Learning to let go

There are certain moments that parenting books don't prepare you for.

When you're a child, resentfully bucking under parental restraints, you think to yourself "I'm never going to be like this with my own kids!"

But when you're the parent confronted with similar situations, suddenly you GET IT. You realize what your own parents went through, the struggle between wanting to protect your child and keep them glued to your side, and learning to let go so your child can gain independence and self-confidence. There's such a fine line between the two that its so much easier for your own peace of mind to think to yourself, "My child just isn't ready yet, maybe when he's a bit older." Of course, this usually results in a power struggle between parent and child, the build-up of feelings of resentment and injustice on the child's part, and the parental guilt of knowing you need to let go and just trust but feeling unable to just yet.

Last week was Gunnar's grade five field trip, they were all going on a bike trip on the Red Deer bike paths. The parents were to drop off the bikes in the morning and obviously, pick them up at the end of the day. I had a discussion with Gunnar the night before, he was begging for me and Hubs to let him ride his bike home after school. Its a fair distance, all the way across town, but he's used to going on long bike trips with our family and we knew he could do it in less than half an hour. We knew that, rationally, but how do you convince your overprotective parental instincts that this is one of those moments to let go?

I showed up at the end of the school day to pick up both boys, fully intending to take Gunnar home with me (I hadn't given him a firm answer on the subject). He biked over to my vehicle with his best friend, also on a bike, and we chit-chatted for a bit (the school bell hadn't rung yet so they were just killing time). And Gunnar put the question to me, again, but this time in front of his friend. I KNOW how important it is to 'save face' in front of your friends at that age. I know that I have raised a boy with a good head on his shoulders, and that I can trust him to be safe and responsible. I also know that the world out there is not necessarily a safe place for lone children.

I must have had an agonized, indecisive look on my face because Gunnar said to me in all seriousness, "Mom, you know I'll obey the rules of the road, I'll come straight home. You can trust me."

And so... I let go.

It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make as a parent, and as I drove home all sorts of worst-case scenarios ran through my mind. But my boy arrived home safe and on time, full of feelings of self-pride and accomplishment, and I knew I'd made the right decision. It was a small step for him on his own path of self-discovery and independence, one of the first of many, I know. But it was a step for me as well, a painful and shaky step, towards that ultimate final step of watching my grown child go out into the world and create his own separate life.

To think I have to go through this over and over again with not just one child, but four!

Too much of a good thing

You'd think I would have learned my lesson.

After using my new Pedi-Expert that first time and realizing how addicting it is to keep searching for newer, pinker layers of skin under all the dead stuff, eventually I had to force myself to put the tool away, unless I wanted to be walking around on pinkened bloody stumps.

The second time I used it, again I went overboard, this time on the callus on the side of my big toe. About half an hour after I used it, I noticed that my toe was really hurting. And here when I looked, there was a big crack right in that spot! Obviously, there is a reason calluses form on certain spots, to protect the skin underneath. And so with no callus there, the tender skin split.

The third time I used it, this morning, I did exactly what my mother had just warned me the previous day not to do. You see, after reading my post she went out and bought one, too. And she also went overboard and scraped every last bit of dead skin off, leaving her feet beautiful and pink, to be sure, but also extremely tender and sore! So she had cautioned me last night during our visit, and showed me the one area on her heel where blood had rushed to the surface.

And so this morning, when I was scraping away happily, I made sure to check every once in a while that I wasn't going crazy with it. And I really thought I wasn't! My feet looked and felt awesome, so smooth and pink and fresh. Until I had my bath... and walked around the house for a bit doing chores... and noticed that my one heel was hurting. Took a look and... Oh no! The exact same area as her owie, the exact same look to the injury, like blood just under the surface of the skin.

So now I am hobbling around just like she was yesterday. Like mother, like daughter, I guess, right? So let this be a warning to all you other Pedi-Expert users out there -- DON'T OVERDO IT. Take it easy on your poor callused feet. Else end up a cautionary tale like us hobbling fools, lol.

Don't mind me, I'm just having a mental breakdown...

I love my life, my kids, and Hubs. I DO. Really. But sometimes I feel like my head is going to explode, and on my gravestone will be written, 'She was a good girl, but sometimes she went a little mental.'

It was Father's Day night, we'd just returned from camping and finished eating supper, and I was getting Ryder ready for bed. As I went to place him in the crib to get him changed into his jammies (makes it easier if he's confined and can't constantly run away from me), he started to gag. I had literally like one second warning, just enough time to tip his upper body toward the bedding (so much easier to clean up when all you have to do is gather up the blankets, take note), and he let it loose. Only, I had angled his body in such a way that not only did the puke spray his entire bed, but all the bars of the crib, the wall behind the crib, AND...*drum roll*... my Ed Hardy purse. Which had just happened to be on the floor beside the crib (I use it as a diaper bag).

