Sisterhood ...

I swore I wouldn't write about my sisters, but I ... have ... to ...

I have the most amazing sisters in the world.  Together we work through the weight of our worlds, talking and sharing information and balancing each other out.

Funny, this seems like a dumb, trite little post, but I just ... have ... to ... SAY IT!

I expect more

from doctors than eye rolling and extreme sighs when I ask a question about a loved one in their care.  Seriously.  Are we 6?!

Medical System FAIL

The other day, I wrote something about my mom, her terminal illness and our family dynamics.  I asked one of my sisters to read it.  She didn't feel good about this record of our mother being on the Internet so,  out of respect for her feelings and a reservation on my own part to be "exposing" my mom, anonymously or not, I have taken the post down.

HOWEVER.

I could write chapters and chapters and chapters on the horrors of the western medical model based on economic theory and not people and wellness, both mental and physical ... on the bizarre concept of expelling a patient (now: client), just saved from the brink of death without so much as a social worker's visit, even though family begs it.  How does that, and the ensuing extreme-measures interventions at re-hospitalisations ... how does the government (in Canada that's who funds the medical system) figures that this system is saving us money?!

Sorry, this is most definitely a semi-coherent rant but ... !!!!!

Merry Christmas to somebody ...

Okay, so I went to the little local mall, where there is a "giving tree".  Each year, each member of my immediate family (me, my children, and this year my husband) pick a wish and fulfill it for a kid or teen who's family need some Santa help.  (Or in the teens' cases, likely just need Santa.)

We dropped off our pressies, the kids had their photo with our local (not too polished) Santa, and we grabbed a birthday gift for a friend who's birthday we celebrate today.

Somehow in that rush, yours truthfully, "lost" a wallet.  Luckily I don't carry much in my wallet.  A pen I love, a credit and bank card, my driver's license.  And about $150 cash ... Luckily, I'd removed a couple of things:  my iPod with my photos on it was in my pocket, I'd briefly had a couple of rings, one antique and of significant value, both real and sentimental, in there but they'd already been stored elsewhere, and I'd left some tickets I'd picked up for a Christmas outing today at home.  Seriously, that's pretty lucky as I would have been much more miserable to lose these less replaceable items ...

Anyway, it just got me to thinking about karma.  Either I have a lot to make up for still (and despite my best efforts) or sometimes karma just doesn't come into play.

Either way.  I came home with the resolve to not allow this "mishap" ruin my day.  Afterall, the things in the wallet are mostly replaceable, and not valuable comparatively speaking to my outlook on life and that of my children.  Today we will do the tedious acts of replacing some of the more important items ... a trip to the bank and the motor vehicles office ... and we will allow the service staff in these places to give us sympathy and comfort.  We will find ways around the roadblocks:  no photo id makes replacing id tricky for sure, but it is not impossible.

So many people have it far worse than us.  When my children expressed anger at the fact that someone didn't turn in my belongings, I told them it might even out in their karma, but that it was a loss we could afford and maybe, just maybe, the person that found it just needed it desperately enough to not see straight enough to return what they didn't need.

Either way, thanks to those who've returned my lost wallets in times past.  That small act is always appreciated, especially when one doesn't come back.  You win some, you lose some.  Ultimately, I'm pretty sure I've won more than I've lost, so I'll take this one for the team.

I hope everyone has things to be grateful for this Christmas and can recognise the things that make their life good and unique, despite the setbacks that come their way.  This ability to see the brighter side is, after all, what makes my life perfect, even when it isn't.

Merry Christmas!

more thoughts on bullying ...

Earlier this year, I was inspired by an encounter with a "mean girls clique" on my kids' schoolyard (adults! not kids!) to blog about the lingering affects of being bullied as a child.  In this modern-day event I managed to sidestep the worst of it and, by not asking others to take sides, I think I came away looking pretty classy and very strong.  What a difference from my former life as a victim ...

Since that time, the woman who bullied me when we were children read and commented on my blog.  For a long time, I don't think Christine was aware of my existence in the blogosphere (or on FB) as I use my married name exclusively.  Funny, though, of everybody from my younger life, Christine is the one person who had the exact right links with a mutual friends that led her to my musings.  What are the chances?

