Bread Crumbs In The Butter

Adequate/Inadequate

Adequate:

I've been working many hours and will be soon working many more hours. The money is great.

Inadequate:

It's on days off like today that I realize how much I miss when I am at work. Doing laundry so they don't have to, making their lunches, meeting them from the bus and walking lazily up the driveway chatting about their day.

Adequate:

I am absolutely adoring ball hockey and so far our hectic Thursday schedule hasn't stopped me from making it each week.  Outdoor soccer has started and I feel really proud about the new team we are becoming.  I am loving getting to play both sports this summer.

Inadequate:

I often wonder if I give up a part of my parenting and feel intense guilt for putting myself first. I wonder why I can't choose just one.  That the answer is "I just don't want to" either makes me feel very confident or very shitty.

Adequate:

My kids are happy, healthy and very unpicky eaters willing to try anything.  More often than not lately we are choosing whole, organic foods grown or raised right around us.  I'm being more conscious about not wasting - even composting!  I've recently discovered that farm fresh local eggs make the most amazing fried egg sandwiches ever!

Inadequate:

I've fallen off the wagon of meal planning and smart food shopping. I've spent too much money on food lately (that we don't necessarily have) because I'm flying by the seat of my pants.  When I do this I feel rushed and confused. I need plans people!

Adequate:

We are insanely busy and so far everyone is getting there. We are lucky to have the help of friends and between John and I we have managed to reciprocate as well. Everyone is enjoying their summer activities.

Inadequate:

I am so over-tired, over-committed and over-cranky that I sometimes yell and lash out when I shouldn't. I have spent a lot of time apologizing to my kids about my outbursts, which makes me feel like something you leave on a boot scraper.

You know me and change

I'm wallowing.

I know I'm doing it, but it's hard to stop when it can feel so oddly good.

It gives me a reason to eat chips for supper, like I did last night.  I can drink too much beer on a Tuesday night and tell myself it's because things suck right now and I deserve it.

I can stop running and working out and rationalize that my time and efforts are needed elsewhere.

Then one Saturday morning, I will wake up and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see it. Not only do I feel the wallow in me, I can see it.

This just has to change.

Yes, things are hard in the Hubert household. John and I have been fighting like crazy about money, compromise and who has it worse right now.  Have you seen two grown ups argue over who had less toothpaste? It's pretty sad.

Our house is going up for sale and that has been a lot of work. When you're asking a certain amount for a property, it's gotta look like it's worth it. I can tell you that after four weeks, one staging expert and a whole lot of elbow grease, this house looks amazing. Not in a way that makes me want to stay, because the mortgage still gives me heart palpitations - in a way that reassures me this is the right decision.  It does not look like we live here anymore. It's a beautiful house, but it's not my home.

I'm feeling good about the whole thing and that's huge right now.

There have been small glimmers of stuff that makes me smile.

This week, we scraped up enough to purchase our first actual bed. Not just a mattress on a frame (cause we have a really great mattress), but a bed.  It's made of actual wood and rails and posts. Four posts!  I need a stool to get into it.

Meghan won third place at the Renfrew Rotary Music Festival. The adjudicator told her she had the best rhythm of the bunch. It didn't drown out the melody. She was thrilled.

Ball hockey has started again. How much I love this sport is impossible to describe. Soccer is my thing, but the pace and agility of ball hockey pumps me up for days.

I'm muddling through.  Hopefully soon, we'll have started another new chapter and I'll go back to regaling everyone with my filthy mouth and crazy ideas.

Look Back

Right around this time of year, John goes through his usual list of all the bad things that happened to us in the last twelve months. Being a bit of a natural pessimisst, the year he's referring to is always pronounced as "our toughest year yet." (This is, of course, forgetting the year his mother died or the year we lived in a tiny sweathole apartment, worked four jobs each and both went to school full time.)

I usually smile and nod and remark that I too can't believe we made it through such a year.  This year though, I had had it.

