What goes around, comes around. It's just how the world turns, right?
Andrew and I are in Arizona for some muchly-needed sleep and sun. I have family here, so we got to meet up with them at this cool restaurant last night for some dinner. The food was great, and we could throw our peanut shells all over the floor, which was awesome. Being responsible and clean and organized is great for our kids, but Andrew and I were really overdue for some messy self-gratifying chaos so we were quite pleased that we were able to deliciously throw our food all over the floor.
Except he took it quite literally and in a pathetic attempt to get rid of his gum (he was meeting my extended family for the first time and wanted to make a nice impression on them that didn't leave them with images of him chewing and snapping his gum) he stealthfully stole it out of his mouth, rolled it between his fingers and "let go" of it under the table. Rotten man, right? Yes.
So when it was time for us to leave, he slid out from the booth only to realize the gum had made its way onto the base of his seat and got stuck on his jeans, stringing between his leg and the bench as he got out. I had no idea what was happening but in retrospect, as he told me later, I remember him acting quite weird when we were leaving, grabbing at his legs and looking uncomfortable.
He reminds me so much of my dad sometimes.
Anyway, so we laughed about it and he told me that it serves him right for throwing his gum on the ground. Quite self-righteously, I agreed. I stuffed my gum inside of a peanut shell before I threw it on the ground, so my payback should be a bit delayed. I'll be sure to keep you posted.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Day Seventeen
Melody and I became fast friends when (as Jake's grade three teacher at a Christian private school) she took the class to a Dawali festival at the public school down the road. She got a lot of flack from a few parents who didn't appreciate her liberal openness to other religions and I respected her for the way she graciously handled the angry emails.
We were bored one night and looking for something to do, so we snooped around and found a local hockey game to go to where our university was playing the Vancouver Canucks Alumni team. My favourite player of all time, Dave Babych was going to be there, so I conducted a plan.
I brought two plain white tee shirts over to her place and we drew Dave's profile with the words "Babych is Bitchin'" written across the front of each shirt. I knitted big brown mustaches and we stuck them on our faces with huge pieces of masking tape. Then we walked into the arena and attracted all sorts of raucous. Melody got her picture in the local paper and she was so worried about getting in trouble from the principal at the school for having the word "bitchin'" across her shirt. I couldn't stop laughing.
After we left the arena, we bought lime green vodka flavoured drinks at a liquor store and drank them in the parking lot of a pub, and then went in and looked alarmingly weird in our outfits and mustaches. At one point we walked into the bathroom and this girl, stumbling toward us in a drunken stupor says to me, "Hey, baby bitch!" And that's been my nickname ever since.
The kitchen closed at the pub and I, needing food desperately in a pathetic attempt to soak up the vodka sugar, convinced Melody to walk over to Boston Pizza for some midnight snacks. We sat in a booth and before the menu could even make it to our table, I booked it for the bathroom and puked fluorescent green like Shrek at a bachelor party.
It's just one of my many stories. That is all.
We were bored one night and looking for something to do, so we snooped around and found a local hockey game to go to where our university was playing the Vancouver Canucks Alumni team. My favourite player of all time, Dave Babych was going to be there, so I conducted a plan.
I brought two plain white tee shirts over to her place and we drew Dave's profile with the words "Babych is Bitchin'" written across the front of each shirt. I knitted big brown mustaches and we stuck them on our faces with huge pieces of masking tape. Then we walked into the arena and attracted all sorts of raucous. Melody got her picture in the local paper and she was so worried about getting in trouble from the principal at the school for having the word "bitchin'" across her shirt. I couldn't stop laughing.
After we left the arena, we bought lime green vodka flavoured drinks at a liquor store and drank them in the parking lot of a pub, and then went in and looked alarmingly weird in our outfits and mustaches. At one point we walked into the bathroom and this girl, stumbling toward us in a drunken stupor says to me, "Hey, baby bitch!" And that's been my nickname ever since.
The kitchen closed at the pub and I, needing food desperately in a pathetic attempt to soak up the vodka sugar, convinced Melody to walk over to Boston Pizza for some midnight snacks. We sat in a booth and before the menu could even make it to our table, I booked it for the bathroom and puked fluorescent green like Shrek at a bachelor party.
