On getting published

A few days ago, my sister-in-law ap and I had a brief conversation about writing and getting published (unfortunately, all our conversations were brief on this visit). She was commenting on my recent publishing successes and said “I guess I just don’t have as much confidence that people will be interested in the ordinary-ness of my life as you do.” Now, I could either take that as a compliment (ie. I have confidence in my writing) or as an insult (ie. my life is boring and I shouldn’t assume people want to read about it). I chose to interpret it the first way, ‘cause I’m not just “confident”, I’m optimistic. :-) I’ll leave it up to ap to correct me if I’m wrong. (By the way, ap is an amazing writer and the only reason she hasn’t gotten more stuff published is because she doesn’t send it out there!!)

Since then, I was reading Kvetch’s post about wanting to get published (she’s a great writer too – worth a visit – and I just ASSUMED she had a whole lot of confidence as a writer because she has such a great blog) and I threw my 2 cents worth into her already bulging comment box (she doesn’t think she’s got one o’ the “cool blogs” even though she can elicit 35 comments!)

These two interactions and a follow-up e-mail from Kvetch made me think that perhaps there are other people out there longing for that first publishing success who might like to hear about some of my experiences. At the risk of sounding horribly presumptuous and pretentious, I’m going to throw out a little unsolicited advice, even though I’m FAR from an expert. You see, a few years ago, when I facilitated an AMAZING, transformative eight week workshop on creativity (I say it was amazing not because it was mine, but because the people who participated made it so), I realized how rewarding and rich it felt to help unleash other people’s creativity. Giving eight women “permission” to set aside their busy lives for a little while each day and lose themselves in some creative venture felt like I was giving them the world. We all wowed each other with our creativity and inspiration, and we all walked away enriched from our interaction with each other. Because of that, I’ve learned the importance of sharing whatever wisdom and experience we have, even though it may feel like a mere pittance. And besides – it’s often easier to accept advice from an amateur with just a little more experience than ourselves (and hopefully still a reasonable amount of humility) than from a pro who’s left us in the dust long ago.

So here it is – my tips for getting published (in magazines, that is. I still haven’t figured out how to get a book published, although I’ve tried):

1. Start sending stuff out there. Sounds simple, I know. But you won’t get published if you don’t try. Polish up your best pieces, look for a few markets, and kiss those envelopes or e-mails good-bye. Also - it pays to have a back-up plan for a piece so that when/if it comes back rejected, you’re ready to send it to the next market before your bruised ego has a chance to stop you. And that leads me to my next point…

2. Get ready for rejection. Again, it sounds simple, but trust me, it can be painful. For every one of the 20 or so acceptance letters I’ve received, I’m sure I’ve gotten twice as many rejection letters. Sometimes my skin feels a little thin and I let the rejection letters dry up my attempts for awhile, but with some practice, I’ve gotten pretty good at rolling with the punches. The thing is, a rejection letter doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s not well-written, it just means that it doesn’t work for their publication or their editor was having a crotchety day (we’re all human after all – even editors). I once had a piece rejected by a relatively small local publication, and then the very same piece (with absolutely no editing) was accepted by a much larger national publication. After several years of getting used to rejection, I’m happy to report that my acceptance letters now outnumber my rejection letters. It took a long time though!

3. Trust yourself. If you believe that you’re a good writer, and you’ve been told by lots of friends and maybe your high school teacher that you’re a good writer, believe it. Keep believing it after a string of rejection letters. Keep believing it after a bad case of writer’s block. Keep believing it even though some well-meaning relative suggests you’re wasting your time. Keep believing it until some editor finally catches on. Keep believing it when that well-meaning relative has to EAT CROW!

4. Say good-bye to perfection. Your piece will NEVER be perfect. You can keep polishing it until the cows come home, but you will still always find something that could be better – even after you see it in print. Give it up. Yes, it’s important to edit it a couple of times, and I usually set a piece aside for a day or two before doing a final read-through, but at some point you just have to trust that it is “good enough”.

5. Make sure you’re targeting the right market. Get to know the publication you’re sending to before you submit. Go to the library and browse through some old editions to get a feel for what kind of stuff they like to publish. You’ll never get a gardening piece published in a travel magazine (unless it’s about gardening in an exotic travel destination, I suppose). And you’ll never get a “George Bush rocks” piece published in a left-leaning political rag. If you like to write personal essays (my preference) rather than research articles, look for a publication with that personal touch.

6. Start small. You may dream of seeing your name appear in Time magazine or Reader’s Digest, but consider the fact that thousands (maybe millions) of other people want the same thing. Their editors are getting inundated with submissions, so their first inclination will be to look for what’s safe (since they have to sell millions of copies), and that tends to be the well-published writers. Instead, visit the library or local bookstore and look for some interesting independent magazines – the ones with a few less glossy advertisements. Whenever I’m in my favourite bookstore, I browse through the magazine racks to see if there are any new and interesting magazines I haven’t seen before. Chances are, they’ll be a little more willing to take a risk on an unknown writer with a unique idea. It may not get you notoriety or a guest spot on the Oprah show, but you’ll see your name in print and that, my friends, is a RUSH!

7. Read submission guidelines carefully. If it says they don’t want unsolicited material, don’t send an already completed piece. If it says they don’t want poetry, don’t try to change their minds, even if your poem is brilliant. If it says the maximum length should be 1500 words, don’t try to sneak in a 2000 word piece. You won’t be doing yourself (or them) any favours.

8. “No unsolicited material” does not necessarily mean you need to have an agent submit to that market for you. If the guidelines indicate that they don’t accept unsolicited material, it simply means they want to see a query letter first. Write a really compelling query letter about the piece you want to write (there are lots of sample query letters in writing books and probably on the internet), tell them why it would fit into their publication, and convince them you’re a good writer. Funny story - I once sent a query letter and attached a sample piece for them (something I’d written on my blog that was similar to what I was proposing I could write for the magazine) and they actually published the sample piece I sent without any edits!

9. Read lots of stuff similar to what you want to have published. I find that reading does a few things for me: a.) it inspires me and provides me with ideas for my own writing; b.) it reminds me that my life is just as interesting as the writers’ which gives me confidence to believe people will want to read what I write; and c) it gives me a good sense of what things people (and especially editors) are interested in reading. If you read something really good, make sure you send a note to the writer (if you can). I can hardly tell you how good it feels to get an e-mail from someone who’s been touched by something I wrote.

10. Look for newspapers and magazines that have a “your turn” section. Our local newspaper used to have a “View from Here” section that accepted submissions from anyone. I’ve had a few pieces published there and it’s a good way to get some practice and experience that good ol’ publishing rush. Even if you don’t get paid for it, it’s still good for the ego to have at least one publishing credit to your name.

11. Take risks. Yes, you’ve heard it before in lots of those “here’s how to change your life and become the person you dream of” inspirational talks and self-help books. Don’t bother with the books or tapes, just believe it and do it. You have to take a few risks now and then if you want to see your stuff in print. Send it out even if you’re not completely convinced it’s brilliant. Even though I said you should pay attention to submission guidelines and target carefully, sometimes it pays to be a little “on the edge”. Send stuff that stretches the boundaries a bit. Think about a new angle for an old story. Try something fresh. Dig down deep and be as honest as you can be, even if it means showing your weakness and vulnerability to the world. Someone will thank you for it.

12. Celebrate! Even if your first success seems minor compared to your writing idols’, celebrate your accomplishments. Tell all your friends, take yourself on an “artist’s date” (read The Artist’s Way for more inspiration), buy yourself a new book (or one of those independent magazines you’ve been leafing through) as a treat for your success, and then write some more. Since I haven’t gotten to a stage where I get paid hoards of money for what I write, I usually use the small cheques I get (or at least a portion of them) as a re-investment into my writing. I buy books, magazines, or cds that will further inspire my creativity. With the latest cheque I got, I bought a season ticket for the local theatre. I’d encourage you to do the same. (I’m still hoping for a cheque that will buy me a laptop computer, but I haven’t got there yet!)

There you go, folks, my “mere pittance”. I hope it inspires you in some small way to trust your creativity. When you get published, make sure you come back here and tell me about it. I’d love to celebrate with you!

(Oh, and by the way, I know all about the half-truths you tell yourself for not sending stuff out… “I don’t have to get published to feel good about my writing” and “oh, my stuff is meant for me, not for the public” and “I don’t need the attention or the gratification of getting published”. Fine. Be that way. But I’m pretty certain that everyone who likes to write would like to see their stuff in print in a real publication now and then even if they don’t admit it to themselves or anyone else. Go ahead and TRY!)

"If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never." - Kierkegaard

"If we all did the things we are capable of doing we would literally astound ourselves." - Thomas Alva Edison

Here's hoping

Just now, four-year-old Maddie, who was lying on the floor at my feet, looked up at me and asked "Mom, do you think the Lord (for some cute and comical reason, she always refers to God as 'the Lord') is doing a good job of looking after my brother and my grandpa?"

I hope so Maddie. I sincerely hope so.