Now, if you know me you know that that purse is my most prized possession, I take it everywhere and love to act smug when people comment on it. What can I say, I'm a wannabe fashionista.

At this point, my brain was already smokin-hot with disgust and rage, so I wasn't thinking too clearly. If I'd had a working braincell, I would have placed Ryder in the soaked crib to finish his puking episode. But I wasn't thinking. And I put him down on his green shag area rug. Which he promptly covered in more puke.

I lost it.

Stripped the kid down to bare skin, gathered up all the nasty bedding and clothes and threw them in the hamper, then used like a hundred babywipes to wash him down. Put a clean diaper on him and foisted him off on the boys, so I could concentrate on wiping down the crib, walls, and area rug. I wasn't even going to let myself think about my purse at that point.

I realized after a few seconds that the mess was simply too much, too chunky, to use a dampened cloth. So I filled an icecream bucket with warm water and started scrubbing. At some point I noticed that my shirt was wet, but what I thought was puke spray was actually tears. I hadn't even noticed that I was sobbing my eyes out. I saw something out of the corner of my eye and turned to look, and saw Gunnar standing at the bedroom door, staring at me with obvious concern. He must've heard the insane wailing and wanted to see if I was okay. I couldn't even talk to reassure him that no, I wasn't in the midst of a mental breakdown (which would have been a lie), all I could do was weakly gesture to my purse. He got it.

And so during the half hour it took to wipe everything down, I just let myself cry it out. I was muttering, I was cursing, I was outright screaming at one point (probably when I realized that no amount of picking and scrubbing was going to get the chunks out of the shag area rug). I knew I was acting completely insane but I didn't care. It was so unfair! Why did this have to happen to me? Why did Hubs get to sit out in the livingroom and not even extend an offer of help? Just because it was Father's Day? Why should he be so special? Why was I cursed to have a child with such a sensitive gag reflex? Did he have to puke on every single bar of the crib, when they are impossible to clean without dismantling the entire thing and hosing it down? And for the love of God, why did he have to get my Ed Hardy purse?!!?

By the time I finished, with the cleaning AND the crying, I was in that hiccuping phase of crying and all I wanted to do was just go to bed for the rest of my life. But, being a FREAKING MOM, oh no, I had to remake the bed, get the little brat in his jammies, frantically spray the room and carpet with Febreze, make the brat's bottle and put him to bed, THEN and only then could I let myself think about my purse.

I was dreading to even look at it. How bad was the damage? I'd only seen the puke on one side of it, but what if it was entirely covered? What if the puke got inside the purse? What if it was all in the zipper and buckles?

My relief at seeing the actual damage was overwhelming. It wasn't that bad at all!! None got inside, and the zipper was safe. Still, there was enough on it that I had to spray it down with the shower nozzle at full-blast. Took a while (I had to obsessively go over every inch of the material), but it actually looked brand new when I was finished. I hung it up to dry.

Then I went into the livingroom and because misery loves company, and I was a miserable bitch just then, I let Hubs have it. In that super-sweet voice most men have learned to fear, I said "Thank you sooo much for all the help in there, I really appreciate it. It meant so much to me that you cared about my mental state and came to see if I was alright and needed some help." Of course, he blustered and got defensive, typical man. But I'd said my piece so I just let it drop and went to my room to read and chain smoke and chill myself out.

But I got my revenge an hour later when Hubs went out to unload the bikes from the trailer and all the other gear that was in there. Because we'd driven home in the rain on gravel roads, everything was covered in grimy sandy dirt, including the motorhome. Rather than go to the carwash to clean it all (and end up spending like a hundred bucks) he washed it himself with our little pressure washer. It was raining outside, and between that and the backspray from the pressure washer, he was soaked in seconds. He was out there for over an hour. And did I offer to help? NO.

What goes around, comes around, baby.

Advice for the Unaware Parent

Put yourself in the shoes of a parent -- your sweet, innocent baby is born and you are filled with overwhelming love for this child; as the first year goes by and each milestone is met with joy and pride, you are convinced there has never been a more smart, amazing, wonderful child as yours; then you enter the toddler years and even though your child starts displaying some questionable behaviour, you know that your little angel is still perfect and wonderful.

Then you find yourself in a situation that requires a certain amount of decorum and respectful behaviour, and you start to wonder whether your sweet toddler can handle it. Of course, a toddler is what it is, and therefore a certain amount of leniency must be given by both the parents and the other people attending this solemn event. But if that event is a FUNERAL, well...

