Doing the Next Right Thing

A little guy who I take care of within my daycare world is a lovable little gaffer. He has a personality that shines, he has a zest for life and eyes that could light up a city. 

He is as smart as a whip, smarter than me I think, which has caused no end of challenges and struggles but we are working things out. Bit by bit, day by day.

He has developed a habit which cannot continue. He hits. Often he hurts someone with a toy he has in his hand as he delivers a blow. It hurts. his friends are getting angry and frustrated. I am getting angry and frustrated.

I have tried everything I know how to do, to try and help him understand he is hurting people. I have told him to hit himself with the toy in question so he knows how it feels. He does it, continues to do it and I have even noticed him voluntarily hitting himself with a toy when he doesn't even know I'm looking.

There have been time outs, angry/stern voices as I "deliver my lesson" to him, isolating him from others, every thing I can possibly think of, I  have tried.

All of this, yet we still don't see eye-to-eye on this situation. It has been extremely frustrating.

Yesterday, our brand new week started out with a hitting issue. I put him in a time out in the kitchen, I met him on his level and cupped his chubby little cheeks in my hands, looked him directly in the eye and said, "That hurts. You are hurting people. Hands off! Be kind. Be gentle. Be gentle..."

He looked directly into my eyes and soul and ever so quietly, ever so sternly and with great intent behind his words, he said, "I don't like you".

I thought I heard him wrong so I asked him to repeat himself. And he did. "I don't like you."

It was unmistakeable. He doesn't like me. At least not in that moment. 

In that very moment, I didn't particularly like his actions either. So that was my response to him. "I don't like what you are doing right now."

And our day continued to move on in a forward direction. 

He continued to reoffend and I continued to be frustrated and tried my very best to catch him in action so he understood exactly what actions were offensive to me.

The good outweighed the bad, by far, and our day was all-in-all a good one.

Their were many more minor infractions within my small daycare family. I had had a most perfectly balanced and fulfilling weekend and I was on my A-game. Let me stress the word "my" within that sentence. I was by no means perfect, but I was so much better than I have been.

The girls were acting like mean, spiteful teenagers among themselves. They were being unkind and acting in ways which were hurtful to those around them.

One of my little girls is an instigator. I rarely catch her doing wrong but I am quite certain her actions are often the starting point where the second or third person down the line gets caught doing something wrong because they are reacting to her behaviour.

Yesterday, I caught her in action a few times.

She was absolutely devastated. She burst into tears with a dramatic flair and she didn't have to say the words. I knew in that very moment she did not like me either. I was really on a roll.

I felt bad that she felt so badly but I did not want to lose the momentum of catching her in the act of doing something wrong and hurtful to her friends. So I focused on "Do the next right thing" (this is a quote of Glennon Doyle's - I am not that wise). 

I couldn't believe the power I felt by inserting those words into our day, so I elaborated with some of my own.

"Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone. All we can do is do the next right thing. Let's start from here and just be kind to each other. Do the next right thing."

I subconsciously propel myself through my days with this mantra in my head. I make so many mistakes. I am not better (probably worse, because I know better) than the small people in my care. I try to stop myself in my tracks, take a deep, long breath and tell myself to do better. "Do the next right thing."

It is really all we can expect of ourselves. 

When we know better, we (try to) do better. We all make mistakes. We all say and do things we wish we could take back the moment we do them. How can I expect my young charges to do any better than me, when I struggle each and every day to simply "do my best, restart and redo whenever I can and do the next right thing"?

Forgiveness, friendship and kindness are what we focus on here within our daycare world. It isn't easy. But it is necessary.

"All relationships take work. Sometimes that work looks like a disagreement or an argument. It may also look like stress that creates tension. Don't worry! It is all part of the work. The key to a successful relationship is to allow the work to take place, to allow the communication to continue, and to keep your heart open to love and be loved." ~ Iyanla Vanzant

Digging Myself Out

It is really no wonder that it is taking a while to feel like I am making a difference, as I have started to try and find my way out of the excess which has amassed within our home over the course of the past six to ten years or so.

