A Reason to be Thankful

So I have not gone into the witness protection program, in case you were wondering. 

It has been almost 4 months since my last blog!! I kept meaning to write but this invasive thing called life keeps taking over and I just can't find the time for witty musings. The third book in the Fifty Shades series is sadly collecting dust on my bedside table. I'm certain there is a frustrated housewife on my street waiting for me to read it and pass it along. But Anastasia will have to wait.....

School has started again. Emily is in her senior year. Rachel has started high school. And Colleen is in grade 5...and soccer...and basketball...and verging on puberty. For all of these reasons, Brad has increased the wine production in our house. Enough said.

Referring back to my previous blog, I do want to acknowledge my hopes of being bikini ready by Thanksgiving. Luckily the only breasts at the dinner table belonged to the gloriously brined turkey. I have remained - for the most part - on my eating plan. I have had success and am sporting a trimmer version of myself. Being able to pick multiple size 9s off the rack and have everything fit is a great feeling. And for once in my life, I feel as if I can stay in my happy place :)

Thanksgiving dinner remains my favorite event of the year. We had twenty people for dinner and it was a day to share laughter and tears with family. Every year brings different things to be thankful for. And this year has been no exception.

In May, my co-workers shamed me into getting a mammogram. Frankly, I was told they hurt and I was scared I might have a panic attack. But at 46, I really was overdue. So I made the appointment and was scheduled for September 7th. As the day came closer, I thought of lots of reasons not to proceed but Brad delivered me to the hospital and I did it. And guess what? It was fine. In fact, I laughed at how easy it was. I even was a little bit sarcastic about it. Women who thought this hurt must have a very low pain threshold. They obviously never delivered 8 and 1/2 pound babies naturally. I laughed it off and proclaimed I would be ready for my next one because this was easy.

So I got my wish. Two weeks later I had to report to the Dixon Centre for another mammogram. The ladies at work assured me that this was not unusual. I had never had a mammogram until now and they probably just wanted a better look. I also noticed that I was scheduled for an ultrasound that day...was this normal, too? 

Going to the Dixon Centre was emotional. The last time I was there, my Dad got his diagnosis of incurable pancreatic cancer. That was a difficult day. I remember holding his hand while reality sunk in.   It was the worst day of my life. I held my breath and went to the mammography department.

Mammogram number two was a little more detailed. They were only interested in my left breast...personally, I think both are pretty spectacular. Brad waited with me patiently while they checked the images. I was told that all was good and I didn't need to stay for the ultrasound. Woo hoo! Time for my happy dance...I must be okay.

Five days later I am at work and I get a personal call from my family doctor. (Please note that I am not very satisfied with this doctor but find it difficult to find a female doctor who is accepting new patients. She is more interested in looking at her computer than at her patients. Most visits start off with her saying, "And why are you here today"...even when she requests the appointment.) She tells me there is an area that the radiologist would like to investigate. She asks me if I have had back pain or arm pain. She says not to worry because it is probably not cancer but a core biopsy is needed to rule it out. 

The only words that registered were 'biopsy' and 'cancer'. I got up from my desk and took a little breather in the staff room. And then panic set in. All the sudden everything in my left breast started to hurt. I got home from work and checked myself in the mirror and felt every inch of my breast. Nothing. Must be a mistake. Had a glass of wine. Checked again. This is crazy and I'm not laughing anymore.

October 1st was biopsy day. Brad took the day off of work and waited with me. My radiologist's name was Dr. Slip and he looked like he was 18. I told him I felt like a cougar with him handling my breast. I told him not to 'slip up" and called him Dr. Doogie. I asked if they could pierce me while I was frozen because I wanted to be the cool mom on the street. When they said they would be leaving a tattoo for future reference, I asked if they could also tattoo a butterfly or flower on my boob. I pretty much rambled on hysterically...but I had the room laughing and I didn't have a panic attack. 

On the serious side, for those of you who have not had a core biopsy done, I can honestly say that my experience was not as bad as I imagined it would be. Dr. Slip and his assistant were excellent. I could see the lump on the mammogram. They located it quickly and took the tissue samples they needed. I got my post op instructions and headed home. And then the waiting began.

Distraction is good. I had a ladies' wine and cheese night at my home. I took Colleen to soccer and basketball four days a week. I started planning a huge Thanksgiving dinner. I volunteered to take Rachel and her friends anywhere they wanted to go. I busied myself with March Break vacation plans.