I don't know much about heaven. I don't even know if I always believe that it is actually another "place" where people have any resemblance to what we know as people here and now. But I do know this... I like the thought of my dad hanging out with my son somewhere. I like to imagine them curled up on a couch somewhere having a nap together. I like to think about them looking for dandelions and frogs together. If I close my eyes, I can almost see Dad taking Matthew out to the heavenly pastures, putting him on the back of a horse, and leading him over the hills and through forest pathways.

Just giving myself permission to believe in this image gives me a little of the peace I need.

I'm here in body but not in spirit

This morning, the alarm woke me at 6:20 a.m. I hit the snooze button. Nine minutes later, I hit it again. What I really wanted to do was throw it against the wall. After two and a half weeks of sleeping late, being lazy, and going to bed late, it’s not easy rolling out of bed and convincing your unwilling body to go to work.

Summer vacation is over and I’m back at the office. My brain is not fully engaged yet, though. I don’t want to be here. I want to go to the beach with my kids. I want to go for a bike ride. I want to have lunch with a friend. I want to take Maddie to the play structure. I want to read a book. I want to do all those things I meant to do on vacation but didn’t get around to doing. I DO NOT want to work.

During the night last night, Maddie moved from her bed to the couch. This morning, when I walked through the living room on my way out the door, I found her there sound asleep. A feeling of melancholy filled a familiar space in my heart as I prepared, once again, to leave my children behind and go back to work. I brushed the hair away from her forehead as a lump formed in my throat. I wanted to curl up on the couch beside her and lay there with her until she woke up and smiled at me.

It wasn’t the most memorable vacation. As I’ve said before, in fact, it was a tad disappointing. We didn’t get to go on a trip. We didn’t get to go camping because of Marcel’s dad’s heart attack. We didn’t even get to go on many daytrips like we’d planned. Yes, it was a let-down. It wasn’t the vacation we’d hoped for. That being said though, there are still so many good things that it WAS. It was…
- sleeping in late and getting up only after Maddie crawled into bed or Julie snuck into the room, jumped on me and said “boo”
- lazy afternoons at the beach with the girls and assorted friends or family
- long baths with Maddie and sometimes Julie (yes, sometimes all three of us are in there at the same time and it’s just an ordinary-sized tub)
- leisurely lunch with a friend
- late night movies with my siblings
- a picnic in the park with my family, followed by a soccer game and visit to the beach
- picking vegetables in Marcel’s dad’s garden with his family
- painting sunny yellow paint on the bathroom walls
- ice cream treats with friends at Bridge Drive-In
- hanging out at Linda’s pool
- fishing and canoeing with bbb, ap and family
- finishing a few projects I’ve been meaning to catch up on (like the wall-hanging/quilt I made with the fabric print I bought in Africa)
- dinner and the drive-in theatre with Marcel
- finding the time to read a book
- a lazy afternoon playing games at my Mom’s house
- lots of little moments with my girls

I want to make vacation last forever. I want to be available for spontaneous fun things that pass my way. I do not want to be a slave to my pay cheque. I want to sit on the lounge chair in my front yard and watch the world go by. I want to eat cherries in the park (without the wasps, of course). I want to be able to drop what I’m doing and go play in the backyard. I want to read another book. I want to sleep late. I do not want to be here, sitting at my computer, wishing I could be doing something else.

I want a life of leisure. Sigh.

Because Blogger was being ornery yesterday, here are the other bathroom photos

(Click on them to enlarge.)

The grand reveal (where is Ty Pennington when I need him?)

The bathroom is done. Yay! For a small room, it ended up consuming way more of my time then it should have. But at last, it is done. And it doesn't look half-bad, now that all's said and done - despite my lament about harvest gold walls. (It's more yellow than this picture shows, but as you can see, not as gold as the toilet.)

And now, because you have all been so patient and understanding during my recent whiny posts, I give you... Decorating on a Dime - How to re-do your bathroom for less than it costs to fill your tank with gas. Trust me, though, I didn't look like THESE renovation experts while I did it. What's with those high-heeled work boots? Nope, my decorating clothing of choice is a twenty-year-old t-shirt with about seventeen layers of paint, and a pair of shorts that used to fit me - back before I had children!

1. Paint - as I mentioned before, if you're not too fussy about the colour and don't need more than one gallon, you can often find really good deals in the mis-tints shelves at your local hardware store. I also frequent Habitat Re-Store, the local store that sells second-hand building supplies in support of Habitat for Humanity. I got a $35 bucket of paint for $15.

2. Curtains - First of all, do what I did and root around in your basement. If you're anything like me, you might have a cupboard full of fabric that you've bought over the years but never got around to using, and even a curtain rod left over from an old project. So the curtains cost us nothing. But even if I'd had to buy fabric, I would have checked the discount racks at the local fabric store. For a small window, it's pretty easy to make curtains for $10. The only thing I had to buy was the funky pull-backs I got for $7.99 at JYSK. (Sorry - I tried to up-load a picture, but apparently Blogger only wants me to put one of them on this post.)

3. Countertop and sink - once again, before you go and spend big bucks for a counter top and fixtures, check second-hand places or look in the seconds rack at the hardware store. Our countertop cost only $65 at Habitat Re-Store. The sink cost us nothing as it was also hanging out in our basement (the former owners of the house left it behind). We just bought a cheap set of taps for $25.

4. Vanity - Instead of buying a new vanity to replace the very tired-looking oak cabinet in the bathroom, I just painted over it with fresh white paint. Voila! Looks like brand new! Make sure you use a good base coat and durable top-coat because it can get a little banged up over time.

5. Faux tile backsplash - This is my favourite tip for a cheap but attractive addition to the room. Because there was a backsplash on the old countertop, and it was hard to patch up the wall where the glue had been, I couldn't just paint it. Instead, I did a faux tile thing like I've done in the kitchen in the past. It's pretty simple. First you put on a base coat, then you tape in the "grout" with thin painter's tape. Trowel on the plaster in a thin layer, and while the plaster is still wet, remove the tape. (It helps if you have a partner who can remove the tape while you plaster, because the plaster dries pretty quickly.) Once the plaster is dry, paint it with a sealing coat, and then you can sponge on top of that for a nice Tuscan villa look. It's hard to make the tiles look smooth, but if you don't mind the rough look (which I find quite appealing personally) it turns out quite nicely.

And there you have it. Heather's feeble attempt to redeem her vacation by at least finishing a home decorationg project.

I'm still here

In case you wondered why I dropped out of sight for awhile - no there's nothing major to report. Nothing terrible happened since my last post. Mostly, it's just because my writing brain was not engaged. I kept telling myself I wasn't going to post again until I could write something more cheery or at least a little thought-provoking. Well, neither of those things showed up in my brain, so here I am writing a nothing post just to catch up a bit.

Marcel's dad is still in the hospital. It's been a frustrating waiting game that feels less like a game and more like water torture. They do a few tests, they make you wait. They plan another test, cancel it at the last minute, and make you wait some more. They tell you the doctor will let you know the results of the test, and then they make you wait some more. In the meantime, all those fun family dynamics that are mildly challenging at the best of times, become accentuated under the stress and hours of waiting. Finally yesterday they found out that he needs surgery - probably a couple of bi-passes and valve replacement, though I don't know all the details. Whether that means he'll be discharged soon and sent home to wait for the surgery, or if they'll keep him in for awhile, none of us knows. More waiting.

In the meantime, I've tried to salvage at least a little of this vacation and have done a few fun things with the girls - like go to the beach, hang out at a friend's pool, go for ice cream with friends, and have friends over for a sleepover. I've also done at least one thing just for myself - I had lunch with a friend/mentor I haven't seen in almost a year. Marcel and I also had date night on our anniversary - dinner at a nice restaurant and then a couple of movies at the drive-in (both mediocre movies, but still worth the night out under the stars). And I finally finished the bathroom re-do project (pictures will probably come later). So it hasn't been a total bust.

Thanks to those who checked up on me. It's nice to know you noticed my absence. :-)

Bad timing, take 2

Perhaps it would be easier to cope with:
- a sick father-in-law
- a worried husband
- kids who are fighting (because of the stress in the air, quite frankly)
- the anniversary of my father's death
- a disappointing vacation and the looming return to work
- an uncertain future (still haven't lined up childcare/preschool for fall)
if I weren't pms-ing.

Where is the justice?

The somewhat cheery anniversary post you've all been waiting for

Yes, Marcel's dad is still in the hospital. Yes, he had a heart attack and we are all somewhat subdued in this household. Even Maddie - our normally cheerful one - was a little out of sorts after seeing her Pépère in a hospital bed. We're still waiting for further prognosis, but surgery may be necessary. Thank you all for your kind words and your prayers.

So this post will not be as lighthearted as I might have hoped. But here goes anyway...

Thirteen years ago, on one of the only sunny days in an otherwise rainy, dreary summer, we said "I do" in front of the people we loved most. Were we blissfully happy and in the middle of a great fairy-tale love? No, I wouldn't say so. Did we commit ourselves to each other believing we would always feel passionately in love and that we would never want to kick each other's butt? No, probably not. BUT... Did we believe that we loved each other enough to spend the rest of our lives together, that we were committed enough to each other that we would pour all the energy we could muster into making our marriage work, and that we would walk together through whatever raging rivers life put across our paths? Yes. Definitely.

