In Answer to a Puzzle.

Not that it matters to me. It really doesn't. I don't care one wit who the new US President, Barack Obama, calls his God, or even if he has one.

But.

Detractors of his have said that he is "Muslim born and raised." Thinking that to be untrue, I looked into it. And I read that while his father was born into a Muslim household in Kenya, he himself (Barack Sr.) had rejected all religion before going to the US in the '60s for University. So, unless Barack Obama's (Jr.) mother was Muslim, seems that he wasn't raised Muslim.

So I found this on Wikipedia, confirmed by other reliable on-line sources, like Time:

"Obama is a Protestant Christian whose religious views have evolved in his adult life. In The Audacity of Hope, Obama writes that he "was not raised in a religious household." He describes his mother, raised by non-religious parents (whom Obama has specified elsewhere as "non-practicing Methodists and Baptists") to be detached from religion, yet "in many ways the most spiritually awakened person that I have ever known." He describes his father as "raised a Muslim," but a "confirmed atheist" by the time his parents met, and his stepfather as "a man who saw religion as not particularly useful." In the book, Obama explains how, through working with black churches as a community organizer while in his twenties, he came to understand "the power of the African-American religious tradition to spur social change."^[196][197] He was baptized at the Trinity United Church of Christ in 1988 and was an active member there for two decades."

That seems to explain it all. So while Obama discovered religion as a young adult, he did so on his own, and I guess it so happens that it was Protestantism. Not that it matters.

Because, so what if he HAD been Muslim?

I don't know that it matters. Except that if he were Muslim, that would spell even more trouble for him in areas where he remains somewhat unpopular. So in that case, I guess you could say it's a "good thing". Not that I want to say that.....but I hope readers know what I mean when I do.

But really, I long for the days when it isn't going to matter; when people aren't going to panic at the word "Muslim". Imagine - there WAS a time (and for that matter, still is on occasion) when even Catholics and Protestants (both Christian, too) lived in hate and fear of each other. Seems impossible to think of now, but it was once the norm everywhere. And yeah, even in my own lifetime I have heard such generalizations as "you know, those Irish-Catholics" and the like. But those get to be fewer and farther between, at least in my part of the world.

Hopefully, one day we'll get to a comfortable place with such "scary" words as "Islam" and "Muslim" and even "Middle East". One day it won't matter. I just hope, for the sake of the kids, that it's in this generation.

I like to remember (and sometimes, yes, even need to remind myself) that there are "bad guys" of all races, colours, religions, sexes, and sizes. There are people ALL over this great world of ours that are twisted. Some use religion as a crutch or excuse to resort to violence. Some use their hate of women, or children, or the poor (or even, in some cases, the rich).

The thing is, Barack Obama is one of those Heinz 57s, like a great many of us who live in North America. Yes, it's important that one half of that is African, just like it's important that he was raised in a white family and had to deal with the difference and confusion therein of his skin tone, that he had to find his identity in his own way, come to terms with who he is, and become comfortable in his own skin. It's all part of what made the man the incredible human being that he is. Part of what made him so strong and sure. And what the world needs is a leader of a country like the U.S. that is strong and sure. Of himself and of his convictions. And I believe Mr. Obama to be that person.

It's an amazing time we live in, and I hope for the sake of the children (mine, Barack and Michelle's, indeed everyone's) that it goes well and successfully. So many people have hinged a great deal of hopes onto his strong shoulders, so it just HAS to go alright.

So I have a wish. I tend to wish big via simplicity. A simple wish goes something like this: I wish that in 30 years time I am driving somewhere and hear on the radio some cute fluff news item about Obama being spotted on vacation or making some public appearance somewhere. It's a simple wish, but it actually takes care of a lot of niggling details. And I wish it more than anything right now. You know, for the kids. Mine, his, yours, and all those inner-city youth everywhere who walk around saying - and believing - Yes We Can.

And can we overcome whether or not a person's chosen or birthright religion is important? I believe that yes, we can.