Waiting is difficult. Thanksgiving Dinner came and went. I took 10 days vacation. I shopped and indulged in retail therapy. I celebrated my 47th birthday. I went to a pumpkin patch and got lost in a corn maze. I carved some pumpkins. I searched every possible outcome on the internet and cried. And then I drank some red wine and ate a little chocolate. Okay...a lot of chocolate.

October is breast cancer awareness month. I applaud the people who spend countless hours fund raising and promoting this cause. I used to be upset that it got so much attention. My family has a history of stomach and pancreatic cancers...why don't they get the same attention? But now I am feeling grateful for every cent that has gone towards breast cancer. Early detection might save a life. It saved my friend, It saved my aunt. Who else is it going to save?

Today I got my results. I was at work when I got the call from my doctor. I am one of the lucky ones. 

I am okay. 

I am okay. 

I am okay. 

I cried. I hugged the ladies I worked with that urged me to get my first mammogram. I think I breathed for the first time in weeks. The air seemed a little bit sweeter. My kids were a little bit more precious to me. My husband relaxed a bit. The celebration dinner he prepared for us tasted a little bit better. 

I am so grateful. But life is bittersweet. Others aren't so lucky. The anxiety of waiting was exhausting. I can't imagine the pain felt by those who get the confirmation that cancer is now part of their lives. I saw it in my dad's eyes and I will never forget it. I silently pray for those who are fighting the battle.

Please get your mammogram. Don't be scared. Don't procrastinate. Every life is important...especially yours. 

 

Mission Possible

June 24th...summer is here (despite the rain and clouds) and I am not ready. Emily is done school and Rachel needs to make an appearance for her grade 9 graduation ceremony on Wednesday. Her prom is now a thing of the past and she seemed to have a great time with her giggly friends.  Soccer is in full swing for Colleen 3+ nights a week. Brad and I have this week off to make sure the girls get to all their year-end events - maybe we'll even get a chance to see a movie or have a date night...sigh*.

Summer is stresssful...it is no vacation for me. Many of my female friends can empathize with me...it is shorts and sleeveless shirt season. I dread this. And bathing suits...I can't go there. I love autumn...the season of sweaters and jeans. Covering up gives me great comfort...as do the turkey and mashed potatoes. And apple crisp and pumpkin pie with whipped cream...well, you can see how I got to where I am. So I am on my zillionth weight loss mission. If I stay on this plan, I will be ready to slip into my bathing suit by October. This should make for an interesting Thanksgiving dinner.

For as long as I can remember, I have been less than accepting of my shape. It has had its ups and downs...more ups as far as the scale goes. Everytime I think I have a handle on it, I lose sight of my accomplishments and slide on back to the nachos and potato chips. Carbohydrates are my drug of choice and I'm the willing addict. There are worse things to be addicted to, right? I don't use drugs and limit my liquor consumption to wine. (Was 3 glasses with supper too much?) I have friends who are shopping addicts...shoes and purses are their passion. But I crave the carbs...

Brad actually initiated this lifestyle change. He ran the Bluenose Half-Marathon a few weeks ago and realized how tough those extra pounds were to carry for 21 kilometers. I had a hard time just running up and down the streets of Halifax with a 20 pound backpack and Colleen in tow to cheer Emily and him onward and upward to their finish line. My calves and hamstrings were aching for 2 days...how in the hell did I get to this level of unhealthy????? I mean, I was buying large shirts at the clothing boutiques...but they make everything small these days, right? And the size 12 pants were stretching beyond their maximum capacity....but I ignored the warning signs.....

1) People no longer tell you how great you look. They carefully say things like "That's a nice color on you." or "Is that a new shirt? It fits you well." How I translate these comments - "The color matches the redness in your out of breath face." and "Wow... you got something that fits!"
2) You realize the contestants on "The Biggest Loser" already weigh less than you by the 6th week of the show....and they still have 20 weeks to go!
3) You step on the scale and you weigh the same as you did when you were 9 months pregnant. Ouch!

I could continue, but you get the idea.

