It's been a busy few weeks -- and it's only going to get busier!
I did some career counselling as I try to find my path -- and figure out if my 'fantasy career' is really the right one. It's not that I don't dare to follow my dreams. I'm just wondering if my designated 'fantasy career' is in fact the career of my dreams. You know, if you got the chance to date your celebrity crush, would you want to? Perhaps not for long! And not at all if you're already sharing your life with the real man of your dreams.
On a completely different note, I got all craft-tastic which is totally unlike me.
First I warmed up with a hideous castle cake.
Then I helped my son make gifts for all nine(!) of his former teachers. They were supposed to be his own creations but, mea culpa, it turned into a bit of a family project.
And hosted a dynamite dino-party. Photos to follow. Roaring success followed by never-again resolution.
Finally, I recovered with a completely craft-free camping trip with our son, his two best friends, and their parents. A little (okay, a lot) disorganized, a little buggy, a lot hot, ample beach and chill time.
What will the next few weeks bring?
Friday, July 13, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Consider me pinched
This morning my four-year-old invited me to have some Rice Krispies with him. As we sat across the table over breakfast, he began to sing in his pure, sweet voice:
"I just thought of it," he said.
Pinch me!
Unfortunately, an hour later we had this little exchange:
Four-year-old: "What the heck is that?!"
That sounded a little rude coming out of a four-year-old's mouth, so I said:
"How about you try 'what in the world' instead of 'what the heck', okay honey?"
Four-year-old: "Okay mama. What in the world is that fucking thing?"
Mothers are the best."Do you like it?" he asked. I did, and I asked him where he'd heard it.
Mothers are the best.
Mothers really are the best.
"I just thought of it," he said.
Pinch me!
Unfortunately, an hour later we had this little exchange:
Four-year-old: "What the heck is that?!"
That sounded a little rude coming out of a four-year-old's mouth, so I said:
"How about you try 'what in the world' instead of 'what the heck', okay honey?"
Four-year-old: "Okay mama. What in the world is that fucking thing?"
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Parentism and petunias
I think I jinxed K with my Happy Father's Weekend post. His email struck me as funny and prompted me to try a dad-mocking tone (isn't that what successful mom-blogger's do?).
It's sad how common it is for moms to mock dads. Last night at soccer one of the kids arrived woefully underdressed for the cool, misty evening. She was accompanied by her father and I caught myself thinking, "Dressed by dad." I didn't say it out loud, but a minute later my friend did. I've ranted about men who don't hold onto their toddlers in parking lots. I've complained about dads who don't supervise their kids on the play structure.
It's sexist.
There are more-attentive parents and less-attentive parents of both genders, and we all have more- and less-attentive moments. The world is full of wonderful fathers, and I am blessed to raise my child with one of them.
As for Father's Weekend, both the Father's Friday Fire and Father's Saturday Golf were cancelled, and K spent lots of time with our son. On Saturday afternoon they shovelled mulch and even planted the annuals I'd bought for my hanging basket, while I cleaned up our basement storage room. Win-win! I missed being with them but my heart smiled when I caught a glimpse of them working on the basket together. Now I am happily reminded of them both whenever I glance up at this:
It's sad how common it is for moms to mock dads. Last night at soccer one of the kids arrived woefully underdressed for the cool, misty evening. She was accompanied by her father and I caught myself thinking, "Dressed by dad." I didn't say it out loud, but a minute later my friend did. I've ranted about men who don't hold onto their toddlers in parking lots. I've complained about dads who don't supervise their kids on the play structure.
It's sexist.
There are more-attentive parents and less-attentive parents of both genders, and we all have more- and less-attentive moments. The world is full of wonderful fathers, and I am blessed to raise my child with one of them.