I loved him then, and I love him ten times as much now. He makes me laugh, he challenges me, he makes me want to be smarter, he teaches me things, he knows how to be tender, and I wouldn't want to go through life without him. We have our challenges, we're not always kind to each other, and there are times when we can't seem to communicate properly, but we are committed to a lifetime together. Even in the darkest of times, I know I would rather be with him than without him. Our journey together has taken us through some rough spots, and each time we survive, we emerge a little stronger than before.

When we said our vows, we didn't promise each other a lifetime of bliss. We promised loyalty and love. We promised friendship and support. We promised the things we knew we could deliver, and then, when we can, we throw in the extras that make a marriage worth working at.

Today, I was reminded once again that when you marry someone, you also marry their family. I'm not only committed to Marcel, I'm committed to his family too. So how did we spend our anniversary? Well, in the morning, we spent it picking peas, beans, and corn in Marcel's dad's garden with most of the family. As he lay in his hospital bed, one of his first concerns was for his garden. To put his mind at ease, we took care of the garden before we visited him again. It's what family does. I wouldn't have it any other way. It turned out to be a great little moment of bonding and caring for him in the garden that is so dear to his heart.

And as I sat in the hospital room, I was reminded of why marriage is worth committing to. In a rare tender moment, Marcel's mom reached over and brushed her husband's cheek and then laid her hand on his arm. In the 16 years I've known them, I've almost never seen them show any sign of affection, and yet I know that their love runs deep. They have their problems, just like we all do, but when the road gets rough, they have each other.

In 32 years, I hope I can still reach up to brush the cheek of the man I love.

Bad timing

Perhaps while waiting for word from my husband who's gone to the hospital to find out what the cardiologist has to say about the shortness of breath that brought his father there early this morning is not the best time to listen to a sappy song about losing your life partner (see lyrics below) - especially if it's two days before the anniversary of the death of my own father. Perhaps I could have chosen another cd if I wanted to avoid tears.

And perhaps it would be easier to comfort Julie's tears with an "everything will be alright" platitude if she didn't already know the pain of losing a grandpa.

Perhaps everything will be alright and I'll write a cheery post tomorrow about our wedding anniversary. Perhaps it's just the universe's sick idea of a joke that our anniversary seems to be clouded with sadness, even though the marriage it commemorates is a mostly-happy one.

Perhaps I should listen to the wise words of Ray in church this morning and just "be still and wait for God."

Lest we forget,
your deeds as a younger man.
like how when you were nine,
you fell in love because she was the
first girl you'd seen throw a cricket ball.
You knew that you'd be together for the
rest of your lives.
Now you sit alone in the sun,
in the backyard, feeding the birds
reading the newspaper.
Thinking about the love
that you shouldnt have lost.

Love that you lost,
love that you shouldnt have lost.

When I was a child,
I didnt see her much.
She passed away before i was 5.
I was so young that it barely affected my life.
Then one day when i asked
you told me she was magnifacent.
all that i had was your word
and a photograph.
But that look in your eyes
told me all that I needed to know.

Love that you lost,
love that you shouldnt have lost.

- The Waifs

The solution for today's problem NOT brought to you by Mom!

Earlier today, when I was sewing curtains for the bathroom, Maddie called me from across the room, “Mom, mom! Come help me get a puzzle down from the shelf!” Somewhat exasperated, I turned to her and waved in the general direction of the rest of the family. “Maddie, look.” I said. “There are three other people in this room tall enough to reach your puzzle. NONE of them are working right now. WHY do you insist on asking the ONE person who IS working to help you solve your problem?”

I don’t know about you, but some days I want to put a big sign on my forehead: “This mom will NOT be the solver of your problems today. Go find someone else to fix the dvd player, wipe your bum, reach the glass in the cupboard, help you find clean underwear, and find the bike helmet that YOU lost in the garage.”

Also today, Nikki and Julie started fighting (over what, I’m not sure, but I think it was about something as stupid as who had to help dad peel bananas for the milkshakes). As usual, each turned to their defence mechanism of choice – Nikki started hitting, and Julie, always the martyr, shrieked that Nikki had hurt her and then ran into her room and slammed the door. Being the cruel and heartless mother that I am, I started laughing. Fortunately, I was alone in the bathroom at the time and they didn’t hear me. There was just something about the predictable sameness of the moment that struck my funny bone. Perhaps it was a sardonic laugh – picturing myself in the middle of a Groundhog Day time-warp where the SAME fight gets played back over and over and over again.

Some days I want to wear this sign on my forehead: “Mom does not care if you tear each other’s eyes out. Go ahead and fight, but don’t come crying to me when there’s blood on the carpet. I will NOT settle your argument or choose sides in the battle.”

The truth is, sometimes parenthood is excruciating, exasperating, unrewarding, and downright painful. Earlier this week I read this article about a mother whose kids bore her, and it gave me a small amount of pleasure to know that sometimes other mothers find it hard to bear too. Now, before you toss arrows my way for taking sides with a woman who bribed her nanny to read bedtime stories to her kids, you HAVE to admit that at least SOME of what she says is true. Don't you sometimes get bored with the endless needs, wants, and demands of your kids?

Reading the article reminded me of the mixture of pleasure and relief I got from reading the book “I’m Okay, You’re a Brat” that I found in the discount bin at my favourite bookstore. (I suspect it ended up there because most parents were ashamed to be seen buying a book that implied that their children weren’t perfect angels and they weren’t perfectly smitten parents ALL the time.) Just like the article, the book takes it a little over the top, but there’s some real truth to it, and, for a mother like me who often feels overwhelmed and somewhat guilty for the negative feelings she has about parenting, more than just a little comfort.

Yes, parenting is hard. And the thing is, we need to ADMIT that it sucks sometimes and that we don’t always feel completely in love with our children. We’re not doing each other (or our kids) any good if we act like the world revolves around our kids and there’s nothing we’d rather do than cater to their every whim. The writer of the article said she wrote it because she wanted to fight against the current trend of making the world a child-centred place (Something Gina has written eloquently about). The author probably took it a little further than she needed, but she’s not far off the mark about her reasons for doing it.

Sometimes, I’m a miserable failure as a mother. Sometimes parenting bores me to tears. Sometimes I want to lock them out of the house for the afternoon while I read a book. Sometimes I think I’d rather gouge my eyes out than play Candyland with my kids. Sometimes I’m glad I’m a working-away-from-home parent because I don't have to fill their every need all day every day. Sometimes I think that parenting is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and the one thing that has the capacity to make me feel like a complete and utter failure. Sometimes I feel guilty for not being more kind to my kids. Sometimes I think my kids will be totally screwed up because I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. There, I said it. That’s my truth and I’m willing to admit it.

The good thing is, that’s not my ONLY truth. There are other truths that balance those ones out. Like the fact that there are few things as breathtakingly beautiful as watching one of my children sleep. And the fact that the first time I heard the words “I love you” come out of my child’s mouth was one of the most perfect moments life has brought to this point. And the fact that watching one of my children try hard and then succeed is sometimes even more sweet than my own success. And the fact that dancing in the rain with three giggling girls is more fun than almost any adult party I’ve ever been to.

What am I trying to say? Well, there are a few things. First of all, I want to remember how important it is to tell the truth. For me, that’s one of the great things about blogging. I can throw my truth out there - even when it’s painful and makes me feel like crap - and someone will come by with words of comfort or wisdom or just plain acceptance and understanding. We have to do this for each other – to make each other feel less alone and more normal.

Secondly, I want to remember (and I want to remind all of you) that we do not have to be perfect parents, that our kids don’t have to be perfect angels, and that we don’t have to pretend either way. We can mess up and they can mess up, and the universe will not come to an end. Nobody will think less of you if you make a mistake now and then.

Thirdly, I’m writing this partly because all the talk of “mommy-bloggers” (with special clubs, special advertising targeted to them, etc.) on the internet has left me feeling a little confused. It’s not that I want to offend those who call themselves mommy-bloggers, or that I don’t understand the sense of community that has been formed by their common motherhood, but I just don’t think I could ever call myself a mommy-blogger. Oh, you’ll read lots of posts about my kids, and I’ll visit lots of other moms (and dads) who blog, but I just can’t define myself that way exclusively. Yes, I am a mom who blogs, but I am also a writer who blogs, a daughter who blogs, a wife who blogs, a cyclist who blogs, a Canadian who blogs, a thinker who blogs, a manager who blogs – and so many other things.

You see, I guess defining myself as “just a Mom” reminds me of the one thing that I most often fail at and that brings me my greatest sense of self-doubt and sometimes guilt. I need reminders that I am ALSO quite good at a lot of other things AND that my world doesn’t have to ONLY revolve around my kids.

And my fourth point is that as parents, we shouldn’t beat each other up quite so much. The woman who wrote about how her children bored her got thoroughly lambasted for it. (Here's the follow-up article about the controversy it has caused.) Why? She’s just trying to be honest and let other parents know that they’re not alone when they feel like parenting is sucking the life out of them.