My Wishes for the Year Ahead. I wish:

I wish that there didn't have to be such peaks and valleys in this life.
It ought to be that a good run can last a good long time; so good in fact, that you actually get bored and find yourself wishing for something else. Something challenging, some kind of puzzle to work out, something to overcome. Instead, it seems like most of life is a challenge, exhausting you to the bitter core, a mental and physical bashing that takes so long to recover from that you MISS the peaks....so:

I wish that the peaks would last longer.
It should be that you can, with pure joy, grasp each moment of a child's development. Instead, you catch pieces here and there and as they get bigger, taller, smarter. The time flies so much so that when you're cuddling in the early hours of the day, you notice that his hand seems to have grown so big and so strong and so capable overnight. You hold that little hand, knowing it won't be little for long. You have a moment, willing and wishing to always recollect how he feels in the crook of your arm, his little big head heavy on you but seeming to fit perfectly. You know that you can't remember all the moments, but you long to hold on to this one.....so:

I wish our memory banks were bigger.
There were all kinds of memories of when Sarah was small and learning that I wish I could get back. But life got so busy with each new development, then another new being to nurture and remember, and constant sleep-deprivation, that the stores you have deep inside your mind start to spill over and disappear. One at a time those memories are replaced by something else. A new memory of Sarah saying or doing something precious replaces one from when she was smaller. You want to keep them all but can't. You wish you could have BOTH memories instead of just one and all those pin numbers and passwords you need to recall at a moment's notice.....so:

I wish my brain wasn't so full of passwords and pin-numbers.
I can remember my bank card number. And my passwords for all my online activities. And my password for work. I have at least 20 phone numbers in my head at the ready on a moment's notice. I have most of my home administrative responsibilities tucked under my hat somewhere. I have the details of my job tucked in there too. The learning curve of parenting is sometimes more steep than that of an evolving career path. You wish that more of your mental energy could go to being ever-present in your home life, but that's not possible in this day and age. There is simply too much infinite and infatessimal information stored, and not enough first words or comprehensions of the people you most want to remember. So there ought to be two storage areas; one for the numbers and codes and administrative mumbo-jumbo, and one for the "moments" you wish to treasure always, and recollect easily when the valley is at it's deepest. Like when you're worried about one of those little people.....so:

I wish that there were no such thing as learning disabilities.
That's a toughie. But honestly. Everyone should be "smart" and teachable. You should begin life with an infinite ability to learn and then how much and how fast and how well you learn becomes a "nurture" versus "nature" thing. None of this sheer inability to learn because your brain won't or can't do it. Sarah can NOT draw a diagonal line without a guide. Cannot. Can you imagine not being able to print an N or a K or a V? She cannot. N's are much better for her because it starts with a straight line and ends with a straight line. But the K? Leave those two diagonal lines floating there? Her brain cannot comprehend it. Cannot do it. V? And W can only be accomplished with rounded bottoms and straight lines. It looks like a W. But a V looks like a U. Sarah can read the word "and" 50 times in a row and know it. Then she can go away for a five minute break, come back, and not know the word "and". She doesn't understand that me just telling her not to put her mittens on the wet ground means that really she ought to stop putting her mittens on the wet ground, or that I just explained that singing into her brother's ear isn't a good thing because it can damage them means she should stop doing that. She needs to be told. Each step. And many times. Add to that the fact that she's at the age where they can start to formulate their own opinions and will therefore fight for what they believe to be all that is good and just and fair in the world, and what you can often get is a non-comprehending, argumentative, and often confused girl. So banish the learning disabilities. None. Everyone gets a good strong brain and if it's fed properly, then everyone gets to understand how to read and do numbers and print and concentrate on their work. What makes learning disabilities so hard is that the child appears in every way normal. So there is less patience for their behaviours because if they do something socially unacceptable, they aren't in some way disabled, they are "weird". So.....

I wish that people would stop telling me there is nothing wrong with my sweet girl and just accept that there IS something wrong with her and cut her some slack.
That is a big wish. But it is part of what's making me feel down today. Valley-ish. The peak was Saturday and it was a beautiful family day in so many ways. But it ended on a low note (I mean, the very last half hour of it, so not enough to ruin it). Then Sunday dawned on a low note and was pretty much a struggle. Then there was homework and it dawned on me - as it often dawns on me as if I were JUST comprehending the scope of her disabilities for the first time - that this child has many complex and serious issues that will dog her for her entire life. I don't like that I can't clear her mind and make her think like the mainstream of society. I don't like that something, some actual EVENT, happened during her development to "injure" her white matter so that she cannot traverse the seamless world of abstract thought to concrete, that she cannot go from right brain to left brain thoughts and ideas, that she can't see that some of her more "quirky" behaviours are going to set her apart. I can't chase it away and that's what I really want more than anything....so:

