If I had a daughter, I would sign her up for dance lessons.  I always wanted to take dance lessons.  When I was a little girl, I dreamt of learning ballet.  Instead, I figure skated for a bit, took guitar lessons and played baseball in the summers.  I was pretty good at guitar, not bad at baseball but sucked at figure skating.  Loved to skate but didn’t enjoy the jumps etc. 

I have tried to introduce my 7 year old boy to a bit of everything here and there… but it is tough because he doesn’t really like to play sports.  He is terrified of the ice, of swimming.  He is getting better with the water but on his own terms… not on the instructor’s terms.  I don’t want him to be a quitter… but he would prefer to give up after one session of something because he is just not all that interested.  It’s weird.  I had no choice with what I was signed up for (at least that is what it felt like).  Maybe I had the same attitude as him… maybe that is why I stopped figure skating after four years.

Soccer was a disaster.  I coached the team.  My son was digging in the dirt at the far end of the field.  Or, he was laying in the grass whining.  He hated it.  Swimming was a nightmare.  Parents felt sorry for him because the instructor was so mean to him.  It was like watching a car crash.  Tears and all.  Basketball was not so bad.  He just wasn’t that great at it – which is fine.  But, he didn’t want to sign up for the following session.  There were no tears with basketball at least.  I hope someday that he finds his niche in life.  I am still looking for mine.


How do you solve a problem like… schlumpiness?

Feeling… schlumpy.  I know that this is not a word.  I am just not motivated.  Not at all.  I feel so behind on everything that I just can’t kick start myself to get over the hump of schlump.  Every time I get on a roll… the baby requires my attention.  I’m tired.  I’m feeling frumpy and schlumpy.  I might have to enlist the help of my mother to watch the bebe whilst I work away at cleaning and un-schlumping the house.  That’ll make my head feel a whole lot better…

The Power of Positive Thoughts

I am poisoned by negative self-talk.  Over the past year and a half or so, I have made a real effort to change the constant attacks on my self by my self.  It is tough though.  I don’t know where I picked up this self-loathing… but it’s gotten old.  I think when I hit thirty, I decided that I needed to heal the wounds of the past and move on.  I couldn’t continue like this.  But, the universe or whatever really puts my attempts at positivity (is that a word?) to the test. 

An old co-worker once told me that the key to changing my life was to get rid of negative self-talk.  A priest once told me that with true love of self – all of the answers will come to me (what do I want to be when I grow up etc).  I think that I am afraid to admit that I might like myself.  I’m afraid to admit that I might be attractive, that I’m thin, that I’m smart… it seems to come so easily for other people.  Why isn’t it easy for me?  Does it start with your parents?  I sort of think that this is where it began – but I don’t want to blame anyone else for who I am today.  I have made my own choices.  I am who I am because of my own actions.  Living in the moment.  Loving myself.  Being grateful for what a beautiful life I have been given. 

Enough about me…

Every time I watch a news story regarding Canada’s apology to the native people – I want to cry.  I just cannot believe that this happened here in Canada.  It breaks my heart that for so many decades children were taken from their parents.  My heart breaks for the parents, my heart breaks for the children, my heart breaks for the culture.  The abuse that these children suffered… living in fear, living terrified.  How could this have happened?  I hope that the wounds of the past will eventually heal for the native people of Canada.  I hope that the apology will at least bring some peace to the ghosts of the children of the residential schools and to the native people that continue to struggle day to day with their scars. 

I’m in love with Salba

Salba was first introduced to me by my in-laws.  It has been a wonderful addition to my diet.  If you have a slow digestive system… this stuff will change that.  It feels good to rid the body of waste on a daily basis as opposed to a couple of times per week.  I’m amazed.  I know that this is a sort of gross, yucky topic but it is something that affects most people at one time or another.
I do feel as if I have more energy because of Salba. If you are like me and you find that you get low blood sugar at times throughout the day – Salba seems to be helping me to combat this.
I add it (one tablespoon per day for me) to oatmeal, yogurt, applesauce, sprinkle the seeds on a spinach leaf salad… you could add it to anything really.
It is wonderful stuff… in fact I think I’ll go have some right now.


