13 Hours of Rain

There has been a dramatic long pause in my online conversation, one of those moments where you go off on a tangent and come back with the words, "Where was I...?" So... where was I...? I have been teaching and preparing to teach , whether that has been in the classroom as the substitute or in a small room off the church sanctuary co-leading a Small Group with your Daddy. My classroom teaching experience thus far has been mixed. Some days I feel incredibly valued as a few high school students take the extra time to say thank you for a mathematics lesson. Other days I wondering if my time is well spent dealing with disrespectful students who have very little value for my authority. Other times I do wonder if the advancements in cell phone technologies are just one big evil scheme created by a psychopathic control freak out to perpetually distract our youth from the present and trap them in the virtual. Alas, I digress... As budget cuts loom and school boards warn ...

It is quiet this morning. All of you are off to school. I am devoid of employment, again (November may be a zero pay cheque month). And I should do some housework. Yet I sit here, hearing the clickity-clack of my keyboard with a smile on my face. I. Am. Not. Busy. Busy. Our culture is way too busy. And any free time we have, we tend to spend in front of a screen (I'm guilty here). Times have changed. There are numerous ways that I can keep track of events at your school. Facebook. Twitter. You Tube. Website. School Newsletter. Teacher Newsletters. And a class blog. The sad thing is that many someones out there have to make sure that all the feeds, either virtual or real, are updated and kept consistent. Oh. My. Word. I guess I am more old fashion since I read only the paper updates and, yes, the class blog. Lately, I've encountered a few exhausted parents. Parents who are running all over this city or this corner of the prairies, transporting their children from here ...

September was a month of firsts. First bus ride and day of school for little boy. First day of piano lessons for little girl. First substitute teaching call in this school division for Mommy. Thankfully, we all survived our firsts, and excelled as well. It has also been a month of transition. First lunch at home where I was eating without any member of our family present (weird and kind of eerie). First month where I didn't feel compelled -- or the need -- to attend our church's Mom's group (maybe I'll go one day, maybe I won't). First time in a long time where I am reading my Bible in the morning instead of at night (I get up earlier these days to prepare for potential substitute teaching jobs). I am grateful for these firsts. Motherhood is a journey of change, from the initial swelling of our bellies that shields a tiny being inside to letting our children leave the safety of home to be educated by trained professionals. There is an emotional toll to our rol...

"What rink are we going to?" J. asks as we pack up our skating gear. "Where the Wildcats play," I respond, smiling on how my answer reminds me of one of my favourite children's book. You know the story, don't you? The one about a mischievous little boy who is sent to his room without his supper and how his room transforms into forest and sea. He romps and roars and dances with fearsome creatures. But love calls him back to his room to find his supper waiting for him. All is well and forgiven. In this stage of Motherhood, I am trying to navigate loving and gracious discipline. Some days I do much disciplining and forget the loving and gracious part. Other days, with God's wisdom, I get it right and really take the time to talk about the emotional hurts we inflict on each other. Then we work towards reconciliation. Such moments are beautiful. I grew up in a culture where the elders were always right (especially if the elder was male). It is not tha...

I'm frustrated. You know the definition: feeling or expressing distress and annoyance, especially because of inability to change or achieve something. Yup, I am there today. I'm frustrated over my seemingly mundane existence. Wake up. Cook meals. Wash dishes. Do laundry. Clean house. Track debit/credits. Clean house, again. Go to bed. Repeat. It goes on and on and sometimes I just WISH I was doing something smart. I'm frustrated over money and how I wish I didn't have to track what we spend. The cost of everything continues to go up and there are days I wonder if I've got this budgeting thing all wrong. This week I need to stretch $50 for groceries without swiping the credit card. Don't panic readers, I am not a charity case at all. We do have some emergency savings. And technically government subsidies were deposited into our account very recently. However, I want to pretend it doesn't exist as I need that cash for some added expenses next month. Regar...