So heed this advice, all you parents of toddlers, and maybe you can avoid going through what I went through today...

• Remember that one bottle is never enough, always have a spare one packed, in the event that your hungry child has already downed almost the entire bottle by the time you arrive at the funeral. Because said child will give no thought to the fact that the service has started and the entire room is filled with respectful silence, while he sucks desperately at the empty bottle and eventually starts to bang the empty bottle against the nearest hard object so as to obtain the maximum noise level that demonstrates his annoyance with you.
• Always make sure your adorable toddler has had his nap BEFORE the funeral starts, and not just a ten-minute catnap on the drive there. Because an irritable, hyper, over-tired toddler that continues to crawl all over you, and the person sitting next to you, while the family of the deceased are giving their eulogies, is just downright annoying and EMBARRASSING.
• When your precious toddler has finally pissed you and entire congregation off enough and you decide to take him and leave the room, give careful thought to your footwear of choice. If you are wearing heels, the loud click-clack of the heels slapping against the linoleum WILL cause the majority of the room to turn and look at you. So be prepared to put on your best I'm-so-sorry-what-can-I-say-he's-a-toddler face, and hightail it out of there as fast as you can.
• If you make the poor decision to take your rambunctious toddler into the bathroom, in the hope that he will be able to entertain himself in there without causing noise, please note that that decision WILL backfire on you. Not only will your child decide to entertain himself by playing in the toilet water, flushing every single toilet repeatedly, pull all the toilet paper and paper towels off the rolls, and scream with delight at each of these actions, the noise will reach a certain level that echoes throughout the bathroom and amplifies itself so that the entire building will ring out with the sounds of your child's innocent joy.
• If you make the poor decision to take your beautiful toddler into the hallway, thinking that nothing could be worse than the bathroom ordeal, you will be wrong. First of all, there is no other option for a hyper baby to expend his energy in a hallway than by running frantically back and forth from one end to another. And if you thought the sound of your heels slapping on the floor was loud, imagine what a tiny pair of sneakers can do.
• With those two options decidedly out, the only other realistic thing you can do, besides going back into the room, is to take your angelic toddler outside to let him play and use up all that energy. And this is why a seasoned parent would have packed another set of clothes just for play and not 'show' (meaning dressy clothes) and you could then change your child into those clothes and they could play in the dirt and rocks and dandelions till their hearts content without ruining their nice 'funeral clothes'. A dough-head parent, such as myself, would not think to change the child into those play clothes, and thus at the end of outside playtime your toddler will be covered in dust and grime and grass stains and dandelion fluff.
• When you've decided that its time to go back inside and get out of the boiling sun that has melted your makeup and flattened your hair into a sweaty, over-hairsprayed mess, make sure that you have actually given your wonderful toddler enough time to burn off all that energy. Because if you haven't, you are just putting yourself right back at square one when you finally sit your exhausted ass back in your seat.
• So by this time, the entire room is well aware of your predicament and the fact that you made an honest effort to spare them has now given them an appreciation of you, and they are less likely to get upset when your sweet toddler continues to act the brat. Also, enough time has gone by that the funeral is almost over and everyone is either starting to get antsy or they are so overcome by emotion that they are looking for an amusing diversion. And so when your toddler decides that it is the most hilarious thing ever to find a spare row of seats and step/crawl/hop over from seat to seat, going down the entire row back and forth, you will find that almost every face has a huge smile and twinkling eyes, and they now think that he is just the most adorable and cutest thing ever. Some will even interact with him, holding out their arms in a 'come-to-grandma' way, chuckling when he gives them the hairy eyeball and looks at their outstretched arms with wary suspicion. They will turn to each other and remark at what a "high-spirited" boy he is (which is a very nice roundabout way of saying 'hyper') and they will comment on his pinkened cheeks (note: bring sunscreen) and sparkling eyes.
• By the time the funeral has ended, your toddler's antics and the obvious hardships you've endured trying to deal with them, has endeared everyone to you and they feel like they've known you forever. (More of a case of 'been-there-done-that' and they can relate and sympathize.) Now starts the socializing part of the funeral, where relatives and old friends reconnect and chitchat. And every single person will make a point of bringing the conversation around to your toddler and what a patient parent you are. Of course, you know differently (after all, they didn't see that moment in the bathroom where your hand just wanted to spank that bum soooo bad), but never let them know that. They now think you are a candidate for sainthood, ESPECIALLY when they realize that the three other children in the row beside you are also yours. "FOUR CHILDREN! How do you do it?!?" (If you have even a drop of Simcoe blood, your tongue will just be itching to reply, "Whenever we can find a spare moment alone!" HAH!)
• And the last piece of advice that I can give you is this: do not hesitate for even one second to take advantage of the fact that your in-laws brought their kids as well, and simply pawn your amazing toddler off on them. If one of the kids happens to be over 16, BONUS!! Now you can let your toddler go off with the teen and know that you can just sit back and relax, have a cup of coffee or two, and let all that stress and hassle just roll off your shoulders directly onto the teen who is now chasing your rowdy toddler around the parking lot.

