Ever been stuck - car hugging a snowbank so tightly you needed a neighbour's tractor and a few strong testosterone-filled individuals to release the car from its loving 'death grip'? Or calf-high (as in your own, not as in actual cow babies...)rubber boots in riverbank mud - trying not to shriek out in surprise at the frigidness of the water as it cascades against your leg while attempting to yank yourself loose from the squelchy mire? Or how about just plain routine?
That's the location where I often find myself stuck. Stuck - part of the dictionary.com definition - "to be at a standstill, as from difficulties: I'm stuck on this problem; to be embarrassed or puzzled; hesitate or scruple".
Stuck, stuck, stuck doing the same things the same way... But, wait, have you ever surprised yourself with a solution to that "standstill"? Wondered why, as you were overcome with a "eureka!" solution, you were ever performing the routine that way in the first place? Since our coffee maker "bit the caffeinated dust" a year ago I have been daily brewing my addictive poison in a French Coffee Press. This wonderful contraption has nestled ever-so-comfortably on the top shelf of one of our cupboards - so high that every morning I grappled with wooden stick and catapulting stainless steel. Finally one day, "Eureka!": could I not simply rearrange some of the bottom shelf inhabitants to make room for a tall, robust, shiny friend? Why was I ever performing that routine that way in the first place?
Well, I'm off for some "always under construction" adhesive-elimination (yeah, yeah, fancy for: change, growth & un-'stucking')...4 days at the "Emmaus Project" conference in Alliston("The Emmaus Project is transforming, recharging and refreshing presbyteries within The Presbyterian Church in Canada" http://presbyterian.ca/emmaus/ ).
Talk to you Sunday evening...
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
During my bout of spring cleaning (lasting approximately one hour) I came across a small container called "Salamander Scrub" for bathroom and kitchen uses. I have no idea where it came from; the label, with only a "LEPS" logo on it, promised simplicity and an all-natural alternative to the nasty ingredients of "typical" household cleaners. I put the contents to the test...and was amazed at the shine I hadn't seen on the bathtub since we had moved in to this home, previously owned by a meticulous housekeeper, who didn't have "rugrats" undoing every maneuver towards cleanliness. (Yes, our children will remain my "excuse" for complete dishevelment -my mom always affirmed "messy housekeepers make better lovers" so I must be up for some sort of award!)
I googled LEPS (Langley Environmental Partners Society) and voila, they emailed back to my response with the recipe. Simple: except that I had no clue as to what "D-limonene" is (see below recipe for more info) - probably not something common to small town grocers but once in awhile we manage to make it to "the city"...
Enjoy your sparkling tub & be sure with this cleanly gleam to wear sunglasses when visiting the loo!
Sockeye Scrub (formerly known as "Salamander Scrub" similar to the "Star Formerly Known As Prince")
For use in the kitchen and bath, on tiles, countertops, etc. The scrub is great for scouring, so it is not recommended for certain cooktops.
1/2 cup baking soda
1/4 cup borax
2 Tbsp liquid soap
1 Tbsp d-limonene
Instructions:
Using a metal or glass bowel, mix together baking soda, borax, and liquid soap. Add d-limonene with a metal spoon, mix well.
Note: D-limonene is a concentrated citrus extract that can be purchased locally from Voyager Soap and Candle.
I googled LEPS (Langley Environmental Partners Society) and voila, they emailed back to my response with the recipe. Simple: except that I had no clue as to what "D-limonene" is (see below recipe for more info) - probably not something common to small town grocers but once in awhile we manage to make it to "the city"...
Enjoy your sparkling tub & be sure with this cleanly gleam to wear sunglasses when visiting the loo!
Sockeye Scrub (formerly known as "Salamander Scrub" similar to the "Star Formerly Known As Prince")
For use in the kitchen and bath, on tiles, countertops, etc. The scrub is great for scouring, so it is not recommended for certain cooktops.
1/2 cup baking soda
1/4 cup borax
2 Tbsp liquid soap
1 Tbsp d-limonene
Instructions:
Using a metal or glass bowel, mix together baking soda, borax, and liquid soap. Add d-limonene with a metal spoon, mix well.
