Dear Friends

Broad title. 

From day 1 to present day... (What's 40 years in days?... I can do the math, but I won't...grade 1 homework has kicked my butt this week)...

If the lot of you got together you could write one hell of a story.  Don't. Don't, get together... I love the idea of being mysterious. 

I'm super lucky. For reasons unknown I have managed to make friends. And if that was not enough, the friends I have are... Well....fkn awesome (autocorrect really struggled with 'fkn'...I won).

I have friends who ate my raisins (sounds innocent enough but I had previously eaten them and was depositing them like the Easter bunny).  I have friends that kicked me in the stomach (and later loaned me their ID to get into bars when photo ID was a pipe dream). I have friends who joined my neighbourhood detective club, my cheerleading club, my fitness group, and my make a new Country compound. I have friends who told me I looked great and friends that brought me a new outfit. Friends who tried to find me a boyfriend and friends who took my boyfriend. I have friends in jail and friends who put people in jail. Friends who held my ponytail while I was praying to the porcelain prince, and friends whose ponytail I held & DNA I have worn. I have laughed 'til I cried and cried 'til I laughed. I have made plans, cancelled plans, been on the in, and been on the out. Played for them, with them, or coached them. I have held secrets and reminded friends of dreams...and they have done the same for me. 

We have lost shoes in lakes, been hickeed (is that a word) by leeches, ourselves and boys (not me..ewww), missed curfew, borrowed chocolate bars from 7-11 (we need to return those...and I was innocent, innocent I swear), moved desks into the gym for exams, pulled all nighters on trips, jumped on the beds of four star hotels, and roomed with 500k cockroaches. 

We have been bad, good, amazing, and God-like. We have been friends. 

When the going gets tough, one of you, somewhere seems to reach out just when I need you. You remind me of where I came from, and who I am and where I ought to go (sometimes you say 'hell' but I know you would join me). 

Feeling blessed, Thank you. 

Sar/Butch/Miss B/Jo/Red/SARS/SB/Morrison...Sexy Bitch (I may have made one of my those up). 

Being happy for others

When I was a little girl, ten or so years ago (writer's privilege), I was envious. Envious of everyone that could do something I could not OR had something I did not. It was torturous. There was always somebody better. There was always somebody with more. That feeling robbed me of so many incredible moments. I wanted to be like someone other than myself. I didn't see my successes because I was too busy coveting others. 

I was competitive and self deprecating. I wanted the awards and accolades. I wanted the 'stuff'.  I wanted to be seen as successful....As the best. I wanted others to recognize me! 

I based MY worth on what OTHERS thought.

I am not the envious little girl anymore. I changed.

Not overnight...but gradually.

 I learned that waiting and working for recognition gave others the control of my happiness. I learned that I had to be the one to acknowledge me. I learned that my most successful moments are not trophy or press release material and may never be known by anyone other than me. And I learned that it is rewarding to be genuinely happy for those that ARE being recognized. 

And I have so many opportunities to be just that. 

 I am an extremely fortunate person. So many of my friends and family are the cream of the crop. They are hall of famers in sport, they have parks and trophies named after them, they are Olympians, professional coaches, professional athletes, professors, performers, authors, educators, first responders, trail blazers, business owners and heroes. They are frequently awarded for being such AND I get to know them. I get to be happy for them and that feeling lasts longer than any award I have ever received. 

The company I keep is to be envied, and I couldn't be happier. 

S.  

Bubble wrap

Firstly, I don't profess nor am I misguided in believing that I am a perfect parent. Just by observing my children, my actions, and what the miniature miscreants say about me is enough to keep my ego in check. Soooo, when I rant about children, parents and the world in general, it's because I live on the edge of my glass house and when my shoulder is not bothering me I have a hell of a throwing arm. 

Ok, so this rant, er blog, is fuelled by the snow banks at the local public school that have construction cones on them. 

Snow banks are off limits at the school. 

In particular the snow bank that is safely tucked behind the school. And thank heavens for that!  What a menacing abomination! Standing at 3.5 feet tall, away from any play structure, building or roadway...taunting children...whispering enticements. Could you imagine the horror if kids played on it?! Thank goodness it has pylons on top to deter. 

Thanks for nothing. 

When did it happen? When did children start needing to be bubble wrapped? I looked on the school supply list and nowhere is bubble wrap mentioned. Nor is helmets, esteem booster, or mommy/lawyer on speed dial (I think electronic devices were listed). School ground play structures are off limits to students unless supervised by a teacher at a specific time...which means NOT before school. So, no play structures and no snow banks....which stands to reason since kid's can't play king of the castle since that may indicate a less than level playing field....no punn intended.  

Where am I going with this? Well, because snow banks are forbidden, and I want my children to respect the rules as laid out by the misguided,... I mean administration... I am put into a position of disciplining my child when he, climbs onto said snow bank. Again, thanks for nothing. Now my mini mountain climber is grounded (things escalated when I removed him from the snow bank). 