I think I'm losing my mind...

Or at least the section involving memory. Seriously, where has my mind gone?

I had a word on the tip-of-my-tongue this morning and for the life of me, I just could not remember it. It was driving me crazy -- I literally sat here for twenty minutes, struggling to find the word, clutching my forehead as if I could squeeze the word out. Nothing.

Oh, sure, there were lots of other words floating around in my brain, messing me up and scrambling everything, making it even harder to find that one particular word. Instead of the word I wanted, what was floating around in there was: ratio, confirm, contraction, contradict, prediction, rational...

Finally, I had to abandon the sentence I'd been typing down that just needed that word to complete it, and just erase it.

And wouldn't you know it, three hours later as I'm in the backyard raking, the word comes to me out of the blue: PROPORTIONATE!!

Arrrghhhh!!!

Where you end up is where you're meant to be

I love my life. Ten years ago, I could not have told you where I would be at this point in my life, I could not have envisioned the directions I would travel on life's path. I suppose I imagined that at almost-30, I would be a world traveler with a career as an environmental or social advocate (like in the Peace Corps or Amnesty International) or in some field of the arts (like a set or costume designer in the theater, or a painter or artist). Kids were a vague desire but they weren't important to my mindset at the time, they were like a blurred dream of the future.

Well, life has a way of teaching you what is truly important to you, whether you are ready to learn or not. The path my life took with my unplanned pregnancy at 17 (I found out a week before my 18th birthday) has been interesting to say the least, and it has taught me over the years that no matter what twists and turns your path takes, if you have an open mind and a loving heart you will find yourself exactly where you want to be.

And so here is my life... Where I once wanted to be a jet-setter and see the world, how badly I wanted to branch out from my small town roots and explore life's possibilities, now I see that my small town life is EXACTLY where I want to be. I thought that the bright lights of the city called to me, and I did that in some capacity, but what I learned is that excitement and contentment don't come from where you live, but how you live.

I was not meant for living in the fast lane, being part of the rat race, with a life of ambition and empty meaning. I am at heart still a small-town girl; I love nothing more than spending time with my family and enjoying life's little moments. Instead of exploring caves and ancient ruins, I explore fields and forests with my kids and hubby. Instead of backpacking across Europe, I go camping and quadding. Where once I longed to be surrounded by exciting world vistas, now I love nothing more than the natural beauty of my own surroundings -- the fields of amber wheat and bright yellow canola, the gentle hills of emerald green, pockets of forest with fallen trees and tadpole-filled ponds that cry out to be explored.

I thought that sunbathing on the world's beaches would be the ultimate, but now I know nothing can top my own small-town beach where I played as a child and now my own children play in the sand and frolic in the water. The contentment and peace that fills my soul as I sit back and enjoy watching my children's own joy is what reminds me that this is what my life was always meant to be. My path has travelled around full-circle, and I wouldn't change a single moment that has brought me here.

Goofing off for the camera...

Kids and Cupcakes

Your feet will thank you

On a whim, I picked up the Revlon Pedi-Expert from Walmart the other day. Can you believe it was only $10? And you guys, it is well worth the money, it is so awesome. I have a couple of other pedicure tools that also scrape the dead skin off, but they are the kind that use razor blades and you have to soak your feet so the skin softens. And it is so gross when you use them, the soft spongy flakes of dead skin collect on the razor blade, so you have to wipe the blade off every minute or so. And the tool never seems to do a good enough job, in my opinion.

But this new tool, the Pedi-Expert, is like the next generation of technology. The product itself has a lifetime guarantee (or warranty, whatever) so there's no dealing with buying replacement blades; and its meant to be used on clean, DRY skin. No soaking of the feet! There's also a buffing attachment, clippers and a nail file that come with it (the clippers and the file can be stored in the base). But possibly the best feature is that the dead skin collects in the top part so when you're done, you just dump it out and give it a quick rinse.

I used it tonight and it was heavenly! In five minutes, I had smooth soft feet. I would definitely recommend that everyone go out and pick up this product.

