Paninis & Writing

There is one thing you need to know before you carry on reading this little thing of mine. One thing that may or may not change your thoughts on whether this relationship of ours is going to go any further. One thing that might indeed change EVERYTHING.

Well this is awkward, it seems I’ve amped it up so much that I can never make it sound as awesome as it needs to.

So here it is: right now at this point in my life I have exactly three things on my brain. My kids well-being, the panini palace and writing.

A while ago Sophie told me she wasn’t exactly fond of me writing all of these, she says “embarrassing” I say “adorable” stories about her. So I will respect her wishes and the tales of the children will have to be kept to a minimal. Which leaves us with paninis and writing.

Hence, if you choose to continue frequenting this account you will probably be reading about a whole shit-ton of misadventures which Jamie and I find ourselves getting into daily at the shop. That and my ridiculous obsession with pop culture, I will probably throw that in here somewhere too. Example, Vampires. Another example: my love for Mindy Kaling…She’s so fucking cool.

Ahem, allow me to paint you a little picture here.

It was lunch-rush and busier than we’ve ever been before. INSANITY to be exact. But good insanity. Exciting insanity. We were running into each other like chickens tend to when their heads get cut off except babbling back and forth so perhaps more like a pair of challenged baboons. I was panting for the love of God! Panting! I’m so out of shape.

Then everything froze.

Now everything did not actually freeze to be literal, it’s not like there was some kind of super natural force which actually stopped time or anything. This was more of an emotional freezing moment where I looked at my husband and this sandwich kingdom we have assembled and I couldn’t be more honoured to be in this thing with him. Like, how did I become so lucky to have found a partner who I can raise a family with but build a business alongside too? It is nothing short of a miracle.

Time jumps back to reality and Jamie runs past me clutching his hand. He returns to the line a few minutes later with his index finger wrapped up like a mummy and two clear plastic gloves on over top.

“Did you cut if off? Do you need stitches?” I ask with not a hint of yarn in my voice because my husband has literally cut off the tips of his fingers several times before in his career and had to get them sewn back on. So this was a serious and vital question at the time.

“No I just sliced it down the middle.” He said. Then we disinfected what needed disinfecting (becasue a restaurant is nothing without clean and proper health standards) and continued on with the lunch-rush because stopping just isn’t an option these days.

I’m not going to lie, it’s been a tough go of it lately. We are feeling the debt that we created when setting up the shop and it’s proved to be a lot more difficult than we anticipated to begin paying it down.

Of course, it’s all part of it. This is the big shebang of starting a business. Them’s the ropes, as they say. We get it. But if you’ve ever had debt hanging over you, if you’ve ever felt that suffocating fear of relying utterly and completely on your next day’s sales, your next week’s paycheque, I’m sure you can feel where we are coming from.

So today, this fantastic day that we were not expecting but eagerly hoped for had finally come! At one point as I slid in beside my husband on the line and poured a bowl of soup we caught each other’s eyes. He looked at me and smiled this smile that just said, “I may have just sliced my finger open but that’s okay because we’re doing it! We are making this happen!” and it gave me a stomach full of butterflies.

It was a long day, twelve hours to be exact with even more paper work and planning to be done once I arrived home that evening. When they say starting a small business ain’t for the faint of heart, believe them, they wouldn’t lie to you. **I don’t know who “they” are but they sure know their shit.

When Jamie got home we cracked a couple of beers and talked about the day. It was in fact the busiest one we’ve had yet and despite our aching feet and weary brains it was our day! We had done it. Sure there were a few mishaps but we recovered. We moved forward and now are ready for another day, and that my friends, feels fabulous!

 

 

 

Advertisements

Dream It

It was less than a year ago when The Hot Wire was just a silly idea drifting in and out of two dreamer’s brains. But when dreams become reality; this is the stuff of magic. My husband and I are dreamers you see, we always have been. We sit up late, sometimes drinking beer and eating popcorn, and always talking about the things that may be one day. It is some of my favourite moments with him.

Do you know that feeling that comes over you when you just know that you are on your (and I really mean your) right path? I don’t know about you but it will start out as the faintest tingling in the very deep of my gut. A flood of positivity becomes my brain—waylaying the creatures who say I cannot achieve what I am setting out to do. They are left where they stand, ignored and forgotten–just as they should be. It is a strength that resides firmly in my chest. Said strength moves me to reach further, do better and try harder in achieving my goals. It is a resolve that is impossible to ignore.

And it is one of the very greatest feelings a human being can have.

Some people will live their life telling you to, “get your head out of the clouds” or to, “stop dreaming your life away.” I say NO! Absolutely do not remove your head from that mass of condensed water vapour floating in the atmosphere! Dream and imagine, write it all down and back it up! BACK IT UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Then, once you’ve got your game plan, once there is nothing left to imagine, go out and do. Be the dream because as impossible as it may seem sometimes, “there is always a way out” (that was a Doctor Who reference for all the laypeople out there).

Anyways, what I’m really trying to say is please, I beg of you, follow those beautiful, impractical, adventurous, tentative dreams.

There will be shitty, I mean REAL shitty days along the way. There are points in which I worry that we might fail. Maybe we will fail. Maybe we will fail at achieving this dream in this particular way. Perhaps we will have to pack up and begin again. We will have to look for the alternatives and brainstorm and inspire to be better. But that is just part of the game. That is the process. 

Whether you attain what you are looking for the very first shot or you must try over and over again until you get it right—I promise you, it will be worth it. To know that you had only a glimmering of an idea in your mind and to bring that minuscule thing to fruition is a true marvel. It is a striking thing to know you’ve achieved.  

The other day Jamie and I got this little note in our comment jar.

13419213_1774913362740927_3019155244384243522_n

 

I can’t really explain to you how much significance this piece of orange paper with words on it holds for me. It WAS me only a few months ago. It was us. Unsure of how to move forward but hopeful that there was something to move forward to.

Now there are so many moments where I find myself silently thanking the forces that be in assisting Jamie, Lars, Sophie and I in what has been our most crazy, uplifting, insane adventure yet. And we will keep on doing what we do. Despite the pit stops and the delays. We will find a way to keep moving on.

And my hope is, that the writer of this note along with anyone else who has ever had a dream can find the grit and guts to do the same.

Wednesday Rambles

 

The house has a muggy calm about it this morning. Today is supposed to be devastatingly hot and I’m not entirely sure I am ready for it. I’m not entirely sure I am ready for anything anymore. For someone who used to be chronically prepared for just about everything, I’ve sort of dropped the ball lately.

