Blogging is Cheaper than Therapy

Okay Wow.

2012-02-15T19:43:00.000-08:00

I had no idea about renovations. I thought it was busy before. I thought once we completed the gargantuan task of moving everything off the main level of the house, it would be smooth sailing. It is a full time job keeping on top of who is coming when and being available for impromptu meetings.

Oh and we spend a lot of time doing this:

Then of course there are the decisions. The fireplace of our dreams did not fit into the existing chase. And expanding the chase was deemed "too big of a job" by our project manager. You know it IS a big job when your PM doesn't even want to give you a quote on it. Luckily, we were prepared for this eventuality and had 3 fireplaces chosen and ranked in priority. Unluckily, none of our three choices worked and we spent (yet another) afternoon researching, measuring and choosing our fireplace. This bend in the road did save us over $1000.

Which is good because when they pulled up the existing flooring, they discovered 2 things. First, the sub floor is OSB and not plywood as expected. OSB is what the old schoolers might call chip board. I thought this was merely an interesting and quirky tidbit of news. Turns out you cannot nail hardwood to chipboard and even floating floors (cork) that we plan to put in the kitchen-family room, will float a little too much. Solution? About 1400 square feet of plywood.

The second thing they discovered is that the levelness is best described and rolling hills and will required additional labour to even out the highs and lows. While both these things did hit our budget, they were within what we may have expected from some snag or another and the pain was eased by the fireplace savings.

In week 1 they completed all the demolition, most of the reframing, the plumbing, the electrical and the installation of the new fireplace. Week 2 was all about drywall, which thankfully is now done and, more importantly, cleaned up.

Now, we are about to embark on the fun stuff. Stone on both of our fireplaces will be installed on Friday. The cabinets are to be installed Friday/Saturday. Next week is flooring, which will require a lot of puppy Xanax for Finnegan as that is a lot of nail gunning for one already traumatized doggy to endure.

New progress photos posted below.

Renovation Progress.

2012-02-15T19:30:00.000-08:00

WEEK 3

Kitchen almost ready for cabinets:

Yes, an actual pantry!

Family Room (painting finished here):

New fireplace!

Dining room (new colour):

For the children of the 70's, a very Brady bathroom:

I will post more frequent updates in the next while as more is happening.

DEMOLITION

BEFORE

Kitchen

Fry Kitchen (to become a pantry)

Family Room

Living Room

The fireplace that was.

Dining Room

Pillars are going.

Den

Hallway

Powder Room

My Kitchen

2012-02-01T09:13:00.000-08:00

When we were looking for a new house six years ago, we wanted one thing more than anything else: aabigger more functional kitchen. We looked at many houses in several communities and saw many kitchens that would have been a vast improvement over our last kitchen.

When we saw the house we now live in. It was perfect. Close to a bus stop. Lots of room ... too much room we thought at the time. It had an extra bedroom for guests, a huge master bed room, en suite bath and walk-in closet, a shop for Husband, an embarrassment of riches in the bathroom department (3.5), a lovely living room/ dining room, a large family room off the kitchen, two fireplaces, a main floor office and nice-sized laundry room. It had windows and light and ample rooms and spacious hallways. It had it all.

Except we had the same kitchen as the last house. Only with a gas range. But, we told ourselves, we will improve upon it. In two years, maybe four. It's been six, and I bid my final farewell to the kitchen.

Things I won't miss about the kitchen

1. Appliance congestion:

2. White enamel sink that only looks white after

30 minutes of cleaningwith the right tools and cleaners:

3. Over mount sink:

Things I will miss about the kitchen:

1. Our history there.

(the demolition crew insisted we keep this board even when I insisted it could go into the bin)

Therapy. By Renovation.

2012-01-29T14:43:00.000-08:00

Many may be wondering to what do I owe my absence from blogging in 2012. Well, as all may know 2011 was a stressful year for all the wrong reasons. My Mom's worsening health and her death in May. Grieving and standing my my Dad as he relocated from the family home of 23 years to a condo. Husband had some job uncertainty and then mid year started working two half jobs. Anyone that has ever done this knows that two halves do not make a whole.

So, what deep end did we dive into for 2012?

Yup, we are renovating. We have long wanted to rejig our kitchen. It's very tight, especially as a 2 person kitchen. Anyone washing dishes at the sink risks nerve damage on the back of their knees if anyone dares to open the dishwasher. If the fridge door is open all are captive inside the kitchen. Don't even think about opening the stove and the dishwasher at the same time.

While we were at it, we thought we would put hardwood floors in the rest of the main floor. And address the other 2 issues we have always disliked about the house. The pillars in the dining room. They are really just very large paper towel rolls. They impede traffic and, I think, don't look right:

Finally the fireplace in the living room. For all the extra angles on the mantle and extraneous drywall, it has never looked right.

So the past 2 months really, we have been making decisions. Some are easier than other.

Funnily enough, and from the photos above, you can see the toughest nut to crack was the paint. We needed to work with the red couch and love seat in the living room. So we thought a coppery red colour. Only the ibe we picked didn't go with couch. We tried a lighter reddy version. But that was really just 80's peach. We went even redder but we thought that much red in one room screamed bordello. So we finally found a coppery, browny, red, very muted which, God willing, will work.

In the family room kitchen, we really thought the blue, purpley, possbly aqua family would work. But we had a hard time finding a colour that would go with what ever version of reddy brown we found. So we tried a few greens and a yellow before finding a very muted bluey-purple that goes with the muted red we found quite well.

Of course the biggest challenge this week is moving everyone off our our main floor. Fortunately, we had sizaeable basement to stash a lot of furnature. We have a far-too-large guest room, the kids have dubbed the 'echo room' which is piled high and wide. We have made a cozy and functional space in the basement with a temporary kitchen and family room.

The next 7 weeks should be interesting. March 14th, it is supposed to all be done.

Long. Division.

2012-01-27T12:31:00.000-08:00

You will note in grade 5, I have not written a lot about Mommy vs. J Boy homework battles that were the norm last year.

That is because Jackson has had very little homework. When he does, it is small in volume. It does usually generate 17 requests to do said homework, followed by 12 statements that he is to attend to his homework, followed by 7 demands and usually a couple Mommy-tantrums, but you know, compared to last year, that is a piece of cake.

But this past weekend, a three day weekend for the kids, he had a boatload of long division. And the unfortunate circumstance that he had not been taught how to do long division since he was out of the class for math for an optional programme (that he loves) for the two days when the explanations had happened.

Fortunately for him, math was the best subject in school of both his parents. Unfortunately for him, they don't do math that way any more. What this means is the old school parents have to read the text book to relearn how to do long division the new way. With a textbook called Math Makes Sense, and with about a dozen years of university study between them, a law degree, a Ph.D and many, many years of balancing a checkbook, you would expect he would be in good hands.

He wasn't. We don't get the new math. And Jackson definitely does not get the old math. Frankly, he doesn't like us teaching him anything.

So we approach this task with a dose of yes-you-are-doing-your-homework, just enough I-know-this-is-unfair, a liberal amount of you-are-so-smart-enough with a constant refrain of you-need-long-division-to-get-through-life and an occasional it-doesn't-count-if-you-use-the-calculator-on-your-iPod.

Jackson did storm off occasionally and I found he had put his feelings into art:

One has to at least been impressed with the math he did. He got as high as 80 times Mommy ruined his life. And we haven't hit the teen years yet.

Lunch. Monitor.

2012-01-27T11:23:00.000-08:00

(Wow. Have I really not been here since New Year's? Hang on to your hats ... doing a bit of catch up)

There is nothing, not even snow days, that Jackson has looked forward to at school, more than being a lunch monitor.

It is a grade 5 job at his school. There are many cool jobs in grade 5 but Jackson wanted nothing to do with the leadership team or office monitors. He wanted to be a lunch monitor.

He was slightly devastated when he was not chosen in the first term. But after Christmas he came home with the excellent news that he was to be the referee, overseer, proctor and juice box opener for a grade 2/3 split.

There are 2 basic jobs for monitors:

1. Keep the class under control and in their seats.

2. Open yogurt tubes, cookies packages, juice boxes etc. as required.

To be perfectly frank, I wasn't sure how Jackson would do at this job. He is not very good at opening packaging. And he is not that assertive with anyone he doesn't share a household with (where he freely, loudly and repeatedly shares his opinions.)

Now, it must be known that Jackson has a checkered history when it comes to being monitored. When he was in grade 1, his class was not behaving very well, to put it mildly, and disrespecting the two class monitors. They were read the riot act by their teacher. The next day, the teacher had high expectations in light of her having laid down the law. One of the monitors had something to say to Jackson. Jackson committed the unpardonable sin and responded to the monitor with the heinous and unforgivable response: "whatever".

This was treated as the first class felony it obviously was. He was spoken to by his teacher. He was given the option of giving an in-person apology or writing a note to the monitor over the weekend. There was a note written in his planner advising his parents of his infraction, in addition to a phone call home. On a Friday night. I half expected police officers to knock on the door to administer a lecture. And for him to receive two demerit points on his driver's license.

When Jackson returned to school on Monday with his rather grudgingly-written apology note, he took consolation that he would have not to do what he was most mortified to do: apologize in person. That was all the leverage I had: write the note or apologize in person. When he returned to school he had to hand deliver his note WITH a personal apology as well. Suffice it to say, that Jackson from then on was a model citizen for his monitors.

So the first day on the other side of the monitoring equation Jackson had a difficult beginning. He met monitoring nemesis, I'll call him "Walker" for his propensity to walk. And not sit. Jackson and his monitor-mate, H arrived at the class. They were still letting kids in the door from outside when Walker walked out of the classroom and roamed the halls. Now, it must be known that Walker is a handful even according to his seasoned teacher. So, not surprisingly, he tested the boundaries with the new meat.

What was perhaps more surprising was that the entire class ran after Walker (according to Jackson -- admittedly it may have seemed like this, but I doubt it was the entire class). The way Jackson described it, it was like trying to herd scattering mice back into the classroom. H and Jackson and the adult paid lunch supervisors and a couple teachers were all chasing after various grade 2's and 3's until the ducklings were all back in their nest.

That first night, we discussed the challenges of monitoring and maintaining control. In an ironic twist, I gave him some of my best parenting advice, gleaned from the years of trying to parent HIM. You can use an increasingly firm voice without yelling or getting angry. We talked about the need for control of the class, but that he did not need to get to the bottom of every squabble (or else the tattle-taling will increase exponentially). He won't solve every conflict and that he needs to remember his ultimate goal is to keep the kids in their seats with a tolerable volume. We talked about the need to be right on top of Walker. I told him to keep an eye on him right when he walks into the class and nip any wandering in the bud, as it is easier with some kids to catch things earlier, rather than later.

Following that, daily I asked Jackson for a 'monitor update' and he would regale me with stories of how Walker refused to sit at his desk for longer than 20 seconds. Jackson also said that his monitor-mate H was some sort of Kreskin when it came to opening up lunch packaging, so their duties had become divided with Jackson taking on the classroom control and H. touring the class in releasing lunch items from their packaging.

Some days Jackson would report "The class behaved really well today. Even Walker." More often the report was "The class behaved really well. Except Walker." But Jackson and Walker had this little dance worked out where Walker would wander. Jackson would ask him to return to his seat. He would. Then re-wander. Jackson would re-request. etc. etc. until lunch was over.

Jackson had several days when Walker was not in school and those days were pretty easy. There was a dreaded 'inside lunch' day where their monitoring duties were 60 minutes instead of 20 minutes and Jackson learned from the other side of the table, the virtue of letting kids burn off a bit of energy. The class energy was high and the noise level constantly rising, but the class seemed to quieten down with reminders (and seemed to just get louder anytime a lunch supervisor or teacher walked by).

But I think the most telling interchange between Jackson and Walker came about a week into the deployment. Walker, it must be known, is very, very tall. And he is in grade 2. Jackson is ... not tall. Walker is not only taller than Jackson but outweighs him by a significant margin. They were doing their usual dance and Jackson asked Walker to return to his seat.

Walker said a taunting tone meant to incite a reaction,"Why should I Grader one-er?"

"Walker, would you please return to your seat."

"Are you in kindergarten or grade 1?"

"Walker, please return to your seat?"

"How do you get to be a monitor in grade 1?"

"Walker, you need to return to your seat."

"Shut up, kindergartner!!"

With that final salvo, Walker returned to his seat.

(I pause to note that the "shut up" infraction yielded nothing, compared to the school resources that were thrown at the "whatever" remark some four years earlier. The student vs. monitor infractions, it seems, are enforced a little unevenly.)

And the most amazing part, according to Jackson's account, is that Jackson remained calm. And he achieved his goal of getting Walker to return to his seat.

The student had clearly surpassed the teacher. I very much doubt I would have had that kind of self-control.

New Year's Eve

2012-01-02T10:06:00.000-08:00

New Year's Eve traditions.

#1: Everyone gets a gift

#2: We play games

(I played as well, but we needed wide angle lens to capture my girth)

#3: Everyone drinks from wine glasses.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Twenty Eleven

2011-12-31T18:00:00.000-08:00

A look back ...

Off to Brownie camp!

Snow!!

2 man bob sleigh:

Who does not love a new haircut?

Happy Birthday to Me!

Easter!

Easter with Oma and Opa.

Always room for one more in the bed!

Gymnastics!

Mother's Day Weekend

May 28, 2011:

Girls' Weekend in San Francisco!

(Lombard Street)

Waterfight!!

Father's Day:

Jackson scores a LARGE basket of candy in a raffle:

Last Day of School:

Alaska Cruise!

Summer pedis:

Poolside!