So there you go – I'm just trying to tell my truth. It may not be your truth – you may find parenting to be a constant source of joy and fulfillment. I’m happy for you. Just please don’t beat me over the head if it’s not always joy for me.

And besides, we're the only ones who have to pee in there anyway!

Well, harvest gold it is, and harvest gold it shall remain. I've decided I'm not repainting the bathroom. And here are my reasons why not:
1. It's starting to grow on me. Or at least I'm resigning myself to it.
2. Even Marcel agreed that it doesn't look that bad - he can live with it. (He only had a small grimace on his face when he said it.)
3. Once I paint the cupboards and the trim white, and sew some blue and white striped curtains, it will look downright cheery.
4. I'm too lazy to repaint.
5. I don't want to ruin the rest of my holidays with more painting. I like painting, but I can only take so much.
6. Harvest gold is all about bringing a little nature into the room. Who doesn't want a little nature in their bathroom?
7. It will definitely wake us up in the morning.
8. If you sit on the toilet, squint your eyes, and let your mind wander, you can almost convince yourself it's still the seventies, you're a teenager, and your biggest worry is whether or not a boy flirted with you at school.
9. My other bathroom is perfectly lovely, and THAT's the one you'd get to see if you visited my house anyway. Trust me, you'd like it, with its minty green walls and white fixtures. Maddie still goes in there, a year after it's been redone, and says "hmmmm...this is a pretty bathroom."
10. The toilet's not so lonely anymore.
11. Haven't you heard? Harvest gold is the new colour trend for 2007. As always, I'm one step ahead of fashion. Wanna know what shoes you should be wearing next season?
12. I could always cut a piece out of the orange and brown carpeting in the basement (the stuff that's so ugly it looks like the seventies puked all over it) and replace the flooring in the bathroom! Then you'd swear you'd hit a time warp! It might be a fun little party game, after people have had too much to drink.
13. As darien suggests, I can always tone it down with a little white someday if I get really tired of it.

And that, my friends, is my "trying to make lemonade out of lemons" decision. Perhaps, once it's done, I'll share a picture and you'll all wish you could hire me out as your personal decorator! Take a number. I'll get back to you when I'm finished painting my kitchen Avocado Green.

But isn't Harvest Gold back in style by now?

Earlier in the week, when I was moping around the house, mourning the loss of our family trip and feeling sorry for myself because my vacation time was slipping away with no andventures on the horizon and not enough "quality time", I realized something. I normally judge the "success" of a vacation by one of two things: 1.) where we went on a trip, and 2.) if a trip is not possible, then how many projects I accomplished. So, in an effort to drag myself out of my mope-iness, I embarked on some projects.

First I started with a small sewing project, and then I tackled a long overdue project - painting the ensuite washroom. Because I didn't have a specific colour in mind and because we're economically challenged right now, I rooted around in the mis-tints shelves at Habitate Re-Store and Home Depot. I emerged with a gallon of creamy, buttery yellow that I thought was just perfect for a sunshiny bathroom.

Unfortunately, once I got the paint on the walls, it looked less like sunshine and more like a sad, sad attempt to match the walls to the harvest gold toilet that's leftover from the seventies when this house was built. I kept trying to convince myself that it wasn't as bad as I THOUGHT it was and that it would grow on me, but then Marcel walked in and I quickly recognized the all-too-familiar look of "what the heck has my wife done to the walls THIS time?" Yes, I've seen it before because I've done more than one painting surprise that had to grow on him (most of the time, he comes around). He tried to be gracious, because he knew I was discouraged, but his look said it all.

I think I'll just give up on trying to redeem this disappointing vacation and go back to moping. You can feel free to ignore me until we return to our regularly scheduled programming.

I think I've created a monster

After our romp in the rain last week, the girls have been determined to relive the moment. Every time it threatens to rain, their eyes light up and they begin to fantasize about another opportunity to dash out among the raindrops. About fifteen minutes ago, after the girls were already in bed, the thunder started and then the rain followed shortly thereafter. Within moments, all three were out of their beds and coming down the stairs to where I am on the computer. "Can we go outside in the rain?" Maddie asked, her eyes aglow. I chuckled at her eagerness, but because it's already been a long day at the beach and it's late, I had to say no. Moping, they all wandered off to bed.

I think it has something to do with the fact that romping in the rain felt a little like "breaking the rules". There's something about doing something a little goofy - especially with your MOTHER - that feels decadent and indulgent. I remember the same thing as a child. My mom was famous for starting water fights - especially at church picnics where all the other grown-ups would sit around being serious like grown-ups are fond of doing. Probably out of boredom with all the grown-up conversation, she'd grab some cups and star splashing people with water.

My mom still knows how to have fun. We went to the beach today with my mom, my sister and baby Abigail, and I was reminded why I like my mom so much. (It's good to have those reminders, because sometimes I forget.) She's always the first one romping in the water with the kids, clamouring on inner tubes - you name it. My kids adore her and it's no surprise, because she's such a fun grandma. She still knows how to "break the rules" of being a grown-up. She's proud to be one of the only grandmas around who still likes to climb trees with the kids.

I think it's because they're raised with a fairly healthy respect for "the rules" that our daughters (just like myself and my siblings) appreciate the little moments when "the rules" get tossed aside and fun is the number one priority. For that, I have a good role model in my mother.

In-laws

We've all heard horror stories about nosy, intrusive in-laws who don't know their place or don't offer much support. Well, you won't hear any of those horror stories from me.

I am blessed when it comes to in-laws. Truly blessed. In all respects - in my own family (sisters-in-law and brother-in-law) and Marcel's. They are good people - all of them.

Yesterday, we celebrated Marcel's parents' 45th anniversary and his dad's 70th birthday. Once again, I was reminded how lucky I am to have married into a good family. They are loyal, supportive, kind, generous, trustworthy, and gracious. They have always supported me and treated me well. They have done alot for us in our 13 years of marriage. No, they're not wealthy and cannot shower us with material goods, but they give us a great deal of moral support which is worth alot more than the financial support would ever be.

In celebration of this special occasion, we honoured them in the way that we all knew would mean the most to them. We kept it small (they HATE to have a fuss made over them and are not fond of big parties), we didn't make them the centre of attention (except for a small announcement by the train conductor), and we didn't spend a huge amount of money on them. Our special day was spent riding the Prairie Dog Central, a delightful vintage train that takes you out into the country and stops at 2 small towns where there are farmers' markets and small-town entertainment. It was about as good as it gets - a slow pace, a picnic lunch, a few treats along the way, and a day spent with their children and grandchildren.

Today, after the festivities were over and most of the family had gone back to work, Marcel and I and the girls went to help his parents with some of the yard work. They still have a big yard in the country, and it's getting harder and harder for them to keep up with all the work. Marcel's been helping them out a fair bit lately, and today, since I'm on holidays, I went along.

It's a little hard for Marcel to watch them getting older. His dad is having trouble with his legs. Instead of walking to the garden at the back of the property, he rides his lawn tractor back and forth. He still keeps a big garden (partly because he likes to share the bounty with his kids), but it's getting harder and harder for him to maintain it. Julie and I helped pick peas today, and later Marcel's mom said she thought he enjoyed the company as much as he appreciated the help. Either way, I'm glad we did it.

There was a golden moment this afternoon that I wish I'd had a camera for. I was the last one in the garden (the heat was getting a bit unbearable for Marcel's dad and Julie) and when I walked back to the house, Marcel's parents and our three daughters were sitting in lawnchairs under the shade of a big maple tree. They were shelling peas together, talking and laughing as they did. I just stood and watched for awhile, feeling so blessed to have these good people in my life and my daughters' lives.

As they get older, their world is getting increasingly smaller. They don't go out much, can't get around as much as they once could, and never travel farther than the city where we live (about half an hour from their place in the country). They don't feel the need for travel or expensive things. They have few hobbies (Dad loves his garden and his lawn tractors, Mom reads the newspaper diligently). Their lives are fairly simple. But they are content with what they have. They're happy when their children visit, and their greatest joy is their grandchildren.

They're not perfect. They've made mistakes along the way (name one parent who hasn't). But I thank God for them and for the many ways they've blessed me since I joined the family. I am lucky to have them as in-laws and my children are lucky to have them as grandparents.

(And now, if only Blogger would cooperate, I'd add a picture. Maybe later.)

Bounty

Thanks to the generosity of my father-in-law and his bountiful garden, we shelled, chopped blanched, and bagged four bags of peas and eight bags of beans today. It's not a huge amount, but it's a start.

I've mentioned before that I'm not much of a gardener. It's true. I don't have the patience for it. When we first got married and bought our first house, we had a garden for awhile, because I just thought that's what you do when you start a family. After all, I was raised by salt-of-the-earth farmers with Mennonite work ethics and values - surely I could at least manage a garden. Once we started having kids, though, and I kept working full time, I gave up, realizing I wasn't very good at it and it was just adding unnecessary stress to my life.

But I've realized, despite my lack of gardening skills, that I quite enjoy the "laying up for the winter". There's something so grounding and "earth-motherish" about storing away food for your family.