It's just one of my many stories. That is all.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Day Sixteen
If you ever want to lose faith, hope and love in a giant motherfucking hurry, get divorced.
I grew up within the bubble of Christianity; I went to church, Sunday School, Christian private school and Christian University. Let's just say I learned a lot about Christ.
Even when I didn't believe in the things I was learning, I still dug deep, chewing the material like an overdone steak. I wanted to squeeze as much as I could out of what I was learning so that I knew for sure what I believed to be true and what I did not. I wanted to make it my own, which is important. I'm glad I did.
Grace is one of the foundations of Christianity (my favourite topic of all time; I could talk about grace for HOURS). Faith, hope and love are the mothers of grace in that it takes faith, hope and love to first unclench our fists in order to receive and give grace. And we need grace because grace is movement. It's action. I can't just say, "I grace you" and stand there like a donkey. I can say "I love you, I have faith in you, I have hope in you" until I'm blue in the face but I won't show it without grace. Hee-haw.
See? This post isn't even supposed to be about grace but I can't stop!
I want to talk about faith and hope. Ask anyone who has been through a divorce how much their hope and faith in anything has changed and they will tell you that they either have very little left, or none at all. Standing at the alter, the couple is pregnant with hope for the future. They have dreams and ideas of what life will be like together and while they're exchanging their vows they're teetering on the edge of this free-fall not caring how risky it is as long as their bodies are intertwined on the way down.
Divorce causes the death of this hope and nothing is more disabling than hopelessness.
Faith (in God, or in relationships, or in the capacity to love and trust again) is like the very first baby step toward rebuilding hope. It's a choice, whether or not we're going to stay stuck or move forward. I used to silently mock the ignorance of faith but after trying it out myself I now view it with respect. I used to think that only children and needy pathetic adults depend on faith (and maybe some do just to fill in the gaps of their own ignorance, allowing them to be lazy in their spirituality) but now I realize that it takes massive amounts of both courage and humility to have faith to move forward, to take that first step.
And that's where trust is formed, is rebuilt, by that very first baby step of faith. Without that first step, trust is empty, the future is hopeless. And only by the grace that we give and receive are we able to even imagine taking that first step of faith. Knowing that we aren't perfect and understanding that it's okay to be just as we are in that very moment, are we then able to unclench our fists and let go.
And as we free-fall, we learn that we don't hit every branch on the way down, that sometimes we can actually fly. And we wouldn't have been able to feel the invigorating feeling of flight if we hadn't made that conscious decision to let go in the first place. Have faith, have hope, and love...and I promise you that by grace you will get un-stuck, and you'll give this life something to remember.
Move it.
I grew up within the bubble of Christianity; I went to church, Sunday School, Christian private school and Christian University. Let's just say I learned a lot about Christ.
Even when I didn't believe in the things I was learning, I still dug deep, chewing the material like an overdone steak. I wanted to squeeze as much as I could out of what I was learning so that I knew for sure what I believed to be true and what I did not. I wanted to make it my own, which is important. I'm glad I did.
Grace is one of the foundations of Christianity (my favourite topic of all time; I could talk about grace for HOURS). Faith, hope and love are the mothers of grace in that it takes faith, hope and love to first unclench our fists in order to receive and give grace. And we need grace because grace is movement. It's action. I can't just say, "I grace you" and stand there like a donkey. I can say "I love you, I have faith in you, I have hope in you" until I'm blue in the face but I won't show it without grace. Hee-haw.
See? This post isn't even supposed to be about grace but I can't stop!
I want to talk about faith and hope. Ask anyone who has been through a divorce how much their hope and faith in anything has changed and they will tell you that they either have very little left, or none at all. Standing at the alter, the couple is pregnant with hope for the future. They have dreams and ideas of what life will be like together and while they're exchanging their vows they're teetering on the edge of this free-fall not caring how risky it is as long as their bodies are intertwined on the way down.
Divorce causes the death of this hope and nothing is more disabling than hopelessness.