"Stop that! This year hasn't been so bad.  Neither was the one before it.  When you think about it, we're pretty damn lucky to have what we have.  Name me one good thing that happened this year!"

... and he did it. Reluctantly at first, but once I started throwing things out there, he came around and started to get really excited about the good things that had happened this year.

Which is what inspired me to break it all down.  The good and the bad. 

The not so good is pretty self-explanatory.  In February of this year, Alex was in CHEO for 6 days, receiving and IVIG transfer for Kawasaki Disease.  There were some issues with John's business. We were audited.  Reunion and Studio 60 were cancelled before I found out how each show would resolve. Sure, some things sucked.

On the other hand ... Alex not only came through just fine from Kawasaki Disease, he has no lingering issues because of it. Gossip Girl has filled the space in my life that 90210 reruns were trying valiantly to fill, but just weren't cutting it anymore. I got an awesome job with Canada Post and I'm enjoying working outside the home. John is spending a lot more time with the kids and helping around the house.  John is also employing the best group of people we've ever had. I think things have been pretty effortless for a few months now and we're just moving along.

So, I want 2008 to continue where 2007 has left off.  Except, I still want to aim to drink more water, not bite my nails and pay less attention to Britney Spears getting her frappucinos and beating down he paparazzi.  Okay, I probably can't live up to that last one, but you get the idea.

Calm Down

You just can't get any better than this right now.

Do you ever catch yourself saying "When things calm down" to other people? 

"We'll get together when things calm down."

"I'll organize those photos when things calm down."

Last June I realized that I had been saying that for the last few years.  Every weeknight, every weekend and every minute of every hour we had was booked up. Solid.  I told myself it was because my brain couldn't function without being busy, but the truth was, I just didn't know how to say no. I was so focused on giving my kids all of the things I never had, that I wasn't giving myself anything in return.

We scaled it back this year.

We're still busy and the kids are still active, but there's more time for everyone.  Our new rule to live by is "No activities on the weekend" - especially Saturday or Sunday morning.  I am at work for 7am every day. Sleeping in until at least 8am has become sacred.  We putter around the house, go shopping and play board games.  John and I have started to book sitters (mostly my Dad/Stepmom or my Mom) and are spending Saturday nights hooking up with friends. We're having fun. Together, but separately too.  I'm still running and playing soccer. He's still hunting and playing hockey.

I feel so ridiculously well-rounded right now, I could burst.

The Men In My Life

I find people to be less expressive about fathers than they are mothers.  I suppose it's the soft, nurturing nature of mothers, but fathers seem to get less sentiment on their big day.  I figure most Dads probably want to hear how appreciated they are and a new socket set is not necessarily the way to go.

Today, in honour of this gorgeous and sunny summer day, I'm going to post a tribute to two very important men in my life.  My Dad and dad to my own children, John.

I've posted before that my father and I haven't always had a solid relationship.  In fact, for a few years, it was non-existent.  When your parents are divored it becomes hard to maintain a successful connection with your non-custodial parent.  Other circumstances made it almost impossible for a long time.  However, in the last year or so, my father and I have grown much closer.  Two years ago my children didn't even know I had a father. Today, their Grandpa is a big part of their lives.

My father and I are very much alike.  Not only do I have his eyes, but I have his personality.  A good deal of the time we spend together is spent laughing.  We have bitter, sarcastic senses of humour and tease our spouses incessantly.  It's nice to see glimpses into myself and see where I came from.  He's a very smart man and I respect his opinion on a lot of things.   My life is so much better with him in it and I feel like I've finally been able to let my bitterness at his role in my childhood go.  I'm no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop or for him to dissappear.  I think he's hear to stay and we're both making the effort to keep this going.

When it comes to John, I see Father's Day a bit differently.   It's a time for me to think about what kind of father he is to our children.   Of course, I always knew he would be a great father, that's why I married him.   When I consider his relationship with his own father, I see just how different he is than how he was raised.  He is very affectionate with our children and quite hands on.  He's always the first one to put a pillow between us and heave a frightened child into our bed at 2am.  He wrestles them until they cry from laughing so hard.  He teases them and makes fart jokes.  He cuts their fingernails because he knows I'm afraind to. He pulls out wiggly teeth because he knows it grosses me out. He takes them to soccer games and picks them up from school.  He brings them to dance competitions when I can't go and comes back with hilarious play-by-plays of what went on.

