She reached her hand down into my cold and dark corner, and spoke the words "I understand you. I have been where you are. I can help you out." Slowly I uncurled from my recessed position and stood to my feet. The light hit my face, and I looked in her eyes. A resounding and profound connection was there, and I trusted her without question. She was here to guide me.
And she did understand my feelings. She had been through this before. She knew exactly how I let this happen, and she knew what I needed to do. "Let Him take it on", she spoke. I envisioned the chest of a man much bigger than me, strong and resolute. I'd place my head on His chest and weep and cry. I would let all of my fears, frustrations and pain fall onto Him...and I would find peace.
Validation is a requirement of the human experience. Validation of emotions, feelings and thoughts is both an internal and an external experience. Sparing the details of the last 8 months, I've never felt so many emotions in such a short amount of time. My experiences caused intense feelings to surface that would later be minimized by the person causing them. Confusion set in. Unsure what I was even entitled to feel, I stuffed it all down inside and sought others to tell me how to feel and what to do.
The human experience is deep, and while others can connect on one level, it wasn't on all levels that we met. Advice poured in and no opinion was withheld. I reveled in having others understand how frustrating this must all be, but not one said I must give up the ghost. Ultimately, at the end of the day I KNEW this was not a healthy way to feel and yet I continued to feed it.
I became wrought with anger and hatred. When questioned as to why I had so much hate, I couldn't even explain why. I simply felt. It held me captive. It consumed my thoughts. I wanted nothing more than to break free from what now bound me.
I put out an SOS call... "Please, just someone hear me!"
By the grace of God, I extended my cry to one person in particular. I felt moved to contact her, and I got more than I could possibly have ever imagined.
The linked article here outlines the levels of emotional validation from someone:
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/pieces-mind/201204/understanding-validation-way-communicate-acceptance
Level 6 was this woman. She was my radical genuineness. She shared her experience and helped me find the exit door of the feelings that imprisoned me.
"Let go. Let Him."... validation beyond the human experience.
Sunday, 22 December 2013
Wednesday, 6 November 2013
Why my kids ARE the center of my world
Recently I've seen this blog post repeated over and over again on Facebook.
http://themetzfamilyadventures.blogspot.ca/2013/10/why-my-kids-are-not-center-of-my-world.html
Likes upon likes.
It's quite likely this post is going to be met with dismay, but like the girl in the post, I too have strong feelings about it. If you haven't read it yet, I suggest you do. If nothing else, it will make you think about society today.
One of my biggest problems with this post is the comparison of our generation (I'm 31 - she is 29) to our children's generation. I'm not sure the age of her boys, but I have children aged 3-11. We're still in the toddler and preschool age, but we are also now entering the preteen and teen years as well.
I'll start by saying this comparison is like comparing apples to oranges. They should be similar. I wish they were similar. But they, my friends, are not.
When we were children, we could play the good guy/bad guy. We could play with toy guns. We could fashion swords from sticks. We could rough house, and fight and push each other around...
Until one day one of those children brought a real gun to a real school and shot real children. It's incredibly unfortunate to think that this happened anywhere to anyone, let alone that it continued to happen over and over again. Our generation sparked a trend, and fuelled by media created a quiver in the bellies of those feeling ho-hum, unremarkable, and obviously suffering from some sort of mental illness.
Yes, there was a time when kids ONLY got called names, or picked on physically or verbally. Unfortunately, for the current generation, those methods of bullying are antiquated. Things would be so much easier if "Susie" was only called a bitch. Instead, a vulnerable photo is photoshoped, plastered all over the internet, and used as a slander campaign. This younger generation can be exceptionally cruel and cold, and it is nearly impossible to speculate how that should feel if you haven't lived through it. What would this blogger suggest saying if her own daughter came home feeling desolate, heartbroken and shattered as a person... "Suck it up, buttercup"? There is a fine line between encouraging your child to have confidence enough to brush off what others say and do and ignoring their feelings. What they feel is very real. And Sally? Well she needs to understand the consequences of actions - the younger the better. The fact that anyone gains happiness from someone else's pain should be stopped in its tracks immediately.
My children do not need to feel like butterflies and rainbows all the time. They will be mad, sad, happy... the whole gamut of emotions. They are not given everything they want, nor do they get to do anything they want. We have rules in our house and everyone is expected to abide by them. The school system has let things slide in recent years. Because of it's "slipping", I will encourage them to do better. I will reward achievements. We will discuss failures, and I will allow my children to fall and teach them how to get back up. I won't leave the owness on society to do it for me. Through all of this, one thing is for certain though - none of this needs to make them feel ridiculed or their feelings stomped into the ground. They deserve to feel whole.
My children are special. They are exceptional. They are capable of big things. They can change the world. I will continue to raise them this way. I will raise them like the center of my universe, and I will let them find comfort in knowing this... Aside from God, there is no one else in this world who will give them that to the magnitude that a parent can. I CAN do this and also teach them to accept and deal with the realities of this society we have created. Don't wipe your hands clean of it's current state. Our generation helped to shape it as it is.
This post isn't to slam the blogger's whole discussion. I agree with many of the points she has, and while I understand where she is coming from, I also feel as though she's missing the fact that the world is not what it used to be. I'm seeing this more now than ever as my older children are hitting the grades where the attacks on their emotional well-being begin. We cannot parent the way we were parented. Ignoring the changes and expecting your children to come out unscathed, strong and a better person might work, but it might not. Give them the cushion that is a family.
But most of all...
Do not underestimate the power one person has in the world.
http://themetzfamilyadventures.blogspot.ca/2013/10/why-my-kids-are-not-center-of-my-world.html
Likes upon likes.
It's quite likely this post is going to be met with dismay, but like the girl in the post, I too have strong feelings about it. If you haven't read it yet, I suggest you do. If nothing else, it will make you think about society today.
One of my biggest problems with this post is the comparison of our generation (I'm 31 - she is 29) to our children's generation. I'm not sure the age of her boys, but I have children aged 3-11. We're still in the toddler and preschool age, but we are also now entering the preteen and teen years as well.