As for Father's Weekend, both the Father's Friday Fire and Father's Saturday Golf were cancelled, and K spent lots of time with our son. On Saturday afternoon they shovelled mulch and even planted the annuals I'd bought for my hanging basket, while I cleaned up our basement storage room. Win-win! I missed being with them but my heart smiled when I caught a glimpse of them working on the basket together. Now I am happily reminded of them both whenever I glance up at this:
Gym test
I did another full-body workout today. This one brought to me by my cousin-in-law M, whose own inspiring post quoting my words got me out the door. This morning I did not want to go to the gym. At all.
I haven't been sleeping well. Little J hasn't been sleeping well. I think there must be a full moon. And we're closing in on the longest day of the year. I am grateful that I don't live any farther north -- here in the-land-of-the-10-p.m.-sun is far enough.
I woke up feeling like hell and all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and nap as soon as possible.
However, I remembered these words, quoted by M: "I went into the gym feeling exhausted and I left feeling great." Apparently I wrote these words myself, but I wouldn't remember or believe it if it weren't for M's post. (Thanks!) So this morning, when all I wanted to do was nap, I dragged my ass to the gym. I picked up my sports bra, then my regular bra, couldn't decide. I put on my jeans, and then, reluctantly, stepped out of them and into my Lulu's. In the car, I drove past the gym, but then pulled a U-turn and parked right in front.
I resolved to test the gym. If the gym could make me feel better today, then it should work any day.
I sweated. I increased my cardio by ten minutes (so I could watch the HDTV reveal!). I did my stregth-training as efficiently as possible. I marvelled at the guy doing insane sprints, the guy bench-pressing 140 lbs., and the elderly ladies.
And then I stepped out into the cool fresh misty air outside and breathed. Nothing like a workout to make me appreciate a cool day in June!
Do I feel great? No, not quite.
But I do feel a million times better than I did this morning.
And now that I've had my tea and some blueberries and yogurt, I even feel good!
So, yes, gym, you passed the test!
I haven't been sleeping well. Little J hasn't been sleeping well. I think there must be a full moon. And we're closing in on the longest day of the year. I am grateful that I don't live any farther north -- here in the-land-of-the-10-p.m.-sun is far enough.
I woke up feeling like hell and all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and nap as soon as possible.
However, I remembered these words, quoted by M: "I went into the gym feeling exhausted and I left feeling great." Apparently I wrote these words myself, but I wouldn't remember or believe it if it weren't for M's post. (Thanks!) So this morning, when all I wanted to do was nap, I dragged my ass to the gym. I picked up my sports bra, then my regular bra, couldn't decide. I put on my jeans, and then, reluctantly, stepped out of them and into my Lulu's. In the car, I drove past the gym, but then pulled a U-turn and parked right in front.
I resolved to test the gym. If the gym could make me feel better today, then it should work any day.
I sweated. I increased my cardio by ten minutes (so I could watch the HDTV reveal!). I did my stregth-training as efficiently as possible. I marvelled at the guy doing insane sprints, the guy bench-pressing 140 lbs., and the elderly ladies.
And then I stepped out into the cool fresh misty air outside and breathed. Nothing like a workout to make me appreciate a cool day in June!
Do I feel great? No, not quite.
But I do feel a million times better than I did this morning.
And now that I've had my tea and some blueberries and yogurt, I even feel good!
So, yes, gym, you passed the test!
Monday, June 18, 2012
Growing, growing, growing
No, this is not about my garden, although that is growing too and actually deserves a post with pictures -- as soon as I can get the latest plants into the ground and weed AGAIN and so on... Or just learn to love its imperfection.
After all, I adore my little boy and he is obviously a work in progress -- aren't we all! He is the one who is growing, growing, growing. He, however, is perfect at every stage. It's miraculous and wonderful that babies are pure perfection when they are born, and then they get better and better! I suppose at some stage they become teenagers, and rumour has it that teens are less than perfect, but I'm pretty sure that my little one will continue to glow with pure love in my eyes forever.
If we could all love ourselves with the pure love that parents feel for their children, what might happen?