Happy First Birthday Finnegan!

Summer in Whistler

Guess who had a lot of baths this year?

Chessmasters:

First Day of School:

Guess Who is 8??

Halloween:

Remembrance Day:

Happy tenth!!

Hanging out:

Christmas 2011:

Looking at the pictures of the year makes me grateful for what I have, rather that sad for who I have lost.

New Traditions.

2011-12-31T13:31:00.000-08:00

The firsts. Without Mom.

The first Thanksgiving. Her first birthday. And then, the big one: the First Christmas.

My Mom was all about Christmas. My Dad could tell tales of the Christmas stores he has visited all over the planet. Rarely did they come home from Switzerland, New Zealand or Nova Scotia without a new ornament for the tree. Or a candle, a table cloth. Or all three.

The tree, every year without fail was festooned with the ornaments, all having special meaning. Once the grandchildren came along, a new tradition began. Opa's ornament repairs. The kids would be drawn to the tree and Oma was careful to put the very enticing wood and ceramic decorations where the kids could find them. Invariably, Santa would lose an arm, a reindeer would lose an antler or a wise man would lose a crown. Oma was not fussed about it. She piled up the decoration carcases on the mantle for Opa to perform his miracles.

There were 10 special decorations always on the tree, 2 in honour of each grandchild. A special ornament was added to the tree every Christmas that a new child joined the family. The other five were tiny stockings that hung on the tree and were just big enough to hold a small chocolate bar or package of chocolate Smarties. The kids learned early to check the tree for a treat in their stocking. Oma was always careful to replenish for the next visit.

Some of the most precious ornaments were a set of 8 or 10 crystal ones. I don't remember where Mom bought them, but they were very precious to her. Every year when she was decorating her tree, she would carefully place each crystal one in front of a light to make them sparkle.

This year Dad's tree is a modest skinny four footer. We swapped trees this year. He took our kids tree, the one I let them decorate to their hearts content on the condition that they let me decorate the big tree, the one that sits in the front window, my way. The kids' tree fits well in Dad's condo. The kids now have Oma's tree to decorate. The kids and I went to help Opa decorate. A new tradition.

But some of Oma's special ornaments are on his tree. All the grandchildren's, several of the special crystal ones. When we sorted through the boxes and boxes of Christmas decorations, Opa was careful to keep the ones he thought most appeal to his grandkids.

On our big tree, I am very ~~obsessed~~ meticulous about the decorations. For years I had a red and silver motif. A couple years ago, I made the big switch to green and silver. Only decorations in the designated colour are allowed. This year, at times, I didn't feel like putting up a tree. I thought about doing Christmas light. Just putting out enough to make it Chirstmassy enough for the kids. In the end, it was go big or go home. I put on green. And silver. And red. The only other thing allowed on the Mommy tree were four of Oma's crystal ornaments. A new tradition.

Of course around the actual celebration of Christmas with my family, it might, I thought, be tough. It was a little different anyway since after 23 at my parents' home in West Vancouver, the gathering had a venue change. My older brother and his wife, the recipients of Mom's coveted Christmas dishes, hosted. A new tradition. (I am not sure if my brother and sister-in-law are aware we will be showing up on his doorstep on December 24th in perpetuity.)

I missed Mom the most on Christmas eve. Mom loved so much about celebrating Christmas together, but nothing like sitting in church with the whole family. We had to go early to find a pew that would accommodate all 13 of us. She loved sitting together. And introducing us to many of her friends afterwards. I missed her so much when we sang Away in a Manger. We sing it every Christmas eve. And I could almost hear her voice.

I may have completely lost myself in the moment had I not left the service to provide what comfort I could to Jackson as he lay down on the floor outside the men's washroom, writhing in gastrointestinal distress.

About a week before Christmas, Dad invited us all to his place on December 27th. He was to serve appetizers. It was the most fun I had all Christmas. The kids were busy playing with their new toys. The adults visited. And ate. And laughed. We started a new re-gifting tradition. Each adult brought a re-gifted item to the party and we drew numbers and played the trading game. It was much fun, with the most coveted item being a cow cookie jar. Cookies are removed from the cow's behind.

This new tradition felt really like a page had been turned for our family. It is one that Mom will never be part of. But somehow, I felt her there.

My Mom, last Christmas

Giving.

2011-12-29T14:03:00.000-08:00

If there is one thing that pleases me most about Christmas, apart from the ready availabity of cookies, egg nog good cheeses, it is how very much my kids enjoying the GIVING of Christmas.

Sydney wanted to open Jackson's present first.

He spent $10 of his own money on a beautiful gold necklace:

Daddy received his favourite chocolate:

Mommy a Christmas mug AND a gorgeous necklace:

Sydney had lovely gifts too and enjoyed equally, the giving.

A puzzle for Daddy:

An Christmas angel ornament for Mommy:

But what absolutely gave me misty eyes was Sydney's gift to Jackson.

This awesomeness of this Powerpoint presentation is beyond words

I could find to describe it:

"Complete package". She cracks me up every day.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

2011-12-25T11:18:00.000-08:00

SANTA CAME!! (just like always)

Opening stockings:

Opening gifts:

10 year old.

Lasers.

No brainer.

Sydney has the best expressions:

Especially when she gets what she has been talking about.

Nonstop.

For months.

(an American Girl doll.)

Finnegan, in the mix:

Who amoung us does not love a new bed?

Mommy gets a new mini tablet.

On account of the iTouch she dropped in the toilet:

An Angry Bird-ict

The official Christmas pyjammies photo:

Worst. Case. Scenario.

2011-12-25T10:47:00.000-08:00

Two phrases that should never be uttered in close proximity.

Christmas. Stomach virus.

I'll understand if some want to read no further.

It was all going really well. We left the house for Christmas celebrations with my family an astounding ten minutes earlier than planned. One of our party was a little miffed that he had to be torn away from a TV show on UFOs. Another seemed unusually sleepy for having enjoyed a sleep-in this morning.

We were still within our city limits when Sydney expelled the contents of her stomach in the most projectile of fashions. We were stunned.

We turned the ship around and recalculated our plan. We got Sydney settled on the couch on a thick layer of blankets and towels, bowl close at hand. Jackson and I headed to the party slightly belatedly. Husband was left with the patient and the floor of the car to clean. Husband and Sydney were going to lay low with Finnegan and they would join us later, health status permitting.

We enjoyed the usual Swiss fondue for dinner.

Jackson took a few photos and his cousins chased him to disarm him of his iPod.

Sydney was rallying on the home front and the quarantined part of our party planned to join us for present opening after church.

The Christmas eve message at church was just starting and when Husband texted that he and Sydney would not be coming for the present opening. I texted back that Jackson and I were at the back of the church: he had a stomach ache.

After church we made a hasty trip back to my brother's with a further recalculation of the evening. All our presents were assembled and Jackson and I headed home, hoping that we would not need the box lined with garbage bag, to catch the contents of Jackson's stomach. We did. We were 2 houses away from home. So close.

Husband, God bless him, started cleaning the van carpet. Turns out my lining of the box was rather imperfect. I am just glad we only have two kids and two vehicles.

But we are nothing if not resourceful. We opened presents over Skype.

We threw in more laundry. We got the Christmas ready for the morning.

And enjoyed a fuzzy navel. A large one. Each.

Further rounds of laundry and a relocation of the J Boy to a clean bed was required. Around two Jackson queried how there could be a cure for some cancers but not for whatever bug ailed him.

At 7, when the sleep had been far too brief and interrupted, the J Boy climbed into our bed saying he felt "half better". Around 8 we found Sydney feeling "100% awesome". We suggested checking out the presents and stockings might be a suitable distraction for Jackson. He rallied. All is well.

December 24th: To Do List

2011-12-24T13:17:00.000-08:00

I was extraordinarily pleased with myself on Monday. I packed up the kids, off from school, and in a semi-cooperative effort, we headed to the big grocery store and bought enough provisions to get us through the Christmas weekend. On Tuesday, I bought the last couple gift cards and picked up the Christmas Starbucks coffee supply. We were ready.

On Wednesday I remember I forgot to buy an appetizer for Christmas Eve. I picked that up Thursday on the way home from work, and renewed my self-congratulatory attitude.

On Friday I had play dates arranged for both kids. I received, belatedly, the last of the online shopping parcels and wrapped them. I took it easy Friday. I went to bed thinking this would be my to-do list for December 24th:

1. Get up.
2. Make coffee / have breakfast.
3. Have shower.
4. Get dressed.
5. Leave at 2 pm for Christmas Eve celebrations.

This looked totally do-able.

By the time I woke up this was my to-do list:

1. Get up.
2. Make coffee/ have breakfast.
3. Make nutty yam dish.
4. Wrap the gifts I forgot to wrap.
5. Go to pet store to buy treats and poo bags for Finnegan.
6. Find the kids' designated Christmas outfits.
7. Take picture of kids and puppy in front of tree. In designated Christmas outfit.
8. Blog.
9. Do 30 minutes on elliptical.
10. Assemble gifts and other items for Christmas Eve celebrations.
11. Have shower.
12. Get dressed.

Unfortunately, I had to add to list

2a. Knock over glass bowl while reaching for breakfast.
2b. Clean up glass all over pantry (thanks to Husband for doing this one!!)

3a. Search in vain for recipe for nutty yams
3b. Call girlfriend for recipe.
3c. Call father to walk him through Mom's recipe collection to find nutty yam recipe.

4a. Wrap my own gifts from Husband.

6a. Argue with Jackson over appropriate pants for Christmas designated outfit.

7a. Convince kids and puppy they want their picture taken. That one took the longest:

I know, the enthusiasm is infections.

It is all done. Including the exercise, thank you very much.
And I really am ready.
Merry Christmas!!

That. Was. Fast.

2011-12-24T11:52:00.000-08:00

Almost to the minute, a week after having a heart-to-heart with Jackson about the reality of Santa, Husband returned to the house with the kids after a brief outing.

Jackson was about to jump out of his skin. Husband was skittish. Sydney was near tears.

"Is Santa real?" she questioned.

I take it this came up on the car ride home. Jackson was ~~threatened~~ sworn to secrecy, Husband wasn't sure what to say, so to Sydney's displeasure, she was told she had to discuss this with Mommy.

Since I am so incredibly good at this parenting stuff, Sydney and I retired to a quiet corner of the house for a discussion. She is generally much easier to ~~manipulate~~ read, so I thought I would have this under control in a few minutes.

I opened with "you have to decide for yourself" but realized we were far, far beyond that. I ran the gamut I had visited a week earlier but what had taken Jackson 90 minutes with a lot of meaningful back and forth, took her about 90 seconds. Before I knew it, our Santa innocence was lost forever.

I was nostalgic for a moment, like when I hold a tiny baby and I remember those special days with my kids. But then I always remember the sleepless nights, relentless feedings, the hours of planning required for a brief trip to the mall.

And then I felt relief.

Christmas just got a lot simpler. No threats of staying up all night, minding my words all year long so I don't say something like "we got you that for Christmas" only to be me with "no you didn't Mommy, Santa did!"

We'll still enjoy a little HO HO HO in our Christmas, but it will take it's rightful place in the festivities that begins with celebrating the birth of Christ, includes family gatherings, games, singing, cooking, eating and savouring the memories of Christmas past.

Santa Scrutiny

2011-12-17T21:52:00.000-08:00

If there is one question that has dominated the proverbial watering hole around here in December, you know when we're not exuding joy, peace and love, it is the eternal question: is Santa real?

Every year I have something to say about this (see here, here, here or here if you're shopping is done and you ran out of egg nog and rum). To summarize, every year, Mr. Physics has had a lot of questions. Ms. Still-Believes-in-Princesses has been a complete convert. The first Christmas she apprehended the whole Santa gig, she exclaimed, to my theological horror, "SANTA IS BETTER THAN JESUS!!!"

This year Sydney is delving deep into the questions. This is how the thought patterns have evolved:

Mommy is really cheap so there is no way she would buy the presents from Mommy and and the Santa gifts (note: Daddy is no where to be seen in this hypothesis).
The one sure way to tell if there is a Santa, is to wait until she is a grown-up, has kids, then doesn't put out any gifts from Santa for her kids, and see if any Santa gifts appear.
Last year she told no one that she wanted to proper gloves from Santa. She didn't mention it in her Christmas letter and she didn't even tell Mommy. She got gloves in her stocking from Santa.
On reflection, she thought Santa might actually be Jesus, because he knows more than Santa. (A nice reversal of fortunes for Jesus, don't ya think?)

Jackson started his analysis like this:

it's Jesus' birthday so anything can happen.
Santa might be real, but he may not be the way we all imagine him. He may not wear a red suit or have a big belly, or red cheeks.
Gifts might actually just materialize, like things in the Star Trek transporter.

Last Friday, Jackson said "Mommy, can I ask you a question?"

"Who puts the presents on the fireplace? Is that you or Santa?"

This was no vague request, it was concrete, specific and direct. It was, in short, the money question. I knew what he was asking. The Mommy-Daddy presents are wrapped and under the tree. Santa leaves his on the fireplace.

So I answered the best I could, digging deep to the vats of parental wisdom I have accumulated up in the past ten years.

"Huh?"

"Who actually puts the presents on the fireplace?"

"What do you think?"

"I want the answer to the question"

"How do you think they get there?"

"You're not going to tell me, are you." He was on the verge of tears. This was new. Usually he doesn't persist past my answer-a-question-with-a-question approach popular in the celebrity set.

"Why are you asking now?"

"I am just wondering. Well, actually I was thinking that you always ask to read our Christmas letters, so you know what we are asking for from Santa."

I guess my hopes of becoming a spy for CSIS might not materialize.