Although I didn't identify her by name, Christine recognised herself immediately and the post blew her away.  According to a(nother) mutual friend -- the one mentioned in the post -- she had no idea my experience had been as horrible as it had been.

You know, in retrospect my post seems mean.  When I found out that she'd read it (her comment was awaiting moderation), I immediately re-read my own muttering from a new perspective.  In the few months since I first blogged about her, I came to the conclusion that I was over her, and done with being bullied altogether. 

Now I feel embarrassed by my own lack of charity, by how judgmental I remain.  As an "evolved" adult, I get that we all come into our own by way of our experiences and our actions to heal our wounds.  I don't think that people who have rich sex lives are less moral than I, given my traditional choices.  I even envy people that seem more open to life's experiences.  And yet, for the purpose of a writing exercise, I went for the cheap kill.

Really, how is that kind of writing anything but bullying?  I regularly, daily even, question my own real life behaviours that look like bullying exactly because of my past.  The last thing I want to do to my children (or anyone) is to visit upon them the sins of others in my past.

And yet, in that simple post, I insulted the childhood of another.  Regardless of how I felt when she was bullying me, I always knew that Christine was as much if not more miserable than I.

I'm not sure where I am going with this, but I know it requires further action and discussion.  Stay tuned.

I am thankful for the following:

Seven year old Georgia taking on the task of stuffing our JD Farms specialty turkey with bread baked by my dear friend Christopher Brown of Rise Artisan Breads, mushrooms from Specialty Mushroom Growers Coop (Aldergrove) and herbs from our garden.  Georgia and 6 year old Korinne rubbed that turkey to perfection with butter derived (by me) from Avalon Dairy's fine organic whipping cream.  I'm so very grateful that Georgia is taking over the responsibility of rubbing and stuffing poultry, never a cherished activity of mine.

Pumpkins that came in one of our last CSA shares from Glen Valley Organic Farm were stuffed with a Gruyere-like cheese called Rathtrevor from Little Qualicum Cheeseworks, garlic from Sapo Bravo farm, more bread from Chris -- that market loaf is so divine -- and lovely shallots, again from Glen Valley.  I found this recipe in this month's Edible Vancouver; I'm thankful to them too.

Roasted root vegetables: rutabaga, carrots, fennel and parsnips, the most amazing parsnips, all from Glen Valley thanks to our dear friends and farmers, Chris and Jeremy.  I'm planning to make a lovely roast root vegetable soup for my lunch tomorrow, if there's any left by then.

The tiniest Brussel Sprouts we've ever enjoyed.  Mine came from a smaller-scale farmer named Albert, who I have known since Georgia was a baby.   Albert's Herbs and Nursery, believe it or not, is located in the nearby suburb of Burnaby.

Potatoes from Anna and Jennie at Helmer's Organic made perfect whipped mashed potatoes, and leaving the skins on only added to the delicious flavour.

Oooooh, and the cranberries sauces, three of them, using cranberries from Cranberry Meadows in Maple Ridge.  Korinne was most proud of an uncooked relish she made in the food processor mixing the berries, an organic orange and some cane sugar.  Georgia preferred the traditional sauce, which I discovered tonight was horribly tart (wonder who didn't say anything about it last night?!).  I guess I forgot to taste it when I put it into the bowl ... wow!

After dinner, along with the yummy pumpkin pies my mom made, we enjoyed a schiacciata that Chris bakes up in the fall, a selection of cheeses, some from Little Qualicum, and a lovely Goat's Pride Camenbert-like cheese called Chevrotina, that Korinne practically polished off.  The desserts seemed even better paired with a delicious Ice Apple Wine from The Fort Wine Co.

My guests brought a yummy carrot soup, cheesecake chocolates, a scrumptious apple salad and two flavours of ice cream, a regular vanilla and some mango gelato made by my old friend Mario.

