Walking through the memories

I was walking back from my sisters this afternoon thinking about life in general and all of the things that I’m thankful for.  Too many things to count came to mind, like a home movie running through my mind, making me grin like an idiot. (People walking by probably thought I was high or crazy or on medication).

You’d think those memories were all mushy, but most of them were the ones who make me laugh out loud (which by the way doesn’t help with the crazy grinning idiot walking down the street).

So to prove I’m not crazy I thought I would share some of the things that came to my head...

Meghan with an O:

When my daughter Meghan was 2 and ½ she asked me to write out her name on a piece of paper.  Once her name was on the paper she studied the paper intently and then the conversation went something like this:

Meghan: Mommy, where is the o?

Me: There is no o in your name baby

Meghan: yes there is

Me: No honey, look there is no o in any of your name (I wrote her middle and last name next to her first name on the paper)

Meghan: Yes there is!  Where is it?!? (She was such a stubborn toddler)

Me: No there isn’t (she didn’t get her stubborn nature from her father)

Meghan: Yes there IS!

The last two lines were repeated a few dozen times, until inevitably one of us gave in...I carefully wrote an o at the end of Meghan on the paper.

So I said “there you go meghano”

She turns to me all vindicated and said “No mommy, it’s not Meghano – it’s Meghan...with an o”

Her third birthday cake said “Happy 3^rd birthday Meghano”

Logan’s lack of filter:

My son Logan is not just honest like other kids, but I swear the kid was born without one of those filters that most people have that prevents them from telling them the truth without any softening.

For instance, one time we were in the grocery store line up and a gentleman was in front of us in line.  The man looked like the stereotypical biker, with long hair, tattoos and earring, jean jacket and big black leather boots.  My lovely, innocent, four year old son pipes up “hello mister, my name is Logan, why do you have long hair, you look like a girl, and why did you colour all over your arm, did your mom get mad? And what’s that in your ear, you sure look funny”  - let me just say it’s a good thing that big burly biker had a good sense of humour and Logan was so damn cute.

My best memory of Logan’s lack of filter was when I was pregnant with my youngest son Finnegan. I was about 8 months pregnant and for a lack of a better term – huge.

Logan came into the bathroom one morning when I was getting ready for work, hesitated and then said...

“Mama? ...I’m not gonna tell you that you’re big and fat...even if you are.  ‘cause that’s not nice”.  He looked at me so proudly, patted my tummy and strutted away like a hero. 

I sat there for a minute not sure if I should laugh or cry.  Again, it’s a good thing that boy is so damn cute.

Scott – the terrible apologizer:

I love my husband and he is a great man and a good father, and I am thankful for all of those things, but to be honest he SUCKS at apologies.

Let me give you an example...

One Saturday afternoon we had gone out and done fun and exciting stuff (if you consider grocery shopping an adventure) and we had just come home.  We were putting away the groceries.  Scott was in the kitchen and I was putting toiletries away.  I came downstairs and rounded the corner into the kitchen just as Scott pulled open the fridge.

Fridge connected with my funny bone and I yelped out in pain.  MY husband looks at me and instead of saying what most people would l say (“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come around the corner, are you ok?”) he states:

“Well I wouldn’t have hit you with the fridge door if you hadn’t come around the corner and walked into it!”

Ummm....

I laugh about it now but I was a little irritated with him at the time.  It’s like the when you force a kid to apologize for calling their sibling stupid and they something like “I’m sorry you’re stupid”

Finnegan and the chocolate syrup:

Finnegan is my youngest son and he makes me laugh all the time, with his great dance moves, his monkey like cuddles and his evil brain.  Finnegan is one of those children that figures things out quickly and who you could never fool by hiding an object.  Most babies/toddlers when you took something out of sight, would quickly forget about that item and move on.  Not my son, he would wait until I left the room, pull a chair over to wherever I had stashed said item and retrieve it when nobody was looking.

