There are moments in life where the world seems to stop spinning on its axis - when everything slows down and sometimes actually stops - just stops. The moments that sound is amplified - or completely dissipated - where sight is heightened - or turns to black - it all means the same thing. A captivating moment. A moment that changes the course of the path of life. I have had a few of these wonderfully glorious and horrific moments so far in my life.
The cry of my first born child -then second - then third.
The moment I was told my 20 week old fetus was no longer alive.
The moment my husband simply wrapped his arms around me and I felt nonjudgmental, accepting and completely open hearted love for the first time.
There are not many moments in life - but when the moments happen - they are huge. And they always remembered vividly.
For the first time in my life I went looking for a moment tonight. As I was sitting in my dining room, doing some work in a quiet house, I felt a pull - a twinge almost. I started looking for a song that I knew I needed to listen to. I knew for the first time I needed a moment. I needed everything to stop. I needed to listen - I needed to see.
I downloaded Sanvean by Lisa Gerrard. An incredibly powerful, beautiful and emotional piece of music.
And I cried...and I cried...and I cried.
And acknowledged that my mommy is sick. And I acknowledged that my mommy has breast cancer. And acknowledged that I am sad. And I acknowledged that I am scared.
And now my life path has been changed. And I will always remember the moment.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Teeth, Magic and Money
Magic, as in magical experiences, not David Copperfield. More specifically, the magic I just experienced.
My oldest son just lost one of his front teeth, leaving a ginormous hole in his mouth. Super cute. Super boy-like. Super looks-like-a-mini-NHL-er.
However, he lost the tooth yesterday quite late at night. And...the tooth fairy didn't have any money on her person. (ahem, bad tooth fairy! You should always have a tooth reserve available in times of emergency! I know, I know. Dropped the ball on that one...)
Anyways, he was all bummed out that the tooth fairy didn't visit him. As it happened he had slept with me the night the tooth came out - so...BAM! - great excuse!
"Oh honey, don't worry. She will come tonight for sure."
(because she went to the ATM and got a timmies to break a $20)
"How do you know? You don't know! You don't know FOR SURE!" (6 year old boy voice reaching hysterics)
"She didn't come last night because you were sleeping with me and the tooth fairy never comes if a parent is around. She would have totally woke me up and her cover would have been blown. Trust me, I know."
At this point I got a kind of sideways glance with a furrowed brow - the look that says - "Whatever!" without actually saying it.
So what is with the magic? What is so magical?
I realised as I snuck into his room tonight - (and discovered his damn tooth was firmly planted underneath his pillow and I had to actually lift his head up to get it and he woke up for a second and I had to murmur some excuse about checking his sheets for something...but I digress...)
I realised as I was crouched down at the foot of his bed tonight, fishing out a tooth from his tooth tin in his tooth pillow and replacing the tooth with a fiver and a loonie ($6.00 for a tooth?!?! Seriously?! Yes folks...$6.00 for one tooth. Three kids + 20 teeth each = a helluva lot of money! But I digress...)
I realised that as I was doing my tooth fairy duties, the whole notion of the tooth fairy is such a wonderfully magical thing for children. As I replaced the tooth tin, in the tooth pillow, loaded with loot, I stood and gazed at my little man. His mouth was slightly open showing the window that now takes center stage on his head, and he was smiling. He was smiling while he slept. That in itself is magic. The whole tooth fairy idea made me smile because I know it makes him smile.
I cannot wait until I hear his footsteps running down the hallway tomorrow morning, running to my door and he bursts through yelling -
"I made a killing mom!"
But I digress...
My oldest son just lost one of his front teeth, leaving a ginormous hole in his mouth. Super cute. Super boy-like. Super looks-like-a-mini-NHL-er.
However, he lost the tooth yesterday quite late at night. And...the tooth fairy didn't have any money on her person. (ahem, bad tooth fairy! You should always have a tooth reserve available in times of emergency! I know, I know. Dropped the ball on that one...)
Anyways, he was all bummed out that the tooth fairy didn't visit him. As it happened he had slept with me the night the tooth came out - so...BAM! - great excuse!