A new perspective on the gay issue

So the new issue of Rolling Stone coming out soon has none other than my man, Adam Lambert, on the cover in all his sexy-rock-god glory (oh, to be that snake! or even the butterfly, haha). In the article, he officially 'comes out', although he's been 'out' for years, its just that now he is confirming what, in his words, "everyone probably knew already". Yep. So I went to the Rolling Stone website to read a bit about the article and I ended up spending over half an hour just reading people's comments. One guy, Kent (one of those religious types) just had to get his two cents in, using certain quotes from the bible to illustrate his point. He even mentioned that he himself used to be gay but by "praying to Jesus every day" he was able to reverse his gayness. Huh. Right. The backlash against him was immediate.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am very very open-minded, I cannot stand gay-bashing, and so it was interesting and very thought-provoking to read all these comments from all sorts of different people and hear the reasons why they also feel that way.

Here's a few of the comments that really stuck with me, so much so that I was inspired to write this post.

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Ibris 6/10/2009, 6:17 pm EST

Heh, you know what Kent, somehow I just knew someone would bring up the fact that some gays have “turned from their ways”, so to speak and found Jesus.

Let me enlighten you on something here. Those people only did so because they were ostracized from their community and brainwashed into thinking its evil. And craving to be accepted and thereby publicly denouncing something they had no influence over, EVER, they found themselves accepted back into society as “reformed and saved” or whatever you people choose to see it as. But deep down inside, when all alone, nothing had changed. They still were what they were and hungered and craved after something that is every human being's basic desire - love. All it ultimately did was create depressed and miserable people that put on a brave face around their narrow-minded peers.

Let me tell you something about God - he gave humankind an incredible gift - the need for love and the capacity to love another in return. Now I’m not talking about parental love here, or love between friends, but romantic and sexual love. Its what makes the world go round, and if you don’t believe it, just listen to the radio - love is the foundation of nearly every song you ever hear - be it a bitter account of love lost or unrequited, or a joyous expression of romance, lust or adoration - whatever. Just think of all the lengths people will go to out of love for their partners, of how that love has changed people for the better and enriched their lives. Love is one of the greatest gifts God could have ever given us.

To expect gays (and lesbians) to shun that gift and not share it amongst thousands of others like themselves and to expect thousands of these people to lead miserable and unfulfilled lives is the real sin IMO.

So the bible preaches homosexuality is a sin. The bible isn’t God's word - its mankind’s attempt at interpreting it at best, written in a bygone time when people were pretty primitive and simple-minded. God never wrote the bible, humans did - and we’re notorious for making mistakes, even with the best of intentions.

God created homosexuals - they didn’t chose to be that way but were born as such. So if God doesn’t make mistakes, did you ever stop to think that perhaps he created homosexuals not for idiots to try to reform his creation, but to teach mankind something our species so desperately needs to learn, tolerance and acceptance?

Just something to ponder…

Rock on Adam and always stay true to yourself!

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staciegirlie17 6/10/2009, 7:53 pm EST

Kent,
I’m a straight girl, but have you checked out the scientific evidence about homosexuality? You may want to. Do I have to give my "Christians killed Galileo because they refused to accept the world is round not flat" spiel again? It’s my favorite spiel other than the Jim Jones one, and how through hypnotism you can actually be regressed to a past life when the Bible doesn’t give any info about reincarnation “except for being born again” etc etc.

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staciegirlie17 6/10/2009, 7:12 pm EST

@ Kent,
And what sins have you committed? I bet you have looked upon a woman and coveted her. Or told a lie, or held an untruth in your heart, have secretly wished someone dead. Read what it says about that. The bible says that wishing someone to die is the same thing as murder.

Clean your own house before preaching to someone else. I can see it if Adam stumbles into your church and asks your opinion. By the way, you can get a clue by all these non-Christians and Christians who whole-heartedly love Adam. You are supposed to love your brother as yourself, not by spewing hatred at them. No one will listen to you if you just walk up spewing that stuff at them.

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lisa 6/10/2009, 5:52 pm EST

Regarding Kent’s post:
What you wrote not only has nothing to do with Adam Lambert, but is offensive to people of other faiths.

I also know of “ex gays” who are denying who they are and following a lifestyle that goes against their true feelings, all in a bid to get into “heaven”. To say that they have been “cured” of their homosexual desires is misleading… they just have incredible willpower and are willing to sacrifice happiness in this life in the hopes that the afterlife they have been promised lives up to the hype.

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Lee 6/10/2009, 1:48 pm EST

Hey Kent, Jesus himself said “But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, causes her to become an adulteress, and anyone who marries the divorced woman commits adultery.” Matthew 5:32

“I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, and marries another woman commits adultery.” Matthew 19:9

Know anyone who is divorced? Are you making them aware that they are adulters? Isn’t adultery even in the 10 commandments?