It happens ever so slowly and gradually. You accumulate something new and continue to hold onto everything you already have. Please tell me I am not the only one who does this. I know one should develop the habit of "out with the old" when you acquire something new.

I have had so very many excuses over the course of time.

I was too busy. I was writing a book. I went to school. I was too stressed from a new job. Too many kids. Too many jobs. Too many responsibilities. Too tired. Too lazy. Too busy living my life.

Yup, I used all of the aforementioned excuses and I'm sure I invented many more. I live in a bubblewrapped world where my supportive people agree with me and gently pat me on the shoulder saying "There, there. It is okay. Of course you can't do it all!"

Looking backwards, I can see that I really did make some good choices along the way. My life will be much more interesting when I start repeating my stories if they aren't all about cleaning. Yes. That is yet another excuse that I am quite certain I used somewhere along the way.

I'm grateful that cleaning, decluttering and sorting through the rubble of one's home doesn't dominate my life. But perhaps it would be wise for me to get back in the habit of puttering, so slowly but surely I start to see the light again.

That was what yesterday afternoon was all about. You can stop reading now because this is where I insert the details that no one really cares about.

I woke up early yesterday and did all of the "hard things" that I hadn't had time for all week.

I typed up our family's recipes and submitted them for our upcoming family reunion's cookbook. Whew! That felt very good to put behind me.

I did up my second son's book work. Another pesky little job that takes no time at all but kept getting pushed to the wayside last week.

I had one last look at everyone's income taxes, since the tax assessments were mailed to us last week. So far, so good. It is looking like I did a decent job with what I knew and what I did. Time will tell if Revenue Canada agrees with me or not.

I forwarded an email from our family reunion committee to the family. A quick little job but it felt so very rewarding to send it off and take it off my to-do-plate.

I sat down at the kitchen table and wrote Mom's weekly letter. It felt so good to sit still with a cup of coffee and hand write her letter. It is so much easier and faster to type. But the gift of some cat stationary which was not only lined but also a perfectly manageable size of paper made that little task feel like fun.

It was 3:20 in the afternoon by the time I finally finished up my Friday Daycare Blog post. Then I had a little daycare business to tend before I could officially wrap up last week's unfinished business pile.

Then ... I started puttering.

One thing led to another, then another and another and another! I started with arranging a few things in the extra drawer in the new three drawer filing cabinet I purchased last week, which led to reorganizing another place where I have stationary items in the kitchen, which led me to the spare bedroom where our family book project and reunion clutter was never ever dealt with, which led me to finding items to donate, which led to the other spare bedroom downstairs where some of our excess has gone to pile up and die, which led to vacuuming the playroom downstairs, which led to reshuffling the toy selection upstairs for the upcoming week, which led to forgetting about supper.

It was 8:00 when I heard my son rifling through the cupboards to find himself some nourishment. I said, "I suppose supper would be a good idea, huh?" He agreed.

I had absolutely no brain cells which were in the mood to think about what I could scrounge up for supper. I just told him to tell me what he wanted and I would make it appear. Perogies and hot dogs. Okay! Perogies and hot dogs, it was.

I sat down at the end of a very productive day with my Pizza Pops and ginger ale and simply felt good.

The house does not look one tiny bit different. But it feels better.

I have barely made a chip in this iceberg, but I did make one nick out of a very, very big chunk of it.

I woke up this morning remembering little snippets of thoughts and wisdom of others, which I had found along my travels these past few days, rising to my consciousness.

I found a window within the clutter I sorted through and I feel a wisp of fresh air entering our home and my mind.

It is small but it is so big. I am starting to feel just a little bit of the weight lifting off my shoulders.

I read this several days ago and though I forgot the words, I remembered the essence of them as I lived out this past weekend.

