Little Miss Sunshine

Oh My God!
I just watched Little Miss Sunshine.
When life gets too serious.... rent this movie. Loved it.
Happy New Year.

fly on the wall

Amusing utterances heard in the "warming house" at the George Reifel Migratory Bird Sanctuary....

- 9 year old girl says- "Look Mommy, there's an orange legged butt diver" - (a.k.a Mallard Duck)

- 6 year old girl says - "Mommy, I love you more than all the people I don't know and some stuff"... the reply..."errr, gee....thanks!"

-6 year old girl asks..."Mommy, why have they stuck an X to all the windows?"...the reply..."so the windows don't fall out in a hurricane, honey"....and the counter reply by the 9 year old sibling..."I think it is so the birds don't fly into them". (I haven't heard of too many hurricanes occurring in Vancouver).

- mother #1 commenting on the items in her picnic basket ..."the things I brought are all unhealthy". Mother #2 -"well I have packed oranges and dried fruit and sandwiches. My kids don't eat many of those snack foods "....priceless child response after surveying mother's healthy lunch..."Yuck".

-Mother#1 "Do you like Shari's haircut"? Mother #2 "Yeah it is nice. Melanie is growing hers and it is soooo gorgeous and shiny. Its because we mix flax oil into our breakfast juice"...priceless innocent child response "then why isn't your hair nice like mine?"

-"The back garden only has one door....The back garden only has ONE door....The BACK GARDEN ONLY HAS ONE DOOR!" (increasingly panicked ramblings of a man seen attempting to exit the park while wading through a slew of hungry ducks...I didn't get it either!).

Christmas 2006

The pictures are for the Grans.
What will I remember about this Christmas...
-Pneumonia and the flu
-anger at the postage service to Australia
-cold and dark
-forgot to buy Santa's cookies - has to bake a banana cake (because "Santa is probably sick of cookies anyway").
-Christmas dinner at Hart House in Burnaby
-Ashley accidentally setting a menu on fire at Hart House in Burnaby.

-The bear Alex got in his stocking, which is pictured and has barely left his side (pardon the pun)
-The Biggest Littlest Pet Shop

-witnessing the magic of childish wonder in the faces of two special little people and wanting to preserve that age forever.
-the aftermath pile of rubbish and packaging.
-the car ploughing into the fence across the road and fleeing the scene.... "Merry Christmas".
-missing people back home and vowing never to spend Christmas away from them again...well that is the hope.
-One of my best friends ringing from Australia to tell me she is pregnant.
-Christmas in Canada - that is special in itself.


-having one of my articles published in the Vancouver Sun...first of many (scoff).
-making lamingtons for Alex's preschool party and them being a sloppy soupy brown disaster!
-CHOCOLATE!

Hope you were able to make many happy memories of your own.

fullness in the emptiness

The last Christmas I spent in Australia was a sad one.

My Grandpa died on the evening of December 20th 2004, and was not laid to rest until after the holidays, almost a week later.

At that point, we weren't to know that it would be our last Christmas in our former home, but there it is...that was the last Australian Christmas we had.

Understandably, everyone who attended was a little shell shocked.

My Grandpa suffered a brief unprecedented bout with cancer....and was suddenly gone.

My Mum had planned a great big family Christmas at her house, that year. "It would be the first year that everyone, on both sides of the family, would be there" - she had enthused.... but it wasn't to be.

In the end, given the circumstances, the Christmas she had planned, was cancelled. The family she longed to unite and see celebrating, never arrived. Instead, we all broke off into out immediate family groups, and had our Christmases separately.

My house became "the venue" for our family. Everyone in attendance that day, had recently lost a pivotal male figure. My Gran - her husband; My Mum - her Father; my Dad - his Father who had also died earlier in that same year; my brother and myself - a wonderful pair of Grandfathers; my children - Great Grandfathers.

And so, on that day, a day for familyand celebrating; for fullness and love; a day of plenty and of joy; we also felt the very contradictory, yet overwhelming, feelings of emptiness, strangeness, sadness and in a way, paralysis.