Fussy Baby

My baby is fussy.  He is only happy when held.  Once in awhile he is content to jump in his bumper jumper or to play in his exersaucer.  Today, he wants to be held at all times.  I suppose it could be the two little teeth that have sprouted through his bottom jaw within the past month.  It could be tummy troubles.  It is so hard to accomplish anything when he is like this.  So, here I am on the couch with him sprawled across my lap.  He is sleeping.  He is quiet.  For now.  I love him.  But, once in awhile he wears me out.  Plus, I feel terribly guilty about the state of the house, the pile of laundry, not going out and enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air.  If I remain in the moment… I guess that I could see that there is nothing wrong with where I am at this moment.  I have a beautiful, healthy, baby boy on my lap who needs me to be here with him at this moment.  I am lucky.  This is where I am supposed to be right now. 

Getting Older, Losing All Dignity

Yesterday was my Grandpa’s 90th birthday.  His wife (not my biological Grandma) is suffering from dementia (and likely some other mental health issues).  Last night, the family attempted to go out for dinner.  Grandma decided that her chair was the high chair (reserved for my 6 month old son).  She refused to move from the high chair, “No, no, no, no.”  The poor thing.  She was never a very nice person, always a bit disturbed and awkward to be around.  But, I can’t help but feel sad for her.  She is so utterly confused and trapped inside her sick and dying brain.  She never had any children.  My dad is handling her affairs for her – regardless of how mean and nasty she has been to him – he manages to continue to look out for her.  They currently live in a retirement home.  But, after last night’s episode, the home does not want her there anymore.  The staff are afraid of her.  She is currently sitting in a bed in the emergency room of the hospital waiting to be admitted, waiting to see a psychiatrist – all alone with her sick and dying brain.  Lost in the confusion of her illness.  She is alone with herself.  Alone.  I would like to go and be with her but she hates me – I’m sure she doesn’t really hate me but whenever I see her she accuses me of stealing her bed sheets, her bicycle, her plant etc… “If you could return those things to me that would be great Lori”… “I’ll take a look for them Freda”.  What a nightmare.  What happens to those who lose their minds?  This is what happens.  They are lost souls.  Nobody wants them… the retirement home no longer wants her $3500 per month rent.  The hospital will keep her for a couple of days maximum to readjust her medication… and I’m sure she won’t be wanted by the local nursing home either… there will likely be a waiting list there as well. 

This situation makes me wonder what will happen to me when I am old and decrepit.  I hope I keep my wits… but if I lose them, I hope that I have someone to look out for me and take care of me.   

Happy Birthday…

Birthday’s never excited me too much… they still don’t.  I do like cake and ice cream.  Though with cake and ice cream comes guilt.  I think ice cream goes straight to my arse and belly.  It’s my birthday, therefore I will allow myself to partake in the badness.  I believe that I am going to buy a carton of Breyer’s All Natural ice cream so at least it’ll be somewhat good for me.  Do they even make the black carton of ‘all natural’ anymore?  Who knows…

I used to get really depressed on my birthday.  I would usually book a day or two off from work and send my little guy to school or daycare and just go for a walk and spend some time reflecting on what had changed over the past year.  Successes, failures, things to be proud of, things to be not-so-proud of… 

This year, I’m not allowing myself to get depressed over it.  I’m attempting to live in the moment.  I have a great little family… husband, two boys, a roof over my head, food on the table.  I’m pretty lucky.  I’m pretty blessed.  It would be wrong to get depressed over a birthday when people are struggling to find food and shelter in Myanmar.  Or, digging out their loved ones from the rubble in China.  How selfish and stupid would that be…?   

Happy birthday to me… I’m grateful for the life I’ve got and for today.   Cheesy?  That’s okay.