"Your home is not only your safe haven, it is a reflection of your consciousness. Whatever is going on in your mind will be reflected in the conditions of your home. To achieve balance and clarity in your life, you must have a solid, clean foundation. Your home and the conditions in which you live are a good place to start." ~ Iyanla Vanzant

I am digging myself out. It isn't going to happen over night but one small shovelful at a time I will make a small impact. No one else in the world may notice a difference. But I will. And for now, that is all that matters.

The Courage of a Lion

I feel like I have been living with a very quiet and low grade pain this week.

The first days "without Andre" were lackluster and I felt cloudy and overcast. Then Monday rudely walked in the door and intruded on my quiet, respectful mourning period. I hated Monday, but I knew I needed it just as much.

The loss of a pet is something not everyone understands. I must confess that as much as I empathized and wanted to understand how my friend felt when her 32 year old parrot died, I just didn't get it. I can relate to losing a cat or a dog but I've never loved a bird, so my heart didn't ache the same way as hers did. Andre was not doing well at the time and I could relate but I didn't truly understand.

Now I know. At least what it was like for me.

Other than "work", I did as little as humanly possible this week. I knew I had to do "hard things" but I didn't want to waste a good day of doing nothing, doing just a little bit, so all of those hard things landed on one day. That would be yesterday.

Our (previously) Junior Cat, presently our Only Cat needed to get his nails trimmed. His nails have needed a good trimming for quite some time now. I finally made that appointment and that appointment was last night.

I used that as a catalyst to gather up and donate Andre's unopened cans of cat food and drop off his medication so they could reuse or dispose of it properly. As I went through the process I washed up the cat dish we had upstairs, for Andre's healthy cat food pucks nuggets. I took the remainder of the cat food downstairs. I swept the kitchen floor and went in search of lost "hockey pucks" under the baseboard, kitchen furniture and the stove.

After Andre was gone, I left his dish filled with the much tastier and more popular cat food nuggets out of respect for Andre and not to make sudden changes for the sibling he left behind. But Junior continued to fish out the food (I assume) that was still of the health food variety and continued batting them around the kitchen, so I emptied the dish.

That empty dish was disturbing to me. It screamed "Andre is gone! Andre is gone!!" but I couldn't remove it.

I washed his dish and put it downstairs to use for another purpose on another day.

Slowly but surely our visual reminders of Andre's day-to-day life with us are disappearing.

Last night, we brought home the paw print the vet's office made for us on the day we said our good bye to Andre. The entire staff signed a card and it was attached to Andre's clay paw print. We didn't find that card until we were home from our night of errands, had finished our supper and I opened the package to find a place of honor for Andre's last memory.

"He was a courageous cat ..." was one of the many thoughtful and meaningful comments our veterinarian family wrote within the card.

Courageous.

Yes, I have to agree that was the sentence which packed a punch for me. I truly believe Andre breathed long and hard and those last heavy breaths were his final gift to us.

It was so very hard for him to breathe at the end. He gazed quietly into our eyes and he simply breathed.

It took every ounce of strength he had to live out those quiet last days. A lesser cat may have given up sooner or let it be known how much he was suffering. Not our Andre. He channeled his youthful exuberance for life into those final days, weeks and months.

He had the courage of a lion.

Walking Against the Wind

It has been pretty windy in our parts lately. So windy, that I've decided to put off washing my hair for just one more day because it's just going to look windblown anyway. So why even try?

My thoughts digress to my sister's comment that one of the reasons she likes the wind is that it gives one's hair an excuse to "look this way"...

I will rein myself in and write what I intended to write. I'm running out of time this morning because I made a deal with our cat "I'll sleep a little longer if you cuddle up beside me". He did. Now I'm running out of time.

Anyway ...

Whenever we go out walking, it seems we always walk into the wind on the first lap of our walk. Our only consolation is that very same wind will be on our backs on our way home and make the walk easier and more enjoyable.