The pendulum of life swings back and forth with even consistency. And with every journey that pendulum takes, at one point, it always must return to centre; neither back... neither forth, but momentarily is relieved of all momentum, and is balanced.

Sometimes the heavy aspects of life seem to dominate. Sometimes the lighter moments of joy appear so unreachable and distant, that we can draw no strength; no hope and no inspiration from its memory or influence. But the lighter moments do still remain, just wait until the pendulum swings forth once again, as it inevitably will.

There will be many an empty chair at family dinner tables these holidays, but where there is emptiness there is also a potential to see fullness - look a little harder, a little deeper...perhaps try widening the perspective.

2004 was also the year my daughter was born.

As long as we remember those who are not physically present, then in some small way, we open our grieving hearts wide enough, to let our lost loved ones share in and enjoy a place at every celebration. For once claimed, no one can truely escape our open heart.

sick people

I have a house of sick people at the moment. Ashley brought home some nasty thing the other week and now we all have it.

Unfortunately for Olivia it has turned to pneumonia. Thankfully we caught it before it got too bad. I just couldn't get that darn temperature down.

The lovely people at Delta Hospital were fantastic and there wasn't even any wait this time. They even gave her a teddy bear to hold and take home after her treatment.

Reluctantly she is taking a course of antibiotics. We also have the fever controlled now. so with fingers tightly crossed, we all hope to be well enough to kick up our heels come Christmas Day.

I hope everyone keeps safe and fighting fit this Christmas.

published

I am backdating this blog, because I felt a little funny about it at the time, but I have a bit of a secret....
My article Perpetuating Myth was published in Tuesday's edition of the Vancouver Sun.

With the encouragement of some lovely friends and readers I took the plunge and submitted it and they accepted it for a special they ran through the week about Christmas memories.

It was a bit of a coincidence really, right place at the right time and all that. Nevertheless, I was happy, when told my article was going to be published, but a bit mortified when I actually saw it in print and with my name beside it for all to see.

I am OK about it now. I have mustered the courage and have ventured out of the house, and no one has thrown rotten tomatoes at me. Not sure why I felt they would....it is not like I know anyone around here!

Well I thought I would share that piece of news, and offer my thanks to all who encouraged me to give mass media a shot. Thank you.

Over commercialised

So you think that Christmas has become a tad too over commercialised, nothing is sacred, retailers will do anything in order to make a quick buck? Well, the following should provide plenty of ammo to back up your argument, but this is likely the one thing no one will be wanting to unwrap this Christmas!

I didn't write this stuff, but I thought you might like to read this ridiculous justification for throwing hard earned cash down the crapper - pardon the pun.

If you're of the Christmas-celebrating persuasion, surely you've already spent months ensuring your little angel baby will be perfectly coiffed this season, with a different fabulous outfit for every party, every family dinner, every opportunity to be fawned over in public. But have you considered the diaper?
Trust one who's been there, got annoyed at that: That little licensed character on your Baby-Dris is not what you want peeking out from under T2 corduroys or velour skirts in your otherwise perfect holiday snapshots.
The Christmas Wrapping Pantlets available at Baby Dagny are a godsend, at least until little girls learn to stop pulling their dresses over their heads. Pull them on over that ugly diaper and instead, your exhibitionist children will treat the relatives to a festive, 100% cotton print resembling vintage wrapping paper.
For just $18 a pair, we say, deck the tushies!

$18 a pair!!!!! You have got to be kidding. Who, in their right mind, would possibly consider EVER buying such a needless, pointless item. And to the person who was "annoyed" that the character picture on their child's diaper could be seen in a family Christmas photo...my advice is - GET OVER IT !

Where is the eye roll icon when you need it?