This eating plan (notice I will not refer to it as a diet as this leads to a negative psychological perception that one is somehow deprived) is going well. This is partly due to the encouragement by coworkers who are also on a self improvement mission. The office manager is already down 2 dress sizes and is my inspiration. We are very similar and we often spend quality time together in her office chatting about our kids and husbands and fear of shorts. She weighs herself once a week at the office....brave lady. I told her that this is not her real weight. Everyone knows that you can subtract at least five pounds from this number. Why? My rules for weighing yourself start the night before. Here are the steps:

1) Do not eat after 6pm the day before you weigh yourself. Your body needs to have all food metabolized for at least 12 hours.
2) Have at least 3 cups of green tea the day before...this helps to detox the body of all unwanted crap. If you really want to eliminate, have dandelion root tea. It tastes disgusting but works like a charm.
3) Do at least 1 hour of cardio activity the night before. This helps burn off more calories, gets rid of water weight and keeps you busy so that you won't think about how much you want to eat the doritos in the cupboard.
4) Only step on the scale after you have gone to the washroom. If you can only do a number one, then avoid the scale at all costs. You need to do a number two...that is good for at least a pound.
5) Step on the scale naked. If you need to shave your legs, do this before you weigh yourself. And if you need a haircut, get one the day before. If you wear glasses, take them off and ask someone you trust to read the number for you.
6) Sometimes when you are nervous, you forget to breathe. You hold your breath and all that air in your lungs could increase your number on the scale. So remember to exhale....I do this in the form of a depressed sigh.
7) Weigh yourself in kilograms. This number is much smaller and makes you feel so much better.

The above steps are essential to achieve the best number on your scale. I don't weigh myself too often because it is difficult to have all these perfect conditions met. So sometimes I get crazy and step on the scale and just subtract the 5 pounds. I then convert the number into my BMI...this is the lowest number possible that charts your weight. I won't disclose my weight or how much I have lost in the last 5 weeks, but my BMI number has gone down 2.8 points.....I am only 2.9 points away from being a normal, healthy weight. This is a good thing.

So if you see me over the summer months, try not to be too stunned by my transformation...I am sure you will be amazed at my new-found-old-me. Be kind and don't offer me the cheesecake...just tell me "Wow! You look great!". ...because isn't that something we all like to hear?

Mother's Day for Dad

March Break is over. Easter has come and gone. Victoria Day weekend will be upon us before we know it. (Time to stock the beer fridge!) Looks as if time marches on whether I like it or not. 

I look forward to next weekend's pampering by my lovely daughters. Mother's Day. It is the one day of the year where I do not get out of bed to make my own cup of coffee. I try my hardest to stay under the covers while I listen to the clanging of the dishes in the kitchen. I sneak into the bathroom to powder my face in case there is a photo taken. I fluff the bedding just right and clear the side table so I have room for the orange juice and pancake syrup. Hopes are high that all will go well and nobody cuts or burns themselves in the excitement. 

Mother's Day has meant different things to me over the years.  As a child, it was the day to honor my mom. She endured soggy cereal, crisp pancakes and instant coffee every year. I labored over haiku poems and school pottery. I remember making ash trays one year! We used it as a candy dish...taking our chances on tooth decay instead of lung cancer. As I grew older, it meant a trip home from the city with some flowers or a pretty scarf. Mom always was gracious in her acceptance of our tokens of love. She still is...  

May 1995 was my first Mother's Day. Brad bought me flowers and we went to a restaurant for brunch. Emily was three months old and I remember her big dark eyes smiling at me from the comfort of her car carrier. Along came Rachel and Colleen and Mother's Day became more interesting every year. I have a box filled with cards and pictures from my girls. I have earrings and necklaces and pretty sweaters that scream mother. Every year, Brad and the girls embark on their quest to make me happy for one full day. Sometimes they succeed and then there are the times things don't quite work. But, I choose to focus on the successes. Strangely enough, the Mother's Day I will remember most focused more on my dad.

May 10, 2009 was Mother's Day. My mom, my sisters and their husbands, my brother and his wife and Brad and I all made our way to Dad's bedside in the hospital to celebrate Mother's Day. We brought Mom gifts and read our cards so Dad could hear. We looked at the trees and flowers budding outside Dad's window. We held his hand and shared childhood stories. I asked Dad which farm our dog went to live on when we were young...Dad did not answer but I think he chuckled. Dad's voice was barely a whisper on this day. But his eyes and his smile could still speak volumes to me.  There was a lot of love in that room. I hope Dad felt it.

Dad passed away the next day. 

