Platitudes

Is it too soon to say this out loud? I am tired of the "Merry Christmases" and "Happy New Years" and all the other platitudes of the season. They have been used, over-used, recycled, refreshed and said so many times that I hear static in my ears when I hear or read the words. The words have lost their meaning.

I wrote this and went on to rant some more. When I started to run out of the meaningless things people say automatically, I searched the Internet for more. It seems one can always find someone who agrees with you when you search the masses. And I did.

I reread my rant (which I have now deleted), after reading someone who had more to offer on the subject. Then I started reading the comments. I am one of the worst offenders of spouting off some of the most annoying platitudes on the list. There are times when these used and overused phrases come from a place of wanting to say something, to fill the silence and try to fill the void with words.

My opinion is merely that. It is my opinion alone. The high and mightiness of my initial thoughts came from a place where I spent far too much time scrolling through Facebook over the holiday season.

I saw photos after photos of family and friend gatherings where food, gifts, Christmas trees and cheer galore were plentiful. I looked at the photos and saw "Christmases Past". The reminder was both heart warming and bittersweet at the same time. It was like looking into a mirror that was reflecting my thoughts of the moment.

There were "Merry Christmas" messages to all strewn throughout the page. So many. I thought of the times when I have posted something on Facebook and the validation I felt as the "Likes", comments and shares rolled in. I start to feel like less than myself when the "Liking" subsides. I felt empty when I looked at these Christmas wishes to all reverberating around the world of Facebook.

There is truly nothing wrong with it for those who are sending their wishes out into the world. It saddens me that these "group messages" have taken the place of sending Christmas cards and/or letters. What saddens me more, is that I have become one who didn't send out cards this year.

Our little family doesn't "do" Christmas in a traditional sense. My son said it best when he said, "For us, I believe, the lack of attention to standard ‘dates’ has made the everyday/any day much more memorable." I read his words and my thoughts immediately went to the everyday moments that accidentally became special. There was no agenda, no expectation or excuse. Little moments became bigger than we could have ever hoped for. Simply because we were there, together and open to whatever happened to unfold.

Whatever kind of day you may or may not be having, I do hope it is the kind of day you need. You don't have to be Happy or Merry or anything at all. I do wish you peace in your heart though. That is not a platitude. I mean this with all my heart.

Morning Pages Review

I have been diligently writing three, 8-1/2" X 11" pages, in long hand writing since August 26th. Four months. On my four month anniversary, I shredded every page.

No remorse, nor any wish to re-read a single sentence I had written. I shredded the pages as easily as I throw out the trash. There was no epiphany. No nugget of wisdom. Four months of whining, negativity, list making, dollar accounting, budgeting, lists of shoulda, coulda, woulda's. Gone.

It actually feels good to shred every word and toss it into the garbage. That is what it was to me. Exorcising my morning demons with no desire to revisit them.

I stopped writing three mornings ago. I cannot say if I feel better or worse for the lack of purging. Perhaps a little worse. I find myself drawn into the depths of my thoughts instead of the purge and release factor while writing my morning pages.

Will I start writing again? I think so. 

As much as I felt like those pages drained me of all the words I woke up with and left me wordless when it came to write anything here in my blog, I do feel that allowing myself the freedom to write anything and everything that came to mind was therapeutic. 

The magic of putting pen to page rather than typing? Surprisingly amazing. The times I have sat down at the computer to respond to an email or type out a text have felt excruciating. Picking the right word out of the air feels daunting. The shortest of replies take an extraordinary amount of time to type. 

There is something to these pages. Shredding them felt as cathartic as burning them. There were no deep dark secrets. The pages consisted of a side of myself I do not care to nurture.

Miss Negative Nellie is alive and well but I have destroyed the evidence of her existence. My fear is, if I don't purge these words in the morning, they may sneak out during the course of living my day. 

To err is human, they say. I'd rather err grandly in the privacy of my morning pages and do my best with the knowledge I usually find at the end of my third page. 

Morning pages? I'll be back ...

The Grinch Stole Our Christmas

I peeked out the living room window to do a quick rabbit check after I got all settled in for the night. This is what I saw:

Something was different. Not only no rabbits. No Christmas light either.

We got to enjoy our Christmas light display for twenty days before someone walked off with it. I shall name this person "Grinch".

The Grinch stole our Christmas light display. Bah! Humbug!!

Life is Too Short to Write With Crappy Pens!