Why don’t religions start preaching to everyone?

Take a trip with me down Memory Lane...

Tell me you've been here before: you've been working on a project on your computer and literally just as you were about to finish and hit 'save', something happened and you lost everything? Well, that was me today. My computer had been running real slow all morning but I was determined to write a post about our weekend camp trip. It took forever to get all the photos uploaded, then in order to post the videos I had to upload them to youtube first. Then, I typed in all the text. Keep in mind this was done in fits and spurts, over about three hours, in between having to be a mom and work around the damn slow-ass computer. And for some reason, Blogger, who normally autosaves your draft every few minutes, wasn't working properly and so all my work was not being saved. And literally, the second that I hit 'publish' on the post, a window popped up informing me of an internet explorer error, and poof! Just like that, all windows closed and I was left with my wallpaper, a really hot pic of Adam Lambert, staring at me with dark intensity. I could have screamed! I was this close to picking up the monitor and throwing it out the window.

So, now that I've had all day and night to chill out about it, I've decided to hell with the post about our camp trip (even though it totally rocked as all my posts do, right?). I'll do it another day. I'm just not up to trying to remember everything I had typed down and uploading all those pics again.

Instead, I'm going to do a post about my all-time favorite camp trip, ever.

It was way back in 1998, eleven years ago, during the early days of Hubs and I being a couple. We were just young punks back then (I was 18, Ty was 20), crazy in love, and I was about 3-4 months pregnant. We hadn't told anyone about the baby yet due to a multitude of reasons, but the main one was that we were simply enjoying having this wonderful, exciting secret all to ourselves.

It was early April and we decided out-of-the-blue to take off one weekend for a camp trip up at the Brazeau. The few people we told about our trip thought we were insane to go camping in April, when there was still snow on the ground and temperature was around 0 at night. But we didn't care. We were looking forward to a weekend of peace and quiet (and fishing of course, on Ty's part), and just being together on what was our very first time out camping together as a couple. We packed up our stuff, loaded it in the back of our cute little blue truck, picked up the boat and trailer from Ty's dad Ed (who also thought we were nuts, I'm sure, though he was too kind to say anything), and made the long drive up there.

It was the early afternoon when we finally arrived, and seeing how I was pregnant and Ty treated me like a fragile piece of china, I got to sit and watch while he unloaded the boat and parked the truck. Ty had decided to surprise me with the fact that we wouldn't be camping in an actual campground, but on a secluded island out in the middle of the lake. I was utterly charmed by this, of course, and thought that he was just the most wonderful, sweet, romantic man ever. So we loaded all our stuff into the boat and took off across the lake. I should clarify -- he loaded up the stuff while I watched. That 'fragile' thing again, typical protective father-to-be, eh? But very sweet. Nowadays I'm much too independent and determined, to sit like a lump while someone else does all the work, but back then it was a novel experience and I was going to enjoy and take advantage of it. Hah!

The view of the lake from shore.

Look at that gorgeous man working up a sweat while I sit and watch.

So away we went, zipping across the lake in our boat, enjoying the crisp air whipping through our hair (Hubs was a long-hair back then). We approached the island slowly, as there was a narrow strip of deep water surrounded on both sides by shallow sandbars and Ty didn't want to catch the boat motor. We set up camp, and it was heaven. Just our tent, our gear, a couple of lawnchairs, the cooler, and each other.

There's our cute tent. Nowadays, I'm used to the motorhome but back then that little tent was a spacious palace for the two of us. I remember that I was a little uncomfortable with the fact that we were out in the middle of Bear Country with just this nylon tent enclosing us at night, but Ty reassured me that he had brought along a little something to take care of any wayward bears that may come along (NOT a gun, don't worry). "My hero" I called him and his chest puffed out in that typical male way of self-pride. "Gotta take of my little lady", LOL.

Inside our Tent of Iniquity.

Look at his long hair! And that was actually after he'd had it cut shorter, to shoulder-length. When I first met him in June '97, he had waist-length hair and he was a carbon copy of Anthony Kiedis from the Chili Peppers. Lust at first sight.

Aren't we adorable? And so young! (I had a touch of a cold, which is why in all my pics I have a big stuffy red nose; and I was still having morning sickness, which is why I'm so pale. It was kind of a secret embarrassment for me, to be with this total hunk of man who was all tanned and full of vitality, and I looked like a limp noodle.)

Ty hated that I took this pic of him, he said he looked "like a doofus" with the goofy grin, so I let him take a revenge pic of me...