Mother's worst fear

I took the kids to gymnastics today...yes,we are still going, I think this activity might be a stayer - Hooray!
Afterwards I was in the change room layering the kids in the necessary winter garb, ready for the mad chilly dash to the car. I noticed a woman with two young boys, doing the same. She was dressing the youngest one, who was perhaps 2 and a half, while the older boy, perhaps 5, announced he was going off to the bathroom. Now I don't know what took place in the moments in between, but as I was walking out into the centre foyer, I happened to see the same woman, minus the youngest child, but now with a sheer look of terror on her face....she could not find her young boy.
She asked everyone if they had seen her child, "blond hair, blue eyes, answers to the name Noah". But, no one had seen him.
She begins frantically calling his name, centre staff guard the door to prevent any motherless child or suspicious adult from leaving. Other parents joined in the search, we don't know this boy, but we can imagine or might even know that same feeling of dread when our own child has disappeared out of sight. They do not answer our bleating call. They do not rush back to sooth our panicked voice. They do not suddenly emerge into slight when a sea of people begin to disperse.The mother, fearing the worst, runs outside into a cold gale which threatens snow, and begins calling her child's name with wild abandon...nothing. We scour every toilet stall; the ice rink; the ice rink stands; the centre corridors; the stair wells and every inch of the gym.
The mother is now out of her mind with worry; eyes darting, mind racing, disbelieving how this could have happened. We can almost hear her thoughts, "but I withdrew my eyes for only a second.... just a second. Forgive me for that one second of neglect. Please return my son to me".
It is cruel and unfair, but that can truly be all it takes for a mother's worst fear to be realised.
Having searched the entire premises, we start over again - he simply HAS to be here - we all want him found.
Finally a staff member, a gymnastics coach, finds the little boy. He was there all along, hiding from his heart sick mother behind the girls change room door. Mother and Son reunite. We watch the mother run to her boy, arms outstretched and then drawing her child tightly into the empty cavity in her chest...the only antidote for this kind of broken heart. We hear the mother lovingly scold the child, "what were you thinking, I was worried sick", before we leave them alone together...to breathe.
The little boy need take just one look at the agony written over his mothers face and glance into her misty eyes to know that he should never EVER try that again.... and I doubt he will.

perpetuating myth

Why do we really perpetuate the myth of Santa Claus?

I remember when I was in grade 3; it was almost Christmas time, and also the end of the school year. I was in my class room, talking with some school friends about plans for the coming holidays and what Father Christmas might bring us. I remember our conversation being filled with great anticipation, and our minds oozing with excitement, magic and fantasy. That is, until Nola Bennier wrestled her way into our discussion and snuffed out a magic that was reserved for children, but conspired, conjured and indulged in, by adults...

"Father Christmas is NOT real", she blabbed.

This meant WAR!

"How would YOU know?" began the rapid fire.

"Yeah, how would YOU know?"

" Yeah? "

"YEAHHHHHH!"

This was largely the sum of our counter attack.

Then the unexpected reply...the reply that won the war for Nola. The reply that ultimately burst the fantastical bubble for all who heard her damning words of truth....

"My Mum told me!", she announced smugly.

Her Mum told her...

We were speechless...there was nothing left to say. Although David, with courage enough to question the words supposedly spoken by a parent, staged a last ditch effort to salvage the doubt that is really at the basis of our feeble beliefs - the what-if-there-really-is-a-Santa doubt, that ensures a child will hang onto such beliefs because they inspire the imagination, either that or for fear that Santa might not come if we were to disbelieve and announce him a fraud, a fake, a phony, or even a CONSPIRACY development by parents to control and manipulate innocent young kiddies into being on their best behaviour and help out during the flurry of Christmas preparation! Ok... not likely words from a seven year old, but I am sure you get the picture.

"Well, if Santa is not real, then who puts the presents under the tree", says David, thinking this will surely stump Nola Bennier.

"Mum buys the presents at the shop and my Mum and Dad put them under the tree when we are asleep."

And with that, the fantasies and the magical possibilities that were scripted into our child-like Christmases, were crushed and then evaporated into the plume of illusion that they always were.

Silence....Nola walked away, leaving us with the tragic wreckage of what had been our lively discussion only moments before.