I obviously don't agree that the snow bank is THE problem. Kid's not knowing how to take turns, be gentle, act safely..is THE problem. And that stuff is self correcting. The kids don't need teacher supervision and pilons...they need experience. 

Kids need to 'kid'. 

Kids need to learn that the biggest kid is not a great choice for the top of a piggy pile. Kids need to learn that putting arms out is a way to break a fall (and the occasional arm). Kids need to learn how to sign casts. Kids need to learn that not everyone is their friend nor does everyone need to be their friend. Kids need to learn that snow banks on the side of the road are not something to play on but the ones safely in the middle of a school ground are. Kid's need to be given the opportunity to make decisions. They will suck at it. And as they get more chances and more experience they will suck less. I'm not suggesting kids get free reign...parents still need to parent. If snow banks are against your family's core values then instill that into YOUR child (not the school rules). 

And now I need to clean the windows of my glass house.  If only there was a snow bank close enough so that I could do the outside. 

Dear Brother,

*for those who grew up with a sibling that was your best friend and confidant....you may not understand the following. Read at your own risk, and....you missed out. 

I am the big sister. I am the only sister. And my little brother is the only brother. For the mathematicians: that means there was two of us. 

Dear brother, 

I remember when you were born. I proudly announced to the world that 'I. Was. A. Sister!'....(no mention that I had a brother)...up and until this point in my life, I was the centre of the universe, why should things change now? 

Being nearly 4 years apart and of the opposite sex, you had very little to offer. You monopolized Mom's time,...you had my room moved to the attic,...and you were perfect. Ugh. The worst little brother. Ever. 

Although I gave you several examples of behaviour to emulate, you chose a different path. The slamming of doors you changed to quiet, forlorn exits. The screaming back, you substituted an agreeable response. The imbalanced personality, you presented an even, congenial temperament. YOU. WERE. IMPOSSIBLE. 

Lucky for you, I read my sibling handbook and ensured you got the full treatment. Imagine if you made it to adulthood without experiencing freshly ground pepper in your nose? Or what if you never were locked out of rooms? Or, henpecked!? To you, my dear brother, I say: YOU ARE WELCOME. 

You see, what you brought to the table, was sweetness. Your even keel personality and easy-to-get-along-with attitude was boring. Knowing what to expect from you and you delivering exactly the expectation....pfffft. Amateur. 

I ensured both Mom and Dad had someone to direct their discipline. I gave them reasons to try new approaches. I drew the line in the sand (or pushed the envelope...semantics). YOU ARE WELCOME. 

And now as adults, you don't hold any of that over my head. In fact, you are even quiet about being Mom and Dad's favourite. What's with you? Have you no shame? 

And now we are the parents. Your children are sweet.  Kind.  Conscientious. Where as mine...well, let's just say they don't fall far from the ol' tree. So ha! Who's laughing now!? 

With love, 

Sar 

*p.s. You may not make up for opportunities lost as a kid when you are an adult. It's considered a criminal offence (in most cases). 

xo

Dear Children,

*Reader: you may disagree with the following, or even think I am being critical of your own personal parenting approach,...and I suppose this is where I ought to apologize ... But I won't. If you disagree, that's your prerogative, if you feel picked on, oh well. 

Dear Children, 

I am not your best friend. My intent is not to have you like ME, but rather to ensure that the rest of the world likes YOU. My job is not to shower you with gifts and be your personal entertainer....I am not your maid, butler or chauffeur (although it appears that way a significant portion of the time). 

My job is dirty. 

When they say 'this hurts me more than it hurts you', I think the 'theys' who coined that phrase were moms like me. 

I can't catch you every time you fall. You need to learn how to fall on your own. And more importantly how to get up by yourself when you do so. Trust me, failure is part and parcel of life and how you manage it, is what separates the wheat from the chaff. Yes, I know 'Johnny's' mom swoops in and "fixes" things with the teacher, coach, and boss...but here is the scoop:  they are not helping Johnny. You, my dear child get to practice navigating your own speed bumps. You get to have the uncomfortable conversations. You get to be responsible for your actions.  You get to do the leg work.  You get to own your mistakes. Because when you do, you also earn the bragging rights for your accomplishments. 

My job is not easy. When you fall I want nothing more than to make it all better for you. I would love to shield you from every broken heart and painful moment....but that is an impossibility, so what I can do...what I must do, is give you tools to navigate solo. 

When you fall I am close by. I am here to aid in problem solving and to coach and cheer you on.  My job is to ensure you will be successful at getting back up when I am not an arms lengths away to extend a helping hand. 

Those "A's" you received on your report card, you earned. I did not do your homework for you, I did not talk to the teacher/principal, I did not remind you to do homework or study. You did it all on your own. Those "A's" are yours. Well done. And NO, you don't get $ or a gift for earning them, you get pride. 