Note: D-limonene is a concentrated citrus extract that can be purchased locally from Voyager Soap and Candle.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Earth Day!?!?!
Earth Day - I forgot Earth Day.....arrggggg....sigh....well, in honour of Earth Day past, here is something I had written a year ago for a MOPS newsletter...
Remember those Girl Guide badges we so lovingly hand-stitched on to blue-box-coloured sashes (in order to have the sewing badge among them)? Uncomfortably perched on a wooden chair (because our cat has claimed the computer chair and I am just too lazy to deal with the melodramatic fuss of re-positioning him), I sit here considering, imagining what badges I might obtain if I was Brown Owl‘s “Earth Guides” keener…
Well, before we get to the pat-myself-on-the-back uplifting and positive part, let’s face it: there are, hands down, many badges that would not be sewn on to my little Earth sash. Chuck out hopes of the one-car family badge (we did successfully try until a caravan showed up, a bike was stolen, and first winter with second child hit) – especially since our other vehicle is diesel-guzzlin’. And I am not sure how many wild animals and plants have withered out of existence due to my past hair-dying obsession’s infiltration of some sort of scary toxin into the eco-system, so I definitely would have to forgo on that badge.
Hmmm…what else? All my dirty little eco-secrets are coming out here…Scrap any save-on- food-packaging insignia – I try, I honestly do, but I still purchase yoghurt in mini-containers (why are these more alluring to my toddlers? Why does the exact same yoghurt in a bowl suddenly take on new, unappealing flavour?), lettuce in bags, kidney beans and chickpeas in cans. I once read, in disbelief, of a three-person family that disposed of only one bag of garbage in an entire three-month time (but then, again, I still consider it cheating when he saved all of his waste for a giant art display of the ‘horrific, reckless, and voracious nature of human greed’). Yes, we only recently stopped using phosphate-ridden detergent in our dishwasher.
Well, this is getting somewhat depressing, so let’s focus on what badges would make the cut…
3Rs badge here I come…Not being much of a shopper (okay, despising the very act of it certainly aids in being reductionist in nature) chalks me up for the “reduce” part, and as for the recycling, well, like a good earth-loving girl I dutifully toss my recyclables to the curb and whatever they don’t throw back on my lawn gets taken to some deep, dark, secretive place and turned into something that benefits this planet in some way (I hope). Compostables are chucked into a home-made lid-less stinky bin in the backyard that neighbours are sure to complain about once weather becomes warmer, and clothing that is bi-annually sorted into second-hand-store or rummage-sale boxes finds new homes on other people. Recycle…check….Re-use…check….
Diaper-pin emblazoned badge for honourable use of cloth diapers, and even the laundry badge for replacing bleach with 35% hydrogen peroxide, dryer sheets with dryer balls (which are only used about 2x a year for "emergency use" since when it’s too frosty to plop them on the snow-encrusted clothesline I have a fantastic Ikea drying rack), using apple cider vinegar in place of fabric softener, cold water setting washes and only buying phosphate-free eco-detergent. I could weasel my way into earning the Cleaning badge for using white vinegar, baking soda, and elbow grease for pretty much every mess in the house.
Sigh. Still so far to go in my imaginary attempt to earn as many of these hemp badges (made right here in Canada, within 100 miles of Mount Forest, by legally-aged union workers who drive their hybrids only when it is too blizzardy to bike or rollerblade)…any suggestions???
Remember those Girl Guide badges we so lovingly hand-stitched on to blue-box-coloured sashes (in order to have the sewing badge among them)? Uncomfortably perched on a wooden chair (because our cat has claimed the computer chair and I am just too lazy to deal with the melodramatic fuss of re-positioning him), I sit here considering, imagining what badges I might obtain if I was Brown Owl‘s “Earth Guides” keener…
Well, before we get to the pat-myself-on-the-back uplifting and positive part, let’s face it: there are, hands down, many badges that would not be sewn on to my little Earth sash. Chuck out hopes of the one-car family badge (we did successfully try until a caravan showed up, a bike was stolen, and first winter with second child hit) – especially since our other vehicle is diesel-guzzlin’. And I am not sure how many wild animals and plants have withered out of existence due to my past hair-dying obsession’s infiltration of some sort of scary toxin into the eco-system, so I definitely would have to forgo on that badge.