Maybe it’s the heat. Or maybe it’s my brain being overloaded with menial tasks. Perhaps it’s my brain being overloaded with all of the non-menial tasks that’s getting me down. The worries and what-ifs about the future. I find myself daydreaming all of the time about what’s to come.

Like, I wonder when that multi-billionaire is going to stroll through the doors of The Hot Wire and give us an offer right then and there that we can’t refuse. He will say something along the lines of, “Boy Howdy I do declare this is the best éclair I’ve ever eaten!” or “Well, I tell you what, I’ve never seen a more original and downright delightful sandwich shop in my whole dang life.” I am imagining this person to be from the Deep South with an accent reminiscent to Foghorn J. Leghorn.

4d67676f2478e5cdb64b3008e06f51da

However right here and now I am reminded that none of this has actually happened yet. A wall of heat is currently pressing up against my back and I feel as though I may be slowly melting away into oblivion. I do hope it’s not so hot there.

Usually I don’t mind the heat. I like to bask or whatever. But working in a kitchen when it is 30 above, I’ve come to discover, is most likely the closest impression of Hell that any human being will ever know.

I literally just turned around to see if I could physically see what the “heat” looks like. I am assuming that because it is so god-damn hot in here (at 6 am) that surely I would be able to spot its wrath. I’m really considering stripping down to the buff and going to sit in the cool garage for a few before I head off to work.

Okay by now I’m sure you guys are asking yourselves where in the good and glorious name of Jeebus am I going with this blog post?

Well, to put it right out there; I’ve been a bit of an asshole lately. I’ve pretty much been the assholiest asshole in the history of assholes (but not the literal kind…because that would be shitty. Ha!)

IMG_0710

In these last few weeks I’ve pulled away. I’ve withdrawn because let’s face it, things got scary and things got hard. We were struggling to get the business where we needed it and doubt plus many misgivings were running rampant. I stopped calling my friends and family because I just didn’t have anything positive to say. I didn’t text, and when they texted me I shot back with insincere one word answers.

Assholery I tell you, pure assholery.

Now, it is time for an apology! I’m sorry dear loved ones…I love you all. Love, love, love, love and some more love. Yes, this is in fact my idea of an apology. They’ll get it.

The smouldering and fiery facts—that accompany my current state of sweltering alive—are that I was a little depressed for a brief moment there, and it scared the holy molies out of me.

But then one day not too long ago something happened and although it doesn’t solve all of our “starting a business stresses” it gave me that little bit of oomph I was in need of to get up and get on.

A dude sitting in the shop so very nonchalantly muttered to his Panini one random day, “I love you. I never want you to end.” And in that moment our suspicions about failure vanquished. We realized that we have something here, something good. It was about at that time when grandiose delusions of talking roosters paying us millions to franchise our panini palace came into play.

IMG_0002

Maybe that’s a little much, I don’t know.

What I do know is that I cannot allow the down days to affect the relationships in my life. Our humans, the ones who get us through the everyday, are our everything. There are going to be bad days. Days when the bread doesn’t rise and the cakes all fall. There will be days when the equipment brakes. When the kids act up and lash out. There will be days when we want to tell the whole entire world to just fuck right off.

And then, there will be days when we find a grown ass man telling his panini that he loves it. There will be days when we feel invincible. Some days we will find that we have the ability to do just about anything.

These are the days we must hold tightly to. The days that remind us that we are doing something wonderful and fulfilling.

Some may even go as far to say; these, are the days of our lives.

*mic drop.*

Lindsay Out.

IMG_0010

 

Taking a Breather

Quickly I run the mouse over the red X in the right hand corner of the screen. If I am going to get anything done I have to pull myself away from the tantalizing grips of my Facebook world. As I watch the screen disappear I feel a momentary melancholy because all I really want to do right now is mindlessly scroll through a sea of Selfies and dumb political opinions. I don’t want to think, or read or have to conjure up anything from the foggy depths of my brain because I am just too damn tired for that.

It’s been about two weeks now since I’ve sat down at this computer and wrote anything at all. I force myself to put my fingers to the keyboard because whenever I happen to go this long without writing a sneaking fear begins to burrow its way into the better judgement section of my brain. What if I forget? What if I lose the ability to sling sentences? What if I lose interest in the art of wordsmithing altogether? What the hell then?!

As much as I don’t actually believe this will happen, there is a small part of me that will probably never let go of this completely irrational worry.

So here I am, writing. I don’t really know what to write about at this very moment but my hands seem to be clicking away at a good pace so I will just let them do the work I suppose.

Everything has been going pretty swell at the Panini factory. Our doors are open and every day we seem to be gaining more happy customers which is truly a beautiful thing. I think one of my favourite parts of this new adventure is meeting all of the people who walk through The Hot Wire’s doors.

A few have been back several times and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that our little shop is a place that people just like hanging out. This is what Jamie and I always envisioned when we talked about opening The Hot Wire. Now, it is coming to fruition and we couldn’t be happier.

Of course it hasn’t all been a pleasure cruise. For the first few days we were pretty dead. Like I mean NOBODY new about us at all. Here I was thinking I was such a marketing wizard with my awesome Facebooking skills. What I’ve learnt about Facebook advertising is that a whole lot of people can “like” your page and that does not mean jack when it comes to them coming into your shop.

On grand opening day we were packed to the roof with prep and bread from the hordes of people we imagined would be fighting each other (literally just destroying each other) to get a mere taste of our sandwiches. In reality we had about ten costumers. It was not very glorious at all. So in the days to follow Jamie and I would be mentally willing the people who walked past the front of our shop to pop their head in and take a whiff of the delicious treats we had on display.

Now, by “mentally willing” I actually mean awkwardly staring down anyone who came near our doors as we wore ridiculously large smiles and expectant expressions on our faces. We were probably scaring more people away than anything. I would have been scared.

However a few humans did brave the weird vibe we were giving off and ended up loving the food. This is exactly why you shouldn’t judge an oddball book by its cover people!!

And there it began, the infamous word-of-mouth advertising. Seriously it works like a charm!

Each day our numbers are growing. We are becoming more confident in this huge endeavour we’ve taken on. And damn does that ever feel good!

13266062_1763787550520175_3101364973804507018_n

Thankless Jobs; and Why They Are Sometimes Worth It.

As a writer one must adopt the knack to take criticism positively and use it constructively. It is a difficult feat sometimes, especially when you’ve toiled so hard on a project only to have to revamp and once again revise, revise, revise. Nevertheless the writer knows what must be done to achieve the overall fulfilment they will eventually reap from their work. And this entire process, I’ve come to realize, is quite similar in the long journey of parenthood.