Did we feel jibbed? Did we feel angry at our parents for the deception? Did we feel we had to rush home and question them about the truth and plead to know why they had conjured up this ridiculous fabrication? No, not really, but once the shock of Nola's confession had subsided, we were angry! But not at our parents, because deep down, I think we knew that the whole Santa thing was just slightly unrealistic, but then again, Santa IS magic right? We were mostly angry at Nola for repeating her mothers confessions - to us. We didn't ask HER if Santa was real - she volunteered the information. We were blissfully happy with our delusions - THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

I know I didn't rush home to confirm the tragic news with my parents, and I don't think my friends ever raised the issue again, or to anyone else....well, until now that is.

I think the real magic of the whole Santa myth is the excitement and creativity, along with the fantasy and nurturing that our parents give us through their attempt to perpetuate a similar Christmas fantasy that was perhaps theirs, when they were children.

As a parent, we start off the idea of Santa very early.usually with the child's first Christmas. We show the child Santa, perhaps in the mall. We tell the child that Santa will be visiting on Christmas Eve. As the child gets older, they start asking questions, like..."we don't have a chimney, so how will Santa get in our house"? "How does Santa know where I live?" "How do his reindeers fly?" "What do you mean the Diego Rescue 4X4 is out of stock? Santa will make me one in his workshop...won't he?"

Such questions require creative answers that fill the child's mind with possibility, magic and wonderment...or a pack of lies, as Nola's Mum would suggest. It is a tradition- right, wrong or indifferent- for parents to subscribe to the Santa myth, and nurture that sapling idea. It is not what Christmas is ultimately about, I know that. But the original nativity suggests the miraculous, a long journey made by important people bearing gifts, and a gift to the world laid out for all creatures, both great and small, to partake in, not just on Christmas Day but for always, whenever the story of hope, peace, magic and miracles is remembered within us. Perhaps the Santa myth is nothing more than capitalist inspired hoopla, or perhaps it opens the door of possibility for children, who first know magic and miracle through the idea of Santa, and are then able to adhere similarly outlandish concepts of possibility, hope and belief to both a troubled real world, and also into the realms of glorious spirit.

Social Butterfly

I had a bit of a social weekend.
I did have three occasions but a sick child meant the cancellation of one, but never mind, we can always re-schedule.

I went to a friend's house for a lovely lunch on Friday. I chatted with my friend as the kids played, it was so nice to do that. We discussed needs and pains, and we vowed that we would support each other in our apparent isolation as full-time migrant mothers, and gift each other with some unprompted, unannounced "time out"...because we both agreed that it is so hard to ask for help, feeling we are burdening someone else with what we felt were entirely our own responsibilities. So, I would like to kick it off soon, to show my commitment to what we had discussed. I think one of us just has to bite the proverbial bullet and make the first deposit into the "favour bank" or it may never happen.

The evening was spent entertaining a fellow Aussie who was in town for a couple of nights only. He and Ashley had worked together in Australia, although I had never had the pleasure of meeting him prior to Friday; not that he hadn't already made his impression on me...which was annoying, basically.

He is a bit of a ditherer, who panics about all aspects of decision making and responsibility. He is the kind of person who will ring at 6am with a burning - can't wait until a civilized hour - question. The itch, that is his query or point of contention, must simply be relieved then and there, and any consideration of other peoples lives or their need for sleep, must seem inconsequential in relation to the discomfort his worry must be causing him. For it could be the wee small hours of the morning, the middle of the night, minutes after Ashley's plane has touched the tarmac after weeks of working along side this bloke, Christmas day lunch, Sunday church, your best friends wedding...who cares - everything else palls in comparison to his apparent emergency! ...sigh.

This bloke resides in a different state, which is why I hadn't had the pleasure of meeting him before, but I had picked up the phone to his rude and abrupt demand to speak with Ashley - pronto..."Ashley there"! There would be no hello, no small talk...BLOODY RUDE and I hoped he could feel the agitation in my reply as I bit down on my own tongue to prevent me from spitting at him, "How about a HELLO and a PLEASE shit-for-brains?" But Ashley would always try to sooth this guys pains like a mother hen tending to her chicks, so I figured if he could put up with this guys constant and often needless and over-exaggerated panic attacks, then the least I could do was be civil and pass the phone over quietly. So when, last week, I was informed that this guy was in town and would be coming over for dinner. I was a bit blazae - "Oh HIM.... I suppose".