In my head, I can hear Dad singing a gospel song. I see him sneaking a hug and kiss from Mom when he was in a particularly good mood. I hear him joking every Mother's Day when I asked him what he got for Mom, "She's not my mother!". When Mom visited me in Ottawa shortly after Emily was born, I remember the tears in Dad's eyes when he saw her again after a whole week without her. I remember Dad getting us out of bed by 9am Saturday mornings to do chores so Mom could sleep in. I remember him slipping me twenty dollars at Christmas time to buy stocking stuffers for Mom. I remember his arm wrapped around Mom's shoulder while Emily played "Let Me Call You Sweetheart' on her violin. These happy moments continue to play on repeat in my mind.

So as all you mothers enjoy your day of indulgence next Sunday, I will be holding a place in my heart for my Dad. Together, he and Mom made a wonderful team. Happy Mother's Day!

Great Expectations

March Break

Monday. So begins another week of routine as the kids return to school after March Break. It didn't go too badly this morning...everyone was in the car by 8:14 am. That's only 9 minutes later than I ask of them and only 4 minutes later than I actually expect of them. I consider this to be a good start to the week.

March Break seems to be the perfect time for our children to let us know we suck at being cool. All their friends were going away...so they said. They found it hard to believe that Brad and I actually worked during their break. It was just another week to us of getting up early, packing lunches and trudging to our offices. We actually expected them to do their chores and to make their own fun for the week. I even made them go to the dentist. I know....insanity.

Truth is, they can't help having these irrational wants. It seems as if everyone takes a family vacation in March except for us. I actually feel guilty that we don't take them to Florida or California. Or on a cruise. Or New York City for shopping and a Broadway show. Or even skiing...which I would not enjoy but would gladly sit in the chalet drinking a special coffee. We just can't seem to save the money to afford a vacation for a family of five. We would have been much further ahead having two kids...that third one costs us a bundle. But we're too fond of all three to dump one now.

I remember March Break as being pretty low key when I was in school. Is it just me or did March seemed colder and snowier than it is now? We went tobogganing down the neighbor's hill or skating on the bog. If we were lucky, we might go visit our Gumpy and Nanny in Mahone Bay. Gumpy would buy us a treat and Nanny would dig out a treasure for us. (That was always a source of entertainment...once I got a pair of used slippers. They were a ladies 10 and I was about 9 years old. She said I would grow in to them.) And if we were really well behaved, we might go to Bridgewater on Friday night and hang out at the mall. Good times...

If we did go on a family vacation, it was done on a budget and only happened in the summer. We would take road trips to New Brunswick or Prince Edward Island. Mom packed a cooler full of sandwiches and drinks. We stopped at picnic rest stops to stretch our legs. Dad would start looking for a Motor Inn around 5pm and by 9pm he was usually successful. The motel needed to meet basic requirements - clean bedding and a decent bathtub in case Mom wanted to have a bath. I guess this was Dad's way of saying he loved her and wanted her to have a bubble bath after spending 10 hours in the car with four whiny kids.

Needless to say, we never went to Disney World when we were kids. I went to Orlando for the first time in 1990. I was twenty four and had won the trip. I was there for 5 days in the midst of late April humidity and broke out in a heat rash. I waited in very long lineups to go on 2 minute rides. I was underwhelmed with Sleeping Beauty's castle and was creeped out eating seafood in the restaurant while sea creatures swam around us. There were a few memorable moments. The Polynesian Resort show was amazing and I loved the Indiana Jones spectacular. Space Mountain was thrilling but, overall, I was glad the trip was free.

So despite not going away during March Break, I tried my best to give the kids the things they wanted. I gave Rachel her privacy. She slept in really late (her favorite thing) and I took her and her friends shopping to places they wanted to go. I gave Colleen my undivided attention. I took her shopping and we saw "The Lorax" in 3D...even though my bifocals were not very agreeable. She ate unlimited amounts of junk food and felt sick for much of the week. I gave Emily her freedom. She spent most of her time with the few friends who didn't go away and she picked up extra work hours.

So even though we aren't cool parents who take their kids on expensive vacations, I hope our girls realize that sometimes it's nice to just relax. We didn't have to worry about luggage or passports or sunscreen. We didn't need to wait for an airplane or wonder about the quality of the food or water that was in front of us. We ordered from restaurants we knew and slept in our own comfy beds. Hopefully, they will lower their expectations and enjoy what they have. But it is more likely they will say the same thing next March - "You never take us anywhere!!"
.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

I am coming to the end of a chaotic week. When you have children, you need to sacrifice your free time. The laundry is piling up around me and the soap scum in the shower is looming. Meals have been ordered or picked up at Sobeys all week. I don't know who took the dog out last. But to hell with it all. I have birthday parties to plan, science fair supplies to buy and basketball tournaments to deal with.