Just recently I’ve decided to expand my reach by submitting a few short fiction stories to some literary magazines. I’ve had a severe love affair with science fiction and the fantasy genres for as long as I can remember so I thought it was high time to send some of my own fictitious tales of escapade out into this big literary world. For weeks I poked and prodded at the ten short stories I had decided were worthy for submittal.  I read and reread the overall storylines; I cut characters and added more interesting ones. I custom made my sentence structure; I was witty (but don’t worry not annoyingly so). I murdered, I schemed, and I plotted (in the stories of course) and I repented over none of it. By the end, these tales I had created were a part of me. They live in the depths of my mind and their characters will forever survive in the warm caverns of my imagination.

20150724_212817

Yet some do not see it that way. This morning as I argued with Sophie over why she must brush her extremely knotted hair I glanced at my phone to see I had received an email from one of the magazines I submitted to a few weeks ago. My heart gave a little skip but immediately thereafter faltered.  I opened the email to find yet another rejection letter. I’ve lost count currently but if I had to guess I would say it was about the twelfth or thirteenth, “sorry not for us” reply I’ve gotten.

This however is all okay, and that is because of one simple quote I’ve taken on as my personal mantra, “By the time I was fourteen the nail in my wall would no longer support the weight of the rejection slips impaled upon it. I replaced the nail with a spike and went on writing.”― Stephen KingOn Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.  Leave it to one of the great “king’s” of literature to craft such a vast beacon of hope for aspiring writers everywhere.

Now all of this talk about rejection has started me thinking about how similar the feelings that arise from parenting can be. We work so damn hard to be the mothers, fathers, and caregivers we have to be. We laugh with them, rack our brains to come up with awesome activities to keep them stimulated. We love them unconditionally. We’d murder, scheme and plot for them if it meant their safety and happiness. And yet we expect nothing in return.

Much like writing it can sometimes be a thankless job. We will collect unwanted, unwarranted commentary from our peers because they would do it a different way. We gobble up the criticism from the experts and call it constructive because what on earth else are we supposed to do with that information?

Parents and writers are constantly on the search for recognition, and yet in reality it is so seldom that we find it.  This morning after I received this particular email I quietly retreated to my bedroom. I once again thought about that famous quote from Mr. King and it made me realize that it not only applies to the rejection we feel as writers but also the rejection we can feel in everyday life. It occurred to me that no matter what has got you down, the key is to keep moving forward.

20150724_140058

Yes sometimes our parenting endeavours can feel unappreciated. It is a job we do out of candid love rather than for acknowledgement or praise. And even when the girl child refuses to brush her hair or the boy child tells you you’re the worst mom ever for not letting him play the tablet, you will still carry on. We do this because of that tiny voice inside reminding us to always do best for the small humans we are bringing up in this world.

And one day, just like my creative writing, our hard work and effort will pay off and we will hear the words, “You did great, thank you” and just like that we will fail to remember how complicated it once was.

I am a garbage picker

As it happens, each year around this time of the Great Melt, a plethora of garbage and litter become painstakingly evident along our walks, green spaces and lots. It is the devastating reveal after a long and heavy snow-covered winter. And it gets me in the same soft spot every year.

I am a garbage picker. My mother is a garbage picker. And I’m sure her mother was too. We willingly choose, as crazy and outlandish as it may seem, to pick up haplessly strewn garbage when seeing it lying on the earth. Gasp.

“Um you do know that there are town workers for that kind of thing.” A woman informed me the other day on one of my cleansing missions. I held a rather fat grocery bag of sodden waste dripping from my left hand at the time.

I am aware, to be clear, that town workers get out with their poky sticks at a certain time of the year and in the more travelled areas of town, stab a few pieces of eyesore up and outta there. If you ask me, I would much prefer my tax money going towards a more lofty cause- something I’m not able to easily rectify myself perhaps. What I was not aware of was that it is truly that offensive to want to clean up this place that I live on my own accord.

The war on litter and waste would be a hell of a lot easier to rein in if every resident of planet Earth would be a little more considerate. The toxins from a cigarette butt ill fatedly flicked onto the grass, for example, will undoubtedly seep into our earth and water. Now think about what the areas outside your local bar looks like. Piled with butts and garbage, I bet, and each one of those little chemical stubs will eventually infiltrate our land and lakes.

But we all know that don’t we? You don’t have to be a scientist to conclude that litter and excess waste is bad for the environment. We hear about filling landfills and floating garbage islands every day.  So instead let’s look at it from a different angle- one that people from around my neck of the woods may understand a bit better. Money.

The amount of money we spend in taxes for pointless waste removal from our beach and walking paths is heinous. If each one of us picked up ten pieces of garbage on our walk to work, or the dog park, or wherever our little ol’ feet want to carry us, we wouldn’t be in need of paying these employees to do such for our own lazy and apathetic asses.

Even better, why not stop littering all together? Instead of watching that Wendy’s bag float out of your car like a thumb-up-your-butt-asshole, go and grab it, and shove it in a garbage can.

Our municipal government has passed a bylaw this summer to allow mobile food vendors into our town. Many a tourist passes through these parts in the summer months and I’m sure will be in seventh heaven when hitting up the convenience of some delicious to-go grub.  Of course some of the more environmentally conscious individuals found this worrisome because of the amount of disposable food containers that will be being pumped out of these specific areas. Obviously with this in mind, the fear of even more litter accosting our beach and parks is palpable. The town council put this matter to rest quickly and with ease stating that of course they would be adding additional garbage cans to the areas where the vendors will be present.

I find this a laughable conclusion to come to seeing as how there is already a surfeit of garbage cans around the downtown core, due to excess foot traffic, and still, the good people of town and abroad choose to flip their butts and toss their trash aimlessly to the land.  I’ve seen it many times first hand, our town looks like a dumpsite in the early hours of the morning during those busy summer weeks, sandwich wrappers, juice containers, and pop bottles all sully the ground. However eventually, before the tourists pile in, we pay unnecessary wages to multiple town workers to prettify something we, humanity, should do out of a deep-seated knowledge of simple mindfulness. Yet regrettably that notion has slipped away from many people nowadays.

There is a huge need surfacing, and not only in my meager town. It is the education of the earth and how we must stop mistreating this home we live on, for her sake and ours.