Ranting about "things that really don't matter" seems to be at the tip of my fingertips these days. Please forgive me while I carry on one (hopefully) last time.

Please note: Complaining for the sole purpose of complaining, without looking for solutions is NOT my goal. Any griping on my part must be counteracted with action. 

Spoiler alert: Today's rant comes with a potentially happy ending.

On with the show ...

Tell me, am I the only one on earth who is bothered by pens that don't write? Brand new pens, even with their "tip seals" (a small ball of wax on the tip of the pen) to ensure the pen's freshness, that stop writing intermittently, unexpectedly and frequently.

As I have committed to writing three pages by longhand each and every morning, finding a pen that will stand by this commitment is pivotal to this ongoing habit's success. I purchased a tried and true brand that had never let me down before to ensure my journalling success. The first pen worked so well, I gifted the remaining two pens in the package to my fellow journallers. An offer akin to swapping blood to become blood brothers, I offered pens to instil an ink-sister kinship.

Giving away that which brings me joy is one of my favorite things to do. I love to spread my joy. Whether it is my most favorite tea towels, socks, a miracle pillow or simply my favorite hassle free pen. If I love it and think you would love it, nothing makes me happier than sharing some of my tried and true favorite things (I feel like Oprah and Ellen, who have turned their "favorite things" into an audience favorite). 

Anyway ... short story, long ...

I went to replace my most favorite pens and the next package didn't write reliably. I was writing on the same kind of notepaper. Nothing had changed. Just a new package of pens. I was soooooo frustrated. I persevered until each pen in the package officially ran out of ink and I shopped for a replacement brand of pen. No luck. I am two pens into another package of four (I should have purchased one pen at a time until I knew for sure. My mistake).

As I fought with the second new pen and it was worse than the one before, I silently screamed in my head, "Life is too short to write with crappy pens!!!"

Before I tossed the whole lot of them, I decided to check the packaging. Maybe there was a "best before" date and I simply bought pens where the ink was drying out. No luck. 

But I did find a phone number my first package of pens. "If you are not completely satisfied with your product, please contact us at ...."

So I called. I had the chance to voice my complaint and in return, the company has the opportunity to make it right. They will be sending me replacement pens and I should receive them within two weeks. 

There is truly no reason to complain if you don't give the other party a chance to make amends. My second brand of pens came with no such guarantee but I may try to return the to the store where I made the purchase. The worst they can say is "no".

Ranting and raving and feeling angry steals our joy. Finding solutions (see yesterday's post, where all I had to do was flip my top sheet upside down to fix the problem), alternatives or going to the source and putting a voice to the concern is empowering.

Life IS too short to write with crappy pens. I WILL live to write another day. In the meantime, there is another brand of pen that has served me well. If at first you don't succeed, just keep trying. Or as Dory (from Finding Nemo) would say, "Just keep swimming..."

It's All in the Details

It is the littlest of things that can make the biggest of differences. I find this to be true in almost any aspect of living this quiet little life of mine.

Customer service can make or break a company's reputation. I love spreading good customer service stories and they linger in my consciousness long after the moment has past. One good experience buys customer loyalty, good word-of-mouth advertising (the best form of advertising in my humble opinion) and it simply feels good to be on the receiving end of an experience where you have been treated with kindness.

It is that simple.

On the other hand, I have had a few situations lately which left a sour taste in my mouth. In both cases, I followed up and spoke with a different employee after I slept on my thoughts and woke up feeling like I had a worthy complaint. 

My intent was to #1 - find out if my concerns were valid and #2 - voice my experience in the hope that an issue may be addressed and may prevent this from happening to others.

As frustrating as it was, I tried to put myself in the other guy's shoes. Did I have a tone in my voice that could have been taken as confrontational? Did I phrase my words properly so I was understood? Was it me? Or could the other guy have been having an off day? 

I worked in a customer service industry for decades. I feel like one of my strongest traits in that job was providing good customer service. I could handle complaints in a manner which left me feeling I had done the best I could with the situation at hand. 

There was one disclaimer though. As long as the person was not complaining about ME, I could take a step back, be unbiased, listen and attempt to resolve the problem. If the complaint WAS about me, I immediately felt like I was being attacked, my defenses went up and I felt an irrational amount of guilt. My actions were emotion based instead of service based. 