I engage in a bit of freelancing. Nothing Pulitzer Prize worthy. I just volunteer my writing services for a local amateur magazine that features the journeys of newcomers to Canada. And I believe I am the lucky one. About 3 – 4 times a year I interview a newcomer. I hear and pen my speaker’s story, full of sacrifice. The goal of relocation to Canada? To achieve a better life, a safer life, a life as a complete family instead of being separated over many miles to make ends meet. One thing I admire about these men and women is that they speak and write and read in multiple languages. Some ignorant Canadians find themselves complaining that they can’t fully understand the often accent laden words of the dark-skinned employee serving them on the other side of the counter. Yes, we should expect a certain level of English proficiency in our country’s employees. However, many immigrants know two, often three, languages. That is to be commended. While here, in prairie suburbia, the majori...

I am yearning to work again. I am longing to use my brain in more ways than engaging in household management a good portion of my waking hours. I ache to use my leadership and teaching skills on a larger scale than just typing away thoughts in a blog that some people read (thank you!) and you children will read *some* day. All of this reminds me of your Nani. Your Nani was trained to be a Biology/Chemistry teacher. But she really wanted to be a medical doctor. Since medical school was financially unattainable for a lower middle class Pastor's income, your Nani had to settled for what her father could afford: learning to teach the subjects that most related to becoming a physician. Your Nani was an excellent teacher. She taught at a reputable school for three years until she married and traversed ocean and land to live in a relatively isolated region of our province. She called her new home as a new bride and new immigrant to our country "the jungle". Interestingly eno...

 Our Batman with his Batmobile  "You know what the fastest jet is?" you asked today to test my knowledge as you finished up your broccoli. "I don't know," responds my tired mind as I wash the dishes. "A Cheetah Jet!" "There is no such thing," I automatically voice, without entertaining your creative logic. "I'm pretending!" you explain. "Oh yes, sorry. You are right. A Cheetah Jet!" Son, please forgive your Mommy, as I often walk around mentally checking off to-do lists, so much so, that I forget to really listen to you. You are imaginative. Creative. And I believe your mind is mathematically inclined. You relish games. You value a good puzzle. You synthesize complex patterns (for a preschooler). You walk around, studying your little fingers and exclaiming, "2 + 5 is 7!" Sometimes I forget the joy of being a child as I study grocery prices in the flyer or enter digits into our monthly bud...

At my last Mom's morning out, we were entertained by a vivacious 20-something who is a make-up artist in a nearby city. She advised us on the current trends, best practices, and what not to do. I chuckled to myself since I am so outdated when it comes to the proper way to apply "my face". And to be perfectly honest, I have come to a space in my life in which foundations, blush, mascara, and lipstick is not a priority anymore. While I do enjoy putting on some cosmetics, I am, for the most part, content with how I look. I believe I am beautiful. And the best thing I can put on when heading to the grocery store is a smile. That being said, here is the "how to" of today: 1. Cleanse face. 2. Use quality brushes instead of the teeny-tiny sponges found in compacts. 3. Apply small quantities of high-end foundation with strong pigmentation. Foundation should match your neck. 4. Set foundation with powder. 5. Apply blush from the ear down. Blend along the sides of...

It began yesterday. My son was totally excited about his AWANA club. He repeated his Bible verse over and over again to assure me that it was memorized. He enthusiastically called out to his sister as she headed toward her class, "Have fun at school today!" Then, he witnessed a bunch of kids crying and clinging to their parents. Something changed in his little brain and he entered fight or flight mode. I tried for about twenty minutes to persuade him to stay. Instead of joining in the game, he bellowed, "I'm tired. I'm really, really tired!" My husband attempted to convince and bribe. Nope. No luck. Our son was determined. He was not staying there. I was visibly annoyed. All my plans for accomplishing much needed grocery shopping before a very busy weekend of entertaining vanished. And since my husband's pile of work at school was more pressing than my agenda, I had to sacrifice my evening for the sake of a distraught little boy. "Fine," I sa...