I wish that my Christmas gifts could all be traded for the ability to make Sarah "better" and for me to be able to remember their growing and their words and the laughter with incredible clarity.
I wish it. I don't need tops or pants or "stuff". But I DO need to remember holding James' hand this morning, cuddling Sarah to warm her up, sleeping with her on my chest, her crossing her arms to proclaim "no flair!", James wanting to say grace and thanking God for "food, milk, and hot sauce", Sarah hiding in the leaves and waiting for daddy to get home to surprise him, James playing his musical instruments in time with the music on the radio, Sarah proclaiming "this is Roxanne" from the first bar of the song by The Police. Her compassion, his passion. Her ability to nurture, his comprehension. Her easy-going nature, his fierce independence. God, I wish I could retain it all. And banish the wall in Sarah's brain that prevents so much daily ability.

But.
Some of my wishes have come true already.

I have two beautiful children who are powerful in each their own ways.
I have a home I love, even if there are ways I'd like to improve it.
I have the ability to get around, and the good fortune to be able to take care of the children's needs.
I have a good job and wonderful colleagues to spend one-third of my life with. I am blessed to be challenged in my job and to be doing what I really like to do.
I have a good extended family, even if I wish some of them could understand the challenges a little better.
I have my health. I am strong enough to lug those kids around when they need me physically.
I have my stamina. I can outrun them. Even if it exhausts me, which it mostly does.
I have the future, and the everlasting optimism that the next peak will be better than the last and that the valleys will not be deep and will be easy to traverse.
I have friends. I feel love from unexpected places and that helps to buoy me through the deeper valleys.
I love. Some people can't. But I can. And that is the greatest gift.

There are wishes. There are always wishes. But there are also wishes granted. I will try to be mindful....so:

I wish I could remember that there were wishes I wished that have come true. I remembered in writing this. I hope YOU remember in reading it.

Thanks for stopping by. Merry Christmas....
I WISH it for you.

What is a Mommy to do?

Last night I bawled.

A full out cry-fest.

Was I feeling sorry for myself, or what?

I'd been grumpy with the kids. Was very tired, and it is a lot of work doing the whole swim lesson thing with them. But I managed, got home, scrambled up some eggs, and then set to cleaning up the kitchen a bit.

But I was tired. Sarah wanted me to read; I needed to clean. I grumped at her. Then I was sorry for it. I apologized, left some of my tasks, and then went in to read to her in the living room. I apologized for my behaviour and explained that I was especially tired. Crisis averted.

We read and I calmed down. Then James asked me for help with the magna doodle. He had been making shapes and calling them out. I had chuckled with the "guare, shirckle, and shriakle" attempts as he was "colouring". But now he wanted to use the magna-pen. So I got down on the floor and traced his hand for him. Then together we printed J A M E S above it. I asked what that said and he said "Jayyymesh".

What was that???

"Jaymesh".

Oh no! No! No, James no! You did not just say "James"!


He did. And then he did 5 more times, giggling everytime it tickled off his tongue. I was devestated. Pure, tragic, horrible, world-altering forever devestation!!!

My baby is gone. My baby who has always called himself "Beash", is gone. No longer "Beash", this "Jaymesh" is ready to take on the world. He is confidant and brash. He is strong and smart. He gets the step-stool from the bathroom, turns on the light, and then returns the stool to it's spot. He wore one pull-up all day yesterday. He wants to do up his "beat belt" himself. He knows his numbers and letters and colours and shapes. He wants to go on Sarah's school bus. He no longer calls his little friend "Bellbee" - it's now "Shelby" clear as a bell.

And he rides a trike like a real pro, and always wants to go "fasser, mom! Beash go fasser."

This morning, James seemed to be back to "Beash". But when I dropped him off this morning and told Kit the story, she nodded knowingly. She sang a song and at the end the child calls out his or her name: James said "Jaymesh."

I said, "well, I am going to my car now to have another cry."