I'm enjoying it so much, in fact, that I might consider trying a vegetable garden again next summer. I may have come up with a solution. I don't mind the planting or the harvesting, but I suck at the maintenance stuff. Julie really enjoys gardening, and so she may have her first mini part time job. I told her I'd consider hiring her to keep the garden from dying and the weeds from taking over. Between the two of us, we might be able to make it work.

Life is too expensive (warning: whining ensues)

I’ll be on vacation for the next two weeks. Initially, we’d planned to go on a family trip. At first we’d thought of going east – to visit our nation’s capital (Ottawa) and maybe make it as far as the coast. We almost always travel west and have never taken our kids east. But then our budget didn’t match our vision, so we had to scale down. Instead, we planned a trip west again – to Calgary and then to Abbotsford, B.C. – because we have lots of friends and family along the way and could spend less money on accommodations.

Alas, it was not to be. Lift just got too expensive. Around the same time we found out our childcare for Maddie for the coming year was going to cost us a couple of limbs, we also found out we owed our highly-paid-pump-‘em-out-like-an-assembly-line orthodontist an additional $3500 to put braces on Nikki’s teeth. (Yes, I said ADDITIONAL – he’s already gotten more of our money than I care to part with. And no, our insurance doesn’t cover it.) Add to that Marcel’s tuition for the coming year, and all those other pesky expenses (like making sure our children have food to eat) and our trip plans went the way of the dodo bird. Extinct. Kaput. Bye bye.

Sigh. Sometimes, I get discouraged with how much everything costs and how far we are from “getting ahead”. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret the decision to go from 2 incomes to 1 so that Marcel could go to school, nor do I regret the choices we’ve made to simplify our lifestyles and cut out some of our superfluous expenses. It’s just that sometimes I wish it were easier. Every six months or so, we look at our expenses and try to figure out what else we can cut to make it a little easier to make it to the end of the pay period without draining the accounts dry, but by now it feels like we’ve cut pretty well everything we CAN cut. Extra vehicle? Gone. Cell phone? Cut. Dinners in restaurants? Almost entirely extinct (except maybe once every six months on special occasions). Camper? Sold. Cleaning person? History. Vacations? Not any more. Electricity? Perhaps we could light our house with candles. Water bill? Don’t think my colleagues would appreciate it if I cut out showers.

Before you say “c’mon Heather, grab some perspective – there are people starving in Africa and you’re whining about a vacation” – yeah I know. I KNOW. I’ve SEEN those people in Africa. I’ve even delivered food to them, remember? I’ve met people like Paulina who barely have enough food for their kids, let alone a table to put it on. Believe me, my whining is not without some measure of guilt. But even though I’ve seen it, I still get bummed out when, once again, we have to tell the kids we won’t be going far from home this year – AGAIN.

Oh, I’ll get over it. And I’m sure we’ll have a perfectly lovely vacation right here at home. We’ll go to the beach, go for bike rides, visit our family, go camping (in a tent) near a lake somewhere – trust me, we’ll have fun. I just wish it were the more EXPENSIVE kind of fun, that’s all.

Trying to make the best of it and maintain a good attitude, I’m going to the bookstore at lunch time to buy this book. We’ll plan some interesting day-trips and in the end, I’ll probably say “oh this was JUST AS MUCH FUN as a visit to the coast would have been!” I hope.

p.s. On a happier note, an article that’s basically the same as this post appears in this week’s edition of the Western Producer. (Sorry – unless you’re a farmer in Western Canada, you probably can’t get it.) So it seems that, even though the money gods have thumbed their collective noses in my direction, the publishing gods are smiling at me. Now if only the publishing gods would convince the money gods to work together so that I’d get paid some real money for what I get published. I’m not talking the kind of money that buys me a couple of books or takes our family out for a rare meal in a restaurant – I’m talking the kind of money that pays for braces or preschool!

Too good to be true

Well, our fabulous childcare plan is unraveling at the seams. Kari is still very willing to take Maddie in the afternoons, but the plan hinged on getting her into the preschool program that Kari's daughter is going to in the mornings. Turns out this preschool program, which is offered by the local school division free of charge to people like Kari who live in the neighbourhood, will cost us $4000. Yes, FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS!!! That's $20/day for a half day program. That's almost as much as Marcel's university tuition! And this is the public school system, not a posh private school.

What doesn't make sense is that in our school division, there is no free preschool program offered, as far as I know. The only option we have is the preschool program through the local community centres. And you have to pay for that. So here we are, living in the same city, with the same provincial education system, and she gets a free program in her neighbourhood, and we get nothing. Zippo. Nada.

For that kind of money, we might as well rent a cheap apartment in the school's neighbourhood, use that as our address, and give the space away to a homeless person. At least we'd be doing a good deed in the process!

The kicker is that there are spaces available in the preschool program. Spaces that probably won't be filled. But rather than let our kid in for free like the other kids in the neighbourhood, they'll leave the spaces open. Sheesh.

Anyone have any ideas how to challenge the system?

Rain, rain, beautiful rain

It's been so long since it rained around here that the girls and I couldn't resist running outside and dancing in it!

To the good people at iPod

First of all, just let me say thank you for making a great product. My husband is thoroughly enjoying his new toy. He's already downloaded hundreds of songs, and because there's so much room, he even downloads a few for our daughters to enjoy. His great enjoyment of his iPod is obvious when we see him wandering around the house and yard singing at the top of his lungs to the music that's only in his head. Last night, he was lying on the couch chuckling, and though it looked like he'd misplaced his marbles, it was simply because he'd added some Monty Python to his iPod. So trust me when I say that your product is much enjoyed in our household.

There's just one tiny niggling thing I'd like you to address though. I'm wondering, with your access to vast numbers of brilliant electronics engineers, if you could possibly consider adding a new feature to your iPods. What I'd like to suggest is this... do you think you could install an automatic "wife speaking" shutdown mode? Here's how it works - in all other respects, the iPod works like normal, but the minute the wife (or spouse, perhaps) begins to speak, the sound is turned off instantly and the wearer of the iPod is left with only the lovely sounds of his wife's voice in his ear.

You see, I'm a little tired of talking to myself when I THINK my husband's in the room attentively listening to me. I've said some brilliant, thought-provoking things, only to discover that he never heard a word of it and I might as well be talking to the drapery. I'm also getting a little tired of waving my arms in front of his face when I need his attention, and I'm SURE he's a little tired of me tugging the earphones out of his ears and shouting "Hey iPod boy!"

I'm sure you wouldn't regret adding this new feature to your product. Think of all the parents who would be thrilled to be able to use a "parent speaking" mode and actually get the attention of their engrossed teens. I know a few parents, and at least one wife, who will be forever in your gratitude. You may even sell a few extra to those parents who have been reluctant in the past.

So what do you think - can you do it?

Teenagers

So many times, we hear negative things about teenagers – how much trouble they are, how much trouble they cause, how hard they are to raise. Having a couple of pre-teens, Marcel and I are often warned about the teen years and so we’ve assumed it was a time to dread. We’ve heard all the horror stories of teen angst, troubles in school, hormones, drug and alcohol abuse, etc., and it doesn’t look pretty. "Just you wait" is a commonly-heard phrase.

Lately, however, I’ve been struck by the number of really decent likeable teenagers around us, and I have been hugely encouraged. Last night was a good example. We were at a barbecue at our friends’ Yvonne and George’s along with a few other families. Our kids were the youngest ones there. After supper, while the adults relaxed on the deck, watching the sun set over the trees (aaahhhh :-), the kids played a rousing game of soccer in their large backyard.

Nikki and Julie played with the group of mostly teen boys, and it was a delight to watch. Either they were just exceptional teens and they would have turned out well regardless, or our friends are doing a bang-up job of raising decent teens. They were so great to our girls. And not just in a patronizing “we have to be nice to the young kids because the adults are watching” kind of way, but in a respectful, generous, “we like hanging out with these kids” way. I was really touched by it, and I know that my girls felt genuinely valued as members of the soccer teams.

I guess that’s part of the beauty of raising kids in a meaningful community, where people of all ages respect and like each other. I really like my friends’ teenage kids. They’re decent and respectful, and I’m glad my daughters have good role models. I guess we’ll just have to keep surrounding ourselves with great teens and maybe we’ll get lucky when our girls reach that stage.

Pieces of the puzzle

When something crappy happens in your life that you don't understand and don't appreciate, chances are someone will say to you "everything happens for a reason". When they say it, you're usually in the middle of wallowing in self-pity and you don't necessarily want to hear it. But usually, there seems to be a grain of truth to it, and when time finally separates you from the crappy thing, and you can look back with some measure of objectivity, you discover that the crappy thing was somehow redeemed and there was reason or at least some value to it.

Last month I told you that Marcel didn't get into university for this coming year. Then, after we appealed to the University (and prayed about it), they changed their mind and let him in. So clearly it looked like it was meant to be. But then last week he went for his orientation session and discovered that his short daytime schedule and options for evening classes were over and he would now have to commit himself to full days EVERY day. This caused us some stress, because suddenly his time as a stay-at-home Dad with Maddie would be over and we'd have to find (and pay for) full time child care. With just over a month until he returns to school, we really didn't know how we'd manage to work it all out.