Yesterday, we walked to the library. I never even thought of the wind. Until we came home.

We turned around and faced the opposite direction and walked directly into a very windy day. Immediately I thought, "Why do we never notice resistance unless we are walking into it?"

When life is going along as we expect it to, do we stop and appreciate that we are not wading through the mire to get where we need to go?

When we wake up each morning and our body does what we want and expect it to, do we stop and realize how fortunate we are?

When traffic flows easily and we hit all the green lights as we make our way to our destination, do we really notice that fact?

When children come home from school, husbands come home from work and everyone gets to and from their destination without incident do we really stop and think about the little miracles that take place each and every day, all along our way?

We are more apt to notice when life feels hard. We take note of how hard it is to wake up. We really notice when we wake up with a sore neck. Then there is the traffic. Why does it seem whenever you are running late, you run into red lights and delays all along your way?

I know I take it for granted, but in the same breath I am grateful each day when my son comes home from school. I like it when my adult sons check in, so I know they are okay in their worlds but I don't lose sleep over the days (weeks) when I don't hear from them either.

Each and every one of us wakes up to a unique set of circumstances. We trust our day will unfold in a somewhat predictable manner. When all goes (pretty much) as we expect day after day, month after month it is easy to become complacent.

I guess I'm grateful for a little resistance from time to time. It helps me appreciate the little things just a little bit more.

The High Cost of Loving

I sat still in the back yard yesterday and memories of Andre flooded my consciousness.

We had "cat proofed" our yard these past few years so he could come out with us and enjoy the great outdoors on his own terms, within the confines of our yard.

I remembered...

The (many) times he escaped our back yard when he was young and feisty.
The time he got "treed" by some crows (he climbed up into a tree and they were swooping down on him and quite disturbed by this black critter in their tree).
Snuggled up on the lawn swing, just enjoying the sun and whoever may have been around.
Hidden and camouflaged in the underbrush of our lilac bush.
Soaking up the sun. Right up until the end of his days.
I was suddenly grateful that he was given the gift of "one last spring" to unwrap with us.

I sat quietly with my thoughts and I revelled in how absolutely lucky I felt. I had no regrets.

Andre was adored. He was an integral part of our family and he made his way quietly throughout our days. Whether our house was full of kids, just our family or if we had company, he was a part of almost every memory I have.

We have so many pictures of our much adored little black kitty. I have written about him on many occasions. Heavens, he was even the theme of one of my Christmas letters ("Because Our Little Black Cat Scratched").

He was loved and he knew it. I am pretty sure he adored us as well because we certainly felt our human/cat relationship was a two way street.

That little guy made my heart swell. Day after day, year after year. I wish I could say I showed my love for my children in a manner that was as unmistakable as the way I openly loved our little black cat.

I have replayed his last years and days with us over and over in my mind.

I know we did all we could for him. I know without a doubt. Our efforts were supported and supplemented by our friendly neighborhood veterinarian's office. I have felt a bond grow with our vet family throughout these past few years.

In his final hours, it was such a gift to simply sit beside him and absorb "the essence of Andre".

He was such a cool cat. So calm. So life affirming. So loving. So adventuresome. He knew how to live the good life.

I replayed the years in my mind and I was so incredibly at peace, knowing that we did everything we could for him. We loved him, nurtured him, took care of him when he was sick and always had our door open for him during all of those years where he was so interested in the great big world beyond our own back yard.

No regrets.

I did everything I could do, throughout his entire life with us. I said all I had to say. I wrote. We took pictures and videos. We have stories and memories which will transcend time.

My heart is full of good, long lasting feelings of loving and being loved.

Loving so deeply comes at a cost. Hearts are broken, great loves are lost and you risk not feeling love in return.

It is a price I would pay any day of the week. The high cost of loving comes with the greatest reward. You just know you would not have done it any other way.

It was a privilege and an honor loving you, Andre. Thank you for opening not only my heart, but the hearts of our entire family. We wouldn't be the same without you.