I didn't, but I think I could have. It's not that he's growing. That is wonderful and magical. It's that it's happening SO FAST. Out of my control. They grow and we can't stop time, not for a minute. I try to capture the little moments, but days are so full. So much to do to care for two children and try to hold down a job at the same time. You wish some of the moments away because you're so tired. I almost did that last night by sending Sarah away with her book.

I am glad I slowed down. But my reward: My baby says his name.

Slow the world down, someone, won't you? I want to get off, and take my kids with me! Just for a couple of years!

Hug your kids, nieces, nephews, husbands, wives, friends, coworkers. Look at them. Tomorrow they will be somehow different. In most cases better. But different. Love them for who they are today.

And cherish the moments.

I love you all, good readers.

k

Two Weeks Down, 12 More YEARS to Go!

Sarah.

End of week two. Exhausted.

Long bus rides. First one on in the morning, last one off at night. Somehow that doesn't seem entirely fair to me, but what do I know? I am watching it closely though. And if it goes beyond 50 minutes I am going to say something. It's been over an hour too many times. What's the poor kid to do? No time to play!

Another totally new and exciting thing is eating lunch in the gym. How new the notion of a lunch bag. But alas....every single day so far something has gone missing.

"Where are your barretts?"
"I dunno" [shrug]
"Where is the BOTTOM of this lunch container?"
"I dunno" [shrug]
"Where is your spoon?"
"I dunno" [shrug]
"Where is your HAT?"
[gasp] "Oh!....I dunno"
"Where is your brand new snack container I JUST bought you?"
[gasp]......"I.....don't know"
"Sarah! Not ANOTHER sandwich container! What are we to do about this?"
"I don't know. Um... maybe don't give me sammiches anymore."
"And your carrot container from the other day?"
"No more carrots either, maybe."
"Oh, so now there are no sandwiches, no carrots, no grapes, no yogurt ever to be in your lunch. Sarah, you can't go to school with an EMPTY lunch bag....you'll STARVE!"
[shrug]

Grrr. My friend Patricia is struggling with these same issues with her newly endowed grade one daughter. This gives me some small comfort, at least knowing that I am not the only one. But as Patricia and I discussed, if an item is lost each day of the school year, we'll be broke. And the landfill will be pretty darn full. Kind of counter to what we were looking for, isn't it?

So today Sarah has a sandwich cut into triangles. In a handy-dandy sandwich BAG. It will be mushy by lunch time, which was the fate my sandwiches suffered each day of my young student life, but she made her bed and now must lie in it.

Sure, she's only still 6, and that's a pretty hefty responsibility to place on her shoulders, but someone decided she is big enough to spend all day at school, so by extension she's big enough to eat at school in the gym with the other kids. So therefore, she ought to be responsible enough to bring those items home that got into the bag in the first place.

Well... I guess.

Personally I can't see how hard it is to look around your eating area and make sure you have sandwich container, yogurt container, carrot container, spoon. Even for a six year old I can see how it would work. I was 6 once. I don't remember my mom going gray over me losing stuff. But me, clearly I am different.....

"You know, of all the spoons you could have lost, you didn't even lose the one we have doubles of. You lost your favourite blue one."
"I KNOW mom! Don't remind me! It upsets me!"
"Good! Use that! Be upset! That will mean you CARE about the items you're taking to school. That will help you LOOK around the area and remember to put the stuff in your bag."
"You want me to be sad?"
"I don't know, Sarah - is it helping?"
"I guess. I dunno." [shrug]

[Mom shrugs]. We'll see, I guess.

How to instill some sort of understanding of the effort to pack her lunch, the money spent to outfit her lunch bag, the cost to us and the environment if she's so nonchalant about things and things go to waste. How, how, how?

Is there anyone who knows? Or does time tell with regard to such things?

I'm not usually good at patience. But - sigh - something tells me I better bone up on the finer points of 'waiting it out.'

Until next time.....
k

What it means to find high school.....

Wow.

I am in awe today.

So....Kayla is going away to school tomorrow. That in itself is one thing. Wasn't Kayla just a small girl? Wasn't she just the little kid who came to the cottage with us? Afraid of a rain storm in the car? Wasn't she just the toddler who wanted to sleep with me because she was cold?