"Are kids talking about this at school?"

"No."

"What do other kids say at school? Do they believe?"

"Some do. Some don't. Some say that they have seen their parents put out the Santa gifts. Some say they have seen Santa put out the Santa gifts. Some don't know."

"What do you say when you're asked?"

"I say I half believe."

"Should we talk about this after Christmas?"

"I knew you wouldn't tell me."

"Isn't part of the magic of Christmas not really knowing? Like wondering whether it's really true?"

"No. The thing is, what doesn't really make sense is poor kids. Do they get the same amount from Santa as everyone else?"

A few more evasive maneuvers and attempts at deferring having this discussion to the cozy nights of January and I knew I couldn't just dodge the question as I have done for 5 years.

"I will tell you, but you have to tell me you really want to know. I can't un-tell you. So think about it for a while."

Like till January.

So he mulled over the possible answers he might receive.

Answer 1: Santa puts the gifts on the fireplace. It's all true.
Answer 2: Mommy puts the gifts on the fireplace.
Answer 3: Other answer that he can't think of that would explain everything, satisfy the analytical part of the brain and let the magic continue.

I think he was really hoping for 3, but knew in his heart of hearts it wasn't 1.

He carefully weighed the answers and how that might change anything. He postulated that no matter what answer he received, he would still get presents. So it didn't really matter.

He wanted to know.

"Okay, you want to know, but when do you want to know? Now or after Christmas?"

I think there is less red tape in getting access to medicinal marijuana.

Finally, I skated as close to the line as I could without going over:

"Can you tell what the answer is from all my questions? Do you really want me to say it? Out loud?"

"Yes, Mommy."

Then I got serious. "If I tell you, you know it's confidential information. You can't tell Sydney. You can't tell your cousins. You can't tell your classmates."

"I know Mommy." he answered solemnly. It's like he knew he wasn't going to be a Muggle anymore.

Then I left nothing to chance and took a page from the book of Jewish mothers.

"If you tell Sydney, I will give all your presents to poor children."

And just like that, it was over.

He was quiet.

But I couldn't be.

"If you breathe a word to Sydney, even if you're mad at her or at me, I swear I will take her to Disneyland and leave you at home."

I could so be a Jewish mother.

Perception.

2011-12-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

Perception is a funny thing. Especially about oneself.

Normally, I allow the scale to dictate how I feel about my relative size. Up a pound I feel pudgy and bloated and I am sure the seams on my pants are about to split and family members are secretly applying for me to be on The Biggest Loser. Down a pound and I feel skinny, and the envy of everyone. Which surely justifies a cookie at coffee break.

This week though, I learned there is another measure. I was off to the mall to work on some Christmas shopping. I decided to dress up, which is to say switch from baggy and dirty yoga pants to clean jeans. I grabbed my jeans straight from the dryer and headed for the mall.

I was walking around and it struck me: these jeans are loose!! I hadn't stepped on the scale in a bit, I must have shed a few pounds. And ladies you know what I'm talking about when I emphasize THE JEANS WERE STRAIGHT OUT OF THE DRYER.

That effort to increase my exercise this fall has really paid off. Even if the pounds weren't shedding, obviously the inches were. I gleefully went about my business at the mall, with a swagger. I imagined people envying my svelte shape (gratuitous delusion, I know). It did seem like people were looking at me. I pondered whether I needed new jeans or whether I should wait to lose yet more inches.

And then my perception came crashing to earth: I realized the zipper on my jeans was completely undone. To think I was walking around the mall like that!

Dear Finny, Sorry 'bout the Haircut.

2011-12-06T19:33:00.000-08:00

Six Months

2011-11-29T18:10:00.000-08:00

Six Months. Half a year. Two quarters. One hundred and eighty some days.

I have been trying to think of something deep and profound and meaningul to mark the 6 month anniversary of my mother's death. But nothing is coming to me. I don't want to ignore it, so I will write about a few things she was good at:

She could wrap gifts like no one I know. She taught me and I have passable skills, but she could wrap it tight, with crisp edges, straight lines and beautiful curled ribbons. And love. Presents were always wrapped with love.
Straightening papers. My Mom worked at a book bindery at some point. This meant she would take an unruly heap of papers and get them stacked in perfect order. It was magical.
My Mom would keep her lip stick pointed. I thought of that the other day when I started a new one. She would use one side for one lip and the other and it would stay sharp like a pencil, which is no doubt what it is supposed to be.
My Mom had lovely, legible and uniform handwriting, like many women of her generation. Sydney may be trying to resurrect this art as she writes in handwriting all the time and she has not yet learned it in school.

This is one of my favourite pictures of my Mom.

(Sorry Dad, I cropped you out)

It was Christmas 2006, 2 years before she was diagnosed with cancer,

and she looks so healthy. And beautiful.

Miss you Mom.

X Marks the J Boy

2011-11-23T21:46:00.000-08:00

Ten. Double digits. X in roman numerals. It's a biggie.

Official photo (which I really shoud have had him comb his hair for):

Presents and dinner at Red Robins:

CHEESE!

Being serenaded:

Ice cream!

Best birthday gift?
Amesty from the times tables!

Happy birthday J Boy!

Best. Mother. Ever.

2011-11-21T19:35:00.000-08:00

I know many will be surprised to know I am actually referring to myself. I feel today I have earned a few self-administered pats on the back.

It all started this morning, when I was groggy due to severe heartburn induced by mini-donuts at the hockey game last night. Both Husband and I were up half the night and I self-administered medications three times which only barely dealt with the problem. I don't know what was in them, but I am forever cured of mini-donuts.

Due to fatigue I dozed well past the time I should have roused myself. This happens ~~all the time~~ occasionally, but the kids' alarms wake them up and they are my fail safe. Their alarms were not set.

And so at 8:10, I thought we could still make it to school. It was a given at this point that I would be going in my pyjamas. Sydney got up and wandering around looking for clothes, I knocked on Jackson's door which was slammed on my foot. I assumed he wanted privacy to get dressed. I was wrong, he wanted privacy to crawl back into bed. Owing to the weekend's festivities, Jackson was ~~so bloody exhausted he couldn't be civil~~ tired.

So I did what I never do. I suggested we be late for school. I normally use all my parental capital and most of my few remaining marbles convincing little people to get dressed/ eat breakfast / brush teeth / bring backpack down stairs / put on shoes / put on coats.

We all climbed into my bed for a bit of a breather. We enjoyed about 5 minutes when Jackson said, apparently not fully appreciating my sacrifice of punctuality, "Mommy, did you know it's 8:32? I don't know how we'll get to school by 8:40."

He was right. A little breakfast and negotiations over which winter/fall outerwear was appropriate when it's slushy raining right now but will warm up and just be raining later, and we were out the door. Owing to slushy rain, I opted to take the van with its snow tires. The van was parked on street. I hope none of the neighbours noticed my pyjamas, or thought that I was wearing very colourful and baggy yoga pants.

I dropped them both off a minute before 9 which was 19 minutes past the bell. Note to self: nothing bad happened.

I was still riding the high of the morning triumph at pick-up when Jackson uncharacteristically approached me to request a play date. Actually the potential play datee was more keen on it. I tried to say no but honestly on a poor night's sleep did not have my usual internal fortitude. I thought I had my opening when Jackson mentioned science homework. But nothing came of it. So after further lame attempts to defer play date to another day, my usually successful strategy, I agreed we could head to the drop-off loop and meet up with Dad of play datee to set this up.

He was not there. And didn't arrive in the next 10 minutes. My hands were frozen as I had walked the dog before pickup so I told play datee to tell his Dad to drop him off at our place.

About 20 minutes later, play datee arrived with 3 Wii games. And 2 kinds of candy-making kits. Really?? Candy making?

I enthusiastically looked at the selection of Wii games and ignored the candy kits. What game do you want to play?

"Why don't we play Super Smash Brothers. But first, let's make candy!" said play datee.

I was about to kibosh the whole candy idea, when I stopped myself.

"Do you need me to help?"

"No. We just need a bowl and the microwave." Excellent. It was one of those kid-friendly candy making kits.

"As long as you don't need me, I guess it's fine."

Not 5 minutes later Jackson came upstairs where I was trying to convince the dog she really wanted to be, and asked if we had a 1/8 cup measure.

Sigh.

I could not find that measuring cup so I looked it up and ascertained it was 2 tablespoons.

"Just one more thing, do you have a small saucepan, double boiler or candy thermometer?" play datee asked.

Apparently, play datee was right. This one did not require supervision. It required complete parental control. And so I made red sour suckers. I followed the directions. I averted disaster when play datee tried to convince Jackson that a 1/3 cup measure was actually 3/4 quarters of a teaspoon. We got the candy all laid out to harden. I futilely asked the boys to clean up and went back upstairs to the dog.

I came down about 20 minutes later when I thought the candy would be ready. The kids had tried it and declared it 'disgusting'. I guess I won't have to buy that candy-making kit.

I asked them to clean up and went back upstairs. I knew I would be cleaning up later.

Five minutes before play date pick up, I gave one more hail Mary request for a clean up. I was rewarded with a "we need to clean up" from my son to his friend. I was never prouder.

Five minutes later I hear a car door and announced that Dad is here for pick up. I arrived in the kitchen to find play datee is lost in candy making. He was making another batch and he had just started. He told me he is not ready to go home. Jackson was uninvolved in candy 2.0.

He has his own project: fruit salad. He has cut up an apple, de-stemmed some grapes, found some fresh pineapple in the fridges and has dumped 2 fruit cups into a bowl.

"Is this your supper?" I asked.

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Then why did you make it?"

"I thought someone would have it."

"Why don't you have it?"

"DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME, I'M NOT HUNGRY!!!!!!!! I'LL JUST PUT IT IN THE FREEZER!!!!!!!!!!"

It kind of fell apart from there. The play datee tried to get everyone but the dog to try the candy while Dad of play datee tried in vain to usher son to the door.

In all honestly, it didn't end well. I tried to understand the whole fruit salad situation. I tried to get Jackson to understand that trying to figure out whether the candy mixture was 300 degrees by using the cold water technique was not on my list of things to do today. There was a lot of lecturing and ear plugging. No one won, and I am back in the comfortable position of being a normally fallible mother.

Party Like You're 10

2011-11-21T16:22:00.000-08:00

Partying like you're 10 means trimming down the invite list to 2...

Plus your sister ...

And going somewhere very cool

Where you can ride go karts ...

Shoot stuff ...

Go on bumper cars ...

Play mini golf ...

Enter batting cages ...

Eat junk food ...

And (not shown) play endless games in video arcade.

A 10-worthy celebration!

(Enjoyed by ALL)

The Little Things

2011-11-15T09:09:00.000-08:00

My Mom would have been 79 today. While I thought I would still have years to know her, today I am focusing on the little things I want to remember about my Mom.

When I was 4 and not yet in school, and in need of an audience, I used to sit with Mom on the couch and the Eaton's catalogue open our laps. With a crochet hook as a pointer, I would survey the drapery pages where they had little squares showing the fabrics and patterns that could be ordered. With my hook and my Mom as a captive audience, I would give a running talk:

This one would be good for a winter coat. Because it's warm. Now this one would be good for a dress because it has flowers on it and it is colourful. This was would be good for boys pants ...

My Mom did not remember this, she remembered those years for the busy-ness of rearing 3 kids while her husband worked and was earning his M.B.A. She remembered having no time for me. But I remember.

I remember how she would clean out the wax from her ear. She would be horrified that I would be publicizing this on the inter web, but she used (at least when I was little) a bobby pin and cleaned out her ear like a jack hammer. It's a marvel that she did not perforate her ear drum.

I remember during elementary school when my Dad travelled a lot during the week, our joint enterprise of going through all my Dad's suit pockets, scavenging for enough change so the 4 of us could go to McDonald's. This was the early days of McDonald's where it was an extreme novelty and treat. And $4 or 5 fed all of 4 us. We would find lots of dimes and nickels but it was a cause for celebration to find quarters!

I remember in grade 7, I was cleaning up after dinner. Mom had a class to go to and I PROMISED that I would let the pans soak and clean them before she came home. She thought I would forget and she would end up doing it late at night after her class. I vowed that I would pay her my allowance if I forgot to do it. I was just nodding off to sleep and I heard her key in the door. I sprang out of my bed and ran to my Mom and tearfully admitted I had forgotten to do the pans and I was sorry. Mom granted me mercy. And cleaned the pans herself.

I remember when I first started talking on the phone all night with my girlfriends, in grade 9. At one point my Mom entered the room and apparently I did not want to divulge the content of our private conversations (like where were would meet at lunch). I said to my friend "You know what you just said a minute ago, that is true for me".

My Mom said "oh, are you trying to tell her your mother just entered the room?" At the time, I could not believe she figured that one out!

In high school, I remember her teaching me how to clean a bathroom. She agreed that she would pay me to do some of the extra housework (cleaning bathrooms). But it had to pass muster for inspection. She only had to tell me once, as being corrected by one's mother at 16 is not something you volunteer for. I remember her showing me how to use a cloth to clean being the faucet. This is a skill I use too infrequently now.

I remember her fixation with truth-telling. And the belief that a good set of pots is an essential. The year I graduated from law school I was still living at home, saving up for my first place. We were having a discussion over whether telling little white lies was appropriate to spare some one's feelings. No, she steadfastly maintained, it was never right.

So I tested her. "Are you giving me pots and pans for Christmas?" I suspected as much.

She didn't miss a beat. "No."