"Oh honey, don't worry. She will come tonight for sure."
(because she went to the ATM and got a timmies to break a $20)
"How do you know? You don't know! You don't know FOR SURE!" (6 year old boy voice reaching hysterics)
"She didn't come last night because you were sleeping with me and the tooth fairy never comes if a parent is around. She would have totally woke me up and her cover would have been blown. Trust me, I know."
At this point I got a kind of sideways glance with a furrowed brow - the look that says - "Whatever!" without actually saying it.
So what is with the magic? What is so magical?
I realised as I snuck into his room tonight - (and discovered his damn tooth was firmly planted underneath his pillow and I had to actually lift his head up to get it and he woke up for a second and I had to murmur some excuse about checking his sheets for something...but I digress...)
I realised as I was crouched down at the foot of his bed tonight, fishing out a tooth from his tooth tin in his tooth pillow and replacing the tooth with a fiver and a loonie ($6.00 for a tooth?!?! Seriously?! Yes folks...$6.00 for one tooth. Three kids + 20 teeth each = a helluva lot of money! But I digress...)
I realised that as I was doing my tooth fairy duties, the whole notion of the tooth fairy is such a wonderfully magical thing for children. As I replaced the tooth tin, in the tooth pillow, loaded with loot, I stood and gazed at my little man. His mouth was slightly open showing the window that now takes center stage on his head, and he was smiling. He was smiling while he slept. That in itself is magic. The whole tooth fairy idea made me smile because I know it makes him smile.
I cannot wait until I hear his footsteps running down the hallway tomorrow morning, running to my door and he bursts through yelling -
"I made a killing mom!"
But I digress...
Thursday, April 29, 2010
And then they grow up...
It's hard to believe that my baby, my first born, thinks I am a super-uncool-lame-ass mom. That my once 'little man', who would call me mommy and would come running into my arms for me to kiss his owies, because I was the only one who could make it all okay, now calls me a single syllable, mom.
He shrugs me off when he is hurt now.
Heaven forbid his MOM embarrass him by coddling and comforting his owie. That my sweet, doe-eyed boy has turned into a rugged, rough and tumble boy. In every sense of the word and meaning.
A boy.
I guess I never really grasped the full meaning of what it would be like to be a mom of a boy - a mom of a little soldier, powering through life. But the day has arrived. I have watched him run off into the woods with other little soldiers - toy guns in their back pockets and an arsenal of rocks in their jackets.
I had the urge to run after him and spy from behind a tree - just to make sure he was okay. Instead I stood and smiled on after him. The first of many times watching from the sidelines-
Watching him ride his bike off by himself-
Watching him walk into a movie theater on his first date-
Watching him drive away in his car-
Watching him graduate from high school and then go off to college-
Watching him walk down the aisle with his bride-
Watching him hold his first born baby...
Whoa.
He shrugs me off when he is hurt now.
Heaven forbid his MOM embarrass him by coddling and comforting his owie. That my sweet, doe-eyed boy has turned into a rugged, rough and tumble boy. In every sense of the word and meaning.
A boy.
I guess I never really grasped the full meaning of what it would be like to be a mom of a boy - a mom of a little soldier, powering through life. But the day has arrived. I have watched him run off into the woods with other little soldiers - toy guns in their back pockets and an arsenal of rocks in their jackets.
I had the urge to run after him and spy from behind a tree - just to make sure he was okay. Instead I stood and smiled on after him. The first of many times watching from the sidelines-
Watching him ride his bike off by himself-
Watching him walk into a movie theater on his first date-
Watching him drive away in his car-
Watching him graduate from high school and then go off to college-
Watching him walk down the aisle with his bride-
Watching him hold his first born baby...
Whoa.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
WTF! LOL! OMG!
My name is Kaley and I have a problem. I own a Blackberry. My thumbs are now double-jointed as a result. I have a hard time using proper English language skills because...
OMG! There is nvr enuf space 4 me 2 write a msg. More l8r. lol
Yeah.
I am honestly starting to get a bit worried about the possibility of future intelligent life on earth. I am getting worried about my children's generation not understanding the beauty and grace of literature, of books, of pen and paper. One day is my youngest child going to look up at me with quizzical eyes and say,
"Mommy, what is a letter?"