Faith (in God, or in relationships, or in the capacity to love and trust again) is like the very first baby step toward rebuilding hope. It's a choice, whether or not we're going to stay stuck or move forward. I used to silently mock the ignorance of faith but after trying it out myself I now view it with respect. I used to think that only children and needy pathetic adults depend on faith (and maybe some do just to fill in the gaps of their own ignorance, allowing them to be lazy in their spirituality) but now I realize that it takes massive amounts of both courage and humility to have faith to move forward, to take that first step.
And that's where trust is formed, is rebuilt, by that very first baby step of faith. Without that first step, trust is empty, the future is hopeless. And only by the grace that we give and receive are we able to even imagine taking that first step of faith. Knowing that we aren't perfect and understanding that it's okay to be just as we are in that very moment, are we then able to unclench our fists and let go.
And as we free-fall, we learn that we don't hit every branch on the way down, that sometimes we can actually fly. And we wouldn't have been able to feel the invigorating feeling of flight if we hadn't made that conscious decision to let go in the first place. Have faith, have hope, and love...and I promise you that by grace you will get un-stuck, and you'll give this life something to remember.
Move it.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Day Fifteen
I want to pass along something I learned in church on Sunday. I take my kids to church because I think it's important for us to use our spiritual "muscles" just as we use our intellectual ones at school and as we use our physical ones while we run and play. I believe we are multi-layered human beings composed of mind, body and spirit and I don't want to get all unbalanced with like, huge quads and a scrawny soul, you know?
I don't agree with everything that they preach in the Christian church I attend, but I feel welcomed and safe there, and it works. They know what I believe and how I feel and nobody has ever tried to jam anything down my throat, and growing up in surroundings where I was inundated with Christianity, unforced faith is something that I certainly appreciate.
The guy who spoke talked about what we take in from our environment, that whatever we predominantly focus on will have an affect on us. It was sort of a reality check in regards to priorities, making me think about what I need to have at the top of the list and what I do not. Whatever we feed, will grow. If my kids truly are higher of a priority than running, then I better be damn sure that my leg muscles aren't stronger than the strength of the bond between me and my children.
I don't watch TV and I'm not on Facebook but he used those as examples of what time-suckers might be like, soaking up our energy so that we are depleted for the things and people that are truly meaningful. Facebook and TV aren't "bad", but they can be toxic if ingested beyond our capacity.
My dad has a million sayings and one of them is: "I am addicted to anything that there is more than one of." And he laughs. He laughs because a) it's true and b) because he's strong enough to admit it.
Church guy used the illustration of peanut butter, where he said that even though it may be overdone once in a while, peanut butter itself isn't "bad" if ingested, and while it may be okay for some people to eat, it can be lethal for others. And so it's a personal thing, a relational exchange between humans and God (if they choose), that they come to understand that most things are healthy in moderation, but at the end of it all, it's still a personal thing.
I loved the peanut butter illustration. Recovering alcoholics can't have a glass of wine with dinner just as people who have anaphylactic reactions to nuts can't have a tablespoon of peanut butter on their toast.
What did I get out of all this? That I need to sit down and play with my kids more. That I need to invest in the relationships of the people who are closest to me. That I need to feed the things in my life that make my time on this earth more meaningful, not more empty. And that I am hungry for peanut butter toast.
I don't agree with everything that they preach in the Christian church I attend, but I feel welcomed and safe there, and it works. They know what I believe and how I feel and nobody has ever tried to jam anything down my throat, and growing up in surroundings where I was inundated with Christianity, unforced faith is something that I certainly appreciate.
The guy who spoke talked about what we take in from our environment, that whatever we predominantly focus on will have an affect on us. It was sort of a reality check in regards to priorities, making me think about what I need to have at the top of the list and what I do not. Whatever we feed, will grow. If my kids truly are higher of a priority than running, then I better be damn sure that my leg muscles aren't stronger than the strength of the bond between me and my children.
I don't watch TV and I'm not on Facebook but he used those as examples of what time-suckers might be like, soaking up our energy so that we are depleted for the things and people that are truly meaningful. Facebook and TV aren't "bad", but they can be toxic if ingested beyond our capacity.