Acting and speaking when emotion is driving the car is rarely a good thing. Perhaps that is why, even as the customer, I don't REact. I try to give myself time and space and ACT when my head is a little clearer and my emotions are in the back seat.

So very many of my experiences are positive ones yet it is the emotion driving the negative ones that give them so much power. 

I cannot end this post on a negative note such as this. Let me tell you some excellent customer service stories:

• My friendly, neighborhood mechanic who treats me so well. I take my car to him in sickness and in health and he always treats my concerns as well as he treats my car. Kudos to those who take care of the people behind their problems!
• Costco, whose customer service team went above and beyond the call of duty. They listened to my story (and my stories are rarely short!), empathized with my situation and did everything in their power to resolve it. I walked out to the store thinking "That company must treat their employees well and it has trickled down to excellent customer service!"
• The employee at our home security company who was the unlucky soul to be on the receiving end of my call. I had been trying to get through to this company for days. There is nothing more disconcerting than being unable to speak to someone who is handling your home's security (then again, I had been calling an old contact number so I was also to blame). By the time I reached this poor girl, bright and early one morning, my one question had morphed into about six PLUS the emotion behind my frustration was evident. I apologized to her and said I was sorry - probably her very first call of the day and I was bombarding her with questions of all kinds - and she was handling it so well. She just laughed and said, "You're so funny ..." and added a comment which made me feel she appreciated the acknowledgement. Employees who are on the other end of a telephone line have a thankless job at times - people aren't as kind when they can't see who they are talking with. It's a tough job. I appreciate those who can do it so well!
• A Sobey's grocery cashier, who sees hundreds upon hundreds of customers throughout the day/week, who acknowledged and recognized me as a regular customer, "You come in here all the time!". And I am only there once a week or less. Hooray to those who work tirelessly and still take time to notice the little things!
• Almost all those who worked on our home this year (there was one snarky shingle installer who soured the experience a bit). I was treated with courtesy, respect, kindness and good humor. Even when I voiced a negative concern, I was treated positively and (except for the above noted case) the situation was resolved. Some of the best customer service is recognized by overcoming customer objections. I am grateful to all who listen and look after the little things to do the job right!
• A waitress who was called in to work on her night off and had let down her family as she was required to work at the last minute. We only found out about this because out of the blue, she simply apologized to us and went on to serve another table. When she came back, we asked her why she was sorry and she quickly explained. She introduced herself to us when we sat down and I actually remembered her name. She beamed like a ray of sunshine when she realized this and responded, "Thank you! For making me feel seen!" 

We all need to feel "seen". In good times and in bad. On the receiving end and providing customer service. The smallest of things can make the biggest difference. It's all in the details.

You just don't know what is going on in another person's life. Simple kindnesses go such a long way. I would like to end this post using Ellen Degeneres' catch phrase, "Be kind to one another!" 

A Tooth Story

I woke up feeling "ickky" this morning. Not sick, not sad, not overwhelmed, not angry, frightened or paralyzed. Just plain old "ickky".

My dominant thoughts are revolving around my Tooth Saga. I need to find a metaphor for what this tooth has done to me, my thinking and my reality. Maybe if I write it out, I will find a string within this story of mine. Maybe I'll just vent and release. I have no idea where these fingers are going to take me this morning but let's just say we'll find out together.

It all started with a tooth ache. A very real, painful, tangible tooth ache. Where there is pain, there must be a "fix", right? This was my theory at the beginning of my tale. Simple! Make an appointment with the dentist, fix the tooth and life goes on.

Except it didn't quite go that way.

Imagine my surprise when the dentist told me he could not see any reason for my pain. He had a few hypotheses and he didn't accuse me of faking my pain but I walked out of the office wondering if I just made it up or if I was entering the phase of not being worthy of being repaired.

The toothache diminished on its own and I felt like a fraud. Life went on. Until it didn't.

When (a few weeks later) part of a filling fell out of the tooth that had been aching, I felt victorious and validated. There WAS a reason for my pain after all. Now, my dentist could fix me up and I would be on my way. The end.

Except it wasn't.

The dentist found a crack in my tooth when he went to fill it. He referred me to an endodontist and threw around terms like "bridge" and "implant" and sent me on my merry way. His only advise to me was "Be careful with your tooth", which I interpreted to mean "Don't chew on that side of my mouth". He did NOT say don't floss and everything under the sun was getting caught up on that rough filling. So I flossed. I flossed that filling right out of my mouth.

