Labels are B-A-D (and not in an MJ "good" way)

I have described my eldest son as our high energy child. That is true. It has been true since he skipped the walking phase at 11 months of age and moved directly to running. We were doing 1.5 hour hikes together by the age of 2. He couldn't sit still for story time until mid-way through Kindergarten. He runs around the house from the moment he gets up until the moment he rockets into his bunk bed at night. He is a go, go, go kind of boy.

But I have also described him as a socially challenged kid. This has been my conclusion through the eyes of an extrovert and through limited observation as a parent. Lately, for me, it seems to be a time for addressing my preconceived notions.

Yesterday, my son returned from a female classmate's birthday party. It was the first birthday party that he felt comfortable enough at, for us to leave him unattended. Upon his return, he was buzzing with excitement. Vibrating around the kitchen, he recounted the games they played, the songs they sung, and the fun he had had! His smile was huge, his eyes were dancing, his arms were swinging, and his body was twirling.

I analyzed this son of mine. Words that sprung to mind were outgoing, friendly, confident, and sociable. Huh? This didn't fit with my label. My mom, a retired elementary teacher, has disclosed that kids are often different people outside of their homes.

Labeling is lazy. It's easier to use a label than to think critically and challenge our beliefs.

I stand corrected. I do not want to accept a narrow view of my son who is an expansive individual. His "socially challenged" label has been removed from my vocabulary.

I am Grateful for Family Cooks

We are at my parents for Thanksgiving. We had our big meal last night. It was worth the 2.5 hour drive full of noxious stimuli.

The kids were fighting, crying and whining on the way. There was red licorice drool over faces, hands, shirts, pants, toys and upholstery. Two gum packages were consumed in under 15 minutes with some of the chewed pieces still unaccounted for. A last ditch attempt to drown out the noise by blaring "Eraser", "7 8 9" and "Allergies" by the Barenaked Ladies was unsuccessful. I finally resorted to a threat of dropping all whiners off at the next shoulder and not returning for 30 minutes. This achieved results. This decreased the decibel level by 50%, which was manageable, until we reached our destination.

I attempted to cook a Thanksgiving dinner, once. It was to be a warm, fuzzy experience. Instead, it was an unpleasant reality check. I recall shouting, "What do you mean I didn't leave enough time for the turkey to fully thaw?" and "How do you cook the pie when the turkey's hogging the entire oven?" and "How do you serve everything HOT at exactly the same time??" Think about it - there are 2 or 3 vegetables with different cooking times, potatoes to mash, gravy to prepare, stuffing to retrieve, turkey to carve. How does 1 person perform all of these daunting tasks? My father had functioned as family cook for years and I had never pondered how he seamlessly orchestrated our feasts.

My parents aren't the "told you so" types, which I much appreciate. They calmly watched, that day, as I scurried haphazardly around the kitchen. At one point my mom asked, "How is work going?" to which I curtly responded, "Mom, I can't cook AND converse at the same time!!!" My parents exchanged glances and gracefully excused themselves for a few hours. They stated they needed to attend to some shopping that they had allegedly forgotten to do. They included my sister in the rescue. They returned a few hours later to a prepared feast, albeit with some of the fixings luke-warm and others piping hot, and a sheepish daughter.

When our turn came up a few years later to again host Thanksgiving, I passed off the cooking duties to my calm, easy-going husband. I have now been permanently demoted to "assistant cook" and it makes for a much pleasanter celebration all around.

To all the family cooks out there (with a special shout out to my dad): I salute you! I appreciate and acknowledge the hours of work it takes and the talent you possess to serve a delicious, hot meal ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!

The True Duranie

I am so disappointed! I can not find my vintage Duran Duran t-shirt. YES! I was at the live 1984 concert in Calgary with floor seats screaming from start to finish. I went to: 1) drool over John Taylor and 2) to determine whether Nick Rhodes was a boy or a girl.

My good friend, Samantha, was the true Duranie in our crowd. She had pictures of the band plastered all over her high school locker. Much more impressive, she knew all of the band members' names. She was quite frustrated that I kept mixing up her objects of infatuation. For months, I thought I had a crush on Nick, when in fact it was John.

Unfortunately, Sam wasn't allowed to attend the concert, I think, because her parents thought those boys just oozed too much sex. They were right! I did my best to scream for the both of us but her presence was sorely missed. The best I could do for Sam was to purchase the two of us matching concert tees. For Sam, I think it served more as a sad reminder. For me, I couldn't take the pressure of wrongly identifying the band members displayed on the front of my chest. The t-shirts went for decades unused.