I actually love entertaining. I hate cooking as a general day to day rule. But I do enjoy making a bit effort when the need arises or making special things. I enjoy more, the talk and discussion after the meal...so beware all who dare venture over for a couple of nights in February...I expect CONVERSATION....and chocolate! That was a JOKE.


Anyway, I met the guy. He didn't look ANYTHING like the guy I had conjured up in my mind. He was polite and didn't talk obsessively about work like I had been warned that he would do.
He had done some house renos of his own, so he was interested to see and hear what we had done. He wanted to hear what life is like over here in Canada, since he is contemplating taking a job over here. He was also fascinated by the snow and wanted to see what it was like the week before after the deluge, since, like us, he had never experienced snow. He even confessed that he needs to pull on a sweater when the mercury plummets to a foul 17 degrees...that IS Celsius people (North American eye rolls permitted).


Well, at the completion of the night I must say, I enjoyed myself. Perhaps I was just happy to hear a familiar accent, or perhaps it was the joy of having someone over, and discussing life matters with another human being. Regardless, I had a good time and if ever he is in town, he is welcome to visit us again - anytime. As for the bleary eyed rummage in the dark for the phone, well that IS another matter entirely!

Chocolate soothes the savage beast

Ashley and I had been talking about it for months ... okay years...well, it is not like we have not taken action over that time - we have, moments in between were just a little fleeting, thats all. I am talking about the cutting down of desserts. In fact all sweets in general. We love 'em.

Many an evening, when the kids are safely in bed asleep, or out of ear shot, we have broken out a block of chocolate to go with a hot cup of coffee, or delved out a fine selection of hand chosen delectables to compliment the odd glass of red wine or champers...Mmmmmm.......

We are terrible really, and it had been getting WAY out of hand. So, it was time to do the responsible, honourable, the mature...the only right thing, and sever the source of addictive joy. "So what?" I hear you say, "a little chocolate is supposed to be good for you. It is FULL of antioxidants and .... ummm...stuff". Yes, I believe that study commissioned by Cadbury's did only suggest...a little chocolate. Unlike my parents, who seem to have the will-power of the enlightened, and ration themselves to ONE chocolate an evening, Ashley and I are incapable of eating "a little" chocolate. In fact, we more likely to ration ourselves to one BLOCK of chocolate an evening. You see the problem here folks?

Well over the course of the past month or so, we have scaled back the consumption. At first I only bought a limited chocolate supply, and then no chocolate supply and now I haven't any form of processed, pre-packaged sweets in the house at all. If we want some, we have to drive all the way to the store in the cold and dark to buy it, or I have to go to the effort and bake something, which isn't all that bad an idea really. But of course, Ashley and I thank dearly and kindly, all the blessed souls who sent chocolates for my recent birthday...they went down mighty fine. What? I didn't say we wouldn't eat chocolate IF it happened to somehow come into our possession. I was simply saying that I was limiting the on tap supply - the readiness of its access. Chocolate should not be considered a staple like bread and milk...well, not by us anyway, for the chocolate would likely disappear before the first slice of bread were even buttered.

So what gain have we in limiting some of life's simple pleasures..."where is the joy in such cruel dull restriction". Well, I can sleep better not having had a belly full of caffeine ladened delights and that has a flow on effect that makes the angels sing...beautiful restful sleep - Arrrhhh! The downside is that I have been a little cranky this week, without the usual buoying effect of that afternoon sugar prop, that that will pass. Although, having said that, today I went to the neighbours house to welcome the new baby girl - Ella Samantha ..... and they just so happened to be giving their well wishers chocolate "mint meltie" cigars.... Mmmm oh my, does chocolate ever soothe the deprived soul of the savage beast - yes indeed. (Oops!)

A break from the ordinary

We went to Ashley's work Christmas party Friday night - the mother of all Christmas parties. Get this; 700 people were in attendance- that's a lot of people!