One would assume that would be when the tooth ache would return. Except it didn't.

I called to make an appointment to get my filling repaired. Then I started questioning every little thing. WHY was I getting referred to a specialist? What insurance coverage did I have? What was I signing when I signed the release forms saying "There is no guarantee that a root canal would work"? Who was talking about a root canal anyway??

My instincts told me, "Just go get the tooth pulled and be done with it". The professionals told me, "You will NOT regret knowing for sure, whether or not your root can be saved". I surveyed the audience around me (everyone I talked to between that time and my specialist appointment) and the survey said, "PULL THE TOOTH!"

I ignored my instincts, I ignored the survey results and yesterday morning I left the house bright and early to go to see the specialist. And the specialist said, "A tooth like that cannot be saved". The tooth is ready to break off. He could see that with his bare eye (though two X-rays were taken to ensure my bill was adequately large, I'm sure ... no, I'm not. I'm certain it is just their procedure to X-ray first, examine second so the doctor has everything he needs at his fingertips without having to back track).

My question was, "Why in the world did I need to go to a specialist and pay specialist prices which my insurance does NOT cover, in order to tell me what this doctor could see with his bare eyes??"

I walked out of that office angry. Anger is better than pain I suppose. I felt used and abused. I don't know what I fear most. A dentist who is too inexperienced to make the call to pull my tooth so he referred me to a professional. Or a dentist who is in the business for the sake of making money off of referrals.

In either case, I woke up this morning feeling (for the first time since I was a child) fearful about "what comes next".

What if I have an inexperienced dentist, the tooth crumbles as it is being removed and he can't pull the roots because they detached from the tooth and he has to go digging for them? AAARGH!!

What do I do? Do I call the dentist's office and confess my fears? Or my anger? This specialist appointment will cost me about $150 AFTER my insurance pays me what is covered. $150.00 I cannot afford to spend right now. I want a full refund. But do I ask for that refund and voice my frustration before they pull the tooth? Or after? Because I am also very afraid I have a new dentist who will need to consult a specialist when the tooth shatters and he is scrambling to pull roots which are not attached to anything.

Am I overthinking this? Possibly so. What if this "broken tooth" results in a hemorrhage and this is the end of my story? The end. I hope my estate fights for the $150.00 I could not and did not want to and highly questioned paying in the first place.

Okay, there has to be a moral to this story, right? That is why I sit down and write here. Because I usually make write myself into circles and find a happy little ending or lesson to take away from all of this.

This is what I know for sure:

When your body is in pain, it is telling you something is wrong. LISTEN.
When the experts tell you there is no reason for your pain, ask them to LOOK FURTHER.
When your instincts and "the survey says", "DON'T DO IT!!", heed that call.

But those very same instincts woke me up in fear this morning. I don't like where this path is leading. Not one bit.

In the olden days, I had a cavity and the dentist filled it. As I aged, those cavities and teeth began to fall out or break, so I got crowns. My wonder-dentist (I wrote about him here) crowned every molar in my head except this one. Why? I really hate to think about what this whole "tooth saga" is headed. 

Have I reached the age and stage of my life where I lose all of my teeth? 
Will my recurring dreams of spitting out my teeth start occurring again? 
Will I get compensated for throwing away $150.00 in specialist fees, that I could ill afford to spend in the first place?
Will I die in the dentist's chair? Or will he just refer me to another specialist when the going gets tough?

These are the questions I do not have answers for this morning. It's no wonder I woke up feeling "ickky". I guess that is all I learned here this morning. 

Thanks for listening...

To be continued. I hope.

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

Constructive Criticism

Why does one (very thoughtfully worded and said with the utmost respect) negative comment hold so much power? It wasn't even a negative comment. It was simply a truth that had to be spoken. Because we are not mind readers. Sometimes you really and truly have to say things out loud in order to be heard.

The comment was said in such an apologetic fashion that I should not have taken offence to it. But I did. I could feel my defence mechanisms kicking into high gear and my conscious mind knew that there was no reason to feel this way.

But it was the truth. That is the long and short of it. When someone tells me something that I already know and already feel guilty about, it stings.

I set high standards for myself. I am nowhere near the person that I aspire to be. I keep reaching but I never quite get there.

The inner dialogue that runs through my mind is so critical. I would never speak to another living soul the way that I speak to myself.

