Thank God

Sometimes we all fall down. It’s inevitable with the heaviness of the world. We succumb to the weight and darkness that seems to linger around every corner.  Those people in our lives who offer nothing good…that push us down during those weak moments when what we really need is a hand of support.

We all feel that. We all experience those moments, those days, those weeks…and then eventually we get back up. We find the energy to see the good, to laugh, and move beyond.

Thank God for that energy and that drive and that laughter.

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Too Much Snot!!!!

I don’t know about you but I’m am so bloody tired of my house being filled with snot.

My girls use the word ‘yuckies’ as opposed to the grotesque words snot, boogers, boogies, etc. I had to reflect on this to make sure that it’s not a girl thing. And I’ve concluded that it’s not. I use this word with all the boys and girls who come through my daycare simply because I can’t stand those other words. And in my house the word is used often. The runny noses, the crusty sleeves, the four year old that picks his nose and eats it a couple dozen times a day, the projectile sneezes…besides poop it is the most seen and in some instances, eaten substance within these four walls. I know. Fantastic.

There has definitely been some relief the last couple days with the ice and snow melting away and the sidewalks drying up. I feel more energetic and willing to take the kids on longer adventures. But even today as I was running four children 2.5km to the Early Years Centre my nose was running out of control. Seriously, just unbearable. And so I wondered….

Apparently, our noses add moisture to the air we breathe as it travels down into the lungs. So when you inhale cold, dry air, the moist tissue inside the nose increases fluid and mucus production to protect lung tissue. And thus exits the nasty, thick, green fluid from our noses.

Good to know. So as soon as this freaking cold air changes directions allowing some warm currents to visit that mucus/yuckies better stop being produced!

I will just sit here and wait…..IMG_9542 (1)

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Where’s the Love?

The rain pops like fireworks on my umbrella as I drag the defiant, already overtired girls to their school. A bad nights sleep, a stinky wet dog and a screaming five year old was how I was greeted as I awoke this morning. Who says that it’s better to start a week on a Tuesday?

The worst part is when your five year refuses to finish the morning routine with any kind of affection. Normally that touch helps to wipe the slate clean…gives me a moment of stillness as opposed to that overwhelming need to ship her away in a box.

But the day still continues. She will slowly lose her temper and grumpiness by playing with her friends and surrendering  to her teacher. I will receive my hugs from other people’s children and eventually get excited about going to pick my children up.

This parenting thing is a rollercoaster of love and hate…just hoping for a little more love some time today.


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The Second Man of my Dreams

I’m watching Untamed Heart. I haven’t seen it in years. Back in my last years of highschool it became the theme movie (if there is such a thing) behind my life. I watched it over and over again projecting my fantasies on Christian Slater’s character. I guess you could say he was my second dream guy. Well, to be completely honest there was someone in my life at the time who was a lot like the character, so I projected these romantic ideas onto that person. But that was a very long time ago.

Now as I watch this movie for the first time in…at least a decade…muscle memory seems to be taking over. I feel flustered and nervous. As I watch intimate moments between Marisa Tomei and Christian Slater I catch myself holding my breath. He plays the role of Adam, this man who has never really grown up due to his weak heart and his upbringing in an orphanage where he was taught to believe in magic and refused any kind of human contact.

Once upon a time I recorded on my karaoke machine the scene of Adam telling Caroline about as his parents dying in the jungle. A magical story about dripping jewels and a baboon king who rips his own heart out of his chest to save a dying child. Marisa Tomei listens with her big doe eyes and the sweet beginnings of a romance unfolds. I recorded that scene and left it on pause for someone many many years ago…hoping he would hear it and somehow be swept away with the story and into my arms. Or something like that. (I was 19, give me a break)

Muscle memory. Such a fantastic thing that forms when your body learns to not only do something through repetition, but how to break down muscle tissue and then rebuild it back up again. My heart pounds now like a 19 year old wishing with her whole being to experience the relationship playing out on the screen. One of the strongest muscles in the human body the heart can be broken over and over again and yet it can also rebuild itself back up again.

It’s amazing what we can handle.

And how much we can love.

Love. I wish it for everyone.


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You Were the Man of my Dreams

I watched a ghost from my past this morning…someone who meant so much to me for so many years but now I see him and I’m okay with the knowledge that he is gone. It’s my norm. I’m not sure when that happened.


We spend our days waiting for the days to pass, looking forward to the end of the day, the weekend, vacations. We are excited for trivial things. We mourn our youth and lost opportunities. We pledge to do better, love better, work harder, parent stronger. We fear slowing down, but we encourage each other to take time for self care. We vow to protect one another, but we judge and fear and strike at each other.

It’s so confusing and hard and heartbreaking. And. It. All. Ends. In. Death.

I think so many of us struggle most of our lives for some degree of control over our lives. And ironically almost all lives end without any control over it at all. Such a futile struggle.

There’s more to it I realize. I’m finding it a challenge today to find anything though.

I want to pass on some inspirational advice about loving the people who are close to you, living in the present and laugh as often as you can but seriously…that feels like a load of crap.

I don’t really have any suggestions. Or inspirational words or poetic ideas to share.

I feel disillusioned. I feel helpless and fearful and sad. I’m going to let these emotions wash over me for a bit like a fantastic movie that lingers hours afterwards. And then I’m going to continue my day. My day that started with the laughter of a ghost who was once the man of my dreams.

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Today I Was Reminded.

I was looking forward to going to church today.

I was hoping for a moment of reflection and stillness when my children went downstairs for the children’s mass. But my four year old fought leaving my side. Fighting turned to screaming and dragging and that turned into tears and a complete temper tantrum. And so I gave in, and watched her play on the stage while my eldest daughter hopefully listened to something.

I had hoped to be reminded of something today in church. To receive a bit of a recharge, or a moment that may help me to get through the struggles of the week, or at least the rest of today. But I missed the entire mass.

Instead, I watched my beautiful girl struggle. It’s her birthday tomorrow, and just as they both get to their worst states just before Christmas, Maggie behaved inexcusably this morning. And I was reminded of something.

I was reminded that she’s only four on the verge of turning five. That I am her mom and my patience is a must to teach her right from wrong. I was reminded that I am her primary example of love and kindness and that through my actions I can help her to learn how best to live within them.

Today’s mass was one of the best I have ever attended.

May you be reminded sometime today too. xoxoxoIMG_9542

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She’s My First

It’s funny how a masterpiece starts as an amateurish sketch with no depth. Every new idea starts as an extremely simplistic skeleton. And then it grows and matures…and as it does you can slowly make out a beautiful image in it’s shadows.

I guess it depends on the strength of the creator as to whether or not it reaches its potential. It takes a lot of patience and many mistakes for that stick drawing to mature into an image that is pleasing to the eye. The colours and the contours that slowly surface as the hand persists….The happy accidents and the corrections made….

There is no chance for greatness if the hand is still and controlling. There must be a certain amount of willingness to make mistakes, a willingness to lose everything…that creates true beauty…as if the hand is negotiating with the mediums and is willing to walk away. That’s when you get what you want.

It’s not until you get down to the final, very specific details that I become nervous. Lines and shadows that are not easily removed that must be more controlled and specific.

\But that is the fun about creating. The initial vomit of an idea that is slowly and patiently molded into something worth sharing with everyone you know. She’s not done by any means but she’s beautiful…and she’s my first…this time around.


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