Hmmm…what else? All my dirty little eco-secrets are coming out here…Scrap any save-on- food-packaging insignia – I try, I honestly do, but I still purchase yoghurt in mini-containers (why are these more alluring to my toddlers? Why does the exact same yoghurt in a bowl suddenly take on new, unappealing flavour?), lettuce in bags, kidney beans and chickpeas in cans. I once read, in disbelief, of a three-person family that disposed of only one bag of garbage in an entire three-month time (but then, again, I still consider it cheating when he saved all of his waste for a giant art display of the ‘horrific, reckless, and voracious nature of human greed’). Yes, we only recently stopped using phosphate-ridden detergent in our dishwasher.
Well, this is getting somewhat depressing, so let’s focus on what badges would make the cut…
3Rs badge here I come…Not being much of a shopper (okay, despising the very act of it certainly aids in being reductionist in nature) chalks me up for the “reduce” part, and as for the recycling, well, like a good earth-loving girl I dutifully toss my recyclables to the curb and whatever they don’t throw back on my lawn gets taken to some deep, dark, secretive place and turned into something that benefits this planet in some way (I hope). Compostables are chucked into a home-made lid-less stinky bin in the backyard that neighbours are sure to complain about once weather becomes warmer, and clothing that is bi-annually sorted into second-hand-store or rummage-sale boxes finds new homes on other people. Recycle…check….Re-use…check….
Diaper-pin emblazoned badge for honourable use of cloth diapers, and even the laundry badge for replacing bleach with 35% hydrogen peroxide, dryer sheets with dryer balls (which are only used about 2x a year for "emergency use" since when it’s too frosty to plop them on the snow-encrusted clothesline I have a fantastic Ikea drying rack), using apple cider vinegar in place of fabric softener, cold water setting washes and only buying phosphate-free eco-detergent. I could weasel my way into earning the Cleaning badge for using white vinegar, baking soda, and elbow grease for pretty much every mess in the house.
Sigh. Still so far to go in my imaginary attempt to earn as many of these hemp badges (made right here in Canada, within 100 miles of Mount Forest, by legally-aged union workers who drive their hybrids only when it is too blizzardy to bike or rollerblade)…any suggestions???
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Who Would've Thunk it???
Well, one measly little thing I have to share that has changed my life today: handmade knit swiffer covers.
Who would've thunk it?
Friday, April 23, 2010
Under Spiritual Construction
I didn't intentionally skip the "what's under spiritual construction?" - it just weighed heavily as to how I was going to explicate the whole conundrum tossed about currently in my head. Still I can't really explain...just some shocking reading material that forced me to admit I am going about it all wrong...judging others for judging others - now that really makes sense, doesn't it? (sense the sarcasm?)
If this all seems an enigma it is probably because it is...so instead, I am just going to focus on where I DO see God at work...
Heard of the "fishes and loaves" story? Yep, the one where a young boy has only 5 small barley loaves and 2 teeny fish and they manage to feed 5000 people? (John 6:1-12) An inexplicable-by-our-worldly-standards miracle. And yet a miracle that we experience all the time in our lives here at the McDougall residence. How does a tube of toothpaste, used daily by my husband (because I use plain baking soda and the kids have their special fluoride-free paste), last an entire year? How else but a miracle? A container of shampoo, bought in bulk size and meant for a Christmas stocking stuffer at a family event we didn't end up attending two years ago, still offering up its bounty? This is one of the areas where I see God at work...
We go grocery shopping about once a month and spend perhaps $150 but we are never hungry and the cupboards, though bare by many standards, are never empty.
When we needed winter boots for Gavin's quickly-growing feet, they showed up (barely after the thought of the need was contrived)...we had just about finished an email to family containing Rebekah's Christmas list involving 'church shoes, pretty please', and what is mysteriously hanging on our door before the "send" button has been pressed?