I was very excited to go. I was talking with a friend earlier in that day; a person who also happens to be a full time carer of the kids. He was saying he was feeling a bit lost; a bit like he had no time to himself, and completely out of depth and practice when it came to conversing with adults, since all his time was spent with the kids, in one form or another - well I hear ya...completely.

I could relate to each and every thing he had to say on this matter and also the things he didn't say.... the self conscious stance, the looking down at the ground as he spoke, the hesitation to admit, in his voice. He was saying the often unsaid..."I love my kids, but...." .

Someone once told me, when you include "but" in the middle of a sentence, it cancels out the good things you have said before the "but". I often think of that claim when I use the word "but" in a sentence, and while it does seem to be a truism in some cases, i.e. "I am not a racist, but...", I don't really think it can be said for all uses, and I don't believe this word "but", in the present context, is really so powerful... so brutal that it can transform many a fragile thought, tentatively nestled in the arms of the self-conscious, into offensive weapons - I love my kids, but...." hmmmm...... I guess both statements, the racist's and the parent's, are using the word "but" with similar caution; perhaps feeling, deep down, that they really shouldn't be saying that which follows the word "but", regardless of the statement's legitimacy or illegitimacy.

"I love my kids, but I am damn tired". That is legitimate enough. So is; "I love my kids, but I do need some time to devote to my own requirements". Perhaps my friend was suggesting that one shouldn't need to justify their feelings, thoughts or wants with the prelude of "but". "I NEED A BREAK!" If we do our best, day in, day out, when we know that we have given our all, time and time again, when we know that others CAN help us take the necessary break so we can carry on, we don't need to justify our needs with a "but"....we DO love our kids, we DO appreciate our jobs, we ARE grateful for what we have in life...sometimes, we just need some moments of refreshment - whatever that might entail.

I offered to look after the kids of that friend, while he attends a conference out of town. He needs it- I recognise that in him. I, on the other hand, had a refreshing night out at Ashley's Christmas party. I yakked my head off all night...I think the bumbling idiot might have finally left home. I wasn't even nervous, there was no tightness in my stomach about attending a function with "people" (god forbid). I was calm throughout (how unusual), perhaps toastmasters has paid off after all - fancy that!!!!

I hardly knew anyone at the dinner, and frankly I couldn't have cared less. I was just craving adult communication. For me, that was my break, to take a step back into the adult world, to glimpse a few of the vast examples of life and experience that wind and twist around and beyond the realms of my four safe walls, like English Ivy.

I got to speaking with a variety of interesting people. I was seated next to our friend Bruce - which was lovely to start off with....he is, proudly, a very odd person, which is what everyone loves about this sweet man. I also spoke to an Aussie guy - who told me he was "rooted" - which, for the untrained ear, is crass Australian for being rather intoxicated...I won't go into the layer and blue specifics concerning the terminology, and believe me, you'll be glad I didn't! Nevertheless, I laughed at the shared understanding we had, which had been got solely from the fortune of cultural experience. I told him to "try that phrase with the Canadians"....I imagine blank stares would have only greeted him.

Not so long ago, the founder of the company Ashley works for, died....

There was a tribute video made about Mr Craig Dobbin's life, which was shown at the party, Friday night. It was both inspirational and moving. I had never met the man, but the video demonstrated a life fully lived; with passion, dynamism, a loving family buoying him through both tranquil and turbulent times...he appeared also to have lived with few regrets. The sound track to the tribute was "My Way" by Frank Sinatra, and certainly, it was very fitting.

The thing that grabbed me most, as I marvelled at what this man had achieved, was how he had touched peoples lives; inspired their love, admiration and loyalty; and how he had excited so many people to get involved in his projects and visions.

A quote appeared on the screen at the end of the tribute - I am uncertain of its source; whether adopted for the moment or whether it were something Mr Dobbin had uttered in his life time - it went something like this:

"When I come to the end of my life, I should hope I have nothing left to give ... for I hope I had used all that God gave me".

This quote has resonated in me, and right now I am feeling a little confused. I hope I am being all I can be at this point in time, but when I consider the achievements of people, both the greats and the seemingly ordinary, I have to wonder....is this really ALL I can be?