"That was good ... but this could be better"
"You should be more, do more and put yourself out there more"
"You should listen more, talk less"
"Focus! One thing at a time!!"
"Why can't you just finish what you started?!"
"You are lazy and unmotivated"
"You should be a better mom, babysitter, writer, friend, sister, daughter, friend....."
"You can't cook You don't even want to cook! What is wrong with you?"
"You should eat better, move more, sleep less, read more ..."
... and the list goes on and on and on.

Add this list to the expectations that I have within my Daycare Provider role and I am a bit of a time bomb, waiting to go off, if anyone says anything about the way that I do things.

Tending little people all day is a little bit tedious at times. So I do what is within my power to shake things up. Not only for the kids ... but (here is the selfish part) for ME.

We spent the better part of six months sequestered to the house and yard. So when spring finally arrived and the snow melted it opened up a whole new realm of possibilities. We have been going on little adventures whenever the opportunity arises.

A great part of these mini-adventures require my little 2-1/2 year old to be a willing participant and walk wherever the sidewalk takes us. So I have offered the reward of lunch at McDonald's to make it worth her while. And it has worked like a charm.

This was all good and fine when the McDonald outings were few and far between (we have done many things that have not resulted in a McDonald's treat at the end). But in the past two weeks, we have been able to go twice.

I must admit (and I am quite certain that this is where my guilt is rooted) that McDonald's is the biggest treat for ME. I don't have to come up with a menu. I don't have to cook or clean up. And I get to order what I want to eat! It is my way of giving myself a break.

Our daycare world has been shaken up just a little bit with the addition of a family that were pretty energetic and challenging to manage. And though that family has come and gone, we are now 'adopting' an new little 2-1/2 year old into our family. Our out-of-the-neighborhood outings may become a little bit more obsolete as life gets busier with our larger daycare family.

So yes, I did take the kids to McDonald's twice in two weeks.

And one of my parents (very carefully and with great remorse as she said the words) told me that they just don't approve of the McDonald's adventures. Once every few months? They could live with. But with an entire summer looming in our future and not knowing what my agenda may be for the months ahead ... she just had to say something.

I was utterly deflated.

McDonald's is the 'pot of gold' within the middle of a long daycare day sometimes. It is my gift to ME for doing 'good' and creating a diversity within the sameness of our days.

I told her that I appreciated her telling me. I would much rather her say something, than to quietly seethe and stew over it. Biting one's tongue seems to highlight all other areas of discontentment, so it is better to deal with one small thing at a time than to come back at me with a whole litany of complaints. This was the adult and right thing to do.

But it still stung.

Perhaps it is because it came at the tail end of our first +30 degree day. Despite all efforts to keep the kids in the shade and properly hydrated, I could tell that she was concerned about taking home an overheated child yesterday.

This is probably the deeper bone of contention.

Summer has not yet begun and already I am starting to feel new restraints being placed upon me. Absolutely nothing that I have not yet experienced and dealt with. Heat. Creating mini-adventures (that may or may not include a take-out meal) and new diversions to break up our weeks and months and help us to appreciate the simplicity of simply 'being home'.

My cabin fever is extending out of the winter season. This wasn't on my agenda. It isn't comfortable. And it all started by one person telling me a truth that I already knew.

The truth hurts. I recognize this. I acknowledge that it is my guilt that is playing havoc with my coping mechanisms. My personal motto is "Constructive criticism is welcome here". And it is the truth. It is welcome but it is a hard guest to entertain...

Am I Listening?

My mom came out here by bus last week.

It is an (almost) seven hour bus trip. A trip that she used to enjoy. She would step off the bus and immediately start talking about the person she got to know along the way ... or how nice the bus driver was. I do believe there was even one bus driver that she was eyeing up one time. For me? For her? Who knows? But it was good. Even if there was nothing exciting to report, she would talk about how much she simply enjoyed the ride.

Lately? Not so much.

It started as a mild grumbling over this and that. This time? Over the top dissatisfaction.

Customer service has gone down the tubes. They think nothing of running fifteen minutes behind schedule. Consistently (perhaps the only thing consistent about their arrival and departure times). The staff seemed completely indifferent to her. It was as if no one cared. Not only did no one go 'above and beyond' the call of duty ... they barely met the criteria to get the job done.

Some time ago, my brother looked into working for this company. The hoops that he would have had to jump through and the instability of hours and continual on-call, no-schedule, up-in-the-air existence that he would have had to live through before he got a regular route would have taxed any human being to their max. And then some.