That team you want to play on...you found out when registration was. You put in the work at practice.  You practiced in the driveway/yard/basement and got better. I didn't get you a sport specific tutor. I didn't speak to the coaches.  You earned your spot on the team because it was important to you. And from the sidelines, where I watch you, I too have pride...pride in YOU. 

My sweet, sweet kiddos, I know it would seem I am not helping....oh but I am. One day, perhaps in the distant future, when the world is in utter like with you, you will see that all the times you didn't like me, I was loving you in the biggest way. 

Love, Mom. 

Team player

I have been lucky. I have had the opportunity to play on MANY teams. Some as a kid, others as a teen, and then as a young adult. Soccer, ringette, hockey, basketball, volleyball, handball, badminton (well, that was doubles and all I really did was take up space..)..and through it all I have learned some valuable lessons. 

You win as a team, you lose as a team. A victory shared is twice the accomplishment and a loss shared is half the set back. 

Being the all-star is a great time to recognize those that aided in your success. Spread the wealth. Be gracious. Raise up your teammates.  Thank your coach. Be classy.  Always. 

Being on the bench sucks. Never be happy to sit.  Be hungry to improve. But don't let that sour you.  Be supportive of those on the court. Everyone has a role. Do yours as best as you can, and then... DO IT BETTER. 

Don't practice so that you can get it right.  Practice so that you can't get it wrong. 

Wear black bottoms (be it shorts, sweats, tights)...you will eventually pee your pants. Big effort = greater likelihood of leakage (learned this lesson in bright red shorts...). 

When your coach says hit it as HARD as you can, you may fart. Or in my case, you will...(DID). Other than wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole, I understood how hard, 'hard' was. 

Mostly it is in your head. Being mentally tough will make the physical mountains smaller. Whether you think you can or you think you can't ... You are right. 

Play every game like it may be your last. Because one day it is, and we often didn't realize it would be.

 Stay happy & healthy

Being a Mom

Once upon a time, I thought being a mom would be a piece of cake. That belief was BEFORE I was a parent. I was one of those people who had preconceived notions of how it was to be done. I was judgey of those in the throes that appeared to be struggling. I would of course be perfect because my little love nuggets would be perfect. 

Karma is a bitch. 

Enter children. Sigh, parenthood. Fun to make, & considerably less fun to raise. 

We spend the first two years encouraging our children to walk and talk and then for all the years to follow: to sit down and shut up. 

It is a thankless job this parenting gig.

Nobody wants what is for dinner, unless it is the small leftovers that are on your plate and your plate alone. Then the food they hated last night looks delicious and they beg and scavenge like vultures because they loathe what is in front of them tonight.  

Never. Ending. Laundry. Balls of socks, inside-out jeans, shirts INSIDE sweatshirts, belts in pants...and then when it is finally washed they have outgrown it. I may be a poor laundress but these kids grow overnight. I swear. 

Speaking of swearing, child #1 was corrected and punished for using words such as dummy and stupid. By child #4, my main concern is that she is using the words correctly (which she does, I am an excellent role model) and not in front of teachers...I keep excellent mom-friends who wouldn't notice. 

Dishes. Piled ON TOP of the empty dishwasher. STACKED in the sink.  

The inability to return things to their rightful spot, but the ability to remove it from the said spot. 

Eg: kitchen scissors are always in the kitchen when they need them. When I need them, they may be in the bathroom, under a couch cushion, on a dresser, or in the sand box. At least I know where to look. 

Domestic blindness. Not being able to find what they need. Of course never making a serious effort to locate the item, but search is unnecessary when all they need to do is whine, give-up, throw a fit and basically dare me to find it. 

Since we are on the topic of a misplaced item: Footwear in the morning. Shoes have a spot when they are not on one's feet. At least in a perfect world. But every morning, after I have given a 10 minute warning for departure time, a shoe is missing. The victim of the missing shoe is so beside themself that they have not packed their backpack, grabbed their lunch, nor put on their coat within the allotted timeframe. Why would they do anything else when a shoe is missing!? More often than not the sad little shoe is hiding under the coat that is not on the shoeless party. This is only after I have given myself a headache from yelling. (Don't judge me). 

Bedtime. It shouldn't come as a surprise, afterall they have had a bedtime EVERY night since they were born, yet every night I must remind, coax, threaten, and beg. Don't get me wrong, I love my children, but I have a limit. I have mentally prepared myself for 'x' number of wakeful child hours. If a child falls outside of those hours, outsiders will question my love for these children. 

But then they sleep. The grubby, perpetually hungry, needy, thankless, little beasts catch z's and they are perfect. My little love nuggets are perfect. I must be doing something right. 

Stay happy & healthy 

Jo:Moma