13 Hours of Rain

There are times you may be asked to do something out of your comfort zone. Like attending a baby shower of a friend from another religion. Yesterday, we found ourselves invited to a family celebration. We were the minority on several levels. We were the Christian family with the white husband, the brown wife and the beige children. I try my best to prepare for such events. I have some experience as the daughter of Indian parents, who are now long term citizens of this land. I have attended Indian gatherings in the past, attired in my salwar kameez . I've dusted off my rusty Hindi/Urdu and attempted a few conversations. I've smiled and nodded and indulged in tandoori chicken and gulab jamuns . Yet, in spite of all the ways I had the appearance of belonging, I was giggling inside. While slightly trembling with fright... I so did not fit in. Last night was no exception. (Though as I've aged, I don't tremble as much anymore.) At the whole family baby shower (...

Well, I finally did it. That is hosting a party where you, my daughter, were allowed to invite guests from school (in addition to church). Wow. What a lot of work. On the whole, I believe it was worth it. Though today, you have a full blown cold, my lower back is a mess and your Daddy is aching all over from trucking up and down stairs with laundry baskets full of party supplies. But, like I said, it was totally worth it and a joy to orchestrate. Don't worry. This post isn't Pinterest-like, where I visually display what a fabulous Mom I am (or at least I'm not trying to). Neither will I be posting a whole load of pictures, as I do not have permission from our guests to post them on the world wide web (which many Facebook users forget). This is more of a reflective post that documents the event, for you, my daughter, and for anyone else who may benefit from our experience. You like movies and crafts. So I decided that we'd gift you a Frozen  themed party, whe...

"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...

Thanks, dear family, for skating with me. I love you!

Usually there is some trigger. Unbalanced hormones. A nasty head cold. The number in the chequing account. Lack of sleep. Some disappointment. Crazy kids (being normal kids). Then you start spiraling down, to that murky place where reality blurs with fiction and thoughts become irrational. I am ugly. The lie reverberates through your head as you look at other women in top shape with the cute multi-highlighted haircuts to match. Why can’t I dress like that? My wardrobe is so out of date. Ugh. You covet the trendy boots to the knee, the sleek leggings (that make you look like a frump) and the vibrant layers of cloth draped around the neck. If I wore a scarf like that, I’d look like I’m choking. {sigh.} I am so stuck in the 1990’s. Nobody wants to be friends with me. So you jump to an untruth, knowing full well that God has blessed you with close friends who not only love you, but really like hanging out with you. And they share their highs and lows with you (and you have the f...

I do not open up my blog for comments. I desire to write for me and my kids, instead of being fixated on how many comments I receive (or do not receive). However, I welcome e-mail comments from those who know me personally. Thanks to a friend's perspective on the " Clipped Down to Yellow " post, I write this postscript: While the Color Behaviour Chart works well for my daughter, as a way to motivate her to monitor her own behaviour, it may not work with every child. It may communicate inaccurate views of self worth. In addition, it may not be beneficial for children with behavioural needs, such as those who struggle with ADD, ADHD, Autism spectrum disorder, etc. In the end, I do trust my daughter's teacher -- as she is an exceptional teacher -- that she is using it appropriately.

Whatever happened to saying "I'm sorry" and really meaning it? Now, I'm not talking about the Canadian style of apologizing, the one we are internationally know for, where we apologize for bumping into someone at the check-out line. Or the type of sorry that we say to empathize with another person's problem. I'm talking about a truly authentic sorry, the one that admits, "I screwed up. I was wrong. I need to change." A couple of weeks ago, you, my daughter, clipped down to yellow. Your teacher has a behaviour chart in her room, where every child's name is written on a clothes pin and clipped to a range of colors. Everyone starts at green at the beginning of the day, meaning each kid is "ready to learn". As the day progresses, a clip can be moved up or down, depending on what a child does. If a child does something exceptional, he can be clipped up to blue, purple or pink. If a child does something inappropriate, her clip moves down to...