All of which makes me re-think perfection. I say and feel that my son is perfect even though, by most definitions, he is not. How often have I said that, "we are all imperfect"? I truly believe that, and I mean it in a positive, accepting way. Somehow, my child, despite the behaviours I try to correct (please stop whining, wash your hands, and PLEASE don't head-butt me again!), remains perfect in my eyes. I suppose that is love. It is also the recognition that we are perfect just as we are, despite all of our "imperfections". I'm suffering from a linguistic shortcoming here. I falter trying to find a synonym for perfect that embraces our inherent imperfection... We are all imperfect but we are all...Whole? Radiant? Good enough? Perfect?! ...I need some help expressing this concept!
After all, I adore my little boy and he is obviously a work in progress -- aren't we all! He is the one who is growing, growing, growing. He, however, is perfect at every stage. It's miraculous and wonderful that babies are pure perfection when they are born, and then they get better and better! I suppose at some stage they become teenagers, and rumour has it that teens are less than perfect, but I'm pretty sure that my little one will continue to glow with pure love in my eyes forever.
If we could all love ourselves with the pure love that parents feel for their children, what might happen?
All of which makes me re-think perfection. I say and feel that my son is perfect even though, by most definitions, he is not. How often have I said that, "we are all imperfect"? I truly believe that, and I mean it in a positive, accepting way. Somehow, my child, despite the behaviours I try to correct (please stop whining, wash your hands, and PLEASE don't head-butt me again!), remains perfect in my eyes. I suppose that is love. It is also the recognition that we are perfect just as we are, despite all of our "imperfections". I'm suffering from a linguistic shortcoming here. I falter trying to find a synonym for perfect that embraces our inherent imperfection... We are all imperfect but we are all...Whole? Radiant? Good enough? Perfect?! ...I need some help expressing this concept!
Friday, June 15, 2012
Happy Father's Weekend
Just received the following email from my dear husband ("DH"), with the catchy subject-line "FFF":
"HI Angel, just a heads up that Frank may have a Father’s Day Friday Fire, although just like golf tomorrow, the chances are slim that it will happen as it may rain tonight. I will be bringing home 2 frozen steaks tonight maybe for supper tomorrow."
It's official. Father's Day has been repealed and replaced with Father's Weekend, so as to accommodate Father's Friday Fire and Father's Saturday Golf. These are not father-son activities. The fire gets underway immediately after bedtime, in that narrow window between the initial tuck-in and the first request for another story/drink/hug/Kleenex/monster removal. At three years of age, our dear son is not yet welcome on the golf course, a fact which I will attempt to explain, repeatedly, throughout DH's 6 hour round on Saturday. The celebration of DH's own father will take place on Sunday, the day formerly known as Father's Day. My dad lives far away and gets a phone call, which is a shame because he would enjoy the FFF and FSG if he were here and could talk his way in. Mothers need not apply.
But hey, I'm looking forward to those frozen steaks.
 |
| Happy Father's Weekend |
p.s. For the record DH is an awesome dad and deserves all the R&R he can grab.
Dear Fitness Diary
Went to the gym this morning. All novelty has worn off. Thinking about myself becoming stronger is my sole motivation. Which is not bad motivation.
Today I'm grateful for the person who discovered that strength-training twice a week is almost as effective as three times a week. I read that in Shape magazine almost twenty years ago. If that study has been disproven, I don't think I want to know about it.
They play the worst music at the gym. I'm thinking about audio books to make the time pass. Suggestions?
Now to clean my house. At least I get to pick my own music. :-)
Today I'm grateful for the person who discovered that strength-training twice a week is almost as effective as three times a week. I read that in Shape magazine almost twenty years ago. If that study has been disproven, I don't think I want to know about it.
They play the worst music at the gym. I'm thinking about audio books to make the time pass. Suggestions?
Now to clean my house. At least I get to pick my own music. :-)
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