When you hire employees and then send them out on a sink-or-swim mission on their own, immediately after they finish their training, without knowing how long they have before they have to go back out into 'the trenches' for an undetermined amount of time ... do you think that those employees are going to be a good face for your company?

I let myself get a little bit riled up over Mom's dissatisfaction. She is one voice. But she speaks for many. And by the sound of the comment made by the one passenger that passed by me as I waited for Mom to disembark, I would say that it was "two for two" on that particular bus ride.

I listened to Mom's rant. I suggested we find send the offending bus company Mom's comments and observations. We ended up on a wild goose chase as we filled out a long, tedious form. But Mom left her bus ticket for me so (maybe?) I could follow up on her complaint.

"I am never going to travel by Greyhound again!" were Mom's parting words. She gave up her driver's license a few years ago. Bit by bit, she is losing her sense of independence. Travelling by bus used to be enjoyable for her. So I wrote my comment on behalf of Mom and submitted it, thinking that I was fighting for her. Doing one small thing to keep her holding onto one thread of "I can do this on my own!"

And I thought that was that as I await a reply ("Requests are handled in the order they are received. A response will be sent within 7 - 14 business days from the date of receipt"). They must be busy in that department. Or short staffed. Or they don't care. So we wait for a response.

I went about my life and forgot all about it.

Four days after mom returned home from that trip, I heard the news that all was not right in Mom's world. She had called my brother. She had called 911. She was not right and she was scared. Otherwise she would not have called for help. What were the words that immediately came to mind? "I am never going to travel by Greyhound again!"

For a split second I wondered ... what did she know when she said that? Was she talking about more than the bus service? Did she know something that she wasn't telling me?

Life can change on a dime. What if that was her last trip on a Greyhound bus? What if her declaration became true??

As it turns out, all is okay. We don't feel like we are walking on quicksand and trust that the doctors have found the source of her troubles. But it still haunts me. What was she really telling me when she declared that was her last bus trip?

Am I really listening? Or am I hearing what I want to hear?

The Hardest Day

It has been a rough week. Monday was my favorite day. It has been an uphill battle ever since.

Okay. What is happening here? What are the variables going on outside of what is going on inside of my head? Is it me or is it the world that is falling apart at the seams? How much of this am I making bigger-than-it-is?

Number 1 - I worked all of last weekend. It was a good weekend. It didn't feel like a working weekend. But I woke up, went to work, came home and went to bed. That was about the extent of my weekend.

How much contact did I have with the outside world? I talked with my boss. I had email contact with my brother. I sat down and ate supper with my family on Sunday. I talked to a friend Sunday night.

The tail end of a working weekend usually equates to a noticeably stressed 'me'. I didn't feel the stress at the end of my weekend. Maybe it was subliminal. Maybe it was still there underneath it all but I didn't openly blame it for anything that happened after the fact.

Number 2 - It is winter. I have been housebound with three to five children for ten hours a day, five days a week for (about) four solid months. We have had a few outdoor opportunities but nothing that has been really good for the heart and soul. I long for those summer days where I can park myself in a sunbeam and soak up some good old natural Vitamin D.

I felt winter before winter arrived this year. The shortening days cut me to the quick. The days are getting longer now. The sun's rays feel stronger. The sky has been blue. But I have heard a rumor that the weekend forecast is -60 weather (with the wind chill). We have not had much snow this year but we have had unrelentless cold weather. This must have some bearing on not only my coping skills, but the people within my days.

Number 3 - I am challenged each and every day by each and everyone of the children I tend. I can roll with the punches the vast majority of the time. But I have a screamer. A little girl that cries if she is not being held. She cries when she is being held. She screams louder when I am carrying her and she doesn't want to be where I am. She acts like the world is ending if I have to put her down to take care of someone else.

Add this onto the behaviour of her partner-in-onehood. He does not believe in boundaries. He looks me in the eye and does that-which-he-knows-he-is-not-supposed-to-do. He does not listen to words. He barely listens to actions. Thus, I have to carry the girl-who-cries-too-much with me as I chase him down to prevent him from destroying everything-that-is-not-a-toy.