But now I WANT MY T-SHIRT BACK! (I think in a cleaning frenzy I shipped it off to Goodwill). Sole purpose: for an 80's costume for my husband (sorry Simon, John, Nick, Andy and Roger). Oh well, he'll just have to settle for a second-rate Sting t-shirt from "The Dream of the Blue Turtles" concert.

Chiropractor

Today I did something I thought I would never, ever do; something even less likely than blogging. I saw a chiropractor.

Shhhhhhhh...don't tell any of my doctor friends. "Chiropractor" is a 4-letter word to many physicians. We are afraid that patients will "stroke out" from rupturing the vertebral artery during neck manipulation. It can happen, and if it does, doctors can be sued because they recommended chiropractic treatment, not to mention the poor "stroked out" patient.

However, when you've tried physio, yoga, massage, rest, and drugs (the legal kind) and still not improved, you're willing to try something taboo.

I have to admit it was fabulous! After reading the consent, crossing out anything on the form that alluded to spinal manipulation, and writing in bold print "I do NOT agree to any form of spinal manipulation", I signed consent with a shaky hand.

I agreed to Active Release Technique which is a non-invasive treatment that eliminates adhesions in soft tissues. Essentially, it is a very deep massage that breaks down scar tissue. Yes, it hurts, but only measures a 1/10 in comparison to contractions.

We learned nothing about chiropractic medicine in med school and I admit that I held a prejudice. That belief was challenged today and altered. I now feel chiropractic treatment is a valuable modality. I'm not sure I would ever agree to spinal manipulation but never say never.

A Second Child

I was recently in Madison, WI. I got the chance to visit my now, 72 year old friend. She is brilliant and, of course, British. She is a well renowned physiotherapist and educator.

When I last saw her, 3 years ago, she overwhelmingly encouraged me to have another child. Her reasoning was...hmmmmmmm...I can't remember. Might I say that she's just very persuasive. My primary objection was that I didn't think I could survive the sleep deprivation of another newborn, and the mind-numbing tasks of caring for a child before they can talk (some people really enjoy this baby phase but it's just not my cup of tea). Her rebuttal, "Just hire someone to do the things you hate." I felt defensive and immediately blurted, "I didn't hate it. It's just not my favourite thing in the world". She laughed, with a frown, and simply stated, "Consider a second."

I now have 2 sons and did hire my beloved Bridget to help me when the new baby arrived. Much to my surprise, the second time around was a breeze (except for the sleep deprivation which is now a foggy memory). It was the 3 year old that I needed help with. I even somewhat enjoyed round 2 of the baby phase, with my parental experience hidden in my back pocket.

The Present Day Woman

Usually my life is a little more compartmentalized, however, today was a bit of a mixed bag.

Got everyone dressed, fed, and somehow, squeezed in a shower for myself. Good thing because yesterday I was really sweaty. Can't recall why, but I do remember I stunk.

Off to the cancer clinic to assist with a Lymphoma clinic. Met a man in his mid-40's who had received all treatment possible and is supposedly cured. He did not look well and I fear for the worst. His follow-up scans aren't for a few weeks. He has an aggressive form of disease. I did not have the courage to ask if he had kids because I knew I might break down. His wife was putting on a brave face. I contemplated the unfairness of his situation. I shook their hands, closed the door behind me, sighed, and moved on to the next patient. He still lingers in my thoughts.

Grabbed a tuna sandwich and ate it during my walk to my son's elementary school. A crisp autumn wind blew past with the scent of snow in the air. Arrived to the Grade 1 classroom just as the bell rang. Sat and observed these adorable beings. They had grown so much since the last time I had volunteered 3 months ago. They could now sit and write and spell and create! My morning experience encouraged me to breathe in their preciousness.

I then got down to business and copied, coloured, cut, assembled, disassembled, filed, supervised, and even attended a fire drill. I was commended on my good work upon which I had to confess my secret. I grew up with parents who were both elementary school teachers. I had decades of experience in helping teachers with their never-ending tasks.

Next on the agenda was taking my 6 year old to gymnastics. Pure excitement, for me alone I later learned, when his 5th attempt at a handstand was successful! He later confided that his most exciting event of the class was skipping the difficult "horse" station without his instructor noticing.

Home for dinner cooked by my fabulous husband, who takes Mondays off to spend time with our 2 year old son. My in-laws, who are staying with us from out of province, joined us for a gourmet red Thai curry salmon dish. We shared some laughs, wine, and as a result, more laughs.

Kids bathed, in bed, and I'm blogging. Blogging! Me, blogging. Never thought it.

It was a day encompassing decades and humanity. It was a day that made me appreciate today.

Inspired

My long time friend, Jenny, has inspired me to create my own blog. Hers is the first blog that I have ever read on Oct. 4/09. Plus, I like the word blog. It makes me think of smog, frog, guppies, water lilies and Madison, Wisconsin.