It reminds me of a time that daddy was in charge (you know by this very sentence it probably didn’t end well).  I came home from work one afternoon, pulled into our parking spot, glad to be home.  I got out of the van, put my key in the lock and swung open the door.  Standing in the doorway of the kitchen was Finnegan, wearing a diaper, a giant ear to ear grin and chocolate syrup.  I don’t mean a little bit of chocolate syrup, but an entire giant bottle of Nestle Quick chocolate syrup poured out onto the floor, and then painted onto said toddler, in every crease and every inch of skin.  There were also many chocolate foot prints in the kitchen, hallway and down the stairs (which are carpeted) to the rec room.

Where was daddy through all of this you ask?  He had fallen asleep.  Needless to say daddy got rudely awakened by me yelling his name in my “not happy” voice.

So you see why I must have looked like a crazy person walking, thinking about the above memories, laughing, then frowning in turn.

I am thankful for many things, including my husband, my children, the people in my life that make me who I am.  I’m also thankful for having the kind of sense of humour that keeps me laughing out loud and scaring unsuspecting passersby.

Happy thanksgiving world and thank you for giving me cause to laugh.

Shan

A cautionary tale of friendship and slow pitch...

 

Have you ever had the email from a friend that asks you to participate in something that seems so harmless; saying no isn’t even an option?  I have, and this tale is about that.  I caution you, pick sanity over friendship!

My friend Tracey sent me an email last month saying she and her business networking group, The Driven Dragons, were participating in the 2012 BNI slow-pitch tournament and were short players, and would I like to play.

I read the email in about ten seconds and sent an efficient reply, “sure, sounds fun” (or something like that).  The reality of what I had committed myself to did not hit me until ten o’clock the night before the tournament (last night).  At that point it was obviously too late to back out, although my strange and imaginative brain did think “What if I got the plague?” Thankfully that thought did not get heard by the universe and I woke up whole and healthy this morning.

That’s another thing I should mention, I had to be there for 8am. Another reality check hit me in the shower while I was trying to will my body to wake up this morning for the tournament.  I suddenly thought of:

·         The fact that I hadn’t played softball in almost 20 years (and I wasn’t that great back then when I was thirty pounds lighter and 20 years younger)

·         The fact that I don’t exactly work out on a regular basis these days (intentions are there, 70 hr a week job, 3 kids, working on my designation, trying to get writing in there somewhere, kind of puts a kink in that – by the time I have time to work out, I’m beat – that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it!)

·         The fact that I was going to drag a 4 year old and a nine year old and my husband out of the house by 7am when only the nine year old is a morning person

So what had possessed me to say those three words, “Sure, sounds fun”?  I still can’t reason that one out; it obviously seemed like a good idea at the time.  That or friendship played the trump card and won.  If Tracey is suggesting it, obviously it can’t be that bad, right?

So I dragged my sorry ass out of the shower, dressed, hustled people into the van and drove to Softball City at the crack of 7 (well more like 7:30, getting kids and husbands organized is kind of like herding cats...).  We got there, dragged our chairs, ourselves and our super sized coffee to the field.

The first game was fun, except the ultra serious, stick up his derriere, cantankerous old umpire who had dreams of umping for the big leagues and got us.  Every chance the ump got, he called an out, a foul or yelled at us about the rules.  I was truthfully too busy trying to remember to breathe than to worry about a bunch of silly “rules”.

We won two and lost two today, and in the end I’ll grudgingly admit I did have fun (the people were fantastic and supportive).  Fun won’t help me now though, as I sit here typing this, sprawled on my bed, stiffer than that stick up the umpire’s rear end and sore in places I forgot I had.  Just a tip – if you don’t exercise regularly, playing 4 games of softball in a day probably isn’t the smartest decision you’ll ever make.  In fact, I’m staring longingly at the ice cold beverage sitting just out of my reach, and instead of reaching for it and taking the first, thirst quenching sip I’m sitting here trying to convince myself I’m not THAT thirsty.