My youngest, Colleen, turned 10 years old this week. She has moved into the 'tween' years. Two weeks ago, I booked a dance studio for her party and designed invitations for her to distribute. She labored over whom she should invite but finally made her choices. Unfortunately, I forgot about the over-booked schedules of her classmates. When you are dealing with cheerleaders, basketball players, soccer stars and dancers, you need to consult with their team websites to check out what possible competitions might be getting in the way of having a birthday party. Times sure have changed! Yup, when I was a kid, nothing would get in the way of free cake and treat bags! I didn't even care if I knew the birthday girl or boy...I would never say no to a party!  

But the kids today are different. Life is competitive and they don't want to miss an opportunity to shine even if it means missing free food and gifts. On Thursday, we decided to postpone the party. I negotiated with the dance studio and stayed up until eleven-thirty that night to make new invitations for Colleen to give to her friends the next day. So of course she forgot to hand then out. I then spent a lot of time figuring out how to get in touch with the parents of kids I don't know. This was not an easy task but no one showed up on the wrong day so I am relieved. Now, let's hope that parents are kind enough to honor the RSVP on the new invitations...if Colleen remembers to hand them out.

To be honest, postponing the event was a relief. Colleen also had a four day basketball tournament that we were trying to work around. This was a big deal for her. She joined basketball late in the year. As Colleen would tell you, I was forcing her to take martial arts and it caused a conflict with the basketball schedule. After much lamenting about how "lame" and "boring" tae kwan do was, I caved and let her start basketball in November. The only problem was that the club rules prevented her from playing in regular season games. But her friend Amie was keen on having her join so she practiced three hours a week with the team and made some new friends. This made me proud because most kids would say 'no thanks' to practicing hard and not having the glory of competing.

The regular season ended three weeks ago so this week marked her debut in a real game and my first look at league basketball. The girls in her division were all between eight and ten years old. They came in many shapes and sizes and well equipped with many family members. I had the opportunity to see these lovely girls when they weren't on the court. They were silly and sweet. They liked glitter makeup and hairbands. They wore crazy socks and carried cute stuffed animals. They were typical girls...until game time.

Suddenly, they were in it to win it. They were grabbing arms and legs and rolling around on the floor more than the dust bunnies in my closet. There were whistles blowing and hands flailing for a very, very long time. I was quite taken aback at the aggressive behavior I was witnessing. I admit that I was never good at team sports. I always lacked the coordination needed and quite frankly, wasn't keen on sweating and dressing in unflattering uniforms. But I do remember a few things about basketball and this seemed more like indoor rugby. These girls were willing to do anything they could to steal the ball. They drew fouls and some came close to being put out of the game.

It was evident that Colleen was still learning the game. She looked a bit lost at times. It took the coach a few times screaming ”Stay out of the key!!!!" before she realized that Colleen had no idea what that was. But my girl didn't give up. She played as hard as she could. She stole the ball and even scored a few baskets. She posted the first three points of their fourth game and even earned a player of the game award. She had a few breakaways but missed her lay ups. She sunk four foul shots and managed to only have two fouls against her in five games. The effort her team put forth took them to the championship game!

This morning she woke up sick. With a 100.8 degree fever and sore throat she lamented to me  "I need to play for the championship, Mom". So pumped up on Tylenol, protein shakes, oranges and water, she played. She may not have had her best game, but she wasn't going to let her team down. It looked as if their opponents were going to run away with the win but our little Celtics fought back and came within two points! In those last thirty seconds, there were a lot of crazy parents in the elementary school gym screaming "Shoot the ball!".... and there may be a strong argument that I made the top ten list of crazy. 

But it was not to be. The game ended and they got their silver medals and they congratulated the other team. They took team pictures and they may have cried a tear or two. But then they hugged each other and picked up their stuffed toys and dolls and were little girls again. Colleen snuggled up in the back seat on the way home and critiqued her performance. Maybe next year.....