I'll start by saying this comparison is like comparing apples to oranges. They should be similar. I wish they were similar. But they, my friends, are not.
When we were children, we could play the good guy/bad guy. We could play with toy guns. We could fashion swords from sticks. We could rough house, and fight and push each other around...
Until one day one of those children brought a real gun to a real school and shot real children. It's incredibly unfortunate to think that this happened anywhere to anyone, let alone that it continued to happen over and over again. Our generation sparked a trend, and fuelled by media created a quiver in the bellies of those feeling ho-hum, unremarkable, and obviously suffering from some sort of mental illness.
Wow - that's quite the statement.There was a time - not too long ago - when bullying was defined as slamming someone up against a locker and stealing their lunch money. There was a time when kids got called names and got picked on, and they brushed it off and worked through it (ask me how I know this). Now, if Sally calls Susie a bitch (please excuse my language if that offends you), Susie's whole world crumbles around her, she contemplates suicide, and this society encourages her to feel like her world truly has ended, and she should feel entitled to a world-wide pity party. And Sally - phew! She should be jailed! She should be thrown in juvenile detention for acting like - gasp - a teenage girl acts.
Yes, there was a time when kids ONLY got called names, or picked on physically or verbally. Unfortunately, for the current generation, those methods of bullying are antiquated. Things would be so much easier if "Susie" was only called a bitch. Instead, a vulnerable photo is photoshoped, plastered all over the internet, and used as a slander campaign. This younger generation can be exceptionally cruel and cold, and it is nearly impossible to speculate how that should feel if you haven't lived through it. What would this blogger suggest saying if her own daughter came home feeling desolate, heartbroken and shattered as a person... "Suck it up, buttercup"? There is a fine line between encouraging your child to have confidence enough to brush off what others say and do and ignoring their feelings. What they feel is very real. And Sally? Well she needs to understand the consequences of actions - the younger the better. The fact that anyone gains happiness from someone else's pain should be stopped in its tracks immediately.
My children do not need to feel like butterflies and rainbows all the time. They will be mad, sad, happy... the whole gamut of emotions. They are not given everything they want, nor do they get to do anything they want. We have rules in our house and everyone is expected to abide by them. The school system has let things slide in recent years. Because of it's "slipping", I will encourage them to do better. I will reward achievements. We will discuss failures, and I will allow my children to fall and teach them how to get back up. I won't leave the owness on society to do it for me. Through all of this, one thing is for certain though - none of this needs to make them feel ridiculed or their feelings stomped into the ground. They deserve to feel whole.
My children are special. They are exceptional. They are capable of big things. They can change the world. I will continue to raise them this way. I will raise them like the center of my universe, and I will let them find comfort in knowing this... Aside from God, there is no one else in this world who will give them that to the magnitude that a parent can. I CAN do this and also teach them to accept and deal with the realities of this society we have created. Don't wipe your hands clean of it's current state. Our generation helped to shape it as it is.
This post isn't to slam the blogger's whole discussion. I agree with many of the points she has, and while I understand where she is coming from, I also feel as though she's missing the fact that the world is not what it used to be. I'm seeing this more now than ever as my older children are hitting the grades where the attacks on their emotional well-being begin. We cannot parent the way we were parented. Ignoring the changes and expecting your children to come out unscathed, strong and a better person might work, but it might not. Give them the cushion that is a family.
But most of all...
Do not underestimate the power one person has in the world.
Monday, 4 November 2013
Have a Little Faith
My alarm goes off for the third time. The snooze button is hit once again, and I open my eyes. I can hear little feet walking around the house and I know it's time to get up. Getting out of bed feels like a feat in and of itself. Slowly I inch my way to sitting position, and my heart sinks.
It's another day.
It's another day that I don't want to do. For the first time in YEARS, I don't want to go to work... ever. Every single day I wake up and think I should call in sick. It's November 4th, and I have 0 sick hours remaining. It's not the work I don't want to do. It's not the environment I don't want to be in. It's the physical, mental and emotional exhaustion that I don't want to experience, and it starts with the freaking alarm clock.
My personal life is filled with it's own set of road closures and diversions. I'm in a persistent state of feeling like a failure, just barely keeping my head above the water. I'm surrounded by half finished projects, dishes to be done, floors to be mopped, and clothes to be folded. My mind is preoccupied with dreams of an acreage to call home, being overshadowed with financial doubts. Materialistic possessions like new vehicles bring more burden then joy. Resurrected hobbies like riding are laden with guilt for taking away time to spend with the family. I check out more than I check in with the kids. I worry about others trapped in abusive relationships, and ride the roller coaster with them. Little bits of hope shine through and my heart leaps for joy, but as always, are smashed to bits as the cycle begins once again. I'm caught up in it all, and I'm desperate to just breath.
And then there's nothing left of me. Just someone who knows exactly what she wants, but has absolutely no way of achieving that. I feel a little like I'm slowly turning inside out as the only viable solution I can think of is to work harder or faster or more, and quite honestly I have nothing left to give. I need an extended holiday from my own life... only thing is - everyone needs me.
I've always been a woman of science, with the great big world of faith out of reach. I always felt things were so black and white, cut and dry. I could envision where I wanted to go, calculate how I wanted to get there, and most of the time executed the strategy. I never felt like the equations were too big for my mind to compute... never too many variables that I couldn't end up solving for X.
I'm not sure if this is the natural progression in life, or if this is just circumstantial, but I can't solve for X anymore. There are multiple answers and none the "right" choice. I only get one iteration to get this right. I keep begging for a "redo" option on days, but to no avail. Poor choices of my own and of others are having big consequences and are rippling down my lifelines.
This is the point where I need to abandon my hard and fast rules and science. I have to believe in something I can't see, because what I can see is exhausting.
I need to have a little faith.
It's another day.
It's another day that I don't want to do. For the first time in YEARS, I don't want to go to work... ever. Every single day I wake up and think I should call in sick. It's November 4th, and I have 0 sick hours remaining. It's not the work I don't want to do. It's not the environment I don't want to be in. It's the physical, mental and emotional exhaustion that I don't want to experience, and it starts with the freaking alarm clock.