I for one will do as my mother did and teach my children how to recycle and sort as well as how to use a garbage can instead of the ground. It is painfully simple really. I will teach them how utterly despicable it is to allow a piece of their own trash to flit off their person and onto earthen soil; not once thinking about the consequences. And I will teach them there is no harm in picking up a few pieces of rouge garbage as they pass it by, how could there be?

Let’s create a generation of garbage pickers, and clean this mother up.

556388_10151202946901068_2057515136_n

This post is my virtual way of happy dancing

Guess what friends!? We are up to 938 readers on The Blogging Mama- WOW!

I feel so grateful that you all have continued to read and share my stories and am very excited for our new adventures in guest posting together.

 Again please feel free to send me your tales as I would love to share them on the blog!

Sometime ago I had wagered that if I could attain 1000 readers on the blog I would make it my quest to get Ellen DeGeneres to share The Blogging Mama on her Facebook page, because really, how cool would that be!!!!

Here is my original post on that to clarify- and to brag about the super nifty name I have for said quest. 

So here we are 62 readers (no I did not have to use a calculator to retrieve that number…) away from me setting out on this honored pursuit! And boy howdy am I excited 🙂

So what I am here asking now is for you to share The Blogging Mama Faceboook page, your favorite posts or even bust out some good ol`word of mouth for yours truly. Hopefully soon we can reach the goal of 1000 readers and the rest will be blogging history!

I really can`t thank you guys enough for reading, liking and sharing all of the real and sometimes weirdly imagined things that I conjure up in my head…It makes me wonder what is wrong with you all 😉

But you still totally rock my world guys- Thanks for everything.

IMG_1385[1]

How starting to not give a shit changed my life forever

Okay I’m already lying I still give a shit. I give a lot of shits actually- just not the same shits I gave before.

Once upon a time I was so worried about what other people thought of me I would go so far as to not even post certain things on Facebook in fear that the readers of my feed would think me unusual. I was on a constant people pleasing mission, bending over backwards for other human beings. People I was not even close with. People I didn’t even enjoy the company of! I wanted absolutely everyone in the entirety of the human race to love me. Plain and simple.

When in conversation and a topic I did not agree with came up I would nod my head and agree in a mindless, spineless and spiritless fashion. I felt as though my opinion was not valid. My voice just never seemed important enough to speak up over the crowd. I gave myself no credit when it came to my freethinking mind.

I reflect back upon it now and feel saddened for all the years of wasted time.

And when I say ‘wasted’ I mean it. I misused so much time. Hours upon hours I would lay awake at night dwelling over something someone had said to me that hurt my feelings. My mind constantly reeling over why that person might not like me and what I could do to change myself if they didn’t.

Today as I write this I realize how far-reaching it all sounds. The story doesn’t sound tangible…Who in their right mind would go to such lengths to please everyone?

It didn’t seem so drastic back then though. I never realized what I was doing and I certainly didn’t think I was harming anyone. But in reality I was damaging the most important person- myself.  I inadvertently put my own feelings and well-being on the back burner so to speak. I craved that cheap thrill of a pat on the back and the words ‘good job’ slung at me in a half-hearted way. I was forever searching for that approval; those meaningless words that for no reason other than my own inflated ego told me that I was doing right. In truth I was doing right by all the wrong people.

Time can do some very beautiful things to a person though. It gives us knowledge, strength, confidence and ability. And time does all of this in the slyest of ways- gradually and unbeknownst to us.

So there I was once giving all kinds of shits about all sorts of idiotic things. The clothes I wore and whether a pair of pants gave me a muffin top because God forbid that my fat insult the eyesight of someone walking behind me. I wrote with a bias hand always censoring the words I placed to paper, in fear I would offend some stranger I may never meet. I tread lightly in situations I was unsure of, promising not to rock the proverbial boat because people do not like boat rockers and I wanted all the people to love me. All of the people.

And that was the first thing when it came to giving a shit that time had taught me…Somebody will always dislike you. Sometimes people will go as far to say they hate you. And more times than not these people and their negative feelings are unavoidable, but they are also unquestionably commonplace. Rather than getting all up in arms about such an ordinary, everyday undertaking I was beginning to find catty remarks and rude comments just plain boring.   Slowly but surely I came to the conclusion that I may as well be myself because if people were going to find things to loath about me they should probably be loathing me for my true traits rather than my tip toeing alter-ego. It is an utterly exhausting task to constantly worry about what others are thinking of you. EXHAUSTING I tell you! So I decided it was time to throw in the towel when it came to my shit giving ways.

And this is how my journey into shitlessgiving began. Yep…Going with that.

I won’t tell you that it is stress-free dropping all the shits one used to give. Quite easily it was a way of life that I lived for far too long. And sometimes I still find myself hovering skeptically over the publish button. Sometimes confidence still fails me and I worry my voice is not good enough. Sometimes I am still burdened with the falsity that I am not good enough.

But in these times of uncertainty I remind myself of all of the wonderful shits I still have to give.

I give a shit about my work. I give a shit about feminism and equality for the sexes. I give many shits about creativity and moving forward into the unknown. Of course I give a ton of shits about my amazingly selfless family who have helped me so much along the way. And for my friends, the people I know I can always count on. And most importantly I give the most shits about my wonderful husband and our two beautiful children.

When it comes time to really sit back and think about the greatness that this life has to give it is then that we can truly realize what shits are not worth stressing over.

And that is how starting to not give a shit changed my life forever.

Stubbing Out my Dirty Little Secret

My eyes pop open easily, I have no trace of a headache from the few beers I indulged in the night before. I skip…Yes SKIP to the bathroom and take a look in the mirror. My eyes are bright, there are no thin red lines tracing through the whites of them. My skin does not have a haggard look that I cannot quite put my finger on, but instead glows and I notice less pockmarks overall.

I take a poop. Yep, there is no waiting for stimulants this fine morning. Feel the urge, get er’ done.

I smile and hug my kids upon entering the kitchen where they wait for breakfast. I have no angst of ‘need’ heaping up in the bottom of my gut, so instead I ask my darling children how their sleep was…And I listen to their beautiful little voices.

I too eat breakfast! A piece of multigrain bread, half an avocado, a banana, and a bit of yogurt. I savor the food, I take my time to eat it- tasting all of the flavors mingling together in my untainted mouth. And I realize I enjoy eating without the pressure of ‘having to get outside’ continuously creeping on the outskirts of my mind.

I then brew myself a cup of Joe and am ecstatic to realize how wonderful the stuff tastes when it is not accompanied by the putrid taste of a cigarette.