Every time somebody asked about a food, I said, I gotta guy (even though some of my foods come from farms run by exceptional women, it just sounded funnier ... it is amazing how good food tastes, and the joy I feel as I prepare it for my family and beloved guests, when I know where most of it comes from and how it was grown.  I am really thankful for the people who've brought ideas like farmers' markets and community support agriculture into our cities.

But mostly, what I am thankful for Alec, Georgia, Korinne, Adam, Elaine, Anita, Jim, Carly, Graham, Bowing, Sue, Kenny, Alberto, Michelle and Oliver, my family and guests who joined in our harvest feast.  It was truly a Thanksgiving for which to give thanks.

When kids tantrum, changing me

I am reading a blog of a woman with an awesome, spirited three year old boy and a sweet baby girl.  She and her husband are really struggling with the three year old's determination and behaviours surrounding this strength.  It reminded me of a parenting class I took, where the woman asked us, would you rather have kids who will challenge their peers as teens, or kids who are compliant and willing to go along with the gang?

A seismic shift in my parenting style came when I (mostly) stopped taking my children's shows of defiance as personally.  My first was really challenging my authority at 2 and I didn't like the position I found myself in -- it seemed like she was taking on my childhood role, arms akimbo and face fierce, and I was at the wrong end of my mother's finger.  And that was an experience I was very motivated to not relive.

This blogger wrote about her son's tantrum in a store.  Funny, my three-year-old son was having a tantrum in a store just the other day.  I no longer take these things personally (unless I am in that WRONG frame of mind, know what I mean?!), because I know that is what a three year old is wont to do.  And I do mean a full-blown, lying on the floor, screaming tantrum.  He was putting it all out there because he wanted to sit in the bin of the shopping cart, rather than the seat at the front.  Despite being told clearly not to, he continued to stand up and reach things on the shelves.  I told him to keep his bum glued to the cart bottom, gave him the reason (um, hello?  Head injury anyone?!) but to no avail.

So calmly and without opinion I said, I see you have chosen to not ride in the cart.  Practice makes perfection, I think, thanks to my daughters' assistance over the last 8 years.  This one is ten times as willful as those two combined and man, do I ever WANT to be mad at him!  I lifted him out, and placed him on the floor, where he proceeds to demonstrate his feelings clearly.

Because I am no longer taking this personally, nothing bothers me about it (except the cringe factor of the behaviour on display, but I've dedicated my "personal journey" (ugh.  for lack of a better term) right now to not taking these things personally.

Anyway, I said, "Wow, you feel really angry," and I told him that I would wait for him to be finished being angry.

I then waited at the end of the (not very long) aisle for him to be done.  Eventually a stock guy (older and very respectful, said he has a grandson the same age) asked him if he was upset (or something like that) and my son, horrified, got up and, chastened, joined me to finish shopping.

It is really helping me to let them have their stages.  My older two were really angry when they realised I was serious about them walking alongside of my bike with bin (replacement for car for school, too far to walk whole way).  Same thing.  I let them rant up the street and, while embarrassed about the public display, smiled through my gritted teeth and let them walk and rant.  The next day, they walked with reluctance (I want them to do about 4 city blocks, they are 7 and 6) and the next, they were running, laughing and racing me.

Studying the Adler method of parenting techniques (sounds culty, I know, but holy cow the thing changed my life, so ... skip it at your own peril man!) really gave me skills that I was lacking.  Like the idea that regularly acknowledging my children's feelings -- just paused to comment on the fun they seem to be feeling right now as I type -- gives them the positive feedback they crave (even when they are feeling sad and angry).  I mean, if you think about it, as adults, do we really want people to tell us to get over something crappy our husband does, or something that goes "wrong" with our day or plan, or do we want them to hear us tell them why it sucks?!

I guess I want the latter, and try to provide that kind of care to my friends (where I used to tell them how to solve their problems, ugh).  I now say, wow, that sucks, or whatever seems appropriate.  I am working very hard at saying the same thing to my kids, mostly in the hopes that they will trust me to hear them when they are teens, but also because it seems to short circuit the bigger tantrums.  And even I get impatient after a while.