My dad has a million sayings and one of them is: "I am addicted to anything that there is more than one of." And he laughs. He laughs because a) it's true and b) because he's strong enough to admit it.
Church guy used the illustration of peanut butter, where he said that even though it may be overdone once in a while, peanut butter itself isn't "bad" if ingested, and while it may be okay for some people to eat, it can be lethal for others. And so it's a personal thing, a relational exchange between humans and God (if they choose), that they come to understand that most things are healthy in moderation, but at the end of it all, it's still a personal thing.
I loved the peanut butter illustration. Recovering alcoholics can't have a glass of wine with dinner just as people who have anaphylactic reactions to nuts can't have a tablespoon of peanut butter on their toast.
What did I get out of all this? That I need to sit down and play with my kids more. That I need to invest in the relationships of the people who are closest to me. That I need to feed the things in my life that make my time on this earth more meaningful, not more empty. And that I am hungry for peanut butter toast.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Day Fourteen
I'll never forget that moment.
I really didn't know what to do with my huge new African boobs. I obviously figured it out as Jake got the hugest chubby cheeks ever. I couldn't go anywhere with him without someone commenting on the size of his baby face. He's 12 now, and would probably "Black Ops" me upside the head if he knew I was writing about him like this. Oops.
I fell in love with Jake. My sister Tracey was over and we were sitting on the family room floor watching Jake in his exersaucer. I was staring at him with doe eyes and she said to me, "you're in love, aren't you? The way you're looking at him..." And I was like, "ya... I'm in love."
I was the youngest child by 8 years and so in a lot of ways I was a combination of youngest and only child: the recipe for the most self-absorbed human on the planet. But when I had Jake, everything changed; I lived and breathed for him. And then when Freddy and Katie were born I was continually flabbergasted at how I'd be able to love them as much as I loved Jake, and yet I could, of course. The capacity of parent-love is never-ending and quite God-like in its characteristics. Mind-blowing love.
I didn't even know I liked kids until I had them. I think I maybe held one baby before I held Jake?...something like that. But once he was in my belly, all I could think about was every breath that I took in would be for him, not me.
When Carmen sent me that baby photo of him yesterday, I lost it and I told her so. I cried those gut-wrenching sobs, the ones that scare me a bit. The really loud, noisy, "I might throw up because it's an exorcism cry" sob. I grieved my old life, the one that had soft edges, rounded corners.
I'd hold my babies on my squishy lap and read them books. I'd kneel down with them and play Thomas the Train with them for hours on end until I found out that the blue paint on the wooded trains were toxic, at which point I self-loathed for letting Freddy suck on them to self-soothe his incoming molars.
I didn't have to worry about divorce papers. I didn't have to wonder when I'd get my 15 minute coffee break, or how I'd cope through a lonely night. I had different worries, sure, and maybe even bigger ones, but they were different. They were coated in baby powder and breast milk, and my day was dictated by whether or not one of them fell asleep in the car and ruined nap time.
I grieve my old life, I do. My mom will attest to the fact that I was born to be a mommy. She could see it when I held my babies, when I danced and moved and lived among them. I embrace the changes in my life, yes... but it's important that I go through the process of moving forward. They're still and always will be my babies, and if anything my love for them has intensified and grown into new uncharted territory that I didn't even know existed in my cold little heart.
But there's something about those innocent baby cheeks, depending on my arms, my chest, my love. I'll never let go, but I will move forward, allowing the sprinkle of baby powder to soften up the edges of my heart.
Day Thirteen
Isabelle and I were inseparable in high school. She taught me about Kurt Cobain and snowboarding and how to dye my hair (hers was always a gorgeous blonde while mine would turn out to be some rusty clown color). I taught Isabelle how to disrespect authority with a badass attitude and how to write notes and pass them in class without teachorial detection.
We had nicknames for each other (I'm not telling!). We never had a crush on the same guy, and so we worked our "love" lives in sync without a fight. She was my yin to my yang. We could glance at each other and within that split second be able to know exactly what's going on.