In the meantime, my old friend Kari responded to my attempts to track her down. She phoned last week, and I invited her and her kids for an afternoon of swimming, topped off with a barbecue in the back yard. She showed up today with her two little girls, and within moments, Maddie had fallen in love with her new friend (it doesn't take her long to fall in love, but this one was a record).

Turns out Kari is on maternity leave this year, having just given birth to her second child. And guess what - she's offered to care for Maddie in the afternoons for the upcoming year. She thinks it would be great for her daughter to have a friend around. Wow! Feels a little serendipitous. Now we just have to try to get Maddie into the preschool close to Kari's house, and the whole plan might fall into place.

The timing for the reunion with Kari seems almost eery. And in case you're wondering, yes, the years did fall away, and it was just like old times. It wasn't hard to remember why we were such good friends.

I leave you with a picture of true love. Hope they still feel this way when they spend every day together!

Good food, good wine, good conversation - I declare it a SUCCESS!

Last month, when we had our big birthday/graduation celebration, I introduced my friend Suzanne to my friends Michele, Yvonne, and Linda. Shortly after the introduction, I wandered away to greet some other new arrivals at the party. Well, by the time I returned to the conversation, the four women had discovered that they were kindred spirits (they recognized the signs when Suzanne produced a crystal wine glass so she could drink wine in style at an outdoor party) and a dinner party was well on it's way to being arranged. Since I was the common link, I sent out an e-mail, arranged the date, and voila, it was done. About the easiest dinner party I've ever "organized", considering I didn't host it and all I brought was the bread!

Along the way, we picked up a couple of other like-minded women (Michele's friend Glenda was visiting from Ontario, and Michele's other friend Asha was another natural fit). My sister ccap would have been included too, but she's traveling right now. Maybe next time.

Well, what can I tell you? It was a hoot! Suzanne has an amazing, character home that she's put all kinds of beautiful touches into (she's got style, that girl). It was the perfect setting for the night. We ate amazing food - barbecued chicken skewers, shrimp skewers, mediterranean rice, stuffed squash, mediterranean salad, lemon potatoes, bread, baklava - ummmmm... And the wine was flowing. Glenda brought some from the Niagara Peninsula, and Michele started raiding Suzanne's wine cabinet when that ran out (apparently Michele has expensive tastes, because she picked the best).

What a night! Seven amazing women, with lots of interesting life experiences (and a little gossip) to share, great senses of humour, lots of wisdom and brilliance - it was a memorable night. Everyone needs friends like these!

Scattered pieces

Tear a page into a thousand pieces. Scatter those pieces on the floor. Some will land with the printing side up, and some will be upside down. You’ll see lots of words and pieces of words, but none of them will be connected, and so you will not make sense of any of it.

That’s how my mind feels today. Scattered.

That’s why today’s post is random.

- I remember when Marcel and I were dating (somewhere between 1990 and 1993). Operation Desert Storm happened, and he became a CNN addict. It was hard to tear him away. That was when I knew I’d fallen in love with a news junkie. Mostly, despite the fact that I sometimes grew weary of pictures of bombing and destruction, it made me happy, because I knew life would be interesting and he would teach me things. I also knew he’d have lots of interesting conversations with my father.

- The reason I bring up Marcel’s CNN obsession is that I’m suddenly finding myself glued to the internet trying to learn more about what’s going on in Lebanon. The political unrest in the Middle East has always baffled me, but this time I find myself wanting to understand what’s going on. Partly because I know a man trapped in the country of his birth and I know a woman waiting for him to return home.

- If/when I become a freelance writer/consultant, I PROMISE I will try to get things in by the deadline, I will get back to you when you call, I will not take off on an extended trip in the middle of an important project without letting you know that it will delay completion of said project, I will listen to you and try to capture the essence of what YOU want rather than what I want, and I will be friendly. Today, I’m frustrated with consultants and my work is stalled and way behind schedule because I am at their mercy.

- Is it just me, or do you find those websites that have sound that automatically starts when you open the site somewhat annoying? Mostly it’s musicians’ sites, and I guess I can understand why they do that, but I find it to be an assault to the senses. When I’m on the internet, it’s usually because I want to SEE things, not HEAR them. I want to be able to choose when I engage the other senses.

- My sister is gone for 2 weeks. I miss her. It feels like part of me is missing when she goes away.

- I’m almost finished a couple of annual tasks that I find to be pure drudgery. The annual report and annual performance reviews of my staff. The end is in site and I couldn’t be happier.

- It’s TV free month at our house. We do this every year – usually in the summer. No TV – not even for Mom and Dad (hence the internet news for the Lebanon conflict rather than CNN). Whenever we do, I find it quite peaceful and often wish we could extend it to TV free year. What’s nice is that the kids often forget after the month is over, and don’t miss it much, so it takes awhile before the TV gets turned on again.

- I am delighted with how much the kids are enjoying the cheap pool we bought. It’s only 2 feet deep and 10 feet across, but judging by the amount of excitement it has caused around our house, you’d think we'd put in an Olympic-sized pool. It makes me happy when my children still take pleasure in small things. Maybe they're not overly spoiled after all.

- Last night I put together a 3-D puzzle with Nikki and Julie and played a My Little Pony game with Maddie. It was delicious and boring, all at the same time.

- The Franklin Graham Festival (an off-shoot of the Billy Graham Crusade) is coming to our city this fall. The week before the event, they’re getting as many Christians together as possible, cramming them onto a bunch of charter buses, and circling the perimeter of the city, praying all the way. Is it just me, or does that seem cheesy and irrelevant to you too? Not to mention that they’re wasting money and fossil fuels doing it. Maybe they could walk around downtown handing out blankets and sandwiches to homeless people while they pray.

Apparently, there are a lot more scattered pieces in my brain than I thought. I’ll leave the rest lying on the floor for now.

On my mind today

One of my colleagues is married to a Lebanese Canadian. His dad died a few weeks ago and he went back to Lebanon to bury him and be with his mom. Three hours after he landed in Beirut, the airport was bombed. Now, like all the other foreigners there, he has no way of getting out.

His mother's house overlooks the Beirut airport. My colleague talks to him nearly every day, and when they're on the phone, she can hear the bombing in the background. Always. He has helped his sister escape to her home in Jordan, and has helped other family members get out of the country. He does not want to leave, though, without his mother. The streets all around them are being bombed. They don't know how much longer they'll have a source of food and water.

If you're the praying kind, feel free to add them to your prayers. All of our other worries seem so petty when you don't know whether you'll see your family again. It almost seems like too much to bear when you're in the middle of grieving your father/husband's death.

A letter to my father

Dear Dad,

I wish I could talk to you, Dad. I wish I could hop in the car, drive to the farm, pull up a chair at your kitchen table, and talk to you, while you fried yourself an egg, or ate one of mom’s buns with jam. There are so many things I’d bring to the table, Dad – so many things I’d like to hear your opinion about. We’d talk about the kids, the farm, and the state of the world. I’d show you some of the stuff I’d gotten published lately, and you’d smile your sideways smile as you bent your head.

Here’s what’s been on my mind lately, Dad – it seems so unfair that, shortly after you died, I got a job that has so much to do with who you are and how you raised us. It’s all about farming and stewardship and generosity and helping those less fortunate than us. It’s also about diverse faith groups finding a way to get past their theological differences and work together to do what God calls us to do – end hunger.

You would have smiled at me, Dad, if I’d told you what I did last Friday. I went on a field trip – a LITERAL field trip. I visited some farm groups and stood out there in their fields, admiring their crops of wheat and oats and soybeans. I listened to them talk about this year’s growing season – they’ve had too much heat and not enough rain. I let them teach me how, if you rub the husk off a strand of wild oats and then spit in your hand, the wild oat seed will begin to twist in your hand. Imagine that – the child you thought would be least likely to end up standing in a field talking to a farmer, working in a job where farming is part of my daily conversations. I even read farm papers these days, to stay on top of the issues and find out how the crops are doing. Strange, isn’t it?

The farm groups we visited were community growing projects that get together to grow a crop which they donate to our organization so that we can ship food overseas to provide food to people who are hungry. Last year, Dad, I got to go to Kenya and Tanzania to see where some of that food gets shipped. You would have loved it, Dad. It’s an amazing place to visit!

It’s all great stuff, Dad, but there’s something that’s been troubling me a bit lately, and I wish I could bend your ear for awhile and hear what you have to say on the subject. You see, the fields we visited on Friday, well, there was something just too perfect about the crops on those fields. We stood there listening to the farmers tell us about the process they go through to prepare the land, fertilize it, spray it, plant it with perfect seed (some of which has been genetically modified) and then spray it again so that it all dies at a uniform rate and is all ready to harvest at the same time. Maybe it’s all okay, but there was just something so clinical to it – so methodical. It didn’t seem rhythmical, the way nature is meant to be. It didn’t seem entirely natural.

Do you think we’re doing the right thing, Dad, with all these chemicals and genetically modified organisms? Do you think we’re treating God’s green earth the way we’re supposed to be treating it? I think of how you struggled to grow a decent crop, how you spread manure on the fields, how you let the land rest now and then, how you taught us to be good stewards of all that God has entrusted us with, and I wonder what you’d think of all this big-business farming now.