Some crazy fitness instructor somewhere once said that pain is gain.  Yes but at what cost.  I did gain a fun day but I also lost the ability to move my legs and arms.  It’s all a compromise I suppose.  Do you think my team at work would be willing to wheel me around in my chair for the next couple of days?

Super heroes really do wear capes

For all the parents out there, have you ever had moments that just make you so proud?  I had one of those recently.  Now you’d think that it was because my daughter got straight A’s (well except for gym where she got a B – she has my grace) but that isn’t it.  I’m proud of that but this isn’t the moment that still sticks with me and makes me grin.

Let me tell you what happened.  Keep in mind I heard third person and there may or may not be some dramatization of this story (no guarantee!).

Meghan had a drama presentation so needed to bring some props from home.  Sunday night she asked me if we still had the old cape she had when she was younger. (When she was seven she wanted to be a teen titan).  We dug through her room and found the cape, which in truth I was surprised we still had.  Meghan may have packrat tendencies but I am the opposite.  If you’re standing still too long, you’re out!

Anyway, back to the story at hand.  We found the cape in her closet, and she swung it up and over her shoulders and buckled it at the neck.  “Look it still fits” she exclaims happily.  The cape is designed for a seven year old and although it does indeed do up, the once knee length cape now falls to her shoulder blades and looks utterly ridicules, except for the enormous grin on her face.

Meghan, ever diligent, brought the props to school a couple of days before her presentation and placed the items in her locker.  Of course she forgot practical things like a sweater or jacket on a rainy day.

Skip ahead to gym class, where Meghan’s gym teacher announces that they are going outside to play football.  She instructs everyone to go get a sweater or something because it’s raining.  She turns to Meghan and asks “Meghan don’t you have a sweater?”

Meghan turns to her teacher and replies (I can just imagine the little raise of an eyebrow) and states “No, but I have a cape”

(Now I imagine her teachers look, confused and a little unbelieving).

Teacher: “Ok, go get it then”

Meghan obediently retrieves said cape from her locker, places it around her shoulders and saunters back to gym class.

Her teacher: “You really do have a cape”

So off they go outside to play football in the rain.  As Meghan is running down the field, cape flapping in the wind one of her peers turns to her and asks “Um, Meghan...why are you wearing a cape?”

My brilliant, wonderful, slightly sarcastic daughter turns to her peer and asks “Why aren’t you?”

Later that night when her friend relayed the story to me I had that moment.  That moment when you have a jolt of total and utter pride that makes your smile so wide it hurts. 

That’s my girl!

Precautionary tales about peanut butter

I have a confession to make. Two actually. This morning, I was a distracted driver and I have proven yet again that I am not terribly good at multi-tasking. You sometimes receive messages that inspire you, lift you up or educate you; this is not one of those. This is more of a precautionary tale…

So, I was rushing out the door this morning (as usual – I don’t do anything at a stroll – I know this may shock you) and remembered last minute I hadn’t eaten yet. My brain function is at an all time low in the morning so you can understand how one could forget about eating. I pride myself on being quick on my feet and decide I’ll just pop some toast in and bring it with me. Ten minutes later, I’m in the car, headed to work, back on track. I approach an intersection, the light turns yellow, and I diligently come to a stop like a conscientious driver. Now this is where it all goes awry…

I look over to my passenger seat and see the toast with melted peanut butter glistening in the light (as dull as that light is today). My stomach says “GRROWWWLLLL” and my brain says, “I’m at a stop light, I could take a bite”. I reach over, take one of the pieces and take a bite, and it’s as good as it looks.

As I pull a finger away, I notice I have peanut butter on my hand from the bottom of the toast. Stacking the pieces seemed like a good idea at the time. No worries, I lick the peanut butter from my fingers and a brilliant idea comes to me. I’ll just lick the bottom of the toast too so I don’t get any more peanut butter on myself.