For anyone who hasn't guessed (or hasn't seen me in stores, caressing the clothing), I am a very visual, tactile person. God romances me through nature...at this time of year those pea-green crocuses and friends are diligently heaving their heads above earth, and emerald buds are starting to colour the trees, and I am in ocular rapture...
Those are just a few of the ways God is being experienced in this little corner of the world...what about in YOUR corner of the world? (Or your "non-angular nook" if jagged corners are bothersome for you?)
If this all seems an enigma it is probably because it is...so instead, I am just going to focus on where I DO see God at work...
Heard of the "fishes and loaves" story? Yep, the one where a young boy has only 5 small barley loaves and 2 teeny fish and they manage to feed 5000 people? (John 6:1-12) An inexplicable-by-our-worldly-standards miracle. And yet a miracle that we experience all the time in our lives here at the McDougall residence. How does a tube of toothpaste, used daily by my husband (because I use plain baking soda and the kids have their special fluoride-free paste), last an entire year? How else but a miracle? A container of shampoo, bought in bulk size and meant for a Christmas stocking stuffer at a family event we didn't end up attending two years ago, still offering up its bounty? This is one of the areas where I see God at work...
We go grocery shopping about once a month and spend perhaps $150 but we are never hungry and the cupboards, though bare by many standards, are never empty.
When we needed winter boots for Gavin's quickly-growing feet, they showed up (barely after the thought of the need was contrived)...we had just about finished an email to family containing Rebekah's Christmas list involving 'church shoes, pretty please', and what is mysteriously hanging on our door before the "send" button has been pressed?
For anyone who hasn't guessed (or hasn't seen me in stores, caressing the clothing), I am a very visual, tactile person. God romances me through nature...at this time of year those pea-green crocuses and friends are diligently heaving their heads above earth, and emerald buds are starting to colour the trees, and I am in ocular rapture...
Those are just a few of the ways God is being experienced in this little corner of the world...what about in YOUR corner of the world? (Or your "non-angular nook" if jagged corners are bothersome for you?)
Thursday, April 22, 2010
You Know You Live in a Small Town When...
Recently a city friend emailed, questioning in shock, was it true that Blue Rodeo was playing in the teeny town where I live??? Could it be??? Wasn't she in for a surprise when I shared that not only had they performed here many times but that they had actually sung me "happy birthday" a few years ago at the local hotel? (Well, okay, they were singing it to a tween at the table beside me, who attends the same church, and has the same birthday as me, so I am claiming it as my almost-personal birthday message. To be honest I had no clue as to whom they were until they left and the roomful began gushing.)
What do "cityfolk" think happens in these parts? Hoedowns beside the "crick", overall-clad yocals swilling straight from the keg, brandishing freshly shone weapons, picking teeth with saplings? Admittedly when I moved to Toronto to do my B.A. I swaddled a slight fear of being beaten alive on my walk across campus - many locals shook their heads when I announced my university choice, patted me caringly on the shoulder, and whispered "Good Luck". Yes, we too have our own "stereotypes" of the sardine-crammed cityslickers, barely able to press the gas petal of their SUVs due to high heel height, but majorly adept at avoiding stoplights - because isn't that where gun-toting delinquents hang out, ready to plunge into your vehicle, put gun to head, and shout "drive to _____ [wherever they so desire]"? I'm sure that crazy "new" thing called the internet (yes, we even have high speed here) is narrowing the divide.
And what even brought these thoughts to mind today? Honestly, you would like a foray into my mental musings? (Kind of what "blogs" are all about, I suppose...) It was a drive past the funeral home - the shiny black hearse perfectly parallel parked between the chapel and the flower shop - experiencing the fleeting, hair-raising uneasiness that beckons the question, "who is it for?" And "how will I know them?" It started me thinking...
You Know you Live in a Small Town when...
-you have the local funeral home bookmarked (because I had to get home and check: do I know their relatives? Will I be donning a skirt tonight and having a visitation "date" with my husband?)