My personal life is filled with it's own set of road closures and diversions. I'm in a persistent state of feeling like a failure, just barely keeping my head above the water. I'm surrounded by half finished projects, dishes to be done, floors to be mopped, and clothes to be folded. My mind is preoccupied with dreams of an acreage to call home, being overshadowed with financial doubts. Materialistic possessions like new vehicles bring more burden then joy. Resurrected hobbies like riding are laden with guilt for taking away time to spend with the family. I check out more than I check in with the kids. I worry about others trapped in abusive relationships, and ride the roller coaster with them. Little bits of hope shine through and my heart leaps for joy, but as always, are smashed to bits as the cycle begins once again. I'm caught up in it all, and I'm desperate to just breath.
And then there's nothing left of me. Just someone who knows exactly what she wants, but has absolutely no way of achieving that. I feel a little like I'm slowly turning inside out as the only viable solution I can think of is to work harder or faster or more, and quite honestly I have nothing left to give. I need an extended holiday from my own life... only thing is - everyone needs me.
I've always been a woman of science, with the great big world of faith out of reach. I always felt things were so black and white, cut and dry. I could envision where I wanted to go, calculate how I wanted to get there, and most of the time executed the strategy. I never felt like the equations were too big for my mind to compute... never too many variables that I couldn't end up solving for X.
I'm not sure if this is the natural progression in life, or if this is just circumstantial, but I can't solve for X anymore. There are multiple answers and none the "right" choice. I only get one iteration to get this right. I keep begging for a "redo" option on days, but to no avail. Poor choices of my own and of others are having big consequences and are rippling down my lifelines.
This is the point where I need to abandon my hard and fast rules and science. I have to believe in something I can't see, because what I can see is exhausting.
I need to have a little faith.
Sunday, 13 October 2013
A post without a home
So what happens when a blogger wants to spew virtual words but has no idea how to properly articulate what she feels? The blogger becomes a blithering idiot. That idiot is me tonight.
I find I can't sleep well at night these days. I have a lot on my mind, and it's really stuff I can't control. Things that take me in endless circles of thought where no resolution is found. I'm left wondering. I'm left anxious. I feel a general uneasiness.
I am a country girl. It will forever be in my heart, and is gradually becoming the forefront of my mind. I want nothing more than to buy my acreage and spend my days in my quiet retreat nestled away in my little bit of heaven.
I grew up with early mornings and early bedtimes. My days involved cyclical feeding, watering, and physical checkovers. I built fences, dug post holes by hand, mended buildings, doctored wounds, analyzed and reanalyzed physical and psychological goals for my animals, planted pastures, and filled gopher holes. I was out in the minus 40 and the plus 35. I had a stunning farmer's tan, dirt engrained nails, and from the color of my neck you would think I was native. I had happy moments and sad moments, but somehow the blood, sweat and tears felt like every minute was a minute well spent.
I'm sorry if you don't understand this. I am just a simple girl with a love for the simple things. I don't like having neighbours. I don't like hearing vehicles. I don't want to confine my dogs to a backyard or have to worry about the boy with a knife at the park. I don't want to be within walking distance of a Walmart or biking distance of work.
I want my kids to play in hay stacks, build tree forts in the bush, and explore the property armed with only their imaginations. I want them to clean out corrals and learn the fundamental basics of keeping an animal alive and healthy. I want them to learn where their food comes from and what it takes to cultivate and grow it.
I can sit and I can wait for this to happen, but I'm not getting any younger... and neither are my children. Aurora and Denali are already past the age I was when we moved to the acreage. Reno has 3 more years in his term as mayor, and we'd both like for him to finish his term. That's 3 whole years though... Aurora will be 14!
I'm to the point in my life where I feel like I need to step back and re-evaluate where I'm going and what I am doing. I love my job, so that isn't going anywhere... it's more what I do in the time I spend at home that doesn't seem to align with my values and goals.
I'm not teaching my children anything. They are going to school, doing the few chores they need to, and then filling the remainder of their time with video games, TV, lego and the occasional friend playtime. I know the only person to blame is myself. I haven't taught them anything else. I haven't taken the time. To be honest, I feel a little lost like I wouldn't know where to start with the resources I have available at my disposal, although that's still no excuse. There are values and morals that are taught on farms. There are life cycles observed, and real-time restrictions. There are no I'll-do-it-later's. This I know.
I'm sure you can tell by now this is important to me, but obviously we are in a bit of a pickle... and thus the endless cycles begin and the evaluating and re-evaluating of our needs and wants is done. Ultimately only time will tell and we can only hope that we will know the right decision to be made when it comes....
Until then,
Idiot out.
I find I can't sleep well at night these days. I have a lot on my mind, and it's really stuff I can't control. Things that take me in endless circles of thought where no resolution is found. I'm left wondering. I'm left anxious. I feel a general uneasiness.
I am a country girl. It will forever be in my heart, and is gradually becoming the forefront of my mind. I want nothing more than to buy my acreage and spend my days in my quiet retreat nestled away in my little bit of heaven.
I grew up with early mornings and early bedtimes. My days involved cyclical feeding, watering, and physical checkovers. I built fences, dug post holes by hand, mended buildings, doctored wounds, analyzed and reanalyzed physical and psychological goals for my animals, planted pastures, and filled gopher holes. I was out in the minus 40 and the plus 35. I had a stunning farmer's tan, dirt engrained nails, and from the color of my neck you would think I was native. I had happy moments and sad moments, but somehow the blood, sweat and tears felt like every minute was a minute well spent.
I'm sorry if you don't understand this. I am just a simple girl with a love for the simple things. I don't like having neighbours. I don't like hearing vehicles. I don't want to confine my dogs to a backyard or have to worry about the boy with a knife at the park. I don't want to be within walking distance of a Walmart or biking distance of work.
I want my kids to play in hay stacks, build tree forts in the bush, and explore the property armed with only their imaginations. I want them to clean out corrals and learn the fundamental basics of keeping an animal alive and healthy. I want them to learn where their food comes from and what it takes to cultivate and grow it.