This is a picture of the sun which set upon the day when we laid Andre to rest.
My son took this picture on our drive home, after burying Andre on his brother's farm.
I knew he took the picture, he showed it to me at the time.
What I didn't know, is where I would find that photo.
It is the last photo within a file of pictures he took of Andre.
It is titled "Rest in Peace".

Our lives have a hole which only you could fill, Andre. Thank you for filling it so fully while you lived here with us.

Mondays are Hard (are Tuesdays any better?)

I hope the hardest day of the week is behind me.

10 hours of "children" + 3-1/2 hours at my "bookkeeping" job + 45 minutes of travel time = 1 very long day.

I wasn't really my best self yesterday morning and I could have cried when I saw the clock tick past 9:00 p.m. last night and I was still at work and twenty three minutes away from home.

I can do hard things, if I am within the confines of my home. Take me away from my safe place and all bets are off.

Two of four of my daycare family were exhausted and very hard to deal with yesterday. I had a mini-emotional breakdown (thoughts of Andre wafted through my mind and reminded me of the parallels between him and my mom and I crumbled) moments before my first family walked in the door. It was not a winning combination.

We managed.

We went for a walk and saw "Santa Claus" back out of someone's driveway in his car. Then a few steps later, my little daycare daughter said "I hear jingle bells!" (wind chimes).

A little magic worked its way into our day and got us through one minute at a time.

The day could have been a little more magical. I was less than perfect within my role of daycare provider but I just kept doing my best.

Thankfully everyone closed their eyes at the same time. And slept.

That magical hour is my booster juice. It gets me through.

Add a blue sky and sunshine and I've got enough ammunition to get through our ten hour day.

It was the 4-1/4 hours to, from and at my out-of-home work place that did me in. That is my kryptonite.

I endured Monday. Tuesday will be easier. Right??

Life Without Andre

Monday feels like an assault to my senses this morning. I do not feel like jumping back into life as I knew it, like it was just any other day.

I know it is the only way. It is right and it is good.

I just miss my little black kitty. That's all.

His junior partner in cathood did his best version of snuggling up beside me before I crawled out of bed this morning. He even laid still while I petted him. In fact, he rolled over on his back so I could scratch his belly (I think he is part dog).

I'm still breathing in the cat hair he shed, but he helped me greet a day I didn't want to face.

Life goes on.

I have become so hermit-like lately I have forgotten what wonders lie outside of our doors.

I stepped in for a missing dance partner, at the dance studio where I used to take lessons, Friday night. Once I got over the shock and discomfort of being so far out of my element, I was amused and entertained by "people".

I am not too sure how long I've been wearing these blinders but I forgot how interesting it can be to meet up with new people.

It was hard. I couldn't wait to leave. But there were many moments of enjoyment while I stepped out of my comfortable life at home and into my most uncomfortable dance shoes.

I used to have so much fun while I was dancing that my feet didn't hurt until I took off my shoes and went home. Friday night, every single footfall hurt.

Every forward step hurt. It is so symbolic of how my heart, body and soul feel lately.

I do hope that this is part of a mourning process I have been walking through in the days, weeks and months when I realized our ailing senior cat's days were coming close to an end.

My heart is so tender right now. Perhaps that is why I don't enjoy facing the world outside of these protective walls of our home.

There is so much sadness, illness and loss out there. Inside our home, there have been so very many moments of pure joy and so much of that has been centered around our little cat family.

People are complicated. Cats are a tad bit mysterious too. It's just lately? I prefer the company of my little cat (and human) family over the great adventures that lie outside of these doors.

I guess I will have to peel back the layers and find my "inner Andre". My little black kitty, who could not wait to dash out of these doors to meet and greet the world around him, befriend enemies, make his way through the neighborhood and come home when he was good and ready, is a good role model.

I'm too scared to wander far. But maybe I should start gazing out the window and dreaming of some new adventures.

Maybe.