For an added bonus, I have a two-and-a-half-year-old that is getting a little lost in this world of demanding one-year-olds. She is craving attention and affection, and is demanding it in the most unflattering of ways. When she has a partner-in-play, she mimics them to the nth degree. She quite literally attaches herself to the side of the personality that she is embodying. It is often me that acts as her cojoined twin. I suffocate easily and need personal space. I cannot exist with someone attached to my side. Thus, I feel for her playmates at times ...

Yesterday? I had these three personalities together. All day. Need I say more?

Number 4 - How much of this is cyclical? When I look back at A Year Ago Today, what do I see? A lot of the same. Life goes in cycles. Ups and downs. Ins and outs. Good and bad. Elation and frustration. If it was all good, we would have expectations that were impossible to meet.

Bad is the new good. That is my story and I am sticking to it!

Yesterday was The Hardest Day. Which should make it easy to have A Better Day today. And that ... I will do. I am certain of it.

Patchwork Fixes

I have put off maintenance around the house for a very long time. Now that I'm finally tending to a few things, I am finding that the patchwork fixes don't always work ...

I bought a used digital cable box from a Kijiji ad last week. I hooked it up and everything appeared to work okay. One 'quick' call to our cable company to do whatever-it-is-that-they-do to make the on-screen listings work and we'd be off to the races. Wrong. Strange and unusual things happened. I talked with two different technicians over the course of the hour that I was on the phone. They had never seen this particular problem before. A service call has been placed. We decided it would be best to wait until our other boxes arrive just in case we have any problems with them. Proactive thinking. I hope it works.

We bought weather stripping, door knobs and dead bolt locks for our existing doors this past weekend. We can still see daylight between the front door and the door jam. The back door doesn't close quite good enough for us to rely on the keypad door lock to do its job. The door and door jam have seen so many different door knobs and dead bolt locks in their days that (even though my son assures me that this is no problem) things just don't look as secure as they should. I would still like new doors ...

Our computer was running so slow that I was starting to feel that there was a serious underlying issue which would result in the computer crashing and burning and losing everything that is on it. So I called my Computer Doctor. He came yesterday and cleaned things up and added more RAM. He told me of the issues that were probably slowing things up on the computer, but he thought that what he did should make a noticeable difference. Well? They did. We now have no sound on the computer. Not only that, it seems to be running just as slow (if not slower) than it did before. He is coming back this afternoon ...

We are getting the furnace, ducts, air conditioner and air exchanger cleaned today. I am fearful of the ramifications. Everything that has been 'patched' has resulted in more work, follow-up and the revelation that perhaps getting rid of the old and buying something new is the best answer.

What is it about this disposable society that makes me feel victimized by the inability to simply fix what works? I am doing my best to keep what has worked for me in the past out of the garbage dumps. I feel like I am being thwarted at every turn. Are new products not meant to be fixed? Are the repair and maintenance people not capable of repairing something that is over five years old (often as a result of parts not being available)?

We went through a fairly massive renovation and repair of things-around-the-house in 2003. Everything worked. Everything felt new and improved. The downside is that was over nine years ago. Now what was new has become antiquated and effective repairs and maintenance seem to be illusive. Granted ... our doors are most likely 47 years old. They are most likely the one item on the list that could work effectively with a few minor adjustments. The rest? Is one step away from the garbage dump.

I am trying. I am truly trying. I would love to be able to toss out the old and buy new. But the budget doesn't allow it. Heavens! The budget doesn't even allow for repairs and maintenance!! But I'm trying none-the-less.

Something tells me if my dad was here, he could make a lot of these things work. At least the stuff that isn't electronic or computer related. Dad came from a generation of fixing what you had and nothing went to waste. This stemmed from necessity, but the generation who lived through the Depression years never lost that way of life. 'Waste not want not' was the motto of the day.

One step forward, two steps back. Patchwork fixes used to work. Now the patches seem ineffective and a waste of time and material. But I'm trying ...

The Irony ...

I applied for employment insurance as soon as the school year finished and I knew that my work hours would be severely affected. I already had a part-time job lined up for the summer so I was hopeful not to have to make a claim but the one reason that I applied was because I had no idea what would happen in the fall ...

An intensive interview which questioned every decision that I had made in regards to my employment over the course of the past 12 months was almost enough to break me. I felt like offering to send them snippets from my blog to explain the reasons that I acted (and reacted) the way I did.

But within a few weeks, I was told that I qualified for a maximum of $201.00 in weekly benefits. I could earn a maximum of $80.00 and anything I earned over that would be deducted from the $201.00 benefit.