At Christmas I opened a large box of pots and pans. Before I said thank you, I smiled at my Mom and said "but you lied". She smiled back. Those pots lasted for 25 years. A couple Christmases ago we bought new ones with Christmas money from my parents. I know my mother was pleased that we acquired Lagostina pots to take us the next 25 years. The old ones are now being used by a family in Mexico.

Come to think of it, none of these things are little. Listening to your kids, granting mercy, treating your kids to an unexpected treat, and instilling the importance of truthfulness, good pots and a clean bathroom. All of it important stuff.

Okay, except the earwax thing, haven't worked out a life lesson from that one yet.

Remembering

2011-11-14T10:37:00.000-08:00

One of the opportunities available to the kids, being in Cubs and Brownies,

is participating in the local Remembrance Day parade.

This is really an opportunity for us as sadly, many years Remembrance Day
is less about remembering the brave men and women
who have fought and died for our country and more

about a day to sleep in. We were reminded.

Some brave veterans:

Does she know she is not the prom queen?

Jackson taking over flag duties

(honest, his shirt was tucked into his pants when I last saw him):

Fly over:

Wreaths:

And like so many things since May 28th, I am reminded that Mom is not with us.

She attended the parade last year, despite being on chemo:

Dear Finnegan,

2011-11-08T19:53:00.000-08:00

One year ago, we started a journey we could not imagine. We were driving out to the country to have a look at a litter of puppies. You stole all our hearts that night, and we chose you over your 4 litter mates. We knew then you were a high energy ball of fur. You haven't disappointed in that regard.

In fact you have been all surprises all year. We put you in a baby's playpen thinking that would keep you safe and ensconced while we figured out how to puppy proof the house. Your first order of business was to climb higher then the sides and climb.

You started at about 5 pounds and we thought you might double your weight. You almost tripled it and in now way can be considered a delicate flower of a Maltese. More of a hearty hybrid, happy to keep up with the big dogs.

You have made yourself quite at home. You know, sitting on our kitchen chairs, eating off the kitchen table, lying on our pillows. You certainly don't stand on ceremony!

Life has never been fluffier, cuter, happier or more energetic.

Happy anniversary, Puppy McScruffy!

THEN:

NOW:

Spookytime 2011

2011-11-04T16:24:00.000-07:00

This year's costumes:

good (Supergirl) versus evil (Fire Ninja)

And yes, I am one of those people who dresses up her dog:

The Halloween parade at school:

Someone learned the hard way that, yes, babies can pull fire alarms:

Decorations 2011

Ready to trick or treat (you can tell who is the dramatic one in the family):

The thing we talked about most pre-Halloween was

whether Finny would be better off at home with her

jump-to-excess manner of greeting visitors, or

on the streets with fire crackers and goblins and Mario Brothers.

We opted for the former.

Pictured below Finny on the lookout for more trick or treaters.

She made us proud and was only moderately excited to see

all the invaders.

My candy and statistics station:

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

The Nooks and Crannies

2011-10-30T08:00:00.000-07:00

In early June I posted the tribute I wrote about my Mom and read at her memorial service. A friend, who lost her mother several years ago, posted this comment:

I do know that in the months and years to come, you are going to discover your mom in so many nooks and crannies of your life. Sometimes it will come as a surprise, but it is the greatest feeling when you realize there are places you will find her.

I didn't know what that meant exactly, but I did find it comforting.

About a month ago, Sydney and I were about to make cookies to bring to school for her birthday. She loves to be involved in cooking. But for the most part, I measure everything out and she dumps it (mostly) into the bowl. As we were about to get started, I remembered how my Mom taught me to bake. She taught me about the ingredients, how to measure, how to read a recipe, how to turn on the oven, how to tell if the cake was done. She taught me it all.

From about grade 5 or so I was making cookies on Saturday mornings to last through the lunches and after school snacks for the week that followed. I remember making blueberry muffins and fortune cookies from the Nancy Dew cookbook. I still enjoy baking but honestly never connected it to my early on-the-job training I received from my Mom.

And so I passed it on. I showed Sydney how to measure powders and liquids. And we read the recipe together and I showed her how to use the Kitchenaid mixer without splaying ingredients all over the counter. (I had to learn that last one myself. The hard way.)

Most importantly, I talked about how Oma had taught me to cook. And how much we miss her.

And now I know what my friend meant by nooks and crannies.

Talking Points: Homework Edition

2011-10-29T13:45:00.000-07:00

Me: Jackson, I had a look at the story you wrote for homework. It's fantastic.

Him: Yeah.

Me: One tiny thing, you might want to take a read and put in some capitals after the periods. The only capital is at the beginning of your story.

Him: I'm finished.

Me: Look, here's the eraser and pencil, I bet it won't take you 2 minutes.

Him: Mommy, I'm finished, you're not supposed to help me with my homework.

Me: Oh and I checked your math homework, are you doing all the math in your head? You didn't show your work. I put a tiny mark beside the questions that are wrong. Do you want to correct those today or tomorrow?

Him: Mommy, I am supposed to do the homework, if you give me all the answers, it won't be my homework.

Me: I am not giving you any answers, I just checked it and I'm telling you to re-do the ones that are wrong.

Him: Well if I get an "A" because you gave me the answers, that wouldn't be fair to the other kids, would it? That would be cheating. Are you telling me you want me to cheat?

Me: Parents are supposed to check homework. That is why we sign your planner. That's how it works.

Him: That is not how it works. That is cheating and I am not changing any of my homework.

Me: The point of homework is to help you master a skill. If you're making mistakes, you're not mastering the skill.

Him: What about the other kids that don't have parents checking their homework? It would be totally unfair to them because if I get an "A" it will because you helped me.

Me: They don't usually mark the homework. I'm trying to help you learn.

[in the interests of brevity I won't give you the real time transcript as we each repeated ourselves 68 times over the weekend before I realized I needed a new approach.]

Me: Okay, we will go to school early and talk to Mrs. K about this tomorrow morning.

Him: Fine.

[the next morning at school]

Him: [extremely reluctantly and at my insistence] Mrs. K, my Mom and I have a disagreement about my homework.

Mrs. K: Okay.

[silence]

Me: Jackson thinks that he should do his homework and that we should not look at it because if we find any mistakes and tell him, that would be cheating and would be wrong. I think that homework is to help the kids learn a skill and the parents should review the homework and the kids should make the corrections.

Mrs. K.: Jackson, your Mom is absolutely right. I can't sit beside you when you do your homework. You parents are like an extra teacher. So your parents should look at your homework and you should be making the corrections.

Him: [silence]

Me: Jackson, let me make sure we are hearing the same thing. Mrs. K is saying that we should be looking at your homework and you you should be making the corrections.

Him: [trying to dissolve into floor] Yeah, yeah, yeah.

[after school]

Me: Did you get bring your math so you can make the corrections tonight?

Him: No.

Me: Why not?

Him: Mommy, Mrs. K didn't say to do that.

Me: WHAT?!?!?!!?!? Weren't you there? Don't you remember what she said about the parents being the extra teacher and that you're supposed to correct it???

Him: Mommy, did Mrs. K actually say to fix the homework from the weekend?

Me: Not in those words but ....

Him: See! She did not say to do it.

Me: That is only because we did not ask the exact questions 'should Jackson correct his homework from the weekend'. But that homework is not due until Wednesday and we talked to her generally about how to approach homework.

Him: Mommy, that is a new rule and since we heard about it this morning it only applies to future homework and I should not have to fix the homework from the weekend, which is from before that rule started.

Me: [utter silence]

I did not learn about 'grandfathering' of laws until law school.

Om.

2011-10-28T23:06:00.000-07:00

Yoga. That word has always connoted only inaccessible new age-y things. Chakras. Chi. The healing power of breathing?

While I am deeply devoted to wearing yoga pants, yoga is definitely not for me. Some of my best friends are known to carry around yoga mats and hang out in yoga studios, and while I pretend not to judge, I do quietly mock them. I mean, really? A yoga mat?

And I have tried yoga. When I was pregnant with Jackson, I carried him very high, which put an extreme amount of pressure on my back. So much so that the sharp and searing knife pain in my middle back was unrelenting. Thus, I was desperate. So desperate that I tried a yoga class that was conveniently held in a boardroom at work.

I think it may have helped a little. Any time I spent doing the downward dog, I was not sitting in a chair, which is what aggravated my back pain the most. What that class did for me was reinforce my preconceived notions that all yogis were flaky. The instructor spoke only about flow and air and space and energy, and spent little time explaining the poses, which I would have found hard enough even without twenty pounds of J Boy and associated fluids sloshing around my mid section.

Since then I have attended the odd yoga class, usually on girlfriend spa weekends. Some of my sisters are so highly devoted to their well-being that on a perfectly good weekend of indulgence, pedicures, massages, good food and wine are not sufficient, they insist on contorting their bodies, and well I go along for the ride.

This fall, I felt an uncommon amount of tension. Obviously, in and through all I am grieving the loss of my Mom. The fall is always busy for us. New grades at school. New roster of activities. Children who seem to need 62 reminders to come to the dinner table / do their homework / brush their teeth / change their underwear. Add to that birthdays, Husband's dividing his time between two jobs and a dog that barks just when I'm clinging to my last shred of sanity and yeah, I think I could use some yoga.

So I found a class Yoga 101 and thought I could spend 75 minutes for 5 Saturdays trying to find a way to let go of a little tension. Instead of an inaccessible instructor, I had one who explained everything and in five weeks I heard not one work about chakras.

And now, I get it. It's a unique combination of strength and stretch and yes, relaxation.

Which I will be doing more of. On my very own yoga mat.

8. Going on 13.

2011-10-08T21:39:00.000-07:00

Sydney last year, had a little thing going with a boy I call "P".

It was only late July when I was belatedly cleaning out the backpacks from the school year (which I have vowed to do earlier next year), that I found a ring. Silver with a large 10 carat pink heart. Well I am not entirely sure of the carat sizing of pink plastic. I learned at the time that this was a parting gift from P who over the summer moved away. Not to-Timbuktu far, just out-of-the-school-district far.

It was only at Sydney's birthday sleepover party where 'telling secrets' figure prominently on the agenda, that I learned that P actually got down on one knee and presented the ring. Apparently there was discussion over whether there ought to be a good bye kiss, with the resolution being a unanimous 'no'.

A couple weeks ago, I was chatting with Sydney after school. She recounted who she played with at recess and lunch and a new name popped up, a boy "T'. It is not that unusual for Sydney to play with boys and there were quite a number of girls who played with her that particular day, but I had a hunch.

"So, do you have any new boyfriends?"

"Well, not that you mention it, today, T said he wanted to do something private with me on the field."

While that phrase strikes fear in the heart of every mother of a little girl, what T wanted to do privately was to tell Sydney that he liked her. Sydney did not reciprocate in the sharing of feelings she said, but she owned, it turns out they had become boyfriend and girlfriend.

I asked her how that happened since she didn't tell T that she liked him in return.

"He said it for me, Mommy".

I got a little concerned that she needs to be able to find her voice in these situations, but she did recount how later they were playing hopscotch, and she put her foot on the number that has a heart, and said "this is your heart" and he did the same in return and apparently this has some kind of civil union status for the grade three set.

She was definitely feeling a little badly about her long distance whatever-that-is with P. I tried with all my heart not to be alarmed but only amused by these turn of events. I was about 25 when I got up to the point that I had two boyfriends (total, not simultaneously - that is a feat I never managed).

The next day though, she had it all resolved:

"Mommy, I told T I thought things were going a little too fast and that I just wanted to be good friends. He agreed so we are just friends. Oh Mommy, can you email P's Mom and ask her if I can be pen pals with him?"

I am wondering where she finds the confidence to speak so candidly, and to know her own self so well. And how can she teach this to the rest of us. That is when I am not trying to figure out what we are going to do when she is 13.

Sleep. Over.

2011-09-24T12:35:00.000-07:00

The "sleep"over crew:

Yes, I bought matching pyjamas. What of it?

They are 8 and of course insisted on a silly picture!

Cake!

Signature Sydney:

She had several boyfriends, by the candle measure:

Of course glow sticks!

8. In pictures

2011-09-24T12:11:00.000-07:00

The morning birthday portrait.

Who me? Eight?

At Red Robins for the official birthday dinner:

Listening to Selena Gomez uploaded to iPod:

WHO is going to the Selena Gomez concert????

Standing up and being serenaded (badly) by the good folks at Red Robin:

Is is just me, or does she look 13??

Ice cream.

That changes to chocolate. Because I am not the

kind of mother who allows her daughter TWO bowls

of ice cream just because she is 8.

Cinnamon buns, traditional birthday breakfast.

(Served a day late because the kids had no school on Friday

and Mommy did not have to get up as early to get it organized)

We all enjoyed!

Happy birthday Girlie Goo!

If it's September ...

2011-09-18T12:03:00.000-07:00

I should be reeling at accommodating the new schedule and trying to remember which kid has gym, music or library one which day.

I should be organizing Sydney's 8th birthday party, which is destined to be a sleepover with 5 giddy 8 year old girls. And two exhausted forty somethings.

I should be bracing for the back-to-back-to-back craziness that is our fall.

But, I am shopping for Halloween costumes. And what am I spending all my waking hours doing?

How much will I have to pay Jackson to be Superman. Because that would be freakin' awesome.

Dear Me, In March

2011-09-06T20:36:00.000-07:00

Dearest me from last March;

I know it will be a very great shock but any day now you will receive the list of school supplies for the next school year. In our day this could never have happened because it was be quite presumptuous to assume a person would pass to the next grade, when only one report card had been received.

Be that as it may, you will get the list of supplies with the kind offer of pre-ordering the supplies from a school supply business for an ~~extortionate~~ entirely reasonable rate if you at all value your own time running between stores and remembering to bring a tape measure to ensure it is a 7 inch scissor and not 6 or 8.