I can sit and I can wait for this to happen, but I'm not getting any younger... and neither are my children. Aurora and Denali are already past the age I was when we moved to the acreage. Reno has 3 more years in his term as mayor, and we'd both like for him to finish his term. That's 3 whole years though... Aurora will be 14!
I'm to the point in my life where I feel like I need to step back and re-evaluate where I'm going and what I am doing. I love my job, so that isn't going anywhere... it's more what I do in the time I spend at home that doesn't seem to align with my values and goals.
I'm not teaching my children anything. They are going to school, doing the few chores they need to, and then filling the remainder of their time with video games, TV, lego and the occasional friend playtime. I know the only person to blame is myself. I haven't taught them anything else. I haven't taken the time. To be honest, I feel a little lost like I wouldn't know where to start with the resources I have available at my disposal, although that's still no excuse. There are values and morals that are taught on farms. There are life cycles observed, and real-time restrictions. There are no I'll-do-it-later's. This I know.
I'm sure you can tell by now this is important to me, but obviously we are in a bit of a pickle... and thus the endless cycles begin and the evaluating and re-evaluating of our needs and wants is done. Ultimately only time will tell and we can only hope that we will know the right decision to be made when it comes....
Until then,
Idiot out.
Monday, 7 October 2013
Butterflies, Lights, and Rainbows
From the time I was a little girl right up until the time that my mom passed, Mom and I had many spiritual discussions. Mom believed a lot in reincarnation, karma, and the like. Discussions revolved a lot about our sense of timing and listening to our guts... about how sometimes they are dead wringer on and sometimes they are completely off.
We discussed, at length in the years before her death, how she would come back and give me signs after she passed. She would appear as butterflies and she would give me signals and lights to show her existence. When I was a child, she followed a light to above my bed. After her dad passed, she found pennies to think of him. At the time, I thought I didn't want her to show me these things. I didn't want to see lights and butterflies and rainbows. I didn't want to connect with the spiritual world for fear of what I might find.
I saw many lights and felt many things the night she died. I was absolutely terrified and, to be honest, did not sleep a wink of sleep the first 48 hours. I've now learned it is a normal part of losing a loved one and being there for their death; to me she was showing her spiritual self to me and trying to comfort me and I was having nothing to do with it.
Now I would give anything to see her.
Last night I had a dream - a semi continuance from the last one I had of her. My last dream was vague when I woke up, but I do remember her coming off a plane to visit and being unhappy to be forced to come from her place of origin (wherever that was).
Last night, I dreamt I brought her for a visit from her house where she had nestled down and settled into. When she arrived, I helped her into a rocker recliner I had. It was very difficult to get her positioned in the chair, and in the end she was so weak she could barely talk. I pulled a chair up beside her and started to talk... and then bawl.
"I miss you so much....," I bawled on and on. She was weak but resolute. Her eyes met mine and there was... nothing. They were empty and hollow, and the pain from that glance hurt almost as much as losing her that night. She was gone and could I blame her??? I brought her back from whatever spiritual resolution she found to a place of sadness, weakness and despair.
My feelings of disconnect have never been so overwhelming. I want my butterflies, and lights and rainbows. I yearn for her comfort. I keep thinking this isn't the way this is supposed to go... this isn't what we talked about.
Please tell me it was just a dream...
We discussed, at length in the years before her death, how she would come back and give me signs after she passed. She would appear as butterflies and she would give me signals and lights to show her existence. When I was a child, she followed a light to above my bed. After her dad passed, she found pennies to think of him. At the time, I thought I didn't want her to show me these things. I didn't want to see lights and butterflies and rainbows. I didn't want to connect with the spiritual world for fear of what I might find.
I saw many lights and felt many things the night she died. I was absolutely terrified and, to be honest, did not sleep a wink of sleep the first 48 hours. I've now learned it is a normal part of losing a loved one and being there for their death; to me she was showing her spiritual self to me and trying to comfort me and I was having nothing to do with it.
Now I would give anything to see her.
Last night I had a dream - a semi continuance from the last one I had of her. My last dream was vague when I woke up, but I do remember her coming off a plane to visit and being unhappy to be forced to come from her place of origin (wherever that was).
Last night, I dreamt I brought her for a visit from her house where she had nestled down and settled into. When she arrived, I helped her into a rocker recliner I had. It was very difficult to get her positioned in the chair, and in the end she was so weak she could barely talk. I pulled a chair up beside her and started to talk... and then bawl.
"I miss you so much....," I bawled on and on. She was weak but resolute. Her eyes met mine and there was... nothing. They were empty and hollow, and the pain from that glance hurt almost as much as losing her that night. She was gone and could I blame her??? I brought her back from whatever spiritual resolution she found to a place of sadness, weakness and despair.
My feelings of disconnect have never been so overwhelming. I want my butterflies, and lights and rainbows. I yearn for her comfort. I keep thinking this isn't the way this is supposed to go... this isn't what we talked about.
Please tell me it was just a dream...
Wednesday, 18 September 2013
Bean feet
There's only one thing I hate more than having stuff stick to the bottom of my feet as I walk around my house, and that's wearing socks. I hate socks with a passion. In fact, back in the days when I met Reno it was not uncommon to see me barefoot in flip flops in the dead of winter. Ok - maybe that wasn't such a smart idea, but you get the point. I am NOT going to wear socks in my house just to avoid having stuff stick to my feet.
Why do I have stuff sticking to my feet, you ask? Well because I have 4 children and 2 dogs, silly! That seems to make sense, doesn't it?
Maybe not, but I'm rolling with it.
I am not the cleanest person in the world. While I do find it fairly therapeutic while performing the actual cleaning, I do not enjoy the feeling I have when 30 seconds afterwards, there is a tiny being with a shoe full of sand standing at my door needing to pee. "No - don't take your shoes off... just come in - quick! BEFORE you pee your pants.". In my mind, it is better to sweep the dirt than to wipe the pee. And so it begins and so it continues. To keep from feeling that sense of disappointment in those around me for not sharing in my desire for cleanliness and to avoid having to hound and remind everyone in every sentence spoken, I just don't put that kind of standard out there for my house. Truthfully, there are many things I would rather do than clean.