Dear Trendy Mom: I'd like you to understand, that I choose to be a non-member of the "Club". I'm not a hip Momma with Lululemon clothing, big bling sunglasses, a tattoo for fashion purposes, and an iPhone with current pictures of my kiddos. My wardrobe is functional and relatively thrifty. I wear clip-ons when I drive. I think tattoos are a colossal waste of money for myself. And my husband and I share a Samsung "flip phone" with a no texting privileges. Where are the pictures of my kiddos? I have a few laminated gems in my wallet. I am an old school, archaic parent in a techno-savy, fashion-conscience society. And frankly, it doesn't bother me if I am. Or does it? As I get older, I realize that the choices I have made on how I prefer to live have alienated me somewhat from others in my current stage of life (like you). For instance, when it comes to fashion and the other stereotypical things that interest women out there, I rather go for a h...

Dear Daughter, There comes a time when you fail at something. Either you just can't master a particular skill or you are not mentally, emotionally, or physically ready for the challenge. While our society touts "everyone is a winner" and passes out participation ribbons like candy, there are still domains in which you lose or fail. Like swimming. This weekend you received your Preschool Level 2 Swimming Report Card. Sad to say, you are NOT moving on to the next level. You failed to master the critical skill of submerging your head completely underwater. "I feel awful," your instructor apologized, "But if she doesn't put her head under water, I can't pass her." "I understand," I assured her, "We don't want her to move on to the next level until she is ready. She is a cautious learner when it comes to physical skills. She walked at 17 months. She does not desire to remove her training wheels off her bike. If she has ...

Dear Lord, Today was one of those day. I wished to pack it all in and quit my "job" of stay-at-home-mom. I was weary of carrying all the responsibilities that come with my position. I'm the chef, the cleaner, the housekeeper, the gardener, the nurse, the accountant, the preschool teacher, the secretary, the archive of memories, and the manager of chaos when things go wrong in our basement. And none of what I do has any upfront monetary value. I am a dependant on my husband's tax form. That is my status. Yesterday I attended a year end Mom's supper. I was by far the oldest Mom there. Most of my fellow guests were in their twenties while I'm knocking on forty's door. One vibrant Mom commented on how quiet I was. "I'm tired," came my response, while thinking, "How I wish I could just bottle the energy these young Moms have! I'd be flying high instead of dragging my feet!" And while I did enjoy several laughs during the evenin...

Princess A. Dear Daughter, About two weeks ago, we had planned a little supper celebration at the big yellow M in honor of your brother's potty training accomplishments. I picked up your Dad from school and he asked you: D: "After Mommy's appointment, we will go somewhere for a big surprise. Guess what is it!" A: "A lollipop?" D: "No. It's bigger than that." A: "A very big lollipop?" Your Daddy and I burst out laughing! Lollipops and gum. Pink and purple. Pretty dresses and sparkly shoes. Lip gloss and nail polish. Unicorns and princesses. Jewelry and purses. There is no doubt about it. You are a little girl now. Yesterday, I was cuddling with you. I could barely hold you in my arms. Your sweet frame sprawled beyond my reach. I reminded you in that moment how little you were when I first met you face to face. So little in comparison to now. A precious baby with blue-gray eyes, bundled in pink fleece. Now, you sp...

A Twinge... There are days I feel a twinge of envy. A tiny feeling of regret trickles up from the depths of my being and forms a lump in my throat. No more newborns of mine will be cradled in these arms again. A few moms in my circle of acquaintances are beaming as they carry life within. It is beautiful to watch their anticipation and excitement. A new name. A new personality. A new collection of soft sleepers to embrace the distinct fragrance of infant skin. It is magical. My son is potty trained. I braced myself for the stereotypical battle with the male gender. I was delightfully surprised. In three days, he abandoned his diapers in favor of boy underwear. He was more than ready. I washed my cloth diapers for the last time and stored them for a potential buyer. It's hard to believe. This stage is over. Except for the "do-do" at night time, my son is a "big little boy" now. On the whole, I feel good. Those intense days as a nursing mother are behind...