Are there going to be bookstores anymore? Is stationary going to exist? Is technology taking over too fast? Do the pro's really outweigh the con's, or is it the other way around?
I mean, I remember when I was a kid (and walked to school, with no shoes, in the snow, uphill both ways. Oops. I digress...)
When I was a kid, all we did on the computer in school were math drills. Or phonics drills. Our computers were huge and had green and black screens. That's it. Green. Black. No graphics or fancy colours. Oh wait - there were graphics! Sometimes a little man with a big nose and big feet would pop up and turn in a circle when you got a perfect score in the Math Olympics. And the disks were called floppy disks because that is exactly what they did. They were so big they actually flopped around.
Now, kids have cell phones and instant messaging and Twitter. And when I say kids, I don't mean teenagers. I mean K-I-D-S.
5 years old.
6 years old.
With cell phones.
Technology aside, how can we, as a society - as a global community, ensure that our children, the ones who will be running this joint when we are on our last legs, actually have coping skills that do not include lazily abbreviated thoughts and ideas. I mean, I do not want my daughter to get a marriage proposal via a text message. I want my children to understand what it means to have human interaction on a personal level. To actually know how to make eye contact when speaking to someone. To convey their feelings and emotions through a pen - onto paper. Not using their double-jointed thumbs.
Which reminds me, the ball thingy on my blackberry is broken. WTF! So annoying. How am I going to update my Facebook status and Tweet about my new blog post. OMG!
lol...
OMG! There is nvr enuf space 4 me 2 write a msg. More l8r. lol
Yeah.
I am honestly starting to get a bit worried about the possibility of future intelligent life on earth. I am getting worried about my children's generation not understanding the beauty and grace of literature, of books, of pen and paper. One day is my youngest child going to look up at me with quizzical eyes and say,
"Mommy, what is a letter?"
Are there going to be bookstores anymore? Is stationary going to exist? Is technology taking over too fast? Do the pro's really outweigh the con's, or is it the other way around?
I mean, I remember when I was a kid (and walked to school, with no shoes, in the snow, uphill both ways. Oops. I digress...)
When I was a kid, all we did on the computer in school were math drills. Or phonics drills. Our computers were huge and had green and black screens. That's it. Green. Black. No graphics or fancy colours. Oh wait - there were graphics! Sometimes a little man with a big nose and big feet would pop up and turn in a circle when you got a perfect score in the Math Olympics. And the disks were called floppy disks because that is exactly what they did. They were so big they actually flopped around.
Now, kids have cell phones and instant messaging and Twitter. And when I say kids, I don't mean teenagers. I mean K-I-D-S.
5 years old.
6 years old.
With cell phones.
Technology aside, how can we, as a society - as a global community, ensure that our children, the ones who will be running this joint when we are on our last legs, actually have coping skills that do not include lazily abbreviated thoughts and ideas. I mean, I do not want my daughter to get a marriage proposal via a text message. I want my children to understand what it means to have human interaction on a personal level. To actually know how to make eye contact when speaking to someone. To convey their feelings and emotions through a pen - onto paper. Not using their double-jointed thumbs.
Which reminds me, the ball thingy on my blackberry is broken. WTF! So annoying. How am I going to update my Facebook status and Tweet about my new blog post. OMG!
lol...
My Scent
Something strange happened at my yoga class tonight. Not yoga-related strange (isn't it all a bit strange? Really!) but this "thing" set into motion a thought process within myself. It made me wonder about my own scent. We all have a personal scent to us - a smell that is "us". Not matter where we are or what we do, this scent follows us. This scent in essence becomes us.
For example, my sister-in-law has a fabulous scent to her. Somehow she always smells of lavender. One day I asked her about it, as everything she touches smells of lavender. Seriously. I receive a letter or package from her and as I soon as I open it - WHAM! - the lavender erupts in my nostrils. She claims it is the detergent she uses. But I bought the same damn detergent and I do NOT smell of lavender! My grandmother had a scent to her as well. She smelled of Oil of Olay and still to this day I cannot smell the cream without thinking of her. It's nice to have memories attached to scent.
