with his older brothers. His brothers and him are doing things together which is starting to forge a stronger bond in their brotherhood. I didn't "catch up" with my older sisters until I became an adult and now the years that separated us don't even exist. I hope this bond grows and strengthens over the years to come.

They say that joy is doubled when it is shared and sorrow is halved. In good times and in bad, it is good to know you have a support system in place to cheer you on, cheer you up and encourage you through whatever moment you may be going through.

The wish I have for my youngest son is a wish I share with all three of my boys. I wish them a strong sense of themselves, grounded in what I hope is a strong sense of family. I wish for roots to ground them, while reaching for the stars and retaining the ability to hope for the remainder of their lifetime. I wish them a solid community of family, friends, support systems and a resilience that will carry them through the rough patches life will inevitably throw their way.

I believe one of the best gifts Mom and Dad gave me is a strong sense of family and community. Mom and her story-telling led to the gift of collecting family memories which was the best way to infiltrate myself within the family and get to know everyone a little bit better. I was 47 years old when I started collecting family stories and history. It was then, when I started to feel my roots strengthen enough to hold me solid no matter what storms came to pass after that time.

The moral to this story is: No matter what age you are presently at, you must hold onto the belief that the best is yet to come. The best comes veiled in so very many ways and it is seldom a straight path. If you didn't have the struggle, you wouldn't appreciate the outcome. The best outcomes usually came after the hardest struggles.

You've come a long way, my son. I believe in you. I see your strength and though I wish I could wish only good things for you, I know the best parts of my life were a result of the hardest of struggles. Hold onto that knowledge and let it ground you when the going gets rough. Keep looking up, my son. The best is yet to come...

Turning Back Time - Part II

One last post that honors Mother's Day in the best way I can imagine after being reminded of the story of a brave and honorable mother duck. I wrote this two years ago but the memory is deeply engrained and a story I will not forget:

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 2017

In Memory of a Mother Duck

The wonders of nature have been forefront in my mind this year as I have travelled through the months. I've spent a fair number of miles behind the wheel of my car and the landscape around me has evolved from frozen and white to the various stages of spring. My last trip, Mother Nature was really outdoing herself. The trees had come back to life, the grass in the ditches was waving in the wind and the birds were out in full force.

I love watching the birds. It starts with those V-formations in the sky as the Canadian geese head northward, spotting ducks swimming and diving in the sloughs, the hawks as they soar in the wind and even our hardy birds that weather our Canadian winters seem a little more playful as the summer weather starts to return.

I was on the road bright and early this trip and the birds were out for an early morning stroll across the highway.

I was reminiscing about an unfortunate incident from last year when I was driving home on a busy summer Sunday. I was going highway speed when I noticed something long and low to the ground in the distance. It looked like something akin to a big garbage bag wafting across the highway when I first noticed it. By the time I drove up and saw it was a mother duck and her ducklings crossing the highway, it was too late to do anything about it. I had cars coming up behind me and the only thing I could do was take my foot off the gas and not make any sudden moves.

I felt ill as I looked in my rear view mirror to see the mother duck went down behind me. Her young little family was little more than a blur when the next round of cars came upon them as quickly as I had. The feeling and visual of that little duck family is still vivid in my mind a year later.

I was thinking of this little family on my quiet morning highway drive when I noticed something on the highway ahead. Having the highway to myself, I had the luxury of slowing down before I approached whatever it was. Sure enough, it was a pair of ducks. Two adults this time. They were walking along the highway in the lane I wasn't in, so I had the opportunity to appreciate them as I coasted past them. As I got close to them, they simply flew away. They flew.

Yes, of course! Ducks can fly. When these two adult ducks had no one else to consider but themselves, they simply flew away. My mother duck from last year didn't fly away. She didn't abandon her family to save herself. She stayed where she was, at the head of the line of her family and "took the hit". She sacrificed herself for her children.

At no point since my duck accident last year, did I even consider the fact that the mother duck could have flown away the moment she realized her life was in jeopardy. It never even dawned on me. Until these two adult ducks, without a family in tow, simply flew away when I got too close.

I was still in awe of the wonder of "motherhood" in all shapes and forms when I saw something off in the distance. This time, it was a goose family. They are taller and stand out much better than a low lying duck does and this time I (once again) had the luxury of a quiet highway to slow my pace and even brake as I got closer.

A mother goose, four little goslings and a father goose bringing up the rear crossed the highway safely. When they had made it to safety and I drove past, the father lifted his wings and swooped up off the ground in what I feel was a "thank you wave".

I may not have realized what was on the horizon if it had not been for that mother duck and her duckings last year. The mother duck who lost her life for the love of her family last year has made a lasting impact within me.