I got married shortly after high school and had my first baby while Isabelle did her own thing, got a nursing degree, and moved away. We grew apart for reasons that are both understandable and shameful. I sucked as a friend back then, and I know I let her down several times when she needed me most. I carried that with me for years, and then when we finally connected on Facebook (just a few months ago) I poured my heart out to her and asked for forgiveness. She did, because she's Isabelle. Beautiful, graceful, lovely.
We hadn't seen each other yet and when I heard that her dad recently passed away, I tried to get the day off work to go to his memorial service but it was my last day at Starbucks and the first day of the Christmas roll-out, and so it wasn't going to happen. But when I was hanging out the drive-through window, Isabelle and her husband and her kids pulled through, without ANY idea that I even worked there.
I burst into tears, so badly wanting to run out and tackle her with a 14 year-long hug but I couldn't leave my spot. I wanted to turn myself inside out with frustration!
But it was there, that glance. I did the classic double-take move and when I recognized her I shrieked her name. Our eyes met and it was like all of those fourteen years poured into each other all at once and filled us up. She knew me and I knew her in that moment, as if nothing had ever changed, as if time had never passed.
Some people come into your life for a season, and then they slink into the shadows without a trace. Isabelle has always stayed with me, because a part of her helped form who I am right now. Badass best friends bonded by the earth-shaking travesties of high school, forming our deep interconnected roots of the strong women we are today.
We had nicknames for each other (I'm not telling!). We never had a crush on the same guy, and so we worked our "love" lives in sync without a fight. She was my yin to my yang. We could glance at each other and within that split second be able to know exactly what's going on.
I got married shortly after high school and had my first baby while Isabelle did her own thing, got a nursing degree, and moved away. We grew apart for reasons that are both understandable and shameful. I sucked as a friend back then, and I know I let her down several times when she needed me most. I carried that with me for years, and then when we finally connected on Facebook (just a few months ago) I poured my heart out to her and asked for forgiveness. She did, because she's Isabelle. Beautiful, graceful, lovely.
We hadn't seen each other yet and when I heard that her dad recently passed away, I tried to get the day off work to go to his memorial service but it was my last day at Starbucks and the first day of the Christmas roll-out, and so it wasn't going to happen. But when I was hanging out the drive-through window, Isabelle and her husband and her kids pulled through, without ANY idea that I even worked there.
I burst into tears, so badly wanting to run out and tackle her with a 14 year-long hug but I couldn't leave my spot. I wanted to turn myself inside out with frustration!
But it was there, that glance. I did the classic double-take move and when I recognized her I shrieked her name. Our eyes met and it was like all of those fourteen years poured into each other all at once and filled us up. She knew me and I knew her in that moment, as if nothing had ever changed, as if time had never passed.
Some people come into your life for a season, and then they slink into the shadows without a trace. Isabelle has always stayed with me, because a part of her helped form who I am right now. Badass best friends bonded by the earth-shaking travesties of high school, forming our deep interconnected roots of the strong women we are today.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Day Twelve
Guess what! Justin quit today. Well, Mike, I guess his name is. It was my last day at Starbucks and I started at 5am. It was the first day of Christmas drinks with the eggnog lattes and peppermint hot chocolates and so it was busy! I was sweating and panting, and I wasn't even running.
Just, coffee.
Anyway, so Justin (Mike, whatever) put his headset down on the counter and just walked... away. I guess that's the way it goes sometimes when you're cooked. It's like bing!...the buzzer goes and that's it. I can't even keep count of how many times I have felt like throwing my headset on the counter and walking away. It's not me, though. I'm not wired that way, and I'm proud of my tenacity. I gut it out, one step at a time and only when I've got no arms and legs do I call it a day. And even then, it's only a flesh wound.
Just, coffee.
Anyway, so Justin (Mike, whatever) put his headset down on the counter and just walked... away. I guess that's the way it goes sometimes when you're cooked. It's like bing!...the buzzer goes and that's it. I can't even keep count of how many times I have felt like throwing my headset on the counter and walking away. It's not me, though. I'm not wired that way, and I'm proud of my tenacity. I gut it out, one step at a time and only when I've got no arms and legs do I call it a day. And even then, it's only a flesh wound.
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