You will find the list broken into two. The "must buy" items are consumed each year, like paper, notebooks and a box of tissue. I pause here to remark that this is the biggest rip off in elementary education as my son at least does not use tissue when he has a perfectly good sleeve on his shirt. Anyway, the second part of the list are items one might have. Scissors, dictionary, protractor.

You will cast your mind back to the very end of Jackson's kindergarten year. Of course you had already ordered the school supplies for the following year, but Jackson came home with a colourful goodie bag with a completely unused paint set, a pencil box full of pencils etc. And then you realized the point of having the bifurcated list (I just Googled to make sure I used that word right -- I think I did).

Every year since then you have dusted off your divining rod in spring to prognosticate for each kid:

A. what supplies will come home at the end of the year; and
B. what supplies you will still be able to find at the end of the summer.

I am here to tell you: just order the whole bloody list.

You are only saving a few dollars and finding the calculator in a box of old clothes after an exhaustive search of the basement is really a tough way to spend the first Tuesday after Labour Day. You will be happy to know that you will find an old set of paints and will salvage it with only 30 minutes of cleaning it with toothpicks and a wet paper towel so one can ascertain the difference between yellow and red (versus 2 extra shades of orange). You will find about 13 pairs of scissors but don't really know if the 'right' kind for either class. You never will learn what "Kleenearth RECYCLED" scissors are. Or where to measure the 7 inches on a pair of scissors.

Oh and you won't need to order a new protractor as the one you paid for use in grade 4 comes home entirely unused.

From,

Me, In September

Back to School

2011-09-06T13:14:00.000-07:00

Each year I treasure the back to school photos. Each year I have a challenge. Last year the kids had shaggy heads as the back-to-school haircuts had yet to happen. Some years one or another of the kids don't cooperate and retakes are required.

This year, it was the sun:

I take the pictures the same time every year. I don't know if it was a spontaneous hope in the ozone, but the sun was extremely bright, and the resulting eyes, either bleary. Or closed.

Okay we may have had a small amount of non-cooperation on the fourth set of retakes.

How in the world did they get so grown up?

Please note back to school outfits at the traditional lamp post pics:

The Annual Back-to-School Dinner

2011-09-05T21:43:00.000-07:00

It was the third annual family back-to-school dinner tonight. This event is held the night before school and has several traditions.

Tradition 1: we all eat in the same room. As a measure of how much better off we are this year, we ate in the dining room. Last year we ate off the coffee table in the living room because the kitchen table was piled with art projects/ piles of mail / empty yogurt containers. Full discloure requires me to tell you the dining room table is still a holding tank for a lot of stuff.

Tradition 2 is the most challenging, we eat a meal we ALL like. Some of us have what you would call narrow food preferences. Owing to Husband being away for 4 days and only just arriving home, we ordered in. Pizza and wings.

Tradition 3: We (ghost written by me) write the kids a letter telling them what we were proud of last year, what they have to look forward to this year and a family goal.

Tradition 4: Heartfelt good wishes all around for a great school year!

Guess What We Did This Weekend?

2011-09-05T16:00:00.000-07:00

Four Days. Three Nights. Just bored kids, desperate for routine, acclimated to late nights and flexible meals. One mother tired, not quite herself and plum out of ideas for new things to do.

Enter: chess.

Jackson read the rules a few weeks ago, and brought down the board

and asked for a game.

Not to be outdone, Sydney wanted to learn. Jackson insisted on teaching her.

But his style of teaching was speaking very loudly, repeating himself a lot and

being a little too gleeful that he knows something he doesn't.

So she watched us for a game and then she knew:

Then finally tete-a-tete:

The Myth of Summer Vacation

2011-09-05T10:12:00.000-07:00

Every year I make the same mistake. In June, I look at the calendar and note the "first day back to school". This year it is September 6th. All summer, I long for September 6th. Oh, it is not all torture. We enjoy some fun times, some holidays, some bike rides.

But in the back of my mind is September 6th. That is when the routine starts. They kids are someone else's responsibility. We will have made it through another summer.

Then somewhere around September 4th or 5th, it dawns on me: the kids go to school for 30 minutes on September 6th. I take the day off so I can take the back-to-school pictures. So at approximately 9:10, the kids will be dismissed from the custody of the the Ministry of Education, and released into my care once again.

And given the fact that they have been in my sole custody all weekend; and the fact that it is 10:08 on September 5th and we have a breakfast embargo (because no one is willing to get the bread from the freezer in the basement, the one chore I ask of them regularly); and we have a two hour drive ahead of us to pick up Husband from the airport (one hour each way); I am not sure how that is going to go.

Big. Bang. Theory.

2011-09-04T21:55:00.000-07:00

Husband and I are big fans of the Big Bang Theory. For those that know us and the show, it's a good fit. We were both part of the geek class in high school. Since I just spent the afternoon playing Scrabble online, one might fairly postulate I am still in the geek class.

Anyway, the kids perhaps know they are destined for geekdom and have taken a fancy to the show. So we watch occasionally. Usually I prescreen the episodes to make sure they were appropriate. But tonight I thought we would watch the first few episodes of the series. I remembered that the boys were at the height of their geekiness and I reasoned that there would be no talk of sex, or pillow talk or inappropriate language.

I guess I knew I was in trouble within 10 seconds when the Sheldon and Leonard walked into a sperm donation clinic for geniuses. At this point, I could turn off the TV and deal with a geyser of hostility and disappointment. Or I could roll the dice and and hope that they didn't ask what a sperm donor is.

I opted for the latter.

The scene was over and I thought my plan had worked. Then Jackson said "wait, what were they doing there?"

"It's a place where geniuses can go."

"To do what?"

"To donate some DNA."

"Why?"

"Well, to make genius babies, I guess."

"But what kind of DNA?"

"Well, you know DNA."

"Mommy, what kind of DNA?"

"The kind that makes babies."

"Oh."

Dodged that bullet.

Then the next line came: "today we tried masturbating for money".

"Mommy, I don't understand what he just said."

The Bickersons.

2011-09-04T13:44:00.000-07:00

Her: Jackson, will you play a game with me?

Him: Um, not right now.

Her: MOMMY JACKSON WON'T PLAY WITH ME!!!!

[10 minutes later]

Him: Sydney, will you play a game with me?

Her: No.

Him: Why not?

Her: Because you didn't want to play when I asked.

Him: MOMMY SYDNEY WON'T PLAY WITH ME!!!!

[10 minutes later]

Him: Now will you play a game with me?

Her: Okay let's play that game we played that time.

Him: What game?

Her: You know? That time? We played the game? It was so fun!

Him: Huh?

Her: MOMMY JACKSON SAID HE'D PLAY A GAME WITH ME NOW HE WON'T PLAY A GAME WITH ME AND HE PROMISED!!!!

[10 minutes later]

Her: Now will you play a game with me?

Him: I said I would 10 minutes ago.

Her: What do you want to play?

Him: How about on the Wii?

Her: Okay.

Him: Let's play MarioKart?

Her: Let's play WiiFit?

Him: MOMMY SYDNEY SAID SHE'D PLAY Wii WITH ME AND NOW SHE WON'T AGREE TO PLAY MARIOKART AND IT'S MY TURN TO PICK, LAST TIME SHE PICKED. IT'S NOT FAIR IF SHE ALWAYS GETS TO PICK THE GAMES!!!!

[10 minutes later]

Her: Okay, we're agreed, we'll play spies?

Him: Sure.

Her: Okay, let's pretend we are spying on Mommy!

Him: No, let's pretend we're looking for the bad spies, and Finny can be our spy-dog.

Her: No, let's spy on Mommy!

Him: Spy dog!

HER & HIM: MOMMY, WE AGRED TO PLAY SPIES AND NOW S/HE WON'T PLAY THE WAY I WANT TO!!!

I guess I should not be surprised. I knew they were programmed to push each other's buttons. Quite literally in this video, November 2004. Ages 3 and 14 months:

Coping Strategy

2011-09-03T20:12:00.000-07:00

Husband is away this weekend. So it's me.

And these two:

Oh and this one, who is clearly in need of a walk:

In an effort to multitask, the kids rode bikes, and I ~~walked~~ ran in my sandals as best I could after them.

It was clear who was always lagging behind:

Rest break:

And finally for Mommy, three beings too tired to fight taking pictures.

This one might end up on the Christmas card:

Dearest Finnegan

2011-08-31T09:01:00.000-07:00

I am glad that you enjoyed your escape yesterday. I am sure the Adrenalin from darting out the yard unnoticed gave you quite a boost. We really should get that gate fixed. As you know Husband has spent a lot of time fixing that gate and a bear/raccoon/skunk/Hurricane Irene keeps knocking it over.

I am sorry that it took so long for me to notice you were gone. I was in the midst of making three different dinners, watching an Oprah re-run, dealing with my work email and making my Scrabble moves on Facebook. You can see I had a lot on my hands.

I must admit that I did not think you would go far. I have always bragged that you were "not a runner" as was my childhood beagle who would run as fast and as far as she could to avoid detection. I started to doubt my judgement of you as I ran through the neighbourhood yelling like a crazy woman the one word that always makes you return to us:

TREAT!!!!

I was of course not really worried that you would run away forever, I know you know you have a good gig here, being a co sleeper in the matrimonial bed and having as many walks and cuddles as a puppy could want. I was worried about cars/bears/raccoons/skunks/Hurricane Irene getting to you before I could.

I will say that when we received the phone call that you were safe, we were so relieved. And I believe Husband finally agreed your $20 name tag with our phone number was worth the price.

I commend you for finding the one backyard in the whole town that contained the only two eight years olds who don't yet have a dog but desperately want one. You could not have possibly been more doted on. You are to be commended for escaping capture for so long. They did not know a 1 year old Maltese mix could run circles around a backyard that fast. I bet you did not expect that they would want to keep you. Thank goodness for a common sense Mom who not only called us but suggested the girls walk you before they brought you home.

Welcome back. And I think this is an excellent time to tell you that we have a two and a half hour private session with a no nonsense dog trainer tonight. The holiday is over. We at taking back da house.

xo. Mommy

One Picture

2011-08-28T10:05:00.000-07:00

It has been three months since I lost my Mom. Life is okay.

I even felt brave enough to look at pictures of my Mom again. I wanted to get some prints or photobook made. Some for my kids. Some for my Dad and some for me. I had looked at the pictures extensively those first few days to make a slide show for the memorial service. It was hard at first, but I did find it therapeutic reliving all the special moments. But I have not felt much up to looking at pictures since.

So recently I started looking at pictures again. It was okay, I was doing fine. Then I came across a picture of Sydney and my parents. It was at a party I held for Sydney's preschool graduation. By "party" I mean inviting the grandparents over and make a fuss over Sydney since she went to a very lame preschool that did not have a full on graduation ceremony as Jackson's had - rented hall, walk across the stage - and my mother guilt meant we could not do NOTHING for such an important milestone when Jackson had it all, including a graduation photo in cap and gown. Anyway in this picture Sydney was thanking my parents for a little gift. I cropped out my Dad (sorry Dad) as I thought it might make a good one in a collage.

And once I did I was stunned by the picture that remained. It is hardly a Pulitzer prize-winning photo. It is grainy. There is light coming in from behind which gives it an ethereal quality and makes it even more breathtaking. The look on my Mom's face shows the kind of Oma she was and how much she enjoyed her grandchildren. And part of the reason that I miss her so much:

One Year.

2011-08-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened in the last year. It was one year ago that I got a call from Husband that my Dad was headed to the ER because he had forgotten his PIN number at Safeway. (See here is you want to relive the ordeal in detail.)

The result was a clot on his brain and we had to wait, watch him deteriorate and then hope after surgery he would come back to us.

It was a scary time for all of us. I remember talking to Dad just before surgery asking him about the finances. Were there any bills due? In a moment of clarity he knew what I was asking. He told me where I would find a file with all the the important financial stuff. He knew he might not come back.

But come back he did. While the hospital wanted to enroll him in a stroke rehabilitation programme to "help him get back as much as he can", he walked out of the hospital on his own steam and never looked back. He works out much more than I do and to my annoyance is still better at crossword puzzles than I am.

But what I am thinking about today, is how much time I spent with my Mom that week and how scared she was.   We both were. I spent a few nights staying with her at the house. She told me the house never felt so big and so empty as the nights she spent there while Dad was in the hospital. Though she didn't let on at the time, contemplating the idea of losing Dad, or even losing part of him, was hard to manage. It was something we did not dwell on.

Mom was on chemo at the time, but fortunately on her 'off week' between cycles when the really scary stuff happened. But she was tired due to the three month build up of chemo toxins in her blood and she could not tolerate long days at the hospital.  So my brothers and I took turns sitting with my Dad. That was the only time she would go home and rest as she did not want Dad to be alone at the hospital.

It was one of the first times in my life that I felt I was truly of service to my Mom. In addition to overseeing my Dad's care, I went with her to her oncologist appointment and made sure she had everything she needed while she received chemo.

While she had chemo in one wing of the hospital, my Dad, who was well into his post surgery recovery, was giving the nurses a hard time in another.  I shuttled between them. Making sure my Mom had a warm blanket on her chemo chair. Then running upstairs to take Dad a walk few laps around the nurses' station so he could regain his strength and balance. Back to check on Mom and then upstairs to the neuro ward, hoping to time my arrival with one of the random visits of the neurosurgeon.

I thought at the time: this is what it is like to have aging parents. I guess I won't ever really know what that is like. Now, a year later, Dad is with us. And Mom is not. And I don't think this will ever feel normal.