I know there are no easy answers in all of this. People need food, and, the truth is, North Americans have gotten used to perfect, pretty food, so they don’t necessarily want the stuff that’s grown the way nature grows it, with imperfections and all. Beyond that, though, there’s also the fact that we need to share our food, and according to some of the experts, there’s no way to end hunger in the world without the use of chemicals and GMOs.

I guess it just doesn’t sit right with me all the time. God created a bountiful world. God doesn’t want people to be hungry. God wants his people to figure out how to bring balance to the world where all have enough to eat. So wouldn’t God have designed the world to be able to produce enough food without all the tinkering we’ve been doing? On the other hand, maybe God made us with scientific capacity to figure it out with science and not just nature. I just don’t know.

I know you don’t know the answers to these questions, Dad, but it would have made for an interesting conversation, wouldn’t it? If only I could sit at your table and talk with you again.

Heather

p.s. Thanks for leaving behind those pictures, Dad. We all really appreciated them. I've got a couple of them hanging on my wall. I guess it's those pictures and what they represent that makes me think that a man with so much respect for God's creation (including dandelions) would have a few questions about how much we seem to be acting like owners instead of stewards of the earth.

Must be some good karma

Two great things happened tonight. First of all, we were all sitting around reading when my Mom and her husband pulled into our driveway. "Mom! Grandma and Grandpa P. are here!" Nikki shouted. Doesn't sound too extraordinary? Well it does if you consider that she has just spent the last two months in Holland, plus a couple of weeks in Alberta. That's a LONG time to be away! FAR away! I didn't realize just how much I missed her until I saw their van in the driveway.

Ten minutes later, while we were sitting on the deck and the girls were showing off their new pool, the phone rang. It was Kari - she-who-gave-me the-black-skirt - she'd found out I was trying to track her down, and after she'd recuperated from the birth of her second child, she finally gave me a call! Yay! We're getting together on Saturday and our kids are going to hang out together and I sure hope that all the years fall away and we are the same old comfortable, laughing at all the silly jokes, letting our hair down, kinda friends.

So now I have at least three things to look forward to this weekend - some time with my Mom, a dinner party with 6 incredible, interesting, talented, beautiful women whom I'm lucky enough to call friends (well, one of them I haven't met yet, but at the end of the night, I'm sure I'll call her friend too), and a get-together with one of the truest, most down-to-earth, funny friends I've ever had in my life. Throw in a bit of splashin' in the pool with my girls, a Friday off work, and it has the makings of a perfect weekend. I'm a lucky, lucky girl. Now if only the week would go quickly!

Oh, and there's other good news - I got a bit of an extended writing gig for another magazine. Two short pieces already accepted with assignments for 4 more. Yippee! Bring on the karma!

Whimsy

"There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One is roots; the other, wings." Hodding Carter

"If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement and mystery of the world we live in." Rachel Carson

Mama Says Om Theme: Whimsy (Actually, I'm a day late for this theme, but since I'd planned to do this all week, I thought I'd still stick it up here.)

How to make 2 girls very happy

1. Buy a cheap pool.
2. Fill it with water.
3. Let them play in it while it fills.

How to make 2 parents happy:

1. Let them watch their kids splash in the pool while the sun sets.

(Their sister was at a friend's house swimming in a real pool, so she won't have minded missing the action.)

Why am I still fumbling for words?

A couple of times, when I’ve mentioned a recent publishing success, or I’ve written something that touched people, someone has made a comment that my blog is not aptly named and that I am not “fumbling for words”.

Let me explain why I chose to name the blog as I did, even though I make my living as a professional communicator, have always loved to string words together, do a fair bit of public speaking, and am lucky enough to have my writing published now and then.

You see, even though words are some of my closest companions, I often feel that they continue to be seductively illusive. Almost every time I write something, or speak in public, I feel like the right words are at the tip of my tongue/pen - just out of grasp. When I reach for them, they taunt me. “Nya, nya,” they say, “you THINK you’ve got the right turn of phrase, but we’ve got a better one and you can’t have it!” In the absence of the perfect words, therefore, I fumble for the adequate words.

In our office, a bunch of people do crossword puzzles together. When I started working here, they thought for SURE I’d make a valuable contribution to the crosswords because I’m a writer and therefore MUST be good at finding words. It didn’t take long, though, for them to discover that I SUCK at crosswords. When it comes to crosswords, I am definitely fumbling for words.

Sometimes, I have completely dumb moments and use entirely the wrong word. It’s usually when I’m trying to “act” smart, and use a word I think I understand the meaning of but don’t really. Like the other day, when I defined something as “pedagogical” when what I really meant was “pedantic”. The person I was speaking to, who often uses the word pedagogical in the right context, gave me a funny look and I only realized later, when it dawned on me what I’d said, why. Yes, in those contexts, I fumble for words.

My family has a good chuckle now and then, when I act like the ditzy sister and say completely inane things. (I seem to recall some teasing over my use of the word “vignette”.) In those moments, I am indeed fumbling for words.

When I read something that’s stunningly brilliant, with just the right combination of words to convey emotion, beauty, or truth, I feel completely inadequate in my humble attempts. In those moments, when I compare myself to others, I feel that I am doing little more than fumbling for words.

So you see, even though I sometimes get it right, it’s usually because I’ve set aside the taunting of the “perfect words”, have accepted the words that are “good enough”, have chosen to ignore the niggling voice of self-doubt that threatens to silence me, and have decided that my fumbled words have enough meaning and beauty to be a worthy offering to the world. I continue to believe that words, well used, can make the world a better place. And even those of us who are still fumbling have something of value to contribute.

No, I won’t be changing the name of my blog any time soon.

I'm still fumbling.

Beyond ordinary magazine

Here it is, the next in the line of "great magazines featuring articles by yours truly". Beyond Ordinary Living appeared in the mail today. The article in this one is about losing Matthew and about finding healing at the common grave he shares with hundreds of other stillborn children.

It's a nice treat to appear in the same magazine that features Steve Bell, an amazing musician, and lately, a personal friend of mine.

It's the third interesting and unique independent Canadian magazine I've been published in in the last two months. (Geez and Cahoots are the last two.) If you live in Canada, you can find Beyond Ordinary Living at Chapters, and the other two mags at McNally Robinson. I'm thrilled to have found a place in all three of these magazines that all have great potential to spice up the scenery on an otherwise rather dull magazine rack.

I met the editor of BOL at a recent conference (where, incidently, she received an award for best new magazine) and she was a delightful lunch companion. Ethel, if you read this, the magazine is beautiful and I'm honoured to be a part of it!

Now, for the rest of you, go out there and buy the magazine so that people like Ethel can keep a good thing going!

Still more ways to have fun

(because Blogger wouldn't let me add any more pics to my last post)

eat a whale's tale

drink lots of water
buy a funky toe ring
twirl
go for a walk with three of your favourite people

How to have fun at the Winnipeg Folk Festival

Of course there are the obvious ways to have fun, like listening to good music and eating good food, but here are a few less-than obvious ways you can have fun...

snuggle with someone you love

share your lemonade with a baby

hang out with your sister
build a city out of tarps
eat licorice
have a nap with a friendly dragonfly paint your face like a butterfly
take flying lessons
do a little smoochin'
follow the pied piper of bubbles

"This is the Place Where I Find Peace"

Driving out of the parking lot at Birds Hill Park last night, after listening to Bruce Cockburn end off another perfect day, I listened to this song on my new Fruit cd, and I thought, yes, this is the place where I find peace. (You can hear the song on their site - it's worth it.)

Twenty years of attending the Winnipeg Folk Festival, and it is indeed a place of peace for me. It is also a place where I find inspiration, contentment, fullness, refreshment, and so many, many other good things. It’s like filling the soul with a tall glass of cool spring water after a marathon run on a hot day. It’s like that first stroke of brilliance after a long writer’s block. It’s like candy after Lent.

Some people marvel at my long-time dedication to this festival, and it’s hard to describe what it does deep in my soul to be at this place, but it is a place and time like no other. It is my Mecca, my pilgrimage, my centre of the labyrinth. Sound too spiritual and perhaps a little sacrilegious? Well, in the words of one of my co-workers who just discovered Folk Fest for the first time this year “this is what heaven is supposed to be like – people are so friendly, there’s an air of peace and contentment and trust. I have never experienced anything like it before.” I believe that there is a little piece of God at the Folk Festival.

As I bask in the glow of another glorious weekend, let me attempt to capture the things I love about the Folk Festival.

1. The spirit of the place. You know how people on vacation are almost always more friendly than when they’re on their way to work? Well, picture a crowd of thousands - all of them on a mini-vacation – feelin’ the groove, soaking in the sun (or the rain – even when it’s pouring, people have a good time), and listening to good tunes. I normally hate crowds, but these crowds are just so different. It’s hard to describe the atmosphere there – it’s just a little bit of magic.