Because once I came to the realization that smoking is gross (an epiphany that took me 15 years to actually grasp) I began to see the shit for what it is really worth…NOTHING.

Now I know at this point, many of you may well be drawing your mouse up to the right hand corner of the screen to exit out of this stupid anti-smoking post. You don’t need anyone telling you how to live your life. It is your choice to smoke, and you certainly don’t need to be berated about it over the internet!

I agree with you. Well at least I would have been doing the exact same fleeing thing only a few weeks ago. I would silently tell this blog post to fuck right off, go sit on my deck and lite up a ciggy. I would then stew over the fact that everyone tries to tell me what to do, and it is all such a load of bullshit! And then I would probably lite up another one just to calm down a bit more.

Smoking had always been my dirty secret. From a time when I was teenager young and would dive frantically behind bushes to avoid Mama seeing me smoking on Main-street. That was a period when we hid smoking from our parents but bragged openly about our addiction to society. Nowadays it seems that we simply hid it from everyone.

When I got pregnant with my daughter I actually thought I had kicked the nasty. I was smoke free for over a year and a half. It is not until now though that I can admit to myself that during that time I still secretly envied those around me who continued to suck the stuff into their lungs. I loved seeing them inhale that bluish gray smoke and oh so badly wanted that feeling for myself.

It was just before my wedding date that I started up again. It was a super stressful time, there were just so many parties around then, I couldn’t risk putting on weight before the wedding… There were a thousand and one reasons to start up again. So I did.

I kept quiet about my re-entrance into the smoking world and for a long time only my soon to be husband knew about my clandestine ways. My relationships began to break apart with family as they could not understand why I was always sneaking off in solitary. Finally when the actual wedding in Mexico commenced it was not even 10 minutes after the ceremony that I ran off by myself to have a sneaky smoke.

Life went on like this for a long time. Crawling into dingy corners to receive my nicotine fix, hiding in the shadows to suck back a fast one. Cramming into tight little boxes at the zoo, shoulder to shoulder with strangers bitching about how society treats smokers like animals these days.  But in reality the animals looked a lot better off than we did.

Then it happened, a short time ago I was introduced to Allen Carr’s Easy Way to Stop Smoking. I read the book in about 5 hours, endured a few life changing insights and completely transformed the way I viewed cigarettes.

And I can say that I am changed.

I feel rejuvenated, where in past attempts to quit I had felt drained.

I feel confident not only in my resolution to stop smoking but also in my personal gain from the experience.

I feel better physically therefor I look better. I carry myself higher and speak with an unwavering poise- something I am not positive I had as a smoker.

I can wholeheartedly say I feel jubilant!

I have yet to experience a moment of panicky fear wondering how I will go on without cigarettes. Because, completely thanks to Allen Carr’s method I now know the answer to that question…

I will simply go on so much better than I was before!

I could sit here all day expressing my swooning love for Allen Carr and his wondrous ways, but eventually people may begin to think I am a bit of a nut case or in fact hired by the celebrated Allen to up-sell (not that it needs it) this oh so awe inspiring book! So instead I will leave you with this;

For any of you out there who use nicotine products and have that little voice inside of you quietly whispering the possibility of life without it, please PLEASE go get yourself a copy of this book. I promise if you read his words and follow his insanely easy instructions you can and will stop smoking.

images (1)

It was not too long ago that I told myself I didn’t want to quit smoking because I genuinely liked to do it…

Now, it amazes me that I could have ever said something like that.  

Speaking Out- We Are So Much More

We Are So Much More

We may not be warriors but we wear a suit of armour

Made of sweet smiles and selective hearing

To guard against moments of hasty jeering

Peering eyes have chastised us by

Quietly saying all the things we are doing wrong as ‘Mom’

They try to shred us apart, one mishap at a time

But what once would scathe us, now we scoff

And slides off the shield we grew when becoming Mom

 

We may not be soldiers but we strategize like a son of a bitch

We can fix a wound with a Band-Aid and a light kiss

Fold laundry, make dinner, and plan a holiday all simultaneously

We make time for coffee and friendships

Wield households and chaperone field-trips

We oversee homework and chores

While acting as the mediator in the sibling wars

And we were not born, with this super human ability to multitask

No it just unmasked like an atomic bomb-

When we became Mom

 

We may not be fighters but our strength exceeds

Far past what you may see

We have housed human beings inside our bellies,

Ripped our vagina’s open to receive them

Or had a knife cut clean through our abdominal cavity

And yet still came out of it smiling.

Rivalling with each other over who had the most gruesome time delivering

And our hearts swell when we think of these little beings

That forced us to find the fight to free them instinctively.

Because we are Mom.

 

We may not be famous artists, but we teach our kids

It’s smartest, to color outside of the lines

We are the destroyers of boogeymen and things that go bump in the night

We fight all that’s wrong and edify all that’s right

This thing called love, we have it down to an art

And we know that this is the part- we were always meant to play

I say, we are the architects for this upcoming generation

A vocation filled with fascination, creation and stimulation.

An occupation worthy of jubilation!

We are the draftswomen for visions of the future

We are the producers of the good and virtuous

And we are courteous in our purposes

Never boasting of our worthiness

 

So you see for all the things we may not be, we are so much more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Quest For Ellen-ness continues

Hello lovely readers! So I just wanted to let you all know that NO I have not forgot about The Quest for Ellen-ness (although I’m sure you may have)! Back when I posted this originally I was at about 250-300 readers which includes the Facebook page as well as email followers and those who follow The Blogging Mama through WordPress.
So anyways, now that I realize I need to stop rambling on…
I just took a look and we are a little over 500 readers here on The Blogging Mama! So halfway to the goal of 1000! (You’re welcome for calculating that daunting math for you…)
So I’m going to be optimistic here and say it’s just a hop, skip and a jump to 1000!
So please, tell a friend about The Blogging Mama, and hopefully we will soon reach our goal for The Quest For Ellen-ness…
 OK friends listen up! The Blogging Mama has a new trick up her sleeve...We are going to try to get Ellen DeGeneres to share The Blogging Mama on her Facebook page!  It's a long shot, but I believe that she would truly appreciate the humor and awesomeness that is The Mama.   The thing is, we here at The Blogging Mama are going to need a whole lot more shares and likes to get Ellen to notice us! So once we reach 1000 followers on the blog, I will pitch the idea to The Ellen DeGeneres Show!   So now dear readers I'm going to need your help! Go out and share The Blogging Mama to round up some more readers. Share like you've never shared before! Help The Blogging Mama in our quest for greatness...  Better yet...Help The Blogging Mama in our quest for 'Ellen-ness'!