-random "strangers" wandering down the street will glance over at you, stop, stare momentarily, and then flippantly remark "I don't know your name but you must be a ________ [insert surname here] because you're just crawling with that family's gene pool"
-many, many other ramblings, those meant for another day...need to don overalls and Blue Rodeo t-shirt and many more will likely pop into my head!
What do "cityfolk" think happens in these parts? Hoedowns beside the "crick", overall-clad yocals swilling straight from the keg, brandishing freshly shone weapons, picking teeth with saplings? Admittedly when I moved to Toronto to do my B.A. I swaddled a slight fear of being beaten alive on my walk across campus - many locals shook their heads when I announced my university choice, patted me caringly on the shoulder, and whispered "Good Luck". Yes, we too have our own "stereotypes" of the sardine-crammed cityslickers, barely able to press the gas petal of their SUVs due to high heel height, but majorly adept at avoiding stoplights - because isn't that where gun-toting delinquents hang out, ready to plunge into your vehicle, put gun to head, and shout "drive to _____ [wherever they so desire]"? I'm sure that crazy "new" thing called the internet (yes, we even have high speed here) is narrowing the divide.
And what even brought these thoughts to mind today? Honestly, you would like a foray into my mental musings? (Kind of what "blogs" are all about, I suppose...) It was a drive past the funeral home - the shiny black hearse perfectly parallel parked between the chapel and the flower shop - experiencing the fleeting, hair-raising uneasiness that beckons the question, "who is it for?" And "how will I know them?" It started me thinking...
You Know you Live in a Small Town when...
-you have the local funeral home bookmarked (because I had to get home and check: do I know their relatives? Will I be donning a skirt tonight and having a visitation "date" with my husband?)
-random "strangers" wandering down the street will glance over at you, stop, stare momentarily, and then flippantly remark "I don't know your name but you must be a ________ [insert surname here] because you're just crawling with that family's gene pool"
-many, many other ramblings, those meant for another day...need to don overalls and Blue Rodeo t-shirt and many more will likely pop into my head!
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Words, words, wonderful words
"Look at the leaf tickling Daddy's window," uttered my two and a half year old in awe, from her carseat in the back seat, as an old brown leaf from somewhere drifted out of the sky and danced along the passenger side window. Speechless I wondered, is that how she views it - as 'tickling' the glass? Wow. Words, words, wonderful words...it could have just been 'falling' or 'scraping' or 'dropping' but no, she chose 'tickling'.
Having just finished reading a section of Diana Butler Bass's book A People's History of Christianity where Butler Bass discusses the impact of Johannes Gutenberg's 1440 printing press invention on the "average person", I am perhaps paying closer attention to language. "In many ways the sixteenth century was an extended argument over words - the meaning of words, whose words had the greatest power, the role of words in faith, and the political impact of words" (p.157) Add in something about texting and smiley faces :) and it could well be describing contemporary times!?! Words, words, wonderful words...
While in Fiji doing an archaeological dig (student-loan-approved credits - no kidding), a fellow sun worshipper...I mean, scholar...asked what our "very favourite-ist of words" was? I'd never considered it before...so many from which to choose. Hers? I will never forget. She leaned forward, all skinny and tanned, and in a vivacious lilt rolled her tongue about her full lips while pronouncing "spatula". She made it sound confidently naughty (and to be honest I still have yet to look at one without blushing). Words, word, wonderful words...
And what would YOUR "very favourite-ist of words" be? Perhaps exiting the kitchen area with its many practical tools may just prove to be a better idea when it comes to finding one of my own? (I wouldn't want a spatula to jump up and tickle me after all...)
Having just finished reading a section of Diana Butler Bass's book A People's History of Christianity where Butler Bass discusses the impact of Johannes Gutenberg's 1440 printing press invention on the "average person", I am perhaps paying closer attention to language. "In many ways the sixteenth century was an extended argument over words - the meaning of words, whose words had the greatest power, the role of words in faith, and the political impact of words" (p.157) Add in something about texting and smiley faces :) and it could well be describing contemporary times!?! Words, words, wonderful words...