...and here it is. I'd literally just woken up and was on my way to take a pee in the bushes. I was not amused.

I spent most of the weekend just in awe of our beautiful surroundings. Every morning Ty would wake up super-early to go fishing in the boat while I slept in. He'd usually return just as I was waking up, and he'd crawl into the tent and join me in our warm, comfy nest. That's the great thing about camping on a secluded island with no one around for miles and miles, and no one but the wildlife to hear anything, heh. Afterward we'd eat breakfast then go for a hike and explore the island. We'd come back to camp for lunch, then I'd crawl back into bed for a nap (I tired so easily during that pregnancy) while Ty went out fishing again. When I woke up he'd be making supper for us and then we'd just chill out around the fire, talking about nothing and everything, making plans for the future, thinking up potential names for the baby, imagining everyone's reactions when they found out, and sometimes just staring at each other in a daze, like 'I can't believe I found this person who is my other half, and that we have all the rest of our lives to spend together.'

The view from our campsite. Gorgeous, eh? Our own personal paradise.

One evening we were coming back from a little hike and noticed that a beaver was swimming to shore, right by our boat. We snapped picture after picture, giggling like idiots as we stealthily stalked the beaver while it waddled around, doing its thing.

This picture is dark but you can just barely make out the beaver coming ashore by the boat. See him there? That black lump?

We gave the beaver a silly name like 'BillyBob the Beaver' or 'The Beeve', something like that. Ty wanted to call him 'Beau's Beautiful Beaver' and I had to swat him for that. Men!

BillyBob disappeared back into the water shortly after this pic was taken, and we didn't see him again. But we kind of took it as a sign, that we were meant to be in this particular place at that particular time, and BillyBob was the proof of that.

Our very last night there, we decided to head out early the next morning so we could make it back home at a decent time. (Nowadays, we wait till the very last minute to leave camp so we can wring every last moment of enjoyment out of our trip, and we usually arrive home around midnight with the kids fast asleep. Funny how time changes you, eh?) But upon awakening we discovered, to our shock and horror, that overnight a stiff wind had pushed a large section of ice on the lake and carried it to our island. We were trapped! Unable to drive the boat (is drive the right word? Steer? Pilot?) until the ice floated far enough away for us to maneuver around it. We ended up waiting about four hours, and let me tell you, there were moments we thought we'd be on that island for the next month, living on twigs and grass and the occasional beaver (haha).

You can see the ice there at the far end of the inlet. We snapped this pic just moments before heading out in the boat. We knew no one would believe us about being stranded unless we had proof. And here it is!

And so there you have it. Pictures and memories from one of our most special outings as a young couple and we treasure the fact that we had that time together, before all the babies and the dog and the house and the responsibilities of having to be "the adults" and "the parents". Just the two of us, together forever (our motto since day one), young and crazy in love.

Happy Birthday to the Sheriff

Today is an emotional day for me -- this would have been my Dad's 50th birthday. Its been four years now since he's been gone, and it still seems unreal that he's no longer in my life. Four years of life moving on, two more children born that he never got to hold and cuddle, milestones and events that feel wrong without him there to share them.

I know that he would have been absolutely adoring of his granddaughter, Milena; I know in my heart that she would have had him wrapped around her tiny finger right from birth. He would have delighted in the fact that she is dark-haired and dark-eyed, like him. He would have called her his Princess, and I imagine he would have constantly brought her little gifts back from his various trips, like he used to do with me when I was little. I can picture all the things that he would have enjoyed showing her, like baby birds in a nest, or the wonder of an early-morning sunrise, or the many treasures he kept tucked away in his special chest (and the story behind each one). Her girlish high-pitched screeches and giggles as he tickled her would have been music to his ears. And to hear her call him "Mooshum" or "Grampa Marky" in that same little voice would have melted his heart.

He never got to meet his newest grandchild, Ryder. I know he would have been thrilled to know that Ryder's name was chosen based on him, because he was a Harley-rider back in the day, and at heart. He would have enjoyed ribbing me about the fact that I had FOUR kids now, and I can just hear his teasing voice asking me if I finally figured out what was causing it. I imagine that he would have gotten a huge kick out of teaching Ryder to say to me, "Mommy is a horny!" (that's a family joke). He would have loved the fact that Ryder indeed lives up to his name and can't get enough of riding on quads; I can see him taking Ryd on long trips on the quad out at the acreage, burning through fields and ditches and pastures, both of them laughing as they ripped over the bumps. Because Ryder is one of my cuddliest and lovey-dovey babies, always giving hugs and wet kisses, Dad would have been in his glory to sit on the couch and let Ryder crawl all over him and smother him with love.