I think of that mother duck often. I still quietly mourn the loss of her and her family. If only she had known not to cross the highway during peak hours, she may have been saved.

She did not die in vain. A mother will literally take a bullet to save her child. Whether they are human or a bird or many other living creatures.

I was telling my mom this story and we both marvelled at the wonder of motherhood. As our visit progressed, we started talking of mother cats and Mom mentioned that the tom cats will kill the kittens. "Once the mother has kittens, she will have nothing to do with the male so the tom will try to kill the kittens to get her attention again." "Hmmm..." I replied. "I'm even more like a cat than I realized."

I think I'd rather think like a duck.

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.

Wafting Back Down to Earth

I am sitting back and wafting back down to earth after a most excellent Sister Sleepover here last night.

The catalyst for this unexpected treat was my Youngest Son's acting debut performance. We attended this grand event and were impressed by the raw talent of a showcase of university students who took care of absolutely every aspect of the four, one-act plays which unfolded before us.

This is the first time I have seen my son perform in many years and my heart soared as I watched the way he portrayed and embodied the soul of his character with (what appeared to be) such ease. He told me he played the protagonist in the story but [typical "mother" statement forthcoming], I saw him as a "good and loyal soldier", who was simply following the orders of some unnamed "Führer" at the end of the Second World War.

Watching the metamorphosis of my son as he pursues his passion with his entire being has been something to behold. I hope this is just a beginning for him ...

We all came home and enjoyed a relaxed visit as we wound down the day with drinks and nachos. Good company, good munching food and a beverage of our choosing made for a most excellent wind down to the day.

I slept sounder than I have slept for a while. It was a purely blissful feeling, sharing a roof with my sisters only a few steps away. I felt as safe and secure as I did as a child, when my older sisters watched over me and guided me through my early childhood.

Then came the awakening. The sun rose and ushered in a new day. I exchanged days off so I could enjoy a leisurely morning with my sisters and it was one of the smartest moves I've made in a while.

We chatted lightly about everything and anything. I was sitting in a kitchen chair that gave me a perfect view of a pencil drawing of my childhood home. The only home I shared with my sisters before they grew up, got married and we moved out of the province.

The only home where all four of "us kids" lived together before everyone moved on and out of that house and into the next phase of "life"

Wisps of feelings, memories and a desire to turn back the clock just to hear their side of those memories was warm and comforting. We spoke of Mom, we guessed at what she would say to various current events going on within our families. We spoke the language of family. Simply sitting back and being a part of the dialogue felt like a bear hug to my soul.

I've been struggling lately. I confessed my reality to my sisters and they listened with their whole heart. I felt like we had turned back the clock to a different time and place when they were there to walk with me through some of the biggest changes in my life.

I've been here before.

I've been feeling Mom's presence so strongly lately. Not in a Twilight Zone kind of way. Just within my heart, my soul and my entire being. Mom would be so relieved to know our sister status remains strong and true. Mom's words keep coming out in the voice of others...

I hear you, Mom. I heard you then and I hear you now. Something's gotta change.

Revelling in the Moment

Life has been very generous with moments which have sparked joy, connection and resulted in an extra long weekend where I am simply waking up with a grateful heart.

My good fortune started a few mornings ago, when I thought I heard the hum of a familiar motor close by but talked myself out of believing it was true. Imagine my delight when I spotted my middle son on our back step, with tools in tow to fix the separated laminate flooring in the hallway.

He had a 10:00 meeting and I had some leeway as to when I should leave for work so we took some time to share a cup of coffee after the flooring issue was rectified (YAY!!!). It was a power visit but not too short to be meaningful.

I started my day with a spring in my step and the day unfolded easily.

Late that afternoon, I received a message from my sister. She was asking if she could utilize one of the spare beds in our home as she had a middle-of-the-night airport drop off and didn't want to drive home alone at that "ungodly hour". My immediate response? Sure!!

My sister arrived at 4:10 a.m., we had a short visit, then we each headed off to our respective sleeping quarters to grab a few more hours of sleep. This resulted in waking up to a completely unexpected and perfectly timed early morning visit. It was such an unexpected gift.

My youngest son and I ended up with a mutually obligation-free day. An easy conversation at home led to a drive, which led to sitting in a quiet, sun filled restaurant. The conversation that came as a result of this most perfectly un-choreographed day was deep.

We covered topics that were parallel to what I had discussed with his older brother the previous morning.

Parenting, forks in roads, the fear of worst case scenarios and eventual outcomes were discussed. I sat in the parenting seat and reflected from my vantage point, while my sons spoke about their side of the same story.