While in Fiji doing an archaeological dig (student-loan-approved credits - no kidding), a fellow sun worshipper...I mean, scholar...asked what our "very favourite-ist of words" was? I'd never considered it before...so many from which to choose. Hers? I will never forget. She leaned forward, all skinny and tanned, and in a vivacious lilt rolled her tongue about her full lips while pronouncing "spatula". She made it sound confidently naughty (and to be honest I still have yet to look at one without blushing). Words, word, wonderful words...
And what would YOUR "very favourite-ist of words" be? Perhaps exiting the kitchen area with its many practical tools may just prove to be a better idea when it comes to finding one of my own? (I wouldn't want a spatula to jump up and tickle me after all...)
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
What's "Under Construction" Today?
Ever wake up, sigh (several times of course), and catapult still wishing-to-be-asleep limbs from bed, knowing that you are nursing an attitude of "today is just going to be a destructive day"??? Not destructive as in debasing my spouse of children, or screeching cruelties at innocent passersby, but destructive as in a refreshing desire to hack something to its very core, unravel what appears to be unclean or ugly or simply undesirable, and start afresh, building from base up...
Luckily for my husband (who, if reading this, is likely slowly simmering anxiety as to what will appear or be altered when he walks into our home), this is not one of those days.
But what is currently "under construction"?
Physically that would constitute the brick wall between the kitchen and living area (brick exposed when one day I decided it was time to remove part of a wall to enable our "mezzanine" to seem as though more than one person could actually be standing in it at once), and the bathroom (what started as my "nemesis" a year and a half ago has become an almost profound symbol of my personal growth: my new 'who cares?' attitude. It functions...even if the toilet does wobble and creak when reaching for t.p.) To anyone who hasn't observed our washroom in a couple of days, however, there has been a minor change. And let me explain this with first a "warning": the implications of a "practical joke" should be clearly considered before undertaking aforementioned joke. Jeff's reaction to this practical joke - a mere few seconds, though amusing - may not quite level the work now needed to "undo" joke...
Last week while finally painting Rebekah's shelf (yes, we bought the mistint sale paint at the same time we bought the bathroom hue...1 1/2 years ago)my brilliantly mischievous mind surmised 'pepto bismol meets neon coloured paint on shelf...plain white bathroom walls...paint roller coated and some left in tray...Jeff...wildly entertaining shock...' and it all went from there...The problem? Cheap mistint paint = oil based. [insert shaking of your head while muttering "Jen Jen Jen" here]
Under construction Spiritually? Emotionally? Topics for another day...
Luckily for my husband (who, if reading this, is likely slowly simmering anxiety as to what will appear or be altered when he walks into our home), this is not one of those days.
But what is currently "under construction"?
Physically that would constitute the brick wall between the kitchen and living area (brick exposed when one day I decided it was time to remove part of a wall to enable our "mezzanine" to seem as though more than one person could actually be standing in it at once), and the bathroom (what started as my "nemesis" a year and a half ago has become an almost profound symbol of my personal growth: my new 'who cares?' attitude. It functions...even if the toilet does wobble and creak when reaching for t.p.) To anyone who hasn't observed our washroom in a couple of days, however, there has been a minor change. And let me explain this with first a "warning": the implications of a "practical joke" should be clearly considered before undertaking aforementioned joke. Jeff's reaction to this practical joke - a mere few seconds, though amusing - may not quite level the work now needed to "undo" joke...
Last week while finally painting Rebekah's shelf (yes, we bought the mistint sale paint at the same time we bought the bathroom hue...1 1/2 years ago)my brilliantly mischievous mind surmised 'pepto bismol meets neon coloured paint on shelf...plain white bathroom walls...paint roller coated and some left in tray...Jeff...wildly entertaining shock...' and it all went from there...The problem? Cheap mistint paint = oil based. [insert shaking of your head while muttering "Jen Jen Jen" here]
Under construction Spiritually? Emotionally? Topics for another day...
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Serious-ness of it all
I didn't realize how serious this blogging business truly is. What I mean by that: how I would view this blog as an extension of myself. How do I define ME? Who am I? What do I want for and from my blog? What should it look like? By what name should it be called? What will I discuss: random ramblings or some sort of thought patterning in a thematic, linear framework?