2. Community. Complete strangers support each other at this place. I have a high level of trust that if one of my children would go missing, for example, there would be someone there to protect her. One year (before kids), when I got separated from my brother and sister (who I’d come with) and couldn’t find them, I ended up spending the whole evening hanging out with a group of friendly guys from Toronto. They were gracious and funny, and at the end of the night, they helped me find my ride.

3. Colour. It is such a colourful, delightful place to spend a few hours (or days) people-watching. Even people who wear drab business suits in their “real” lives, show up in tie-dyed sarongs and other colourful costumes. There’s something about this place that brings out the inner-hippie in all of us, and it makes for a fun spectrum of colour.

4. Music. Of COURSE there’s the music. The Winnipeg Folk Fest has a solid reputation in the world of folk (and other) music, so they draw exceptional talent from all over the world. Each year, I discover a few new favourites, and revive a few old ones. This year, some of my new faves are Fruit, Jeremy Fisher, Oh Susanna, Ruthie Foster, Chad VanGaalen, Crooked Still, and Dan Frechette. Some old favourites – The Wailin’ Jennys (though I was a little disappointed I didn’t hear any new stuff), Richard Thompson, James Keelaghan, and of course, the always amazing Bruce Cockburn. In fact, I think Bruce Cockburn is one of the reasons I fell in love with folk music. He performed at one of my first Folk Fests nearly twenty years ago, and I discovered early on that he has a way of stringing words together that makes my poetic heart go pitter-pat.

5. Trust. It may sound corny, but there’s an element of safety and trust at the Folk Fest. We usually set up our tarp in the morning, abandon most of our belongings for the day as we wander around to the different workshops, and in twenty years, we have NEVER had anything go missing from the tarp. It’s quite remarkable.

6. Magical moments. Each year, I have at least one (and usually several) magical moment that feels like absolute perfection. The kind of moment when your heart feels so full of goodness and beauty you practically burst. This year there were a few. There was the moment I wandered the edge of the labyrinth just as the sun was setting behind a cloud and the drumbeat of African music drifted across from the Firefly Palace. There was the moment I sat at the edge of the family area eating a picnic with my daughters and watching Maddie dart back and forth between her sandwich and the hoola hoops and other delightful things to play with. There was the moment I sat alone and wrapped myself in the richness of the voices and guitar pickin’ of Ruthie, Bruce, and Richard. There was the moment I sat and watched my sister nurse baby Abigail and I was filled with memories of years past when I nursed my own babies there.

7. Food and other fun things to buy. The Folk Fest draws out some of the best international food there is to be had in Winnipeg. There’s Thai food, Indian food, groovy vegan food, Greek food, whale’s tales, homemade lemonade, kettle corn – ummm… a foodie’s delight. I have to pick carefully, because I could spend a fortune in food alone. There’s also an amazing Handmade Village where you can buy pottery, djembe drums, funky jewellery, tie-dyed sarongs, hemp clothing, purses made from old seatbelts – you name it. My only purchase in this economically tight year was a hat to keep the sun out of my eyes. But of course, it’s no ORDINARY hat – it’s colourful, funky, and handmade. (If you visit Nikki’s blog, you’ll find out what she and her sister bought.)

8. Inspiration. I think most people (at least people who have any drops of artistic blood in their veins) feel inspired to create when they see or hear great art. When I sit at the Folk Festival, I want to write poetry. I want to craft ballads. I want to fingerpaint. I want to throw splashes of colour at the walls. Even if it’s lain dormant for awhile, I feel creativity pulsing up through my veins.

9. Nature. The Folk Fest is in a beautiful setting, with lots of mature trees, flowing prairie grass, gentle rolling hills, and wildflowers sprinkled around the edges. You can’t help but feel close to the Creator when you sit in a place like that, listening to and seeing the wonders of his creation and of all that people have been created to create.

10. Family. My children have all grown up going to the Folk Fest. They absolutely love it – almost as much as I do. They’ve learned to appreciate good music through their exposure there and they’ve also experienced what gracious community can be like. Children are valued there. They not only have amazing children’s entertainment, but they have so much for kids to do – face painting, crafts, hoola hoops and big balls, stilts, juggling, a reading tent, etc., etc.

I could probably write a longer list, but I think that’s enough for now. (Plus I don’t want to bore you or make you insanely jealous.) Have I convinced you yet? Next year, we could plan a bloggers’ meet-up at the Folk Fest! I’ll reserve a tarp for you.

Sorry, Michele, for going on and on about something you had to miss this year. But think of it as a prelude to next year. :-)

Aaaahhhh...

We have arrived home from the Greatest Festival on Earth and all I have the energy left to say is to repeat what Maddie said in the car ride on the way home.... "Aaahhh... I'm enjoying my life."

More tomorrow. Only 361 days until the next one!

Let me leave you with this little chuckle...

Before I go, I can't resist a Maddie-story (I think we're all enjoying this time alone with her, even though her sisters are missed). While I was cleaning up the supper dishes, she was busy making up stories for me. First of all, she said that she had to go to jail. When I asked her why, she said she had killed George Bush (huh?). When I looked shocked and asked her why, she said "because he went to war with me and he was going to kill me". Hmmm... do you think perhaps she hears a little too much politics around here?

In the second story, she made up something about how she'd lost her shoes at the playground, and then she came and stood in front of me and said "can you tape these to my feet? I don't have any shoes anymore." And for this, a visual says it better than I could...

My poor shoeless jailbird!

It's time!

Every year at this time, my sister and I pack our backpacks with tarps and hats and sunscreen and tie-dyed headbands, fill coolers with snacks and cold water, grab our Mad Nomad chairs, kiss our husbands good-bye, and make our annual three day pilgrimage to the Winnipeg Folk Festival. It is one of the greatest places on earth - good music, the great outdoors, good food, interesting conversations, relaxation, sun (and sometimes rain), and lots of people-watching. It's been about 18 years now, and there are few things in life that would cause either of us to miss this weekend. My sister even planned her honeymoon around it!

If you are lucky enough to be there too, you can find us (at least in the evenings) by our new tarp-marker. (The words printed on it are the poems ccap and I had published in the FF program a few years ago.)

A glorious day

After we dropped her big sisters off at summer camp, Maddie got her parents' undivided attention for a few hours at the beach. Sun, sand, ducks, water goggles, new families to adopt on the beach, slushies in the middle of the week (she was SO thrilled we broke the "weekend only" rule), plastic shovels and pails, a waterfall - what's not to like?

He's in! He's in!

Remember our disappointment when we found out Marcel had not been accepted into the education program? Well, we got good news today. They found a spot for him!

It seems a little coaxing (I wrote a letter to the university expressing our disappointment and Marcel wrote a letter to the admissions committee asking for an opportunity to appeal the decision in person) went a long way, because a spot seems to have opened up. A little perseverance goes a long way now and then!

In September, it will be back to the books again for him. And in two years, some lucky high school students will learn history from a man who's passionate about it and who cares about their future.

(Thanks Gina for the inspiration! Your story encouraged us to persevere. :-)

Telling painful stories

(Warning: not a post for the young or faint of heart.)

Yesterday, as I drove home from getting my hair cut, I listened to an interview with three of the victims of this horrific crime. I pulled into a parking lot and sat and cried as they re-told stories that were uncomfortably close to my own story. As painful as it was, I couldn't turn it off because I knew I had to honour our shared history and their bravery to tell their stories.

Seventeen years later, and they still live with the scars - physical and emotional - of what that man did to them. One of them slept for years under her dining room table because she thought that if someone broke in again, he would look in the bed and wouldn't think to look in the kitchen. Anything to preserve her safety. I didn't sleep under a table, but I remember long nights of staring at dark windows, wondering if the shadows I saw there were human.

Two of them have come forward, releasing their names to the press, defying the public to blame the victim, standing up for women like them. Like me. In the coming forward though, they had to first tell the story to their young children, born since the crime.

I wonder, nineteen years after I faced what they faced, if the perpetrator were caught, would I come forward and let my name and my story be public? Would I face the barrage of media, wanting to know every horrid detail? I think I would, for the sake of the other women still dealing with the scars.

But my tears refused to stop as I imagined the day I have to tell my daughters. Some day, they will know that the world can be a horrible place and that people can do evil things. Some day, they will know that deviant sexual desires can cause people to do bad things to people like their mommy.

Covering all my bases

Not much of a post today - just stopping by in the middle of a busy and fun long weekend to say happy belated Canada Day (to my Canadian friends) and happy 4th of July in advance (to my American friends). I hope you're having as much fun as we're having this weekend - a picnic in the park, a visit to the Canada Day celebrations at The Forks, refreshments on our friends' deck, a stroll through Assiniboine Park topped off with an ice cream treat, a barbecue at Marcel's parents' place, a nice family bike ride to and from church, Canada Day fireworks downtown - and it's not over yet. Tomorrow, we hit the beach.
See you later, when I have more time for bloggin'. (If I have time, I'll tell you the story of when I joined the rebel bike gang, rode downtown in a protest ride, and ended up with my picture in the paper. Intrigued?)

In the meantime, I leave you with this photo I snapped from the car window on the way home from Marcel's parents' house tonight. I wish it meant we were getting rain (it's been pretty dry), but we're still waiting.