I am so grateful to be looking at these particular moments in my rear view mirror. I remember the feeling well. I was fearful of the impact of handling a situation wrong, missing clues as to what was really going on with my children and the long term effect of life as we were living it.

I see where we are today and I am grateful we have come through the other side of situations which could have played out so very differently.

I think of my own life where I strayed off the path and wandered into unfamiliar territory. I truly believe it was my own personal homing device that guided me back to create the familiar feeling of "family, home and safety" that kept me from straying further. Recreating the home I grew up in was my guiding light and the best way I could try to parent my children.

As luck would have it, I will be available to my oldest son as he has day surgery a few days from now. The opportunity to have one-on-one time with each one of my boys has presented itself to me in the most unexpected fashion. I have no idea how conversations will unfold with my oldest but I am grateful for the occasion to simply show up and be there.

I am revelling in the moment right now. I've issued a few invitations but have few expectations. The door is open to whoever shows up. It is my hope to create the opportunity for "more of the same" but memorable moments can't be planned. They just happen.

"Don't force anything. Let's just go with the flow. If it isn't an easy yes, it's a 'no'. No expectations." These are the conditions I hand out with my invitations. If everyone follows these simple rules, great things may (or may not) happen.

Parenting - It is Not For the Weak of Heart

I have yet to meet a parent who declares, "I've got this! I did this all right and I've raised an ideal human being." Heavens, I haven't even met a pet owner who could make this sweeping declaration.

Children aren't born with user manuals. Even if they were, each set of instructions would be unique to the child despite the fact they came from the same genetic pool of options their siblings were created from. The instructions would change by the minute and one outcome would not guarantee the next. And, even if each child arrived with their own set of specific instructions, it would not account for the parent changing, learning, evolving or simply being an imperfect being. 

We are not hard wired for perfection. Life is action/reaction based. Despite the vast amounts of information on raising children available to us, I believe we are imperfect humans doing our best in an ever changing climate.

As I sit and write these words, the errors of my ways during my parenting years flash before my eyes. I was a young, inexperienced parent with my first child. I was a more mature but still evolving parent with my second. I was pretty laid back with my third child. I was three different parents to three different children. The child I was raising and the person I was in a specific moment in time was ever evolving. 

Now that my children's ages range from 20 to 40 years, I have reached a point where I can relax a bit and simply enjoy the adult human beings I have known since the moment they were born. I am grateful to say I enjoy my adult children. As I watch them navigate the world I am pretty pleased with the citizens they have become and the lives they are creating for themselves.

I look at the variables in place as I raised my young family. What I once deemed a setback, I now see as lesson my children could utilize to overcome obstacles as they lived their life forward. 

While my children didn't do without, they grew up knowing there was not an excess of money to be had. Each of my children took this and it became a tool to either ensure they were in a better financial position ... or believed there was a way out of their existing financial crisis ... or simply made spending decisions based on what money they had in the bank. 

My children weren't raised in a home with a father. One knew their father too well and that didn't bode well for his future. A second came to know that same father and as an adult, he applauded me for walking away from that life and creating the home he grew up in. That same son told his youngest brother to appreciate and acknowledge the dad he had. My third son had a different father and despite the fact his dad and I parted ways, he acknowledged his son on special occasions and tried to keep in touch. Young children often don't appreciate what they have. I was grateful my middle son nudged his younger brother to not only keep that door open, but walk through it and reciprocate his father's kindness.

I never saw single parenting as a disadvantage. Not when parenting together would have created such dissension that it would have affected our children in a negative manner. 

I have spent my parenting years confessing my parenting sins to friends, family and other parents. The more honest I am, the more I hear an echo of a different version of the same story. We are all learning as we go. Reacting the best we can despite all outside factors. We all want the best for our children. And I truly believe we desperately want our children to know we have done and are doing our best. 

As I navigated my day yesterday, I crossed paths with a dad who sounded like he could use a little moral support. I met this dad while I was running my daycare and I still have his child's Daycare Information Sheet (a form I had each parent fill in, so I would have likes/dislikes; medical/emergency contact information; and simply any kind of knowledge to help me get to know the child). Of all the information sheets I collected over the years, this dad's compilation of information stood out. He adored his child, knew him so well and his world revolved around being the best dad he could be for his (then) four year old child.

I took a picture of this sheet the dad filled out 18 years ago and sent it to him. His response was one that I think all parents should keep in their parenting handbook and remind themselves of when the going gets tough:

"I really miss those days. So I need to make decisions knowing that someday I'll think about today and say 'I really miss those days' ".

The most profound parenting wisdom I've ever heard. It applies to parenting as it does to simply living life on a daily basis.