OK friends listen up! The Blogging Mama has a new trick up her sleeve…We are going to try to get Ellen DeGeneres to share The Blogging Mama on her Facebook page!
It’s a long shot, but I believe that she would truly appreciate the humor and awesomeness that is The Mama.
The thing is, we here at The Blogging Mama are going to need a whole lot more shares and likes to get Ellen to notice us! So once we reach 1000 followers on the blog, I will pitch the idea to The Ellen DeGeneres Show!
So now dear readers I’m going to need your help! Go out and share The Blogging Mama to round up some more readers. Share like you’ve never shared before! Help The Blogging Mama in our quest for greatness…
Better yet…Help The Blogging Mama in our quest for ‘Ellen-ness’!

 

Link to The Blogging Mama Facebook Page- https://www.facebook.com/thebloggingmama27

A Birthday Wish For Dustin…

Dear Brother,
Remember that time I locked you in the outhouse with the stench of poo wafting into your 7 year old nostrils? For like 2 consecutive hours…I’m sorry.
Do you recall all those times I would feign crying so you would hang out with me and let me play your Pokémon stadium game on the Nintendo 64…Yes, I was faking it to make you feel bad for me, if you hadn’t already figured that out.
Bro, do you recollect the moments late at night where my friends and I would sneak into your room and draw penises on your face and ask you in your sleep what I was getting for Christmas? We did this because we knew you would tell, since you’re a strange sleep talker like that. Well you probably don’t remember that one…As you were sleeping and all.
Oh brother, how many odd and unusual memories we have together. There were moments when we nearly killed each other out of some deep seeded rage about who would get rule over the remote control that Saturday morning.
There were moments that we “hated” each other, and those were the times I would seek vengeance and do things like locking you in outhouses and rolling you down steep hills in a rain barrel. Those were also the times in which you would do things like peeing in water guns and taking me by surprise with a stealthy piss fight attack…Me being none the wiser until it was too late and I was soaked with a pungent smell of cheap plastic and urine.
But then after all of the memories of retaliation and fighting fade away as they always do, I think of the more sullen times. The times when late at night you would get scared and meander your way into my room because sleeping alone that night was simply an impossibility.
I remember moving out, and in the off times I thought to call you to see how things were going at home, I could hear the disappointment in your voice. I could imagine the way I made you feel, just up and leaving without a trace. And in those moments, my teenage rebellion would subside and a tangible feeling of sadness would come to head. In those few seconds I would miss our sibling rivalry direly.
After that, it would be several years until we became close again. Whether that was because of hard times on my part or your busy high school schedule I can’t be sure…maybe it was a mixture of both. As sappy as it is coming from me in these present days, I want to tell you I did think of you often in those younger years.
I then got pregnant with my son. You needed a place to live and moved in with Jamie and I and we lived together happily for a few years. Despite my annoyance with your drunken belligerence at times, I was so appreciative to have you in our home. We grew and nurtured that sibling bond that had went missing in those previous years. And with that bond a new aspect of our relationship developed.
Respect.
In times of childhood you were always my little brother, and in most instances I treated you as such. But the more I get to know you as an adult, the respect I have for you grows infinitely. I am so grateful to have you in my life. I am thankful I’ve got to stand witness to the amazing things you’ve accomplished in your adult life thus far. You are truly a wonderful human being Dustin, and I am proud to call you my brother, my family, my friend.
So before I get rambling on too much and start blubbering like a baby, I would like to give you a birthday wish on this day of November 28th.
I wish for you happiness in your next exciting chapter of life. I wish for you confidence in those first few moments of holding your son- you will be a wonderful father. I wish for you to know no matter what, you can always come to your sister for advice (despite how wacky that advice may be). I wish for you to have a sibling for Jackson in the future so he will know the love that a sister or brother can bring…That it is truly like no other.
But mostly, I wish you bliss. Because Dustin, you deserve it.
Happy Birthday Brother, may all these wishes plus more come true.

P.S. I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.

For more awesome bro posts check these out;

The Double Edged Coin

Siblings

And how could I leave out…

Down on the Freeway of Cowboy Trail

‘Me Plus Three’

Anticipation can do strange things to a person; strange and terrible things…

I woke up this morning brimming with anticipation. Today would be the first day my brand spanking new column ‘Me Plus Three’ would be featured in the local newspaper, The Red Deer Advocate.

A year of blogging paid off in a way I would have never expected, when a few weeks ago an editor from the paper approached me asking if I would like to write a weekly humor column about the misadventures of family life.

“Uh hell yes I would!” Is what I would have said, if my mom had not taught me the importance of professionalism years ago. So instead I replied with, “Yes, I would enjoy that immensely.”

Maybe I wasn’t that stuffy.

Anyways, today is the day that the first column prints. I was awakened with the thought at an early 5:30 in the morning and it took all my might not to drive on over to the gas station to grab a copy at that time. To be truthful the only thing holding me back was the road condition.

We recently received a boat load of snow here in Alberta and I had yet to drive in the stuff. That first snow drive is ALWAYS a rough one.  But for this, nothing would stop me. So out to the van I trudged and fired ‘er up.

I got another cup of coffee into me to amp myself up for the two block venture to the newsstand, but my nerves mixed with eagerness was getting to me. So much, that I decided that going out in my torn up pajama pants, no bra and hair in dishevels would be an acceptable way to present myself when going to pick up my prize.

The drive was unnerving at best. Almost sliding into three parked vehicles and then slowing down to a ridiculous 10 kilometers an hour for the remainder of the journey, I was bound and determined to get to my destination in one piece.  I apologize if you happened to be that vehicle behind me that was honking furiously and waving your fist out the window at me…Sorry.

Finally I had got there! I located the area in which held my accomplishment and hurriedly made my way towards the cashier. she looked at me in an odd way, and I thought, “Well there it is, people are already recognizing me…Wow!”

In retrospect I realize that she was judging me for my cataclysmic appearance and possibly the smell that was emanating off my un-showed body, but that didn’t stop us from engaging in this awkward conversation…

“I’m in this paper…” I say in a weird under my breath but confidant kind of way,

“Um excuse me? Sorry I didn’t catch that.” The poor girl replies, obviously wondering if a crazy lady has just entered into her store.

“Me, I am a columnist in this paper, that’s probably where you recognize me from.”

“Um okay…”

 

Great way to represent the paper Lindsay!