That is the basic explanation for what seems like today's three postings...they are actually three days worth, copied over from when I changed my blog name/address. I'm not THAT addicted THAT quickly (for those of you prone to knowledge of my type A, all-or-nothing personality).
Enough reasonings...off to seek nifty blog backgrounds...what will define me? Check back later to uncover the results...
That is the basic explanation for what seems like today's three postings...they are actually three days worth, copied over from when I changed my blog name/address. I'm not THAT addicted THAT quickly (for those of you prone to knowledge of my type A, all-or-nothing personality).
Enough reasonings...off to seek nifty blog backgrounds...what will define me? Check back later to uncover the results...
Who, Me? Me, Who?
"The birth of children...the death of self?!?" I'm sure I heard those words muttered by some anxious parent balancing baby screaming, reaching for toddler ripping open goldfish cracker bags with one fist and clearing the rest of the ritz packages from their rightful place on the shelf, and using her ankle to secure her automobile-sized purse from tumbling all the way to the ground (only the tampons managed to make it to freedom) as I wandered grocery store aisles in a relaxed, pre-parent state admiring all the items I could then luxuriously afford.
'Death to self' a somewhat dramatic take perhaps, but some days I wonder who that pre-mom me was...what did I used to enjoy? What do I like to do now? (Is singing "Wheels on the Bus" forty-five times without strangling anyone a true feat to brag of or a pathetic boast not worthy of resume status?) Who was I? Who am I now? Oh the philosophical pondering...Does anyone, anyone at all, get it? I'm sure I can't be alone.
I mean no disrespect to my mostly-adorable children when I question the depths of my soul, and struggle with the fact that I never, ever seem to complete anything...are novels really not meant to take three years to read? Is it honestly possible to clean more than a quarter of the countertop in one attempt? And does it all really matter anyways?
I hope my children recall the mom who let them paint every part of her body that wasn't covered in clothing; the woman who assisted them in picking pumpkins to resemble every member of our family including our two cats and then spent hours over several days under their "supervision" gluing bits of felt to represent eyes, eyelashes, noses, ears; and the mother who, when they were sick in the middle of the winter, set up a kiddie pool in the kitchen and let them go splashy wild...and not the mom who loudly sighs in frustration when she can't get a one-line email to a work colleague finished or sent; or the woman who yelled inappropriately when only one breakfast bite from her own toast was ingested before the entire contents of the milk jug ended up on the floor beside her coffee and broken mug; or the mother who complains of her desire to just simply go to the washroom without background screeching, near-bone-breaking, bloodcurdling yelps and intense sibling-induced bruising...
Me, who? It may sound a tragic tale of misery and lost searching but in many ways it is an exhilarating and mysterious process...I change the me I know every day. Why not jump in puddles? Why not run through sprinklers? Why not try to finish an entire book annually? Why not balance screaming baby, heroically rip goldfish from toddler reach, and why not just let those tampons scatter themselves about the sticky floor? After all they make super microphones and there's nothing quite so rousing as a grocery store karaoke rendition of Aretha's "Respect"...
'Death to self' a somewhat dramatic take perhaps, but some days I wonder who that pre-mom me was...what did I used to enjoy? What do I like to do now? (Is singing "Wheels on the Bus" forty-five times without strangling anyone a true feat to brag of or a pathetic boast not worthy of resume status?) Who was I? Who am I now? Oh the philosophical pondering...Does anyone, anyone at all, get it? I'm sure I can't be alone.
I mean no disrespect to my mostly-adorable children when I question the depths of my soul, and struggle with the fact that I never, ever seem to complete anything...are novels really not meant to take three years to read? Is it honestly possible to clean more than a quarter of the countertop in one attempt? And does it all really matter anyways?