I distinctly remember my mother on the night of the get-together before our wedding, turning to Reno's mother and saying, "I don't know where she gets her lack of cleaning skills from!", and then profusely apologizing for the state of our townhouse. I also remember thinking it really wasn't that bad. We were working and going to school and trying to take the time to spend with our kids on a one on one basis. That balance is certainly not easy and when the time comes that you have a moment that isn't consumed with one of those items, I chose a little personal time. Looking back on the pictures, I see what she meant. We have come a long way since then, but we still aren't good at it.
I'm feeling very under the weather today, but when I couldn't find a place to sit on the couch that wasn't consumed by a mound of clothing, I decided to fold and put some clothes away. I sat on the floor and folded and sorted and stacked and folded and sorted some more. Four full laundry baskets later, I was finally done...
Ah time to relax and kick my feet up and WHAT IS ON MY FEET??? How did I miss the fact that I had a Star Wars sticker, a smushed green been, and a whole lot of sand stuck to one foot? I briskly peel each item off and return it to it's rightful place... on the floor.
Time to sweep, I suppose. Bare in mind I swept the whole house just 3 days ago, so it's not like it's been that long (is that too long??).
This is the pile I made.
And yes, those are toys in the pile... and a bean... and a pair of socks, but you know what??? I don't care. They can go in the garbage because I am not wasting my time sorting through the pile I sweep up because somebody else didn't clean up after themselves.
And there you go folks. Now you have delved into the depths on page one of "My Messy House" and survived.
Now just to watch who wears socks on their next visit... ;)
Why do I have stuff sticking to my feet, you ask? Well because I have 4 children and 2 dogs, silly! That seems to make sense, doesn't it?
Maybe not, but I'm rolling with it.
I am not the cleanest person in the world. While I do find it fairly therapeutic while performing the actual cleaning, I do not enjoy the feeling I have when 30 seconds afterwards, there is a tiny being with a shoe full of sand standing at my door needing to pee. "No - don't take your shoes off... just come in - quick! BEFORE you pee your pants.". In my mind, it is better to sweep the dirt than to wipe the pee. And so it begins and so it continues. To keep from feeling that sense of disappointment in those around me for not sharing in my desire for cleanliness and to avoid having to hound and remind everyone in every sentence spoken, I just don't put that kind of standard out there for my house. Truthfully, there are many things I would rather do than clean.
I distinctly remember my mother on the night of the get-together before our wedding, turning to Reno's mother and saying, "I don't know where she gets her lack of cleaning skills from!", and then profusely apologizing for the state of our townhouse. I also remember thinking it really wasn't that bad. We were working and going to school and trying to take the time to spend with our kids on a one on one basis. That balance is certainly not easy and when the time comes that you have a moment that isn't consumed with one of those items, I chose a little personal time. Looking back on the pictures, I see what she meant. We have come a long way since then, but we still aren't good at it.
I'm feeling very under the weather today, but when I couldn't find a place to sit on the couch that wasn't consumed by a mound of clothing, I decided to fold and put some clothes away. I sat on the floor and folded and sorted and stacked and folded and sorted some more. Four full laundry baskets later, I was finally done...
Ah time to relax and kick my feet up and WHAT IS ON MY FEET??? How did I miss the fact that I had a Star Wars sticker, a smushed green been, and a whole lot of sand stuck to one foot? I briskly peel each item off and return it to it's rightful place... on the floor.
Time to sweep, I suppose. Bare in mind I swept the whole house just 3 days ago, so it's not like it's been that long (is that too long??).
This is the pile I made.
And yes, those are toys in the pile... and a bean... and a pair of socks, but you know what??? I don't care. They can go in the garbage because I am not wasting my time sorting through the pile I sweep up because somebody else didn't clean up after themselves.
And there you go folks. Now you have delved into the depths on page one of "My Messy House" and survived.
Now just to watch who wears socks on their next visit... ;)
Saturday, 8 June 2013
A Prescription for Sleep
Our conversation is interrupted by a woman and her two sons waiting for their order at the tiny Martensville Tim Hortons. It's clear a tantrum has erupted over sugar laden donuts when her older son, about 5, is red in the face with anger. He's not overly loud, but he is very upset, and it isn't long before the first punch is thrown and words are launched in defence.
"Look at those kids! Do you see any of them behaving like this??!!" she screams as she points in our direction. I turn to Reno and hold my breath. I want to interrupt her before she continues her comparison... tell her that just 5 minutes before, my children were unraveling me like a kitten with a ball of yarn. Completely out of control, I stuffed their mouths with Vanilla Dip donuts and raspberry lemonade. I gained a moment of solace using bribery and trickery. I had no more control, nor did my kids have any more respect.
I don't interrupt. I don't want to undermine her parenting. Everything in parenting is hard enough without someone stepping in your way, right or wrong. Truthfully I don't see the point in saying things like that. Children don't deserve to be compared to their peers or siblings in ways that provide no resolution. It's unfair to put a child in a situation of telling them to do something without providing them a means of achieving that. What's more is that I am sure that woman will regret having said that to her boys when it all calms down... I know I always did. I do understand saying things you'll regret later because at the moment it feels like the right thing to say. I digress though as this isn't about what she did or didn't say... It's about keeping control over my own erruptions.
For months my "life" has seen a downward spiral. I felt as though my every waking moment was a mix of serving others, and wishing something more for myself. I felt spread too thin in every possible part of my life - doing only what I needed to to get by, and a shit job at that. Everywhere I looked I had mounds of things to do, and not enough time to do it all. The writing, the drawing, the puzzles and games... all the things I wanted to do to in my free time were all things I longed to do. No energy to do any of it, I'd lock myself into a game of Candy Crush and drop out of life.