He pretty much leaves all of the major parenting decisions to me, because he trusts me as their mother.  He's not afraid to give me his opinion but he always says that he chose me as their mother because he knew I would be great at it.  It's stuff like that makes me love him like I do.   

My own father is very important in my life, but John is probably the most important father in my life right now.  I can't think of a better teammate in parenting.

Happy Father's Day!

Definition

At a girls only poker night, the girls and I spent a lot of time talking (naturally).  I don't remember how we got onto the subject, but the discussion of "definition" came up briefly.  We moved over the topic quite quickly because I believe we started reliving how we knew our husbands were "the one" and everyone loves to tell that story (none of us really knew though).

Definition is something I think about a lot (and I don't mean how defined Ryan Reynolds is, but while we're there, YUM!).  I'm not speaking specifically about how we define ourselves but how we are defined to others.  How we are characteristically identified in social situations or groups. Do you know what I mean?

It's how you introduce yourself in crowds.  How you know the bride at a wedding shower. Your "About" page. That little tagline you put after your name that sums you up.

I'm always defined as "The Woman Who Has Four Kids". Always. I mean, how can that not be my definition? It's a bit of a traffic stopper.  That fact always gets greeted with oohs or aahs or groans. Generally the sentiment is "better you than me!" or "you must be so busy!".

After that, I can usually count on including "The woman who's husband sells stuff... just stuff.  She plays soccer and runs and lives in the big house just outside town near the hydro line."

So right now, at 31, that's my tag line. My defintion.

What's yours?

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What mixin' in my mixer today? Streusel Topped Blueberry Muffins. John is not a breakfast eater, but he always grabs on of these in the morning. Yum!

Size 12

Entertainment Tonight is one of my late-night indulgences.  When I can't sleep, I flick the television on and can find it in less than five seconds.  Tonight was no different.  I was hoping to get the newest gossip on the Britney and K-Fed divorce, but instead was greeted with the lastest "ET: Expose". 

"Ugly" Vanessa, ET's Hidden Camera Expose

Scandalous. Shocking. Totally done before.

The expose itself required Vanessa Minnilo to don a "fat suit", which is exactly as it sounds.  Designed to add curves and lumps to her usually stunning, yet reasonably curvacious body, her reaction to the suit was obvious and not surprising.  What happened next did.

Vanessa asked someone off camera what size the skirt she was about to put on was.

"Size 12" the woman stated, with a bit of disdain in her voice.

Vanessa's reaction was immediate and harsh, she appeared, to me, to recoil in disgust.  My own reaction was just as immediate. My heart sank.  A size 12? A size 12 is worthy of such scorn?  I'm a size 12!  My bloid boiled and I went from heartsick to just plain mad.  What is up with that?  Since when is a size 12 considered "ugly"?

The makeup artists and wardrobe people went on to finish Vanessa's "ugly" look.  They added extra weight to her neck, changed her nose to include a bump, added freckled and blemishes and the final touch; a long brown wig.

It occured to me right then. They didn't make Vanessa Minnillo look ugly, they made her look normal.

Gone was the unattainably perfect hair.  No more puckered lips and sensual eyes. Her pre-childbirth body, still tight in all the places it was meant to be was nowhere in sight.  Yes, my friends, that is what counts as "ugly" these days.  Isn't that what it pretty much comes down to?  If we don't all look like we wake up each morning ready for a photo shoot, we're just not worth it.

My first reaction to the size of Vanessa's fat skirt was to be ashamed. I wear the same size as that suit and I was not happy about it. I was embarassed and sad. For a few minutes I felt unworthy and no longer proud of the body I have.  I went from amazement at birthing four children and being a size 12 to shame for being a size 12 in general.  What is wrong with that scenario? I was angry and pumped. I'm a confident person and genuinely happy with how I look. How dare someone try to make me feel like that's not enough?