But now, my eldest niece is off. I'm feelin' it. Not like her parents and sister I'm sure, but I am.

So I thought it was time to join facebook so I could keep in touch with her. So I did it.

And then I kind of got that glassy-eyed look like a kid in a candy store. WOW! I could find Jen Lowery, I bet. AND THEN I DID!!! I could find others maybe. I tried. Found Byron - wow!. Then others found me somehow. Then Lea joined up and before you could be sent to the Vice Principal's office (that would be Lea, for readers who don't know that. It's meant to be a joke), SHE has found a page that Karen C created (who else but our fearless co-leader?) for AISP.

Freaken WOW.

I have been to my own private high school reunion.

And it made me think of John Wilson! Isn't that guy Mayor yet? He'd likely do a better job!

What a trip. The only thing left is to know whether or not the John Walker I emailed yesterday is in fact the Johnny Walker I was a child with. If it is, my mind is OFFICIALLY blown.
All this because Kayla's off to Nipissing. I shoulda done it months ago.

Thanks, Kayla!

Weird Water Weight

'Kay.

So I am a little downtrodden by the fact that in the midst of summer no one wants to Pilate with me. That's okay. I can understand it.

But MY body needs the workout, I'm stiff, and I'd really like to get back on the wagon.

Then today, 680 News was discussing how there is a new study (egad - not ANOTHER study!) that suggests that in order to lose weight and keep fit, and fight "the bulge", adults over 35 need 5 (yes, read 'em) days of 55 minute exercise sessions.

5!
55 Minutes each!!

Okay. Well, so The Pro isn't doing too bad here. I work out 4 - 5 times a week for an hour.

But.

Here comes the caveat.
I KNOW I am not getting enough cardio. And I REALLY know that 5 times a week has been hard to hit the last 2 months or so.

Now here's the kicker.
My slower than slow metabolism just doesn't like me. It isn't about diet for me. I eat reasonably. But my body just doesn't use it all. ...So I started feeling all bloaty and big in that spare tire section. ...So I realized I had to do something.

When, I wondered to self, was I feeling most swarthy and good...?

Well, other than when I was hitting the gym 6 days a week for 2 hours...

Oh... I know.
When I was taking these:

I dunno. Does it help with the metabolism? I've been back on them just over a week. My waist somehow feels better. Is it the Vitamins? Or is it weird water weight?

I dunno. I tried other ones. Just didn't like them as well. Or my body didn't. Or it's still just weird water weight. Who's really to say? Is every body different? Can anyone come up with that magic solution or is it just experimentation? If they really do work, will I have to take them for life? What if they go off the market? The Jamieson ones don't work half so well....

sigh!

I wish I had magic answers.
But alas. I do not.

Anyone got magic answers?

People Are So Self-Righteous!

Poor Steven Page.

Not ONLY is his marriage a mess. Not ONLY does he have substance issues. Not ONLY was he caught with it and busted....

No, it's even worse. Busted is the US. Plastered all over Entertainment Tonight and Perez Hilton.

No, it's even worse. Now the band won't be playing Disney or promoting Snacktime at that event.

Nope, worse still. Events are being canceled all over the place.

Even worse; so-called fans are placing judgment on this issue as if they'd been there. As if they knew what demons Steve lives with. As if they knew the details of that night or even the last year. As if they knew what personal hell this must be for him.

No, personal hell is not enough. Somehow, we've got to make it WORSE for him.

I posted on the BNL website that it is too bad so-called fans feel compelled to click on Perez Hilton to view his mug shot. I can admit to being curious. How did he look? I wonder. But I won't do it. I will stand on principle and refrain from standing at the train-wreck that this is and poring over the carnage. I won't click on those links.

Instead, I will continue to groan when I hear of another cancellation for the band. I will continue to wonder how many times Ed (who loves to swear - what a TERRIBLE role model. Read: sarcasm) has uttered his favourite four letter expletives, I will continue to hope that Steve is able to hold his head up through all the media attention, and I will continue to post on the message boards that I am here to offer my support to both him and the band.

This sucks.

It's such a bad train wreck and gets worse by the day. For Steve, for the band, for his family.

But I won't waver.

Hang in there Steve. "When you were born, people looked at you and said, what a smart boy, what a strong boy, what a good boy."