My anxiety had me wound so tightly, my arms and legs seared with energy. Any time my mind blew past my physical ability to perform, a rush of anxiety would run head to toe. My chest would tighten. My heart would beat out of my chest and radiate in my ears. I sat in fear for 2 days while my chest hurt so badly I feared a heart attack. Finally, I booked that appointment with my doctor, and I made the commitment to fix whatever was wrong. My husband deserved more. My children deserved more. I deserved more.
My appointment came and I sat waiting... frightened by what he might say. I worried about drug therapies and therapists and what this man might possibly suggest was the problem or the solution. As I divulged what was happening, he nodded and noted. He'd interject with some questions, most of which were a resounding yes. I know he knew what plagued me from the second I spoke, but I had no idea the proposed resolution would sound so simple.
Sleep. Plain and simple. He prescribed Lorazepam for anxiety attacks when they get overwhelming, but the base solution was sleep.
I had envisioned hours of divulging why my life sucked so much and the therapist suggesting ways to talk to everyone to make my life easier. Talk to my employers to get time off... talk to my husband to clean the house more... talk to my kids about being better behaved. In reality, I'm just a normal mom with a normal workload and a normal family that doesn't get enough rest to deal with it all.
It seems irrational now to me. I wanted to stay up later because I wanted to do all the things I wanted to do, but I couldn't do them because I didn't have the energy. I got lost in my self-loathing until I forced myself to bed at midnight. I'd drag my sorry ass out of bed and put in a pathetic day of work again, and return to home where I engaged with my children on a need be basis only, all the while completely and utterly exhausted... Only to be repeated over and over and over again.
For the last 5 nights, I've dropped off to bed between 9 and 10 PM. In those 5 nights, I feel like a different person. No, I don't have more energy by the end of the day. What I do have is a feeling of ambition and initiation. I'm engaging with my work. I'm interacting awith my kids. I'm helping more at home. I'm feeling much more at ease and it's just the beginning. I have many, many, many nights of sleep to catch up on. I'm hopeful with time it will all come, but honestly, sleep has done as much for my soul as the activities I enjoy so much.
To bring this post full circle, I'll go back to the Tim Horton's incident. I love my kids. Kids are immature and do irrational and reactive things. Without sleep, I was very much like a kid. I was dangling that string in front of the kitten and freaking out when the unraveling began. I met the kids on their level rather than rising above it. Today - while bribery and trickery quieted the crowd, and at times my anger shone through, I didn't let their behaviour spin me out of control and do things I'd regret later. While I was frustrated with how the kids "behaved", I am now doing a little happy dance for not losing my shit over it. And that, my friends, is an accomplishment in my books.
I think prescription for sleep is just what I needed.
"Look at those kids! Do you see any of them behaving like this??!!" she screams as she points in our direction. I turn to Reno and hold my breath. I want to interrupt her before she continues her comparison... tell her that just 5 minutes before, my children were unraveling me like a kitten with a ball of yarn. Completely out of control, I stuffed their mouths with Vanilla Dip donuts and raspberry lemonade. I gained a moment of solace using bribery and trickery. I had no more control, nor did my kids have any more respect.
I don't interrupt. I don't want to undermine her parenting. Everything in parenting is hard enough without someone stepping in your way, right or wrong. Truthfully I don't see the point in saying things like that. Children don't deserve to be compared to their peers or siblings in ways that provide no resolution. It's unfair to put a child in a situation of telling them to do something without providing them a means of achieving that. What's more is that I am sure that woman will regret having said that to her boys when it all calms down... I know I always did. I do understand saying things you'll regret later because at the moment it feels like the right thing to say. I digress though as this isn't about what she did or didn't say... It's about keeping control over my own erruptions.
For months my "life" has seen a downward spiral. I felt as though my every waking moment was a mix of serving others, and wishing something more for myself. I felt spread too thin in every possible part of my life - doing only what I needed to to get by, and a shit job at that. Everywhere I looked I had mounds of things to do, and not enough time to do it all. The writing, the drawing, the puzzles and games... all the things I wanted to do to in my free time were all things I longed to do. No energy to do any of it, I'd lock myself into a game of Candy Crush and drop out of life.
My anxiety had me wound so tightly, my arms and legs seared with energy. Any time my mind blew past my physical ability to perform, a rush of anxiety would run head to toe. My chest would tighten. My heart would beat out of my chest and radiate in my ears. I sat in fear for 2 days while my chest hurt so badly I feared a heart attack. Finally, I booked that appointment with my doctor, and I made the commitment to fix whatever was wrong. My husband deserved more. My children deserved more. I deserved more.
My appointment came and I sat waiting... frightened by what he might say. I worried about drug therapies and therapists and what this man might possibly suggest was the problem or the solution. As I divulged what was happening, he nodded and noted. He'd interject with some questions, most of which were a resounding yes. I know he knew what plagued me from the second I spoke, but I had no idea the proposed resolution would sound so simple.
Sleep. Plain and simple. He prescribed Lorazepam for anxiety attacks when they get overwhelming, but the base solution was sleep.
I had envisioned hours of divulging why my life sucked so much and the therapist suggesting ways to talk to everyone to make my life easier. Talk to my employers to get time off... talk to my husband to clean the house more... talk to my kids about being better behaved. In reality, I'm just a normal mom with a normal workload and a normal family that doesn't get enough rest to deal with it all.
It seems irrational now to me. I wanted to stay up later because I wanted to do all the things I wanted to do, but I couldn't do them because I didn't have the energy. I got lost in my self-loathing until I forced myself to bed at midnight. I'd drag my sorry ass out of bed and put in a pathetic day of work again, and return to home where I engaged with my children on a need be basis only, all the while completely and utterly exhausted... Only to be repeated over and over and over again.
For the last 5 nights, I've dropped off to bed between 9 and 10 PM. In those 5 nights, I feel like a different person. No, I don't have more energy by the end of the day. What I do have is a feeling of ambition and initiation. I'm engaging with my work. I'm interacting awith my kids. I'm helping more at home. I'm feeling much more at ease and it's just the beginning. I have many, many, many nights of sleep to catch up on. I'm hopeful with time it will all come, but honestly, sleep has done as much for my soul as the activities I enjoy so much.