The light is still red at this point (Oddly what seems like hours, was only seconds). So I bend the toast to clean up the bottom. I’m such a great problem solver I think to myself. As I reach out my tongue to scoop up the mess, the hot, gooey, melted peanut butter pooled on the right side of the toast tumbles down in a waterfall of peanut buttery goodness, splashes onto my sweater, down my seatbelt, all over the steering wheel and onto my pants. I don’t mean little droplets; I mean great splotches of melted peanut butter everywhere.

I look in horror at the mess I’ve made and as I am contemplating, do I laught? Do I cry? A loud honk sounds behind me from the semi-truck driver. The light has finally turned green and I am holding up the line. Ten seconds later and a “high five” and two more honks from the lovely truck driver, I sprint into action, peanut butter dripping from the steering wheel as I turn the corner on the advanced left (sadly because of my delay the truck driver did not make it through the advanced left).

I pull over once I turn, take a moment to breathe and then dig all over the car for a napkin, a cloth, something to clean up the mess. I find a napkin of uncertain cleanliness (three kids can be messy!) and go about cleaning up the mess. (One more honk as the truck driver blasts by – I may have made him 30 seconds late for wherever he was going!)

I sat in my car, covered in peanut butter and just laughed. What else could I do?

This brings me to the second part of my confession – multitasking. I know they say women are supposed to be able to multitask, and I should be able to, with 3 kids ranging from almost 4 to almost 14, a busy job, CIP classes, PAC, etc, but I confess. I suck at it. I normally try to do single tasks in rapid succession, and every time I try to do two tasks at the same time, I fail. The peanut butter staining my pants as I type is a great reminder.

So kids, don’t eat while you are driving. More importantly don’t eat peanut butter toast. Even MORE importantly, don’t try to lick the errant peanut butter off the bottom side of the toast or you will end up with a car full of peanut butter (Did I mention I’m driving my hubby’s car today – he’ll be so thrilled), an angry trucker, a tangible reminder of the folly’s of multitasking and bruised pride about problem solving skills. But then again, if you need a laugh, this certainly did the trick.

Anticipation is overrated

It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog post, so those of you who actually read this without my begging you too, sorry about that.  This thing called life keeps getting in the way of the things I really want to do, like write and sleep.

I’ve been writing many blog posts in my head but sadly they haven’t created an APP for retracting thoughts yet!

There has been a story in my head for almost an entire month that I kept meaning to write but haven’t quite had the time.  So I thought I would steal a moment to torture you with my stories.

Without further ado:

Last month, it was a sunny May weekend, and for once my husband was off so we got to hang out doing all of the fun things we do together.  Thrilling things like cleaning the house, doing laundry, getting groceries and doing errands.  What can I say we’re living the dream. 

Anyway, I fail to mention I was very excited that day as I had received a notification from Canada Post that I had a package waiting for me at the Pharmasave post office and I could pick it up any time after 1pm.  So I went about my errands happily anticipating whatever lovely surprise awaited me in that package.

I should have known better, I really should have, but I do have moments of hope that someone could have actually sent me something great.  But back to the story

We pulled up to the Pharmasave just after 1pm to get my long anticipated package and I barely waited until Scott pulled into the parking spot before jumping out.  I practically skipped into the store and stood impatiently in line while the lady in front of me wrote the address on her package she was sending.  (Who doesn’t have that already prepared before coming to the post office, seriously?)

Finally, after what seemed like twenty minutes but was more like two, it was my turn.  I handed my slip to the lady and hopped from foot to foot while she went to retrieve the package.  When she handed me the package I turned it around to look at it and saw the box on the outside.  I thought to myself, “no, that can’t be what it is, what would they send me...”

Stubbornly I marched back to the van and got in and wrestled with the massive amounts of tape to get the package open.  Scott was watching me like I was a lunatic (which I am but that’s besides the point).  Finally, success!  I opened the torn lid and looked inside.

Yep – a sample of baby formula.

Talk about the world’s biggest let down.  Here I had wondered all day who could have sent me a package not once thinking it was a very unintelligent marketing gimic that was sending me formula FOUR YEARS TOO LATE.  Nice.