Two days ago Kirstie Alley sauntered onto Oprah's stage wearing a bikini. She looked confident, proud and like she knew she deserved to be there.  A woman who is the same age as my mother went on national television in a bikini and what did most editorial media focus on? Her thighs. Or the fact that she didn't remove her wrap to show her ass. Or that she's lied about how much she really weighed when she started her program. She lost over seventy-five pounds. She lost a ten year old! And her thighs are what people are focused on?

There are so many campaigns on the internet and in television that promote real beauty. I am totally on board with them. I applaud them. Logically though, will this really change anything?   Will there ever be a time when a brown haired woman with freckles, pimples and a size 12 skirt is not considered ugly? I'm going to go with "No" and that's too bad, but it's life.  This is our world.  In 2006 a very small perentage of the population gets to decide what is beautiful and a large part of the population is not included. Practically, tangeably, currently, there really isn't much I can do to change that.

What I can change is how I react. Just because beautiful is being shoved down my throat in a size 2 skirt and bleach blond hair doesn't mean I have to believe it. Can a gorgeous woman with a small waist parent four children, balance her own hobbies and career and just try to keep it all together on a daily basis?  Of course she can!  Is she better at it than I am because of how she looks? No way.

So many times I've looked down at my stomach and I've felt depressed. It's stretched, the skin hangs and it's scarred permanently.  It's the one thing I would change about my body. I pull my shirt down over it. I don't look at it if I don't have to. Among all my family and friends though, the only person it bothers is me. So why am I so worried?  It doesn't make me less of a Mom or Wife or Friend. I can honestly say that the things I dislike the most about my body are the things that have brought me to where I am.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter. Not at all. Not anymore. I love fashion magazines. I love hollywood gossip. I love watching movies and the red carpet and ET. It's all wonderful entertainment, but that's all it is.  It doesn't define my life, I do.  All six feet, one hundred and seventy pounds of me.

Years later

9 years ago.

This photo represents my life then.  I can put myself there, even though it seems like a lifeteime ago.

Mom of 1.  Living in a small townhouse with my new husband.

Depressed. Sad. Lonely.  Trying to transition from being, essentially, a girl, to Mother and Wife.  At that time I thought my life would always be about where I was.  I couldn't see beyond it.  Least of all to where I am now.

Mom of 4. Living on a farm, with my husband of ten years.  Active, healthy, happy.  Social and rarely lonely.  On the cusp of time for me.

I've come so far.

It's all very pretty this life.

We were driving into town, just Erin and I, when I noticed a breeze coming from the back.  It was a gorgeous day, so it felt nice.   I turned around to look at her to make sure she didn't have it down too low.   She had the window wide open,  her head against her seat, taking in the wind.  The smile on her face was silly and a bit lopsided, but she looked so content, happy and young.

"What are you smiling at like that?"  I asked her.

She turned her head slowly and sighed. "Everything. I'm smiling at everything. The world is so beautiful, Mommy.  Sometimes it makes me smile."  That was all she had to offer as she continued to look out the window and smile at the scenery we passed by.

Until that moment, I had been rushing, driving fast.  It was late afternoon, the sun was warm, and I was too busy worrying about what time I would arrive to notice.  One small moment from my daughter snapped me right back to reality.

Life is pretty good.

I've been so bogged down lately.   Worrying about getting older.  Worried about getting sick, dying, not living forever to see finish what I started in this family.  You know, all the stuff I have absolutely no control over, but that I can't stop freaking out about.  To the point of paralyzation as I wait to fall asleep.   

I fall into bed after days so busy they make my head spin and mourn what, until now, I've secretly referred to as my peak.   My 18 year old self is often how I refer to myself as ideal these days.  Why is that?  Was it the lack of responsibility?  My physical appearance?  Or my plans for the future that left me feeling invigorated and carefree?