To bring this post full circle, I'll go back to the Tim Horton's incident. I love my kids. Kids are immature and do irrational and reactive things. Without sleep, I was very much like a kid. I was dangling that string in front of the kitten and freaking out when the unraveling began. I met the kids on their level rather than rising above it. Today - while bribery and trickery quieted the crowd, and at times my anger shone through, I didn't let their behaviour spin me out of control and do things I'd regret later. While I was frustrated with how the kids "behaved", I am now doing a little happy dance for not losing my shit over it. And that, my friends, is an accomplishment in my books.
I think prescription for sleep is just what I needed.
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
16+ hands of news...
It might seem odd to some... irrational to others... downright stupid to some, but that doesn't matter to me. You can shrug or do a crooked eyebrow in bemusement, but I'll still be excited to tell you.
Someone out there will understand the pure joy and excitement in what I'm telling you - and if you do, I'm willing to bet you understand because you've felt it. You know what it's like to fall in love with a horse.
I've been out of the scene for 10 years. I've driven past multiple farm yards day after day. With every passing horse I'd yearn to have that connection again. It's almost painful... almost makes the heart ache. Don't believe me? Ask any serious rider or horse folk out there that has been forced to take a break and they'll tell you the same thing. It NEVER leaves you.
I had a series of stupid decisions with dire consequences. I've broken my shoulder, busted my pelvis and suffered significant damage to my knee. Would I do that again? Nope. Would I put my life or body in danger? Not a chance. I'm fully aware of what I did wrong, where I stopped listening to my instincts and when I started to get cocky and looked at a horse as a "challenge" rather than an animal to be respected. People riding snowmobiles, quads and ATV's also suffer accidents when they make stupid choices - probably moreso than a seasoned horseback rider. It's not about what you do - it's about the choices you make.
There is nothing that comes close to how I feel on the back of a horse, and I doubt anything ever will. To be on the back of a 1200 lb animal and in control is mind-blowing. To connect with an animal that is intellectual enough to evade you and strong enough to overpower you but respects you enough to look for you for guidance is dream worthy. My passion is Dressage, and for anyone unsure of what that is - it's like ballet on horseback. The horse's movements are so finely controlled it's like performing a perfectly sequenced dance routine. It takes years of work, and an inexplicable communication link with an animal. Take a look at the following video and you'll see what I mean:
So this brings me to tell you my news! We've purchased a wonderful mare named Abbey. She's an 8 year old warmblood mare - perfect for dressage! She's gorgeous, well-mannered and somehow I managed to stumble upon her ad with perfect timing. She's a doll and I'm so excited to have the opportunity to board her so close to home. There's a lot of people supporting and playing a role in this dream. I'm over the moon with excitement... I feel like someone needs to pinch me so I can be sure it's not a dream.
f4BROs)G5Iqg~~48_20.JPG)
When I look at the pictures from my horse years and I find the odd one of my mom is in, you can see a side of her you just can't find in other pictures. There's a true smile that stretches from ear to ear. While I know that horses were a source of stress for her, they were also an outlet that remained unmatched for the rest of her years. Her heart was in the horses. My heart is in the horses. We have connections and memories engrained in our mutual experineces, and I hope that I can share that with my kids.
I feel like my life is rounding out in all the ways to make it the most fulfilling experience possible. Horses are definitely part of my puzzle, and I'm thrilled to have it back.
P.S. If you don't get the title - here's a brief explanation. The height of a horse to the withers (large bony portion where the neck joins the back) is measured in hands. A hand is 4 inches in height. Abbey is over 16 hands in height... She's a big mare!
Someone out there will understand the pure joy and excitement in what I'm telling you - and if you do, I'm willing to bet you understand because you've felt it. You know what it's like to fall in love with a horse.
I've been out of the scene for 10 years. I've driven past multiple farm yards day after day. With every passing horse I'd yearn to have that connection again. It's almost painful... almost makes the heart ache. Don't believe me? Ask any serious rider or horse folk out there that has been forced to take a break and they'll tell you the same thing. It NEVER leaves you.
I had a series of stupid decisions with dire consequences. I've broken my shoulder, busted my pelvis and suffered significant damage to my knee. Would I do that again? Nope. Would I put my life or body in danger? Not a chance. I'm fully aware of what I did wrong, where I stopped listening to my instincts and when I started to get cocky and looked at a horse as a "challenge" rather than an animal to be respected. People riding snowmobiles, quads and ATV's also suffer accidents when they make stupid choices - probably moreso than a seasoned horseback rider. It's not about what you do - it's about the choices you make.
There is nothing that comes close to how I feel on the back of a horse, and I doubt anything ever will. To be on the back of a 1200 lb animal and in control is mind-blowing. To connect with an animal that is intellectual enough to evade you and strong enough to overpower you but respects you enough to look for you for guidance is dream worthy. My passion is Dressage, and for anyone unsure of what that is - it's like ballet on horseback. The horse's movements are so finely controlled it's like performing a perfectly sequenced dance routine. It takes years of work, and an inexplicable communication link with an animal. Take a look at the following video and you'll see what I mean:
So this brings me to tell you my news! We've purchased a wonderful mare named Abbey. She's an 8 year old warmblood mare - perfect for dressage! She's gorgeous, well-mannered and somehow I managed to stumble upon her ad with perfect timing. She's a doll and I'm so excited to have the opportunity to board her so close to home. There's a lot of people supporting and playing a role in this dream. I'm over the moon with excitement... I feel like someone needs to pinch me so I can be sure it's not a dream.
f4BROs)G5Iqg~~48_20.JPG)
When I look at the pictures from my horse years and I find the odd one of my mom is in, you can see a side of her you just can't find in other pictures. There's a true smile that stretches from ear to ear. While I know that horses were a source of stress for her, they were also an outlet that remained unmatched for the rest of her years. Her heart was in the horses. My heart is in the horses. We have connections and memories engrained in our mutual experineces, and I hope that I can share that with my kids.
I feel like my life is rounding out in all the ways to make it the most fulfilling experience possible. Horses are definitely part of my puzzle, and I'm thrilled to have it back.