The drive home wasn’t as bad, but upon arriving home I realize that the parking spot in which the van should be is much too small for me to maneuver into, making me park another block away from my home.

I may as well have walked to the gas station this morning.

So like I said, anticipation and excitement can do strange things to a gal, but in the end it was worth it.

So make sure to pick up a Red Deer Advocate today and every Tuesday to catch, ‘Me Plus Three’…Because ya know, I’m in that paper.

 

And on a more sappy and sentimental note, I would just like to thank everyone who has read , liked and shared The Blogging Mama. You guys are awesome for helping me get to this point.

 

1452362_10151989197611068_1401464991_n

Here’s to the people!

Here’s to the Mama’s! The bakers of fetuses, the creators of life. The wipers of snot and makers of The Best Lunches Ever!

Here’s to the woman who put their lives on hold, to give their family the best of the best. Here’s to  midnight feedings, and nap-less days. To the women who struggle to fit in at PTA but do it anyways for their babes.

Here’s to the Daddies! The men who work 10 hour days to support the family they love. Here’s to the men who take parental leave.  To the guys who change diapers and give bottles.  Here’s to the Daddies that play Peek-a-Boo despite how silly they look.

Here here to the men who would do anything for their family and display that mentality on a daily basis.

 

Cheers to the people who struggle with money, but make it work. To the parents who have divorced, but still stay civil for the sake of the children.

Here’s to single parents everywhere, doing the job of two people. Sacrificing so much for the children they love. You are doing a wonderful job!

Here’s to our children’s grandparents who tell us ‘it will all work out in the end.”

A shout out to the doctors and nurses who work so hard to keep our families safe and healthy. To the teachers who help mold our children into the individuals they will one day grow up to be.

The police officers who protect and serve.

To the cooks, the librarians, the accountants and the cashers. To all of the employee’s who play an important role in our community.

 

Today, I give a high five to ALL!

Today I will say No;  NO to uppity-ness, and NO self involvement.

Today I will give a big ol’ cheers to NO JUDGMENT.

 

We all have our story, our individual triumphs and our secret failings.

Today I ask you to own your legend.  Appreciate the people you never think twice about. Leave out the critical stares and the arbitrary comments.

Give a helping hand to someone in need.

Tell someone…Anyone, that they are doing a good job; that they are appreciated!

For a small, yet gracious gesture may go a long way for someone who truly requires it today.

Here’s to the people everywhere!

“One Man’s Trash…”

Crap! It is all crap!

If you are a regular reader of The Blogging Mama, you may have noticed I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus on writing posts these last few days. This is BIG for me as I am usually posting once or even twice a day. It is not that this lack of writing has been through choice though.

In the last few days I’ve attempted writing about the baby Shower I put on for a new-mom friend. It went well, very well actually. But the post-post came out like demented drivel, so I scrapped it all together.

Just now I tried writing about the difference between Pre-children Me and Post-children Me, in regards to working. Meh…Nothing to write home about, so I chucked that one too.

Now, I sit here typing away words that have no real meaning as I watch Lars draw pirate ships on computer paper beside me.

I stop for about 5 minutes and become entranced in his artwork. He is explaining to me, the diagram that he draws out in blue and purple ink, and I am wonderstruck.

One year ago, this child could not draw a smiley faced stick character to save his life. And now, now he illustrates with finesse and ease.

I ask him to write his name for me on the picture, he does without thinking twice and again it makes me realize how far he has come since last season’s start of school.

Sophie meanders into the kitchen from her sleeping quarters. Her hair is in a state of upheaval. Her drooping eyes are barley seen through uncut bangs and I realize she is in need of another haircut.

As clear as day, she asks for a bowl of cereal and some juice. Again the realization of my children’s growing minds and bodies hit me.

After getting the girl her morning breakfast, I plunk myself back down at my station and instead of writing I think about The Blogging Mama. I think about my original premise for this thing, why I had started and where I originally wanted it to go.

Although I love writing, and at one time in my life it was indeed my most treasured pastime. I did not start this simply to write. I began The Blogging Mama to create a running log of the adventures…and sometimes misadventures of parenthood.

Now, a few months short of a year later and almost 100 posts not to mention all of you beautiful readers, I have something of substance here.

Something my children can look back on and laugh about, cry about and give us all a little perspective. This blog isn’t about the writing, although I do try my best. It is about the love this family of ours has for each other. It is about truth, because what is the point, if we cannot be truthful about our failings and our triumphs in the realm of parenthood.

It is about honesty, and being happy with what we have been given. I realize now, that I have been given this opportunity to share with all of you my experiences , and low and behold you actually read it! For that I am so thankful.

When I first began this post early this morning, I didn’t have much to say. I was feeling sorry for myself, not having the words to write about all of the dilemmas that burden my mind.

But now, as I write the last few lines of this script I realize that maybe this blog of mine isn’t just words and stories; maybe it is an outlet of sorts. And combined with honesty, nostalgia and of course a little bit of comic relief,  I will have something of sentimental value to give to my children in their adult years.

Sometimes in life, we may think that all we are spewing out is crap…But with a little perspective and some truthful thinking we can come to the conclusion that anything can come up golden.

Today, on this 93rd post of The Blogging Mama, I would like to give a big virtual hug to all of you readers. As well as a real one to my kidlets, who hopefully will not be too mortified about the tales I write of them, once old enough to read!

‘Crowning Moments’

I officially have a new appreciation as to what my husband and family went through when watching me go through labour. At the time, I was totally and utterly self absorbed…As most women are when this alarming time comes.

It didn’t even cross my mind, that they may have been feeling upset, anxious, scared and frustrated that they could not do anything to help me through the grisly pains of uterine contractions.

As I sat in the hospital room with my best friend, her Husband, Mother and Sister and viewed the 60 second plus contractions course through her, I felt helpless, I’m sure we all did. And although the knowledge that every woman goes through this pain to receive the greatest gift they will ever get, a helpless and desolate air still hung over us.

I tried to busy myself in the small room, getting the girl ice water and cold face clothes, yet every time another one hit, I wished only that I could take that pain away from my friend whom I love so very much.

As we ventured closer to the moment of baby’s arrival, I begin wondering if I am to stay in the room at the time of delivery? Oh my good God, I think, if I am having trouble dealing with watching her have mild to moderate contractions, there is no way I will be able to stand watching her endure that kind of strain.

Panic begins to rise up in me…I frantically start looking around the room to find an ‘out of the way’ corner to crawl into if things start to progress fast and I can’t get out in time. There is nowhere to be found, and all too soon I am noticing how truly cramped this room really is.