I hope my children recall the mom who let them paint every part of her body that wasn't covered in clothing; the woman who assisted them in picking pumpkins to resemble every member of our family including our two cats and then spent hours over several days under their "supervision" gluing bits of felt to represent eyes, eyelashes, noses, ears; and the mother who, when they were sick in the middle of the winter, set up a kiddie pool in the kitchen and let them go splashy wild...and not the mom who loudly sighs in frustration when she can't get a one-line email to a work colleague finished or sent; or the woman who yelled inappropriately when only one breakfast bite from her own toast was ingested before the entire contents of the milk jug ended up on the floor beside her coffee and broken mug; or the mother who complains of her desire to just simply go to the washroom without background screeching, near-bone-breaking, bloodcurdling yelps and intense sibling-induced bruising...
Me, who? It may sound a tragic tale of misery and lost searching but in many ways it is an exhilarating and mysterious process...I change the me I know every day. Why not jump in puddles? Why not run through sprinklers? Why not try to finish an entire book annually? Why not balance screaming baby, heroically rip goldfish from toddler reach, and why not just let those tampons scatter themselves about the sticky floor? After all they make super microphones and there's nothing quite so rousing as a grocery store karaoke rendition of Aretha's "Respect"...
14 years as #1 on the Most Popular Baby Name list???
Has your name ever been on the Most Popular Baby Names List? So you may just understand that almost-itchy feeling associated with having your name spoken aloud in class only to hear three or four others respond?
When I was born and Mom was suffering post-c-section delusion (in the years before c-sections were choices or popular or even safe) Dad managed to win at name choice - and chose a name Mom didn't even like. She secretly embraced the idea that she would one day call me by my middle name (the one she had chosen) like all of her family has done since, well, ever...her dreams were dashed when apparently I thrived despite personal use of a name so familiar to most of the neighbourhood children's birth certificates. [In all fairness the extremely unique name they had chosen for me - Treva- was blasted out of their universe of choice when the neighbour gave birth to a son 3 weeks before me and named him Trevor. There couldn't be a Treva AND a Trevor in the same class...mind you, eight Jennifers is just fine...So my sister ended up with Treva.]
And so for me: Jennifer it is.
There are definite advantages...I can always find a nameplate or a plasticy lead-filled mug from China with my name on it - properly spelled even! (Although my Dad wouldn't be so agreeably sure because he tends to spell my name with two "f"s and one"n" - Jeniffer - which is precisely why I have chosen to share the latter seemingly sad but truly, uniquely-funny-in-an idiosynchratic-manner type of tale. This is the basis for my Blog Name Two "F"s One "N").
This is a new and exciting venture for me. I nearly snorted milk from my nose (an uneasy feeling for any of you whom have not experienced this I-think-I'm-drowning sort of event) when my husband suggested blogs as an "outlet for my writing" but alas, after much consideration, here I am.
And so...what happens next?
When I was born and Mom was suffering post-c-section delusion (in the years before c-sections were choices or popular or even safe) Dad managed to win at name choice - and chose a name Mom didn't even like. She secretly embraced the idea that she would one day call me by my middle name (the one she had chosen) like all of her family has done since, well, ever...her dreams were dashed when apparently I thrived despite personal use of a name so familiar to most of the neighbourhood children's birth certificates. [In all fairness the extremely unique name they had chosen for me - Treva- was blasted out of their universe of choice when the neighbour gave birth to a son 3 weeks before me and named him Trevor. There couldn't be a Treva AND a Trevor in the same class...mind you, eight Jennifers is just fine...So my sister ended up with Treva.]
And so for me: Jennifer it is.
There are definite advantages...I can always find a nameplate or a plasticy lead-filled mug from China with my name on it - properly spelled even! (Although my Dad wouldn't be so agreeably sure because he tends to spell my name with two "f"s and one"n" - Jeniffer - which is precisely why I have chosen to share the latter seemingly sad but truly, uniquely-funny-in-an idiosynchratic-manner type of tale. This is the basis for my Blog Name Two "F"s One "N").
This is a new and exciting venture for me. I nearly snorted milk from my nose (an uneasy feeling for any of you whom have not experienced this I-think-I'm-drowning sort of event) when my husband suggested blogs as an "outlet for my writing" but alas, after much consideration, here I am.
And so...what happens next?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)