However, what if the scent is not apparent? What if I do not know what my scent is? Or worse...what if my scent...STINKS!?!? What if I smell of dirt or mildew or cat litter or dust bunnies? (yes, they DO have a scent!) Would anyone tell me? My husband, Lee, says he would. But would he really? REALLY? Would he willingly throw himself under the proverbial bus - because that's what the fallout would be! I would throw him under the bus myself if he told me my scent was - STANK!
I want a good scent dammit! I have tried to make it happen but it is not working. I have tried the lavender detergent - I have tried the tropical body spray - I have tried the cherry body wash - I have tried the mango lotion.
None of it sticks!
And...I am darn determined for my scent to NOT be 5 hour old spit up or PB & bloody J sandwich "scent" (but I fear that I may be stuck with it...)
So...I am off with the perpetual spitter-upper and we are going on a scent search tomorrow. Something that screams earth-mother-meets-chic-&-cool-in-a-downtown-uptown-all-natural-superstar-gorgeous-girl sort of way. I'll let you know how it goes. Hopefully I don't have to resort to my daughters Strawberry Shortcake spritz....
Strawberry...hmm.
That might work.....
For example, my sister-in-law has a fabulous scent to her. Somehow she always smells of lavender. One day I asked her about it, as everything she touches smells of lavender. Seriously. I receive a letter or package from her and as I soon as I open it - WHAM! - the lavender erupts in my nostrils. She claims it is the detergent she uses. But I bought the same damn detergent and I do NOT smell of lavender! My grandmother had a scent to her as well. She smelled of Oil of Olay and still to this day I cannot smell the cream without thinking of her. It's nice to have memories attached to scent.
However, what if the scent is not apparent? What if I do not know what my scent is? Or worse...what if my scent...STINKS!?!? What if I smell of dirt or mildew or cat litter or dust bunnies? (yes, they DO have a scent!) Would anyone tell me? My husband, Lee, says he would. But would he really? REALLY? Would he willingly throw himself under the proverbial bus - because that's what the fallout would be! I would throw him under the bus myself if he told me my scent was - STANK!
I want a good scent dammit! I have tried to make it happen but it is not working. I have tried the lavender detergent - I have tried the tropical body spray - I have tried the cherry body wash - I have tried the mango lotion.
None of it sticks!
And...I am darn determined for my scent to NOT be 5 hour old spit up or PB & bloody J sandwich "scent" (but I fear that I may be stuck with it...)
So...I am off with the perpetual spitter-upper and we are going on a scent search tomorrow. Something that screams earth-mother-meets-chic-&-cool-in-a-downtown-uptown-all-natural-superstar-gorgeous-girl sort of way. I'll let you know how it goes. Hopefully I don't have to resort to my daughters Strawberry Shortcake spritz....
Strawberry...hmm.
That might work.....
Friday, March 26, 2010
"The Husband"
"So, have you updated your blog lately?" asks the husband.
"Nope, haven't really been feeling particularily inspired lately." answers the wife to her husband.
"Hm." says the husband in his suggestive, I-am-trying-to-ask-or-tell-you-something, tone.
"Why?" asks the wife, giving in to the husbands little tone-suggestion game.
"Just wondering." says the husband with a dramatic pause. Then exclaims, "You never write about me in your blog! I mean, it's suppose to be about your life, right? Don't you think you should mention me? Aren't I a part of your life? Aren't I?!?!?!" says the husband, answering his question for himself and obviously feeling a little bit sorry for himself.
At this point, the wife pauses before answering the question that has already been answered.
"My blog is about me and my life. You're right. And no, I haven't written about you much. I refer to you from time to time, but have never really talked about you. You're a part of my life but you are not ME. The blog is about ME. My thoughts, my feelings, my experiences." said the wife in a, duh!-you-dum-ass tone.
The husband listened to the wife and said nothing. The silence was deafening.
So.....
My husband is Lee.
Lee is a plumber/gasfitter/steamfitter.
Lee is awesome.
Lee is funny.
Lee is perfect.
Lee is an amazing father to our children.
Lee has a great sense of humour.