But even in her time of strife, my bestest friend comes to my rescue. She tells her mother that she does not want everyone crowding the room at the time of delivery.

Her sister Jenise and I, make our way to the family lounge room with relief, I believe, hanging over both of our heads.

Emily Lynn, was born at 1:44am July 19th, and after 20 some hours of labour we all thanked the heavens she finally made her appearance.

And what a beauty this little girl is.

The feeling of holding this child in my arms for the first time was obviously different, than when I held my own…But the love I felt instantly for her was no less.

This little babe, who I am physically holding for the first time has all too soon captured my heart. I feel like I have known her much longer than these first few moments. I know from this day forward she will have me wrapped around her itsy bitsy finger, and oh how I look forward to spoiling her, the way an Auntie can.

How blessed I feel, that I was given the allowance to share with Janelle and Frankie this beautiful time in their lives.

And pride swells within me for everything they have went through to get this babe to the physical world and into our grasp.

After spending a considerable amount of time with Janelle`s family during her labouring time, I have a new appreciation as to how much Emily will be loved. And how wonderful of a family unit she has been born into.

And finally I would like to thank all of the people involved, for allowing me to participate in this momentous occasion.

Welcome to the world Emily! May all of your dreams in this lifetime come true.

wpid-2013-07-19_17-56-56

The Sad Sad Shadow of the Blogging Mama

First of all I would like to say thank you to all who commented and shared my last post, I was thrilled with the amount of views I received.

Now that I have your attention, I would like to turn matters to a more serious subject.

Someone very close to me has been the butt of my neglect.

Oh how the guilt has surfaced and has left me feeling horrid! Now I must make amends, and turn wrongs to rights.

I may have taken on more than I can chew with the commencement of No Rest For The Writers, what with my intense dedication to The Blogging mama.

I thought she could be a place where I could go, to be me. Without the children, the husband, the monotonous matters of daily life.

At the time it just felt right. Now I realize after looking at the dismal page she calls her ‘Stats’ she is not doing very well.

Not very well at all!

So here is my request to you my Facebook and WordPress friends; if you happen upon a spare minute out of your busy day, could you, would you, pay my derelict friend a visit?

Her name again is No Rest For The Writers, and she is oh so lonely. As you can see I have plastered links to her all over this post, in a vain attempt to lure your reading eyes towards her district.

If you happen to pop by she can guarantee an entertaining time. She will dazzle you with her interesting antidotes, her oh so charming wit, and sometimes even a sentimental story or two.

Her breadth has yet to grow to that of The Blogging Mama, but let’s face the facts here…I just have not been putting that crucial time in with her as I do with The Blogging Mama.

Although her span is small, you mustn’t let that fool you, she still holds a few tricks up her sleeve and is sure to amuse.

So once again, Her handle is No Rest For the Writers, and she is waiting for your arrival.

Dance Baby, Dance

When youngsters dream, they dream big. There is no journey too long, or aspiration too lofty; the mind is continuously revolving. With this youthful ambition, our children have the ability to accomplish greatness. It is our job as parents, to foster this beautiful acquaintance of hope and grow it into determination and purpose.

Today was one of those rare occasions when my Dad decided to open up to me. I was telling him about the poetry book I had just published, and how it has been a dream come true. He then revealed to me that when he was young, he had dreamed of being a marine biologist (working with whales) was how he put it. I had heard of this dream of his years before, but last time he told of it, it was ‘big cats’ that he dreamed of working with. Who knows old age may be kicking in, never-the-less ‘big animals’ is what we’re just going to chalk it up to.

Anyways, this dream was quickly put to rest by my Grandfather, his Dad, who told him that this delusion was the stupidest idea he had ever heard. There would be no money in it, and it was just plain dumb.

It was not the story that struck me, but the fleeting look that crossed my Dad’s dismal face just after.  And then without even a trace of fervour, he finalized our moment with, “And look what happened, I ended up a rig pig.”

My Dad is a very determined man, although in that moment he saw himself as just a ‘rig pig’ he has made a very successful career out of his work, something not to be diminished in a transitory sentence. Now filling the details in, I have no doubt that he would have succeeded in marine biology/lion taming, if only he had the support to follow his dreams.

Throughout my life, my parents have always been very supportive of my dreams. Although some fanciful  (and not always taken seriously) they always humored me. Shortly after the 1996 Movie ‘Twister’ came out; Me, a haughty ten year old was bound and determined that one day I too would chase down tornadoes in a mad attempt to find out about weather patterns. I still sometimes have an overpowering urge, to drive somewhat near (but not too near) a double-crossing cyclone of pure thrill.

Writing  has always been a constant in my life. I often wonder how my parents endured the countless hours of reading and re-reading short stories, poems, and oh the dreaded phase I went through when I thought I was the playwright! They strived through it though, and they did it with enthusiasm. My writing hasn’t brought me fame or fortune, and It more than likely never will, but scribbling down a few sentences a day has saved me from sadness many a time. It makes me happy, fulfilled even to know that I continue on a dream I’ve had for twenty years. It is my parents I have to thank for this, they always encouraged me to ‘Write till my heart’s content.’

Now that I have a Lars and Sophie of my own, I look very forward to the day when they come home from school after learning about some new and exciting exploit and say, ‘I want to be a…..’.

Lars loves dancing. Anytime my boy hears a beat, up goes his hands and arms flailing and thrusting in a hypnotic fashion, his body starts gyrating closely resembling a vertical spasm and his feet usually do an awkward stick to the floor thing while moving his legs in uncanny directions.  The poor boy has no rhythm and judging from the catastrophe that is my husband and I on the dance floor, he more than likely never will. I  by no means will ever  tell him to stop though. One- because it gives me something to laugh about, and two- more importantly, he loves it.  Whenever Sophie see’s her big brother dancing up a storm she joins right in. Unfortunately for her, I think he is teaching her his ‘moves’ everyday they boogie.

If my kids want to start a sister/brother dancing team, and introduce a new type of ‘interpretive’ dance to the world, I will be there in the front stands cheering them on the whole way- granted there are stands and cheering involved.  The point is, no matter how bizarre, I will be my kids biggest fan. Whether they like it or not.

With education and options, we can give these tot’s the confidence to bloom and flourish. I for one, will not be the one to crush my children’s dreams and then have them rueing over it 50 years later.  Until the day comes when they begin to conjure up imaginings of their own, I will dream about their  flourishing future…And maybe chase a few twisters in my off time.