Dear Finnegan,

2011-08-23T19:43:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday! You have survived one year on planet earth and about nine months in our custody. I hope you enjoyed your presents as much as we enjoyed giving them:

However, now that you are no longer a puppy, I must issue a cease-and-desist order for the following behaviours:

1. Devouring pencils as fast as a wood chipper leaving remnants everywhere. Have you not seen how little we like to vacuum? I cannot believe we have not heard the words "bowel" "obstruction" and "$2000" in the same sentence yet.

2. Digging. Especially in our bed. What do you think you are going to find there, anyway?

3. Barking at your nemesis dog, who I grant you does seem to egg you on. I believe I speak for everyone living within a 10 block radius when I say: give it up. I do not know what you two are up to, but it will not be resolved by a bark-off. I propose a game of rock paper scissors.

4. Treating the kitchen table as your own personal buffet/staging area. I realize that toast crusts are often left there and they will go to waste if you don't eat them. And that you have a much better chance of seeing nemesis dog from up on the kitchen table. But it is considered poor canine form. That also goes for napping on the table even if Sydney leaves a hoodie there now and again.

5. Jumping up on people who come to the door. While I heartily agree that the jumping up may slow down the stream of Jehovah's Witnesses to a trickle. They come to the door and do not feel at all deterred by the "no soliciting" sign I put on the door for them especially. Even if they insist on coming not to solicit but to "invite" "share" "discuss" and "show", I think on balance the play dates are really going to dry up if you cannot stop pulling on the girl's pony tails and hanging off the boys' hoodies.

Your bad habits notwithstanding, I commend you for melting our hearts daily. Your general adorableness, playful nature, happy disposition and extreme enjoyment of belly scratches more than make up for your failings. Here's to many, many, many more years!!

Alaska. Or Bust.

2011-08-17T17:16:00.000-07:00

Gorgeous view of Mount Baker.

We saw wildlife:

Amazing how friendly Alaskan bears are.

Here, they just want to eat our garbage.

Ketchikan

Not too much to see there, but we turned souvenir hunting to a fine art.

A couple acquisitions.

In Juneau the thing-to-do is take a tram up Mt. Roberts.

We thought this would be a lovely family outing, until we discovered

it would be almost $100. And it was cold, rainy, wet and foggy and we

were not sure we would see anything when we got up there.

One of our party was more than a trifle ~~obnoxious~~ ~~obstinate~~

~~impossible~~ uncivilized and we did not feel like subjecting ourselves

to that much vitriol up in the air and pay for the pleasure.

But then the other of our progeny INSISTED on going up and

was willing to pay the whole shebang from her allowance.

So Husband and I hemmed and hawed whether we would rather:

A.) Go up a wet, damp and cold mountain to look into fog bank or

B.) go back to ship with a certain unnamed boy

(whose initials are J-A-C-K-S-O-N)

who had been banned from the only thing he considered

acceptable entertainment (his Nintendo DS). His reaction was

a constant stream of griping, punctuated only by temper tantrums.

I ended up on ship duty and pretty sure Husband owes me a drink.

He caught this picture:

Skagway was hands down my favourite stop. First of all,

it is unbelievably pretty:

Second, it wasn't raining:

Third, Husband found a playground and they played forever:

Fourth, everyone was civil and smiling (including me):

The other exciting thing on Alaskan cruise is the glacier.

Green water. Hunks of ice:

It was kind of chilly so we found home base in the ship and

took turns going outside to snap pictures:

Most of the rest of the trip, was spent looking at water and trying to

decide where to have dinner and what to order.

Oh, and I got my pic taken with the grande Dame of Alaska.

Who knew she would hang out at Alaskan souvenir stores!

Cruisin'

2011-08-13T20:57:00.000-07:00

We had a week away in late July. A cruise to Alaska. We have cruised before, but not in 4 years. We found a great last minute deal. We paid for an 'obstructed porthole' and could not believe our luck when we were 'up'graded to an unobstructed porthole.

What they don't advertise is that the portholes are on the bottom floor of the ship. Which is perilously close to all the really noisy bits of the inner workings of the ship. They also neglect to tell you that when you are on the bottom floor, they skip some optional cabin amenities.

Like proper mattresses. We had two beds that were the approximate texture and feel of ironing boards. And the other two were as soggy as that old couch that has been in your parents basement for three decades.

Also omitted was wall insulation. It was pretty much like being in a curtained cubicle in an ER. We not only could intercept conversations without a wiretap, we could hear our neighbour's TV, hear them sing, sneeze, burp, and in one case fart. I really wish I was exaggerating about that last bit. Jackson and I were also treated to the ecstasy of a couple TWO cabins away enjoying a mid-ocean-mid-afternoon-romp-in-the-hay. Thank goodness the boy was absorbed in his Pokemon game on his Nintendo DS to ask too many questions.

But we did not make a bed all week, Well, as Jackson pointed out, we actually don't do that at home but our beds were actually made. Plus we did not have to make three different meals three times a day. Gotta love buffets!

Here are a few photos of our shipboard experience. (more photos on what we actually saw in next blog entry).

Bon Voyage from Seattle:

Porthole

(unobstructed!):

Water slides were how we chose this ship.

Unfortunately, when you weigh 55 pounds or less, as our kids do,

you actually have to walk down the last halfof the slide.

Hot tub on the ocean. What is better than this???

I'll tell you what is better:

One guess who was first in line?

Yum!

Okay, she had company:

Our wall-to-wall-to-ceiling family bed:

Jackson said the best thing about the trip was seeing the nightly towel animal:

So of course we attended a demonstration:

And as irrefutable evidence that cruise ships can make money out of anything,

we also own a DVD on how to make them.

Movietime in the cabin:

Pretty as a picture:

Jacket

2011-07-21T17:17:00.000-07:00

Things were going pretty well around here. We're about to take a few days off. It's been a busy couple of months, I will update some day on what I've been up to. But this week was all about catching up on laundry and getting ready for some long -awaited family time.

Jackson, who by any reasonable standard, has for the most part been a solid citizen of late, quite amicable with his sister and at times even engaging. Sydney too has been a little precocious at times, and acting too much like a tween, but otherwise, kinda of cute to have hanging around.

But this week, this week Jackson hit some invisible quota of reasonableness and he has been off his game. He is bored, and nothing we suggest for him to do will satisfy. This started a little last week but seemed to have been magnified by the promise of Pokemon Black, a new Nintendo DS game we promised him for the trip, ya know, so he won't drive us mental.

So he is driving us mental in advance of the trip. He is DESPERATE, in a take-no-prisoners-if-I-can't-play-my-game-I-will-make-everyone-else-miserable-too kind of way. We've dusted off our old friends, threats/bribes/manipulation with little result.

Last night he rallied after dinner and I dared to wonder out loud to Husband whether he had turned the corner. Jinx.

Jackson came into my room this morning announcing that he did not want to go to day camp today. Nothing could be less enticing to me than a miserable and bored 9.5 year old underfoot while I make sure we have enough Tylenol and wine for this trip.

I took a not-even-entertaining-the-idea approach which doesn't always work. But he did grudging, though slowly put on his shoes and grumbled his way to the van. I threw his backpack in after him and went back to grab his jacket. It was not there. I ran upstairs for a mad tear hoping to see the bright green perfect-for-all-seasons-in-Vancouver-jacket-except-the-three-snowdays-very-hard-to-find jacket and could not find it. I figured he left it at day camp yesterday.

Photographic evidence of green jacket

We got to camp late (for the third day in a row) and I asked about the jacket as I dropped him off. They said what I always wanted to hear "You could check the combatants' room".

What are they running, cage matches for nine year olds??

Another kid said he had just looked up there and no stray jackets were to be found. So I asked about a lost and found. I was lead to a gigantic pile of clothes. I looked through the top third, figuring it should be near the top, and found several green jackets but not the one I was looking for. I figured it must be at home.

Ninety minutes at home, alternating between cursing under my breath and at the top of my lungs, yielded no green jacket.

I checked and rechecked every nook and cranny the jacket would fit. I figured that I would have to go through the entire lost and found at the community centre as it must be there. I went early to pick up the kids was let back into the equipment room and the large lost and found receptacle was empty. Like not one stinky sweat sock to be found.

A little checking yielded the clue "they brought it all upstairs".

"Can I go up and look?"

A little more checking and I was asked what colour the jacket was.

"There were no green jackets there."

This was a lie. That pile of stinky clothes had at least 5 green jackets. More checking.

I thought I would go and check Jackson's classroom to see if he had come across it during the day since this lost-and-found pile seemed to be a problem. The classroom had no jackets, but Sydney's class was getting out early so I picked her up.

My girlfriend C picked up her girls who are in the same class as Sydney. Their teacher called after C as her daughter V had forgotten her jacket. At least I am not the only one with this problem.

We went to get Jackson so I could get the lost-and-found-search-and-rescue mission completed without having to track down more kids. Of course his class was out late. We finally made it back to the nerve centre only to be told that someone had come to take me to the lost-and-found-inner-sanctum, but left. And that person had now left for the day.

A replacement was eventually found and we were lead up the a storage room with six large garbage bags full of clothes, ready to be donated to charity. Stinky bag by stinky bag I waded through with no success. We even checked the combatants room where no jackets were found. The only other place to check was the lake across the street where canoeing had taken place. Jackson told me with as much certainty as he has ever had, that he did not leave it at the lake.

We went home with an excessive amount of griping on my part. I have literally spent well over 2 hours looking for the jacket and had come up empty handed. I had also looked for a blue hoodie and it was also now missing in action. We needed a jacket for Jackson for this trip.

Then I remembered that just last weekend we were given a heavy rain jacket from one of Jackson's friends.

"I guess you could wear that one you got from B" I ventured. Really trying to spin myself out of this one.

"Yeah" Jackson said, relieved I could stop talking about the lost jacket and he could stop telling me it was not his fault.

We drove into the garage and my mind is spinning with the thousand things I still need to get done today.

"Sydney, you have your jacket, right?"

Long pause. Followed by shuffling as she checked her backpack.

"I am going to lose my lunch if you don't have yours."

"It's not here Mommy". She said it in the tiniest voice.

A drive back to community centre where I excessively harangued that the room would probably be locked and now I would have to spend the night looking for jackets and it is not easy finding the right kind of jackets you know we need them because it's going to rain next week and why can't you keep track of your things better.

Her jacket was there. I don't know who heaved a greatest sigh of relief. Me because we at least had one jacket. Or them at the harangue stopping.

Investment

2011-07-06T17:13:00.000-07:00

Husband and I have been looking for a pool. While our climate is moderate by many standards, we ventured that the investment would be worth it. The kids have been steadily taking swimming lessons and we are happy with their progress. This is a reward of sorts.

Today, finally, I found the perfect pool. It has the features I was looking for. Sturdy. Safe. And for fun, a slide.

Thrillseeker.

The first step?

Fill the pool.

Owing to our grass watering restrictions (4 am to 9 am three days a week) and Husband's distaste of 4 am alarms he bought a fancy timer to sort the early morning watering.

But I can't figure out how to get water out of the hose. He is in New Jersey.

So we went old school:

Jackson said "it's like being in Africa".

Finnegan is ambivalent about the pool.

On the one hand, world's largest water bowl:

On the other hand, why am I standing in water when I hate baths?

All in all, a bit hit.

Well worth the investment of $29.99.

Who Are These Two??

2011-06-29T14:22:00.000-07:00

They are grade THREE and grade FIVE students, have successfully completing their school year. Today at 11:46 there were released into a rainy day and a civil society to start their summer vacation. God have mercy on my soul.

And what do I think of the school year just passed?

As faithful readers will recall, grade 4 is really quite a ride. At times I was not sure that we would make it without either investing intensive psychological intervention or buying wine by the box.

But as I first reported in April we have experienced a seismic shift in Jackson's responsibility level. Even better, he suddenly seemed more aware of things around him.

Best example I can give you happened one day after school. I was carrying a couple boxes of Scholastic books to sort at home. They were not heavy, but they were pretty big. Jackson met me at Sydney's class, as is our arrangement. He was carrying his jacket and his backpack. Without hesitation he said to me these precious words:

"Mommy, I'll just put my jacket in my backpack so I can help you carry that stuff".

I was gobsmacked.

A few days later, something even more amazing happened. He had a little math homework to do. It wasn't a lot but it was the last week of school when the international treaty on homework amnesty should have applied. He was initially, to put it mildly, not in a cooperative mood. Eventually he ~~relented when I took away his iTouch~~ buckled down and got to work. I sat with him as this particular assignment needed scissors, ruler, eraser, extra paper and a photocopier. I was his personal homework assistant looking all over the house for the needed items (or at least yelling as Husband that we needed scissors etc.). Thank goodness Jackson had a good grip on fractions. In no time he was done and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then he said it:

"Thanks for helping me with my homework."

That is definitely going into the scrapbook that documents all special milestones of my kids. If I ever get around to putting it together.

Grade 2 was a much less traumatic year academically. The grade 2 challenges were social.

At the school year started, Sydney was thrilled to be in a class with her best pal, E. This was especially lucky because her class was blessed with an excessive amount of Y chromosomes. Fifteen out of twenty-two kids were boys. So having E to play with at recess was a huge blessing. Of course when E moved away at the end of October, Sydney was a little lost. But in no time she had a new best pal to hang with, S.

Because there were so few girls in the class and because social angst appears to be part of the grade 2 curriculum, we had some challenges with girls getting along. While I would like to tell you that my sweet Sydney was the peacemaker, the mediator, the kind-hearted girl who ensured everyone was included, it was not always the case. I learned that EVERYONE is susceptible to influence and that Sydney is not always the influence I would like her to be. We certainly all learned something and I know it was a pivotal moment for Sydney.