P.S. If you don't get the title - here's a brief explanation. The height of a horse to the withers (large bony portion where the neck joins the back) is measured in hands. A hand is 4 inches in height. Abbey is over 16 hands in height... She's a big mare!
Monday, 14 January 2013
Swords and Weapons of Destruction
Before I had children, I vowed to never allow my child to be one that wields a gun, knife or sword. My children were going to be sweet, non-violent, soft and sensitive beings choosing their words over weapons. They were going to be the first siblings to get along famously and never physically fight.
Boy was I wrong.
Having 3 boys you quickly realize that as hard as you try to protect your children from the influences of the outside world, you just can't skip this one important part... they will notice weapons.
At ripe young ages of 1 and 2, my boys were fashioning weapons from vaccuum cleaner parts, sticks, coat hangers, hockey sticks, lego, straws... you name it. Noises like "pew, pew, pew" and "ratatatatat" come first before words. Without even really noticing it happen, they turn into little soldiers looking for every reason to fire off that pretend gun.
It's really beyond me where the attraction begins, and while I realize I can't keep them from pretending to play that roll, I certainly try to minimize it. My abnormal fear of guns means swords are the only pre-constructed weapon that will enter my house. Typically a sword lasts an hour maximum before it's removed from little hands. Self control is not a strong suite of those under 5, and the weapons seem to increase in contact until someone gets hurt.
Recently, Graysen began to have problems falling asleep at night. His imagination would run rampant in the dark, and his fears would explode. Frightened out of his mind, it would take us hours to get him to sleep. No amount of special blankies or stuffies resolved the fear or provided comfort.
I turned to the handy, dandy internet to do some reading on the subject, and as it turns out, I was doing it all wrong.
I was attempting to dispel any myths of monsters, dragons, and "bad guys". I peered into every nook and cranny of his room, explaining every shadow possible. While I thought it would prove to him that those common items in his room were merely that, all that I did was blur the lines of reality and fiction, deeply embedding that seed of fear.
What I really needed to do was give him a sword.
I needed to indulge his imagination and curtail the outcome to be one where he came out the hero rather than the victim.
When I think of threatening or emerging dangers, I run. With the exception of when my children are endangered, I am wholeheartedly a flight kind of gal, seeking refuge under blankets or hiding behind something bigger than I. Frighten me, and I will scream, drop to the floor, and curl up in a little ball (don't anyone test this theory!). As a child I would have taken a blanket that made you invisible over a sword any day. I realize now that Graysen and I are very different that way. If a threat approaches him, he wants to take it on. He wants to defend himself, beat the "bad guys" and conquer his domain. For a kid that talks a mile a minute, he doesn't see words as a defence, and he most certainly does not see flight as an option. He may be a soft and sweet boy, but he's most definitely not going to sit back and not stick up for himself.
Sometimes I feel like parenting is one big sociological experiment and every decision you make can influence the rest of their lives... Other times, I think no matter what a person does, there's very little you can do to influence how these little people are going to turn out. This is one of those times.
Right now, I feel like I could learn a little something from Graysen. I could use a little courage to turn and face my demons... fight my battles without always dodging and running. I'm proud that my little man is strong enough to stand up for himself, and well - if a sword is going to keep that confidence in him, then he can have it.
As long as it stays in his bed ;)
Boy was I wrong.
Having 3 boys you quickly realize that as hard as you try to protect your children from the influences of the outside world, you just can't skip this one important part... they will notice weapons.
At ripe young ages of 1 and 2, my boys were fashioning weapons from vaccuum cleaner parts, sticks, coat hangers, hockey sticks, lego, straws... you name it. Noises like "pew, pew, pew" and "ratatatatat" come first before words. Without even really noticing it happen, they turn into little soldiers looking for every reason to fire off that pretend gun.
It's really beyond me where the attraction begins, and while I realize I can't keep them from pretending to play that roll, I certainly try to minimize it. My abnormal fear of guns means swords are the only pre-constructed weapon that will enter my house. Typically a sword lasts an hour maximum before it's removed from little hands. Self control is not a strong suite of those under 5, and the weapons seem to increase in contact until someone gets hurt.
Recently, Graysen began to have problems falling asleep at night. His imagination would run rampant in the dark, and his fears would explode. Frightened out of his mind, it would take us hours to get him to sleep. No amount of special blankies or stuffies resolved the fear or provided comfort.
I turned to the handy, dandy internet to do some reading on the subject, and as it turns out, I was doing it all wrong.
I was attempting to dispel any myths of monsters, dragons, and "bad guys". I peered into every nook and cranny of his room, explaining every shadow possible. While I thought it would prove to him that those common items in his room were merely that, all that I did was blur the lines of reality and fiction, deeply embedding that seed of fear.
What I really needed to do was give him a sword.
I needed to indulge his imagination and curtail the outcome to be one where he came out the hero rather than the victim.
When I think of threatening or emerging dangers, I run. With the exception of when my children are endangered, I am wholeheartedly a flight kind of gal, seeking refuge under blankets or hiding behind something bigger than I. Frighten me, and I will scream, drop to the floor, and curl up in a little ball (don't anyone test this theory!). As a child I would have taken a blanket that made you invisible over a sword any day. I realize now that Graysen and I are very different that way. If a threat approaches him, he wants to take it on. He wants to defend himself, beat the "bad guys" and conquer his domain. For a kid that talks a mile a minute, he doesn't see words as a defence, and he most certainly does not see flight as an option. He may be a soft and sweet boy, but he's most definitely not going to sit back and not stick up for himself.
Sometimes I feel like parenting is one big sociological experiment and every decision you make can influence the rest of their lives... Other times, I think no matter what a person does, there's very little you can do to influence how these little people are going to turn out. This is one of those times.
Right now, I feel like I could learn a little something from Graysen. I could use a little courage to turn and face my demons... fight my battles without always dodging and running. I'm proud that my little man is strong enough to stand up for himself, and well - if a sword is going to keep that confidence in him, then he can have it.
As long as it stays in his bed ;)
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