Lee is handsome.
Lee is adventurous.
Lee likes to party, in the father-of-three sort of way.
Lee is loved very much.
Lee is part of my life, and I am really grateful for him.
You hear that Lee? Let's just see how much you really do read my blog - MY blog - about ME.
Just saying.
"Nope, haven't really been feeling particularily inspired lately." answers the wife to her husband.
"Hm." says the husband in his suggestive, I-am-trying-to-ask-or-tell-you-something, tone.
"Why?" asks the wife, giving in to the husbands little tone-suggestion game.
"Just wondering." says the husband with a dramatic pause. Then exclaims, "You never write about me in your blog! I mean, it's suppose to be about your life, right? Don't you think you should mention me? Aren't I a part of your life? Aren't I?!?!?!" says the husband, answering his question for himself and obviously feeling a little bit sorry for himself.
At this point, the wife pauses before answering the question that has already been answered.
"My blog is about me and my life. You're right. And no, I haven't written about you much. I refer to you from time to time, but have never really talked about you. You're a part of my life but you are not ME. The blog is about ME. My thoughts, my feelings, my experiences." said the wife in a, duh!-you-dum-ass tone.
The husband listened to the wife and said nothing. The silence was deafening.
So.....
My husband is Lee.
Lee is a plumber/gasfitter/steamfitter.
Lee is awesome.
Lee is funny.
Lee is perfect.
Lee is an amazing father to our children.
Lee has a great sense of humour.
Lee is handsome.
Lee is adventurous.
Lee likes to party, in the father-of-three sort of way.
Lee is loved very much.
Lee is part of my life, and I am really grateful for him.
You hear that Lee? Let's just see how much you really do read my blog - MY blog - about ME.
Just saying.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
It has been awhile since I have been able to blog. Basically it's because I totally bailed on my transformation and am feeling shame. Big fat shame . I will not dwell on it though because I have reflected on it and these are my conclusions:
I bit off more than I could chew.
I did too much too fast.
I just had a baby.
I was too tired.
I was too busy.
Oh, wait. Those are not reflective and thoughtful conclusions - those are excuses. BIG FAT EXCUSES!
I am a quitter, plain and simple. I take full responsibility. I failed at my challenge and I have no one to blame but myself. Boo hoo. Poor me. Big fat quitter. Big fat excuse maker.
But seriously people, how common is this scenario? I believe we have ALL done something such as this at least one (or fourteen) times in our lives. You see, I had great ambition for my goal. I did all the right things. I committed. I was dedicated. I was pumped up! Then a funny thing happened around week three. My life took over and routine prevailed. I did not succesfully integrate a new routine. Instead I reverted back to what was tried, tested and true for me. My Life.
Go figure!
So, is all this talk (typing) just more excuses? Am I giving myself the easy way out by saying that the mere fact of excuse making, excuses the excuses? Ponder that because I still haven't wrapped my head around it. All I know to be true, to be fact, is that I quit and now I feel bad.
Plain and simple.
Me.
Quitter.
Damn.
I bit off more than I could chew.
I did too much too fast.
I just had a baby.
I was too tired.
I was too busy.
Oh, wait. Those are not reflective and thoughtful conclusions - those are excuses. BIG FAT EXCUSES!
I am a quitter, plain and simple. I take full responsibility. I failed at my challenge and I have no one to blame but myself. Boo hoo. Poor me. Big fat quitter. Big fat excuse maker.
But seriously people, how common is this scenario? I believe we have ALL done something such as this at least one (or fourteen) times in our lives. You see, I had great ambition for my goal. I did all the right things. I committed. I was dedicated. I was pumped up! Then a funny thing happened around week three. My life took over and routine prevailed. I did not succesfully integrate a new routine. Instead I reverted back to what was tried, tested and true for me. My Life.
Go figure!
So, is all this talk (typing) just more excuses? Am I giving myself the easy way out by saying that the mere fact of excuse making, excuses the excuses? Ponder that because I still haven't wrapped my head around it. All I know to be true, to be fact, is that I quit and now I feel bad.
Plain and simple.
Me.
Quitter.
Damn.
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