I think maybe the world was trying to tell me something, I had been feeling sick for a couple of days prior to the package, I was moody and my boobs hurt.  Then the formula.  I think the universe was conspiring against me.  Good thing I screwed them over by having my tubes removed last year.  Phew, me one, universe, oh never mind, who’s keeping count anyway.

 I wonder what I’ll get next, maybe a sample of incontenance “underwear”.  Fun times.  Really.

Buckets of lists or lists of buckets

I know I haven’t posted in a while, as life interrupts my random thoughts it seems to pull me away from what I love to do – write commentary on life.  Like a giant monologue that nobody really wanted to read and sharing too much information to leave those who dare to read with a lasting image of an otherwise mundane life.

The problem is, in my current state of mind I can’t find that funny tidbit to share with you.  I’m sure I could drag some story out of the pooping battles I’m currently having with the three year old or the comedic mishaps that happen here often in the McEwen household.  I just can’t muster the energy.  January has been a cold and gray and dreary month filled with too much work and not enough play, which oddly enough doesn’t really stimulate my silly story juices. 

So instead I’m going to be all serious on you.  Do you ever think about death?  Now don’t panic, I’m not thinking about death in the imminent sense or the “I can’t take it” sense but more in the “what do I want to accomplish” sense.  Scott’s grandma, who was a lovely lady, just passed away at the age of 90 last week and it got me to thinking “what if I don’t have that much time?” It made me do a little mental inventory.

I thought about the ol’ bucket list.  Now I know some people have places they want to see but if I never travel again that would be okay.  Rather boring I suppose but not earth shattering.  I always wanted to see Ireland for some odd reason but from what I understand it rains there a lot.  It rains here in Vancouver a lot too, so is that enough?

I think my deepest, most selfish personal wish would be to publish a book.  Writing is my passion, it actually makes me happy to do, and it makes me even happier to have people read and enjoy.  Still, realistically and statistically speaking I probably have just as much of a chance of getting run over by a bus.  Not my preferred method of departing the world but at least it wouldn’t really matter if I was wearing clean underwear.

No, I think the number one item on my “bucket list” is to make a difference with my kids.  When I die, and I will one day, sadly the case with every human, I want my children to look back at their childhood with me and believe that their life is better, even a little because of me.  The one thing I would like my children to have a positive idea of is their self worth and self esteem.  They mean different things according to the internet.

According to lessons4living.com self worth means “Self-worth is what you are born with. As one of the creations of the universe you are worthwhile and have value, which cannot be taken from you. You can’t lose it, but you can lose sight of it. You can forget your value.”

Self esteem means “How you feel about yourself is self-esteem. It is your perception of how you are doing in the world. Self-esteem may go up or down depending upon what is happening to you”

The reason I find this so important is sometimes I forget my own self worth and I have to really work at finding it again.  I don’t know why that is, whether the people in my life when I was a child didn’t talk about it or I wasn’t listening (which is a distinct possibility) but through my life I have had moments where I honestly couldn’t see my worth.  I know I am an intelligent, caring, hard working person that sometimes gets through just on stubbornness alone, but I often have to remind myself of that.  My hope for my kids is that I tell them enough and they build their self esteem and confidence enough that they won’t spend so much time having to focus on it.  It will be an innate sense of self that creates confidence (not arrogance) and selfishly I hope they look back and think “My mom helped me with that”.

That may go back to my own self esteem issues and wanting people to acknowledge that I am worthy:P

Not an exciting or titillating bucket list so far:

1.     Maybe visit Ireland – or stand in back yard in a rainstorm with Celtic music playing in the background

2.     Publish a book but not at the expense of getting hit by a bus

3.     See my children grow into strong, confident and lovely adults

4.     Oh and I suppose I should add spend as much time with my husband as possible so he doesn’t feel left out

I’m working on that list, in the meantime I’m staying away from buses and hoping to have 90 or so years to figure out what I really want to be when I grow up.