Sydney gained a lot of confidence this year. We are pleased with the citizen of the world she is becoming.

I will close this casting a glance to next year: it is the full year with full day kindergarten at our school. Jackson says "Finally, they kindergartners should be there all day. They don't know anything. By the way Mommy, if anyone should go half a day, it should be the grade fives. Because they know the most."

Regret.

2011-06-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

One of the surprising things about losing my Mom was my extreme regret. Especially in the first weeks.

I thought the thing the cancer gave you was the chance to say good bye. To do and say the things one wanted to. To leave nothing unsaid or undone. To leave nothing to regret.

Even though I told my Mom a thousand times I loved her in her last month, it doesn't feel like enough. I regret I did not tell her what I loved about her. How I loved her.

I regret I did not take more photos. Since December, I suspected her decline was imminent. I had one measly picture of her at Christmas and one at Easter. I took a few on my birthday in April. One Mother's Day weekend I took many photos, but I wished the ones of Mom and me turned out better. I wished I had one photo with my parents and brothers. I wished I had one with my Mom and both my kids.

I regret that in her last week we had sent out an email to friends telling them of her decline and giving them the chance to say what they wanted.

I regret that I could not help her more in her discomfort (which I grant you was mild on the cancer patient scale).

I regret that I didn't see her more in the past six months. I regret I stayed home on the Wednesday before she died, one precious day I lost with her.

I think the worst of the regret is behind me. At least I hope so. Sometimes the regrets seeps into my thinking but I try not to dwell on it. But I think I am on the road to acceptance. Acceptance that I cannot change that she is gone and I cannot go back and re-do any of it.

It is one month since she left us. A month ago she was living. Breathing. Talking. Now she is not. It feels like six months. I wonder if that will ever change. Will two months feel like a year? A year feel like ten years?

Shock and Awe.

2011-06-26T21:42:00.000-07:00

The days after Mom died were busy. Crazy busy. Arrangements had to be made. People had to be called. We tried to keep track of when people were coming, where they were staying. It was mind boggling.

But about 100 times a day, I felt the shock of it again. Mom was gone.

I couldn't speak to her. Ask her about a recipe. Tell her the latest triumph or frustration of my kids. I couldn't listen to her concern that I was too busy, doing too much. I couldn't hear the second third and fourth hand news about family and friends. I could not watch her cuddle with my kids. Watch her

attentively listening to whatever they were willing to talk to her about.

She was really gone.

The day after she died, I started working on a slide show for the memorial service. I looked at hundreds of pictures of my Mom throughout the years. I felt a physical pain in my chest that forever this was how I would have to see my Mom.

But after two days of watching her grow up before my eyes, I found comfort. I saw her a little girl with curls, then a care-free single girl. I saw her on her wedding day then as a mother to growing children. I saw her on family vacations, with my brothers and I on our wedding days and then with her grandchildren.

Then I began to appreciate what I had and not what I had lost. Mom was not only there for my growing up, plenty of family vacations, she was at my wedding, and knew and loved my children.

My pain, at least briefly, turned to gratitude.

Summer. Is here. Finally.

2011-06-21T20:10:00.000-07:00

First day of summer, we welcomed in style.

Sprinkler style.

Puppy got in on the action:

One of us was eventually bannished for barking.

One of us got a little dirty:

Father's Day

2011-06-19T20:47:00.000-07:00

Daddy and the kids:

The treasured gifts:

A trophy for Daddy:

"This Father's Day you deserve this trophy because you:

Always get and fix stuff for me and

Give me extra reading

but mostly because you love me Very much!"

The best part, reading the cards:

A portrait of Dad:

Me and my Dad:

It was our first family gathering without my Mom. She was missed.

But we still know how to celebrate.

Slavery. And Love.

2011-06-17T09:37:00.000-07:00

[a brief break from my Mom-centric grief posts]

Sydney: Mommy, I have my own personal slave at school.

Me: What do you mean?

Sydney: P will do anything I want.

Me: Huh?

Sydney: Mommy, it is not that I tell him "go do this" or anything. It just that I need something done P will do it for me.

Me: Well, that is not really being a slave. It is more being a good friend.

Jackson: Slavery is banned in our class.

Me: That is an actual rule?

Jackson: Yes.

Me: I think Abe Lincoln would be disappointed to know that was necessary.

Jackson: Mrs. H made it a rule.

Me: Huh?

Jackson: N was lining up a whole bunch of people to be her slaves. She said she would give them stuffies and candy. So Mrs. H made the "no slaves" rule.

Me: [speechless]
----------------------------------------------------------

[the next day]

Sydney: Mommy, are you the kind of mother that allows your daughter to fall in love?

Me: At what age? Like seven and three quarters?

Sydney: Um, yeah.

Me: Who do you want to fall in love with?

Sydney: P.

Me: What do you mean by "fall in love"?

Sydney: Mommy, it's not like we're going to date!

Me: Well, you're allowed to have a crush.

Sydney [fist pump]: YES!!!! P has a crush on me too.

Me: I figured.

The Good Bye.

2011-06-16T12:48:00.000-07:00

The days and weeks that followed the doctor's belief of "three to eight weeks" left were, to put it mildly, a roller coaster.

I found it to be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing to be able to say all the things I wanted to say and more. A curse to know what was coming and to be powerless to prevent it.

On the Mother's Day weekend, we have a family weekend away. All 13 of us. I had been working on the planning it for a month and providentially it only suited everyone's schedule for that weekend. When I planned it, we did not know at the time that this would be a sort of good bye, the last time our whole family would be together.

During the weekend, we pretty much knew. We took walks, had chats, ate, and shopped. Mom had plenty of energy. We did not talk about her illness, but I took many, many photos. I regret that I did not take more. Three weeks later she died.

The following weekend, my Mom's younger sister, a dear friend who she had not seen for a while came for a weekend. My Mom again had abundant energy, attending church, going out for lunch and cherished talks with her sister.

The day my Aunt left was the beginning of the end. Mom had one evening of severe pain, the only bad pain she had in her last days. Her pain was managed with a quick trip to the ER for IV meds. She spent a couple days in the hospital to stabilize the pain and her blood numbers. She was the wellest person on the palliative care ward. Though she seemed weak and frail to us, she seemed in robust health, comparatively speaking, on a ward where few could manage to get to the bathroom on her own. None were walking laps around the ward to regain strength as she was. She seemed well enough by week's end to return home. She had high dose radiation for pain management on her back.

The great hope was that she would receive the unapproved drug. But timing is everything in cancer as in life. When she might have needed the drug most, and been well enough to tolerate, in early May, approval had not yet been obtained. Then the clinical trial was halted (as happens) while a bad outcome was investigated . Once it restarted the backlog of 'compassionate use' approvals was long and no possible way to jump the queue existed. We never received approval.

She came home from the hospital for the May long weekend and she slept a lot. Owing to the radiation, poor kidney function, disease progression and medications. But her pain was well managed with mild painkillers.

She had an appointment with her oncologist after the long weekend, and he gently told us the window might be closing for her to receive the new drug. Her kidneys were shutting down and he wasn't sure the drug would work when the myeloma seemed to have taken hold. He said someone else not so healthy and strong initially, might not have lived so long. He offered her a hospital stay to keep her as stable as possible in the hopes of receiving the drug, but we all knew if she was admitted then, she likely would not come home. Home was where she wanted to be.

We went home. Every day the weakness increased. She was a little confused at times and could not concentrate enough to read or even watch TV. But it was still Mom. She was a gracious and appreciative patient as Dad and I cared for her.

On Thursday, Mom rallied. She was still weak, but her mind was fairly clear. Her brother arrived from Winnipeg. My brothers and their wives came for a visit. My husband came by as did my Mom's very dear friend. Her younger sister called. We all had visits. We enjoyed smiles and laughs and hugs. It was a sweet, sweet day.

I went to bed with a happy heart, but knowing that this day, golden Thursday as I called it, was going to be the day that got us through the time that was left.

The next day she was weaker still and required someone to be with her constantly. She did not have any visitors but her older sister called and we had some health care personnel come to lend aid. She started experiencing shortness of breath, which was concerning. She had relief sitting or standing so most of the day was spent helping her sit or stand, then laying her down to rest, only to need to sit or stand again.

At night the shortness of breath increased and we considered calling 911. Instead I called a nurse and we were advised to give her a small amount of morphine, which is known to help with shortness of breath. Dad and I were enormously relieved when she fell asleep.

For hours I listened to her breathe. At 4 a.m. she was awake briefly, and we knew then that she was not herself. In the hours that followed Dad and I lamented that this would be how her last days or weeks would be spent. We had been told to expect her to lapse into a coma at some point due to kidney failure. It was not to be weeks or days. It was hours.

At 7 a.m. she died, likely of a pulmonary embolism, which had likely caused the shortness of breath and moved to a critical area in her lungs. It was a merciful, peaceful, but sudden death surrounded by her husband, her daughter and her brother.

I don't think I am over the shock yet.

The Conclusion.

2011-06-14T23:02:00.000-07:00

Christmas 2010

While the sophisticated blood test showed myeloma cells, we didn't know what to think. The main number we looked to as an indicator of the cancer was still as low as you can go. Curious.

In mid December Mom seemed frail. And oddly forgetful. She always had an excellent memory, especially for details. Her tumour number edged up a tiny bit. I knew then that it might be her last Christmas.

It was in those lazy days between Christmas and New Years, Mom had seemed to be coming down with a bug. She was nauseous and very tired. I was working on a puzzle at home as we spoke on the phone. What I heard caused my heart to skip a beat.

It turns out that the fluish symptoms, and the frailty and forgetfulness were hypercalcemia, essentially calcium poisoning. The multiple myeloma was back. The myeloma lesions affected her bones causing calcium to leach into her blood. A bone marrow biopsy a few days later confirmed that there were more myeloma cells in her bone marrow than there had been when she had been diagnosed two years previous.

While on a usually effective form of chemotherapy. This was definitely not good.

The oncologist believed that her cancer morphed into something very aggressive. He did have one new drug to try, thalidomide. He said it might beat back the cancer well, and a patient could stay on this drug on lower doses for maintenance indefinitely. Or it might not work and few other options would remain.

Mom started this oral chemo in January. My Dad kept track of all her numbers and after 2 weeks of the new drug, he was keen to see some movement in the tumour marker, which had crept up since mid December. The doctor cautioned that the blood work would likely show no improvement until after one full cycle, four weeks, and even then the movement would be gradual.

The drop was precipitous. It dropped over a third in just two weeks. The weeks that followed continued the trend and the numbers continued to look good through to early April. I dared to believe that the elusive remission might be in grasp.

Then we saw a blip.

The tumour marker edged up. A tiny little bit. Since the measurement in not entirely precise, this could be an anomaly. Oh how we hoped and prayed for an anomaly.

The next week it climbed a little higher and we knew that this was not good. But she remained on the chemo. We hoped the myeloma could be kept at bay a while longer.

A couple weeks later Mom's blood numbers we not good enough for her to receive the chemo. The week following it was no better.

The doctor has some sobering news, he thought that the myeloma cells had crowded out the healthy plasma cells and that not many options remained. There was a phase 2 clinical trial drug that might be taken on compassionate grounds. But it was in the same family of drugs as the last two drugs that had failed. He held out little hope.

The doctor then spoke the scariest words: three to eight weeks.

The Middle.

2011-06-09T08:00:00.000-07:00

Christmas 2009: Oma gets a lot of help opening gifts.

Beginning the middle of 2009 Mom was off chemo. She was not as tired, but in retrospect not as full of energy as she once was.

We were told that the multiple myeloma would be back. It was a matter of time. A twelve to eighteen month period of semi-remission was the norm.

Of course we hoped eighteen months plus, but Mom would be at the lower end of the spectrum. Beginning the winter of 2010 her tumour marker started to creep up. We knew it was a matter of time before she would be back in active treatment.

The oncologist advised that medical research meant more targeting chemotherapy was available and there were several drugs that could be tried. Starting May 2010, about a year after her first round, Mom started chemo. While the first round had been oral, this round was IV and she attended at the chemo centre four Fridays in five to get her cocktail.

Like the first round, her side effects were largely fatigue, but she felt unwell for the first few days after IV infusion. As the rounds went on she felt better in the days after treatment, but still very fatigued. She adapted well to the reduced energy. She mostly did what she wanted but organized her days and weeks around having rest for a few hours after lunch.

Quite apart from managing the symptoms, her tumour numbers dropped quickly. Her oncologist hoped to drive her numbers to zero, and do a bone marrow biopsy to confirm that she was in complete remission, something not accomplished in the prior round. In his words "we are looking for a multi-year remission".

Music to our ears.

In November 2010, Mom had a more sophisticated blood test that we expected would show no multiple myeloma cells which would set the stage for the bone marrow biopsy to confirm that she was in complete remission.

It was the first in a series of disappointments. Her blood showed myeloma cells, and so chemo therapy continued.

The Beginning.

2011-06-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

On December 7, 2008 my Mom attended at the ER to try to discover the source of worsening pain in her neck. She had tried pain killers and anti-inflammatory meds, she had tried physiotherapy, rest, heat, and ice all without relief.

The results of the CT scan stunned us: tumors all over her spine and in one kidney. I consider myself to be medically savvy owing to my lengthy training starting with Marcus Welby and Dr. Kildare right up to Dr. McDreamy at Seattle Grace and Dr. Gregory House. So of course when I heard this I knew my mother had renal cancer that had metastasized and spread to her bones. I doubted she would see 2009.