Erin forced me to take stock.  At 8 years old, her life is so beautiful that it makes her smile.  Her life is what we've provided for her.  How can I consider a selfish 18 year old to be my ideal when I think of it that way?   That girl was half the person I am now.  Though a little scarred from the journey, I am more proud of this body than I ever was in my youth.  Outwardly confident, I was anything but on the inside.  I worried that I wasn't liked or welcome.  Today, I'm confident both inside and out.  Take me or leave me. I walk with my head higher.  I no longer feel entitled, but I feel deserving.  All of the goodness in my life is my doing.   At 18 no one depended on me like they do now,  but no one loved me like they do now.

She lifted her head a bit and then looked at me again "I just love you so much, Mommy. I feel like I need to tell you that all the time."

I hope that, in the coming days and years, that when I wake up and wonder if it's worth getting up and doing,  I'll remember that moment.  And I'll be sure to make sure she knows how that small piece of time affected me.

The Welfare House

"Have you ever been inside that house?  It's the welfare house."

I can still see the dirty face of the twelve year old girl across from me.  Saying those words to her hangers-on with disdain and disgust in her voice.  She had a French accent and matted hair.  Her face was chubby and angry looking.   Probably having just had a fight with some other neighbourhood kid, her clothes were dirty too.

As an adult I can look back and remember those traits about her and realize how ironic her words were.   I sat on my front step,  a Judy Blume book in my hand.  Clean hair, clean hands and a quiet demeanor.  I wasn't bothering anyone when she came up to me, but my sister had been hanging from the giant tree on our lawn and taunting anyone who walked by.   A bit mouthy, my sister was equally clean and well dressed.  Yet we both took these words to heart. My sister started to cry and asked what she meant.

"Your Mom is dirty and your house is a mess. You're on welfare!"  She clarified, just to be sure we both understood how beneath her we were.

Neither was true.  We were not on welfare.  In fact, my Mother had an excellent government job. Even though it was only one salary, we didn't go without.  We didn't have the excess either, not a lot of extra, but enough.  Inside our house was not a mess.  True, on the outside, the bushes lacked pruning, the grass rarely got cut and we never planted flowers, but my Mom was a single parent.  She didn't have the time nor the inclination to make the house look better on the outside.  She was too busy trying to keep everything going on the inside.

If I close my eyes, I can still bring myself to this moment.   It was the day I realized that my life might be considered substandard by onlookers.  It hurt.  It cut.  It made me cry at night.  I was angry that I wasn't living the romantic life I read about in Sweet Dreams Romances or other teen novels I had become addicted to.   That girls' face has stayed with me my entire life.  She's pushed me to constantly analyze my life and ask  "Am I still that girl? Do people still look at me and see The Welfare House?"   Have I convinced everyone that I'm different now?

I don't know where she is, who she is or if I could pick her out in a crowd. I can't even remember her name.  Does it even matter?  It's the look on her face, the misinformed hatred.   I'm angry with this girl for dividing my life in two.  Before she came along I was so crazy in love with my Mother she could do no wrong.  After this girl I think I always held her a bit responsible for how I was made to feel.

Even now I take stock.  Comparing me today to that girl on the front porch twenty years ago. I'm embarassed to admit that.  I file away the luxuries of my life and look within myself to see if it's enough yet.  Do I have the close-knit nuclear family I once defined a good life by?  Do I have enviable life rather than one to be scorned?  Am I ready to face that girl head on and let her challenge me again?

I don't want to be better than anyone else. I don't want to stand out or shine brighter.  I want to be average, equal, worthy.  I just don't want to be the girl in The Welfare House ever again.

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I wrote this post a month ago, one night at 3am.  As I fall asleep I have flashes that move fast and more often than not, this girl is amoung those flashes. Logically I know as an adult that she has no bearing on my life.  She was wrong and I knew that.  But that someone else saw my life differently than I did, and in a negative way, was more than I could stand.  Even today, that's the part that hurts most.