Dad just adored his two grandsons, Gunnar and Ardan, and had unique, special relationships with both of them. When Gunnar was born, all those years ago, it was like Dad had been waiting for that moment all his life, to be a Grandpa. His pride and joy in his grandson was immense, and he delighted in spending as much time as possible with him, imparting his knowledge and wisdom, and enjoying those little moments, too, like making milkshakes or cuddling on the couch watching tv together. When little Ardan was born three years later, by that time he was an 'old hand' at grandparenting, and he loved having another little guy in his life. He would have been intensely proud to see how much they've grown and matured into thoroughly wonderful boys who are smart, funny, handsome, and individually unique. He would have proudly shown off how much Ardan looks like him, with the dark hair and full cheeks, and the same build with massive shoulders and strong legs. He would have teared up to hear stories of the boys' innate kindness and sense of honor, to hear how they never hesitate to defend those smaller than them or to stand up for what they believe in. He would have been so proud of how smart they are in school, he would have attended every award ceremony and stood there loudly cheering. There are so many things he'd have loved doing with them that he never got the chance to, like camping and fishing and quadding and shooting guns, moments together where he would have handed down his teachings and knowledge to the next generation. Dad was never much of a sports-guy, he wasn't into hockey, but I know that he would have been at every one of the boys' hockey games, and he would've taught those hockey parents a thing or two about hootin' and hollerin'. Haha! He would probably get a tear in his eye to see his grandsons scoring goals and winning MVP and Heart & Hustle awards. I know he would have smooth-talked his bosses at work into helping fund the tournaments, and he would have loved shooting the breeze with the hockey dads, talking about the oilpatch and hunting and all those things he loved to talk about.

As time goes on, I've noticed that Hubs has many similar qualities that Dad had. The same love of the outdoors and all the activities that go along with it, like camping, hiking, fishing, hunting, riding bikes (though Dad was a Harley man, Ty would have enjoyed trying to get Dad on a dirtbike). Both men share the true passion of the outdoorsman -- if you're going to hunt, then hunt, walk through the bush, look for tracks, work for the kill; if you're going to fish, then fish, wade right into the stream or get out there on a boat, take the time to select just the right lure, never give up on getting that huge one. Though their relationship got off to a rocky start (after all, no man would have been good enough for Daddy's little girl), I know that as the years went by, they would have had a true father-son relationship and would have honestly enjoyed spending time together, and Dad would have appreciated both the ways that they are similar, and different. Because Ty is so much older than my brothers, has seen and done things that they haven't yet, he shared a lot in common with my Dad and they would've had many conversations about all those things: working in the oilpatch, dealing with annoying coworkers, places they've been to, funny stories and anecdotes.

And as to my own relationship with my dad, regardless of our past, we would have had an excellent future. He would have been so proud of me, I know it, to see the type of person I've matured into, to watch me with my children, to see the relationship I have with my husband. All those years ago, when he was in my life, I was a much different person; sometimes timid, sometimes uncomfortable in certain situations, sometimes hesitant to voice my opinion. Conversations between us would've been so different if I'd known then what I know now. Instead of blushing and groaning at his outrageous, often racy, sayings and conversations, I would have given back just as good. I have a feeling I could've made him blush with some of the things I'd come up with. And he would have loved it! Haha. Now, if he'd offer me a puff to see what I'd do, instead of saying "Dad! No, of course not!", I'd daringly take it from him, maybe even blow it in his face to see what he would do. We would have had amazing late-night conversations around the campfire; with my newfound confident take on life, with my own brazen attitude and humor, we would have had each other in stitches, laughing loudly and from the gut as we tried to outdo each other.

Knowing all this, knowing how much we've all missed out on, only makes the lack of him that much harder to bear. The world lost an amazing individual that day four years ago, and knowing that another such as him will never be is painful on a deep, personal level. There's certain qualities and characteristics he had that may be similar in others, but in him they all combined to make the most charismatic, loving-of-life, innately unique person I've known. I'll never know another such as him, and while I grieve for that I also know that I'm one of the lucky ones that had the experience of knowing him.

I feel his presence still, and he's come to me in dreams when I've needed him most. And so I know that even as life goes on and we all change with each passing year, he is still there; watching over us, protecting us, sending us messages and love, in the form of a swooping raven, a baby smiling at someone unseen, or as my Daddy in dream-form, holding me as I cry.

So today I want to say Happy 50th Birthday, Dad. We love you, and miss you, and cherish every memory. We hold you in our hearts, and there you will remain.

'Hippo Birdy' to you, our beloved Sheriff of Simcoe County.