Fortunately for my Mom, she sought a second opinion from an actual oncologist and was found to have multiple myeloma - cancer of the plasma cells in the bone marrow. Those are a type of white blood cells that create antibodies that fight infection in the body. It is a blood cancer.

The cancer spreads to the bones where lesions appear, which was the cause of my Mom's pain and what showed up on the fateful CT scan.

Fortunately, the prognosis for a multiple myeloma patient is better than for one with metastasized cancer of the kidney. Treatments can beat back the cancer. For patients younger than my Mom (76 at diagnosis) a stem cell transplant can extend life. Unfortunately, it is not curable and treatments do ultimately fail. We were told that people do live 5 to 10 years with multiple myeloma. Considering the dire alternatives, we took this as "good" news.

Christmas 2008

We enjoyed Christmas 2008 with a new appreciation for health and each other.

My Mom had an intense course of radiation to treat the pain and began oral chemotherapy. A month later the pain was much decreased but she was very weak and she was hospitalized for about a week. She may have had PCP a virulent pneumonia, or just radiation-affected lungs. She pulled through fine and finished her six month course of chemotherapy.

While her blood work did not indicate complete remission, the drugs had done their job and beat back the myeloma.

My Tribute

2011-06-05T15:06:00.000-07:00

My Tribute to my Mom delivered June 1, 2011

Anyone that knows both me and my mother and me knows how very different we are.

My mother was thoughtful, where I am more impulsive.

She was introverted, I am extroverted.

She measured her words. I am quick to speak.

She was patient. I am not.

She was neat and fastidious in her appearance in how she kept the house and I daresay in how she lived her life. I am un-neat. As proof you can look at the inside of my purse, top of my desk or floor our our minivan.

She was keenly attuned to her emotions. I am more intuned to my analytical side.

And she was gracious. I am in need of grace.

I think it is fair to acknowledge that we had our moments as many mothers and daughters do. When I was going through adolescence my mother was starting “the change”, that combination of hormones might best be compared to a Molotov cocktail. But we survived those years unscarred and unscathed and our relationship has only grown stronger.

As I get older, I have seen that I am more like my mother than I first thought. We are both centred on our family, we love to laugh and enjoy a good meal. We are both focussed on the details, have legendary memories and we each have a creative side. We are both sensitive and we both have an overactive worry gene. In fact, I told Dad that with Mom gone, I have to worry for the both of us and he may have to give up shaving so I won’t have to worry about him cutting himself accidentally.

I think I first started to appreciate our similarities about 15 years ago and my mom was in the hospital after a hysterectomy. I was sitting beside her bed. It was a couple days after the surgery. She wasn’t in terrible pain, but she was getting her strength and her appetite back. She was resting and dozing. We had some easy conversation. Then she asked me “do you think I’ve lost weight?”

I told her “maybe a little, but once you start eating and drinking again it will come back. Those lost water pounds always come back”

She said, “no, not that. I lost my uterus. That must weigh at least 5 pounds.” I knew then that I was my mother’s daughter.

My Mom was ALL about family. Oh how she loved and cared for her children. And of course her grandchildren were very special to her -- she was a very hands-on Oma as you saw from the pictures. (I will talk about Dad later.) What I want to talk about today are some of the ways my Mom expressed her love and how that made her so special. I will also talk about some people very special to my Mom.

FOOD

Food was not just sustenance, it was how she expressed her love. Any meal was an opportunity for shared time together and style definitely counted. That meant a table cloth, pretty dishes, candles, fancy napkins and often flowers. Many of you will have experienced my Mom’s terrific meals. She was an amazing cook, baker and artisan with food. It looked good, smelled better and tasted best.

Birthday dinners were a culinary spectacle in our family. The honoured birthday person got a made to order meal. No effort was spared in the preparation of the meal. No special order was too much work. The table was always laid beautifully. Even while on chemo and her energy waned the past couple years, she made sure we had special meals. The ham and homemade scalloped potatoes was replaced with Chinese food or pizza. But we ate in the dining room on beautiful dishes.

In the spring my parents decided to list their home for sale so I came over to brainstorm on how to stage their home. This, I thought, was a working meeting. I arrived to a glass of wine waiting for me and tempura shrimp in the oven. For appetizers. The main course was Chilean sea bass served with a medley of vegetables. Dessert was strawberry cheesecake. It was like being on a cruise ship. We did not get that much done that evening.

The next week I said to Mom and Dad “I will come straight after work. Let’s have a quick meal. Like a bagel, or egg salad sandwich.” “Sure” they assured me. I said sternly “no really, this is a working visit”. I arrived to a glass of wine and spring rolls in the oven for appetizers. Dad fired up the BBQ to cook some free range grass fed chicken legs. Another medley of vegetables and another delicious dessert. The next week I I just looked forward to the glass of wine.

Food was a very important way she connected with her five grandchildren. It started by stocking goldfish crackers for any toddler snack emergencies These too were served on toddler appropriate special dishes. Each child had their own bib at Oma and Opa’s house.

And then came the thing that became synonymous with Oma. Jackson Erin Sydney Lian and Kyle, can tell you-- Smartie cookies! It is like chocolate chip cookies on steroids. They are sweeter and crunchier and there is no treat its equal in all the world. The kids all took to Oma’s meat buns or Mennonite Fleish peroski. Oma always made sure to have mac and cheese and chicken nuggets to cater to the culinary peccadillos of her grandchildren.

Mom did not ignore the grownups when the kids came along. She knew how busy life is with kids in the house. Jackson was a newborn and Mom was delivering meals, batches of meat buns and some treats to keep us going. After that, containers of soups were delivered (with full credit to Dad, her soup chef), meat buns or a meal. Always with love and concern for our well-being.

CHRISTMAS

Christmas was really something special. The official celebrations began sometime after Mom’s birthday on November 15th when the Christmas dishes came out. The special dishes epitomized the season and its celebrations. Days and days were spent tastefully decorating every nook and cranny of 4805 Meadfeild Road every year. A large red cross on the front door was lit with a spotlight that could be viewed for blocks (my Mom was no fool for marrying an engineer to set that up). The house was transformed with poinsettias, real cedar centrepieces, wreaths, candles, a manger scene and of course a magnificent tree with decorations, many of sentimental significance The atmosphere and warmth was Irmie Konrad personified.

The celebrations and traditions of Christmas included special meals. My brothers and I are all the discriminating type when it comes to matters of the heart. Which meant that by the time each of us had found someone acceptable for matrimony, we were each in our mid to late thirties. What this meant, apart from forcing my Mom to accept that even with 3 children, she may not get grandchildren out of the deal, that Christmas during our many single adult years was a 5 to 10 day family sleepover. The freezer was full with baking, the meals were planned, the puzzle was chosen and we hunkered down for days and days of family bonding.

All the decorations stayed until Epiphany when Christmas was all packed up for another year. I used to ask Mom if she hated taking down Christmas. I assumed she would because I hate taking down Christmas. And because she had about 10 times more items to put away. But she made it a ritual and it was part of the celebration, not something to just get done.

GIVING

My Mom was a giver. She thought of others first, was generous without limit. Her generous heart was shared with many whose paths she crossed. Sometimes she gave in very tangible ways.

When I was pregnant with Jackson, her first grandchild, someone told her “you can’t have too many receiving blankets” and so began the Oma blanket factory. The first step was a trip to the fabric store to pick an adorable fabric. Then came measuring and hemming the edges to precision. But what made the blankets so special was the personalized detail of crocheting the edges. I can still see Mom bending over the ironing board with a ruler and pencil marking the fabric to ensure the crocheting was evenly spaced and perfectly straight. By the time Jackson arrived I had at least 20 special receiving blankets.

Little did she know the precedent she was setting. I was well pregnant with Jackson when Doug and Lori announced that Erin was on the way and the one woman blanket brigade was pressed into service. After that there was Sydney and Lian and Kyle who each enjoyed these special baby blankets.

Sometimes my Mom’s giving was in words. When Jackson, our son was born. John and I fumbled around trying to figure out how often to change diapers and work out the feedings and figure out if that little high pitched squeak was really a burp or if there was another one coming. My hormones were of course raging and we were both tired and really felt inadequate to the task. My Mom did not give us any unsolicited advice, although we surely needed it. She told us “you are doing a great job” “you are naturals” “you have really taken to parenting”. The power of those affirmations at that time was enormous.

At her last appointment with her oncologist, Dr. Sascha delivered the news that her kidneys seemed to be failing and there seemed to be no way to stop the disease. After he answered our questions, he left the room. It was quiet for a moment as we tried to absorb the news. Though the news was expected at that point, it still took my breath away. My Mom’s first words might have been expected to be “not what we were hoping for” or “not what I wanted to hear”. Rather s he said of Dr. Sascha “that man has a hard job to do.” Empathetic to the end.

FAITH

Mom’s faith was as intense as it was important. She lived out her faith out by helping others, baking, supporting, praying, teaching, serving, loving and caring. She was a cheerful giver and served her Lord so faithfully.

She prayed for family and friends and with family and friends. Here at her church home at West Van Baptist she made so many, many wonderful friends. One of the reasons I know this is in the last week before she died we received countless calls, emails and offers of food. We had a veritable smorgasbord to enjoy every night. I will be contacting some of you for recipes.

There are many things that are God-ordained about the last month. In April, I wanted to set up a weekend for the 13 of us to go away. It took weeks to coordinate our schedules. In the end the only weekend that worked was Mother’s Day which was one of the last weekends she felt well enough to have enjoyed it. We are so very, very glad we had that time together.

My Mom prayed that if she was to die, that she would have an easy death and wanted to die at home. God granted his faithful daughter her wish. In the end her death was quick. At home. And free of pain. And she is now free for all eternity of the discomfort, weakness, fatigue and all symptoms of cancer and treatment that dogged her for the last 2 ½ years.

INFLUENCES

Mom entered the world during the great depression. In her lifetime a great many things were discovered, invented and developed. She had come to enjoy life transforming inventions like the microwave, the speaker phone, and fat-free sour cream. But I will say that none of the modern inventions, conveniences meant as much to her as one. And that is cheap long distance plans.

In the last number of years she has enjoyed unfettered access to many, but in particular her two sisters, Edith and Hildy. Anything from a good recipe, interesting news headline, a good joke, a piece of family news or just update from the latest doctor’s appointment was worthy of a phone call. I thought at times that Dad should have installed and open access mic to Auntie Hildy’s house, just to save the trouble of pressing the speed dial button. I know that the companionship of her sisters by phone has meant a lot, especially in the past couple years when her travels and other activities have been more limited.

Well over twenty years ago a woman named Ruth prayed. She prayed for a friend. A special friend. She prayed for a full year and then one day sat a table with my Mom at the Christian Women’s Lunch. Ruth said she knew. There was just something very special about Irmie. My Mom noticed Ruth immediately. What did she notice about Ruth? Her blouse.

For over twenty years they enjoyed lunches and coffees and walks and a steady and enduring friendship. Ruth preceded Mom into the world of grandmothering and I know that they shared many a brag session over the exploits of their grandchildren. I don’t know if Ruth will be praying for a new special friend, but I have one thing to say to her: I like your blouse.

Something needs to be said about my Dad. By the time he retired he already had an impressive resume as an engineer and management consultant. In his retirement he became the skipper of his own ship and consummate genealogist as he and Mom traced their family tree. After the past few years he can add to his resume, laboratory analyst as he surveilled beta 1 globulin, the tumour marker for multiple myeloma more closely than the US government tracked ever tracked Osama Bin Laden. He knew not only Mom’s current white blood count, red blood count, neutrophils, haemoglobin, creatinen, calcium and platelets but also the range for such things and what it meant. There were spreadsheets involved, bar graphs and Dr. Sascha always welcomed Mom, Dad and his black notebook with a long list of questions Dad compiled with input from Mom.

Dad became the procurer of organic foods and vitamins and supplements as Mom did everything in her power to be strong and give her body every edge to fight the multiple myeloma. He has chauffeured Mom to appointments, for blood draws and to specialists. He has read all the medical literature on multiple myeloma and all the treatments. In more recent days I saw my Dad an extraordinary nurse and companion.

We all know that Dad will miss a great many things about Mom. They shared almost 55 years of marriage, 3 kids, 1 dog, 5 grandchildren, lived in 6 cities, 8 houses, had 7 church homes, took countless trips, many adventures and of course had a little heartache. But there is one irreplaceable service that she rendered him that no one can replace. This service is born of the decades they spent together intersecting with my Mom’s remarkable memory. It is instant name recall. We have frequently heard these conversations increasingly over the past 10 years:

Dad: Irmie, what is the name of the guy, you know, the one with the brothers?

Mom: Ernie Friesen

Or this:

Dad: Irmie, what is the name of the old lady, she lived by the river?

Mom: You mean the one with the …

Dad: No not that one, the other one.

Mom: Mrs. Peterson

Or this:

Dad: Irmie, who is the guy, you know who got the things and then he got other thing?

Mom: Bob Stewart. He had rickets and then got a brain tumour.

This skill was worthy of being on a game show. My Mom would know who he was talking about even without context, city or what decade he was talking about.

In conclusion, I will say that Mom’s influence on our family is profound. Though it is difficult to imagine the Konrads going forward without her, her love and devotion has formed us, guided us and will live on in us. Her last wish was for God’s peace for her family and for all who loved her. May it be so.

Mom

2011-06-05T14:11:00.000-07:00

My long absence from this blog is owing to the illness and passing of my Mom. The past six months have been an emotional and significant time in my life. I will be blogging about it for the next while. I understand that for some this may be difficult due to read owing to personal circumstances. For me, the title of my blog holds true: writing will be my therapy.