Inevitably, I get ask, "So, have you returned to work?" My answer, "No, I stay at home with my kids." My response is received with general affirmation and the words, "Good for you." Then, that's it. (Usually.) My current position of homemaker is a basic conversation stopper. Especially among other women. In a few moments, people ascertain my job description: I am the care giver, the cleaner, the cook. Kind of boring, eh? Some days it is difficult to stand in the shadow of my husband. He gets the glory at this stage of life. People want to hear about his stories and adventures as he interacts and educates teenage minds. In comparison, my anecdotes about what my kids said or the exciting new recipe I attempted isn't that noteworthy except to a few close family and friends. At times I struggle with coveting his role as breadwinner. I wish I could engage with other humans on a professional level instead of at the level of goldfish crackers and play...

Dear Lord, It is one of those afternoons when I've got fifty minutes tops to composed something memorable on this space. The breakfast and lunch dishes are still piled on the counter. My husband's laundry is overflowing in his clothes hamper. And my kids are plugged into a Veggie Tales. Yup, I'm not getting top honors in house cleaning or parenting at this moment. Oh well. I've been pondering on the whole area of gift projection, when a person passionately believes that all Christ Followers should be excited or motivated in a particular area of spiritually. You can translate this into the secular world as well. Whether we want to admit it or not, we have certain standards that we impose on others. Take the whole world of Mothering. We live in a world where the blaring voices of the information age bombard our living spaces. Mothers are told that they should do this. Or that. Or else this or that will happen to their precious little one. Anyway, I digress. If I r...

Dear Children, Sometimes it is difficult to ascertain if my personality is due to the expectations placed on me as a child or if this is really who I am. You see, I am the eldest of four. After me, there are two sisters and one brother. There is a ten year spread between the eldest and the youngest. Save for the help of your Nana during non-work hours, your Nani single-handedly raise us in the "jungle" (her word to describe the isolated region of the province that we lived in). She didn't have a Mom's group. All her family was in India. And she was a new immigrant trying to adapt in a cold, foreign land. Understandably, much was demanded of me. I remember cooking my first family meal when I was ten, along with tackling six people's laundry, when my little brother was born. I was expected to take initiative for tasks around the house and look out for the needs of others. I was taught to be responsible, independent, and reliable. Through necessity, I was given t...

Dear God, Right now, the world that my children know is safe. The main adults in their life love them. Their basic physical needs of food, water, clothing, and shelter are met in abundance. And the extent of violence they experience is a sibling shoving match over Duplo . I wish life was this simple and serene. Lately, I have been saddened by the recent act of senseless, insane violence against the most vulnerable in our society. At moments, I freeze with fear and tremble, "That could have been my daughter or my son." I hesitate at my overall excitement of letting my first born, my daughter, climb the steps of a castle-type school to experience new horizons of learning. I wonder, "Will she be safe? Will she survive? Who will protect her?" A few nights ago, I read Hansel and Gretel to my daughter. Evil was present in the story through a mean step-mother and wicked children-eating witch (hmmmm, not the best story to read before bedti...

Dear Children, Sometimes I wonder how you will turn out, let's say, twenty years from now. Will you be fighting over toys or whacking each other to prove a point? I sincerely hope not! Instead, I earnestly pray that you will HONOR each other. Your Daddy and I are reading a book together entitled, "Say Goodbye to Whining, Complaining, and Bad Attitudes... in you and your kids!" by Scott Turansky & Joanne Miller. It is a parenting book, one of the few parenting books – wait a minute – the ONLY parenting book that we as your parents are attempting to read together. There are many parenting resources out there, found in numerous self-help aisles, websites, and magazines. And every parenting unit seems to have its own style. Sometimes it can be very overwhelming to figure out WHAT to do! Anyway, last spring one of my friends came to visit me. She brought her four children along. And it was fascinating to see how her kids interacted with each other. There were moments...