Thankfully, I never qualified for any benefits throughout the first seven weeks of my claim. I found it a bit of a pain in the neck to even bother keeping the claim open, but the very idea of the uncertainty of fall kept me completing the biweekly reports.

Because I found and worked at a completely unrelated-to-my-present-job-skills second job so that I could pay the bills over the summer, I did not need to make an EI claim. But ... if I was to quit that same job after the summer was over, chances are great that decision would have disqualified me from making a claim when I needed it the most.

My choices were narrowed down to being available to work seven days a week to qualify for insurance IF I didn't earn over $281.00 per week OR quit my second job and be disqualified (after what I can imagine only to be a nasty interview with the insurance official in charge of that department).

Either way, I could not foresee myself being in a position to pay all of my bills so ... I decided to go back to what worked for me and reopened my daycare (which was the best decision in EVERY sense of the word; the ability to (soon) be able to pay my bills was simply a bonus).

I quit the two jobs that I had when I started my claim. Two jobs that were not putting me in a viable financial position. I quit them so that I could start a job that had earning potential that far exceeded my present employment situation.

This is the irony of the situation - the final and eighth week of my claim, I qualified for a partial benefit. By my calculations, the maximum amount that EI would be required to pay out for that one week, over the course of eight weeks is $62.00.

I have told the complete and honest truth every step of the way. I have adhered to all of the rules and regulations. When I accidentally missed reporting the stat holiday pay that I received , I reported it as soon as I realized it (which was over a month, due to being paid one month after I worked it and then not automatically receiving my pay stub as usual, so I had to request it which added to the delay). I even admitted that I was not available to work one day - when I was called in to work on a weekday (which was a scheduled day off), and I declined. Even though I was available to work seven days a week. I went above and beyond to ensure that I declared every penny that I made and followed their rules to the letter.

I was so excited when I called to cancel my claim. I told them my revised work situation. I explained my decisions. In a nutshell, I quit two low paying, unreliable jobs so that I could secure one (semi) reliable, full-time wage.

I resigned from Job #2 on Aug 11th. No, I did not have a new job before I quit but the wheels were in motion, my daycare ads were posted and my new daycare was opening on September 4th. I had my first successful interviews with parents on Aug 13th.

I resigned from Job #1 on Aug 15th, after calling and talking to the person in charge of hiring to ask if she knew what I could expect in the fall (she could offer me nothing more than I already knew). I emailed the same person after I wrote my letter of resignation and before I dropped it off as a last ditch effort ...  in the hopes that they could extend an olive branch. Nothing. I was hired to do a bookkeeping job on Aug 17th. After I handed in my resignations at my existing jobs.

The error that I made was giving my employers two weeks notice. If I could have waited until I secured firm employment before I resigned, the result would be different. If I had waited, I would have been unable to open my daycare doors at the beginning of the month and the beginning of a new school year. I suppose I could have just said, "I QUIT!" and walked out on my employers before giving notice. But that isn't the way I roll. I foresaw a bright and shiny future (and the ability to pay my bills) ... so I took a small risk. I quit my jobs one week too soon.

Thus, my claim is being reviewed. Sixty two dollars (maximum) holds in the balance as they extended the two week time frame for them to review my claim. They gave themselves a deadline of "September 10th". Which was extended to "September 10th or the following business day". It now appears that the decision is in an extended limbo as this is the current message on my claim: "We have received new information on your claim but have not yet made a decision. We are making every effort to review this information as soon as possible. We have received your report. Your report will be processed when a decision has been made on your claim."

This isn't about the money. It is about being honest, doing the right thing, making thought out and careful decisions for your future ... and someone out there has the ability to wave their magic wand and make you feel like you are trying to cheat the system.

I am not trying to cheat anyone. I simply want a resolution.
If this scenario doesn't play out in a fair and just fashion, I am afraid that it taints my view that if you do the right thing, are honest and upfront ... you are rewarded.

This does not seem to be the case right now. I promise to update and amend this if and when I hear a final decision.

I'm not asking for the world here. I'm just asking them to do the 'right thing'...

** Final note **
I contacted the EI office Sept 19th. They called me back Sept 26th. I talked to a very nice lady on the phone and after our conversation, she took the 'stop' off of the payment in question. This is the message I found on my claim this morning:

"We have processed your report for the period ending Saturday August 18, 2012 which has resulted in a payment of $0.00 for this period."

The End