We got home at 3:30 and she has been in bed ever since. Her job is done and now she has allowed herself to give in to the nasty virus. She is cuddled up with her unicorn pillow pal (a birthday gift from Daddy) and her magic bag. She is ready to be my baby again, letting me hug her and bring her chicken soup and crackers and juice and Tylenol. She is sugar and spice and everything nice...with  her basketball under her covers.

Seventeen

This week marked the seventeenth birthday of our beautiful daughter Emily. I could swear that she just took her first steps a week ago yesterday...but I guess I'd be wrong. I try to put a humorous touch on all that I blog but today I am feeling very emotional.

Children are truly a blessing. Sadly, the stresses of everyday life sometime overshadow the truly important moments. I love my three girls...and on Emily's seventeenth birthday, I think it is a good time to offer a few apologies.

Dear Emily,
When you were just a baby, I was very upset that I never got more than four hours of sleep at a time. I should have been grateful that you had a healthy appetite and healthy lungs...too many parents wait for the day that an unhealthy baby can be taken home to eat on its own...and they long to hear a cry that says "I'm hungry"...instead of a whimper that says "I'm sick".

When you were a toddler, I yelled at you for writing over yourself with permanent marker. I should have been watching you with great care instead of doing housework. I should have taken the time to colour with you and forget about the chores of the day. I should have been squishing playdoh through my fingers and making macaroni picture frames instead of macaroni casserole.

From the age of four to twelve, I am sorry I didn't pay attention to you more. Being so busy with Rachel and then Colleen, the years slipped by. I know you played soccer, took swimming lessons, ran cross-country, took dance classes, tried gymnastics, had numerous sleepovers and got straight A's in school. All the sudden you were at your grade six graduation ceremony and I realized you were growing up.

When you were twelve, we moved you away from all your friends and you had to start junior high school without knowing a single person. I cried when I watched you stand by yourself in a crowd of kids already huddled together in little groups. If I haven't told you before, you amazed me with your confidence. I may have been critical of your choice in friends, but I should have been happy that you weren't sitting alone in your room without anyone to share your secrets with.

When you were fourteen, I am sorry I wasn't more available to you. Your Grampy was sick and I forgot about your needs. The things you did were cries for attention. I should have hugged you more and punished you less. Losing someone you love is difficult. I am lucky I didn't lose you.

When you were sixteen, I wish I had lent you my ear more. Your heart was breaking over a boy. I should have hated him, too. I hate him now, if that helps. And I love you more.

Now you are seventeen. The last few weeks have had lots of ups and downs. I have not handled my emotions very well. So this is my apology. You are important. You make me proud in so many ways. I believe in you and know you will make a difference in this world. You are a loving sister and a trusted friend to so many.

Think of the one thing you love the most and then multiply it by a million. That is almost half as much as I love you and your sisters. I hope you will know that kind of love in your future.

Be happy. Be yourself. Be patient. Be kind. Be willing to take chances. And always know you are loved.

Happy birthday, Emily.

The Value of Family Dinner

I think that every parent hopes that they can do a better job bringing up their children than the misguided fools that preceded them. I was quite certain that my parenting skills would be admirable. I read the books. I studied Sociology in high school. I watched Oprah AND Dr. Phil. There was nothing that I was not prepared to deal with. Then we actually had kids. And it really opened my eyes. The problem with kids is that they are people, too. Sure, they are smaller than us (for the first 14 years or so) but they actually have brains and opinions and feelings. Our goal is to turn the little darlings into valued members of society...and that can be a challenge.

In our home, we believe there is value in having dinner together. This provides a wonderful forum where five different people can share the details of the day in twenty minutes or less. We try to encourage conversation. Brad and I ask lots of questions and hope the girls will participate. Unfortunately this is not the way dinner goes down on Lindenwood Terrace.

Colleen is always willing to talk although she really doesn't have a lot of life-changing information to contribute. She is unable to sit still. She has fallen out of her chair on occasion. She spills a lot of food. She is nine...I don't really expect more than this. But I do hope she will learn the value of good manners some day. Right now, she still interrupts most of our conversations. However, being the youngest,  I know she is trying her best to be heard. I have been told by her friends' parents that she is a doll when she visits. She says 'Please' and 'Thank-you' and cleans up after herself.  I am a little upset that I get Pigpen and they get mini Miss Manners ... but at least I know she is learning there is value in politeness.

Rachel does not talk during dinner. She eats quietly and avoids eye contact. She restrains herself from kicking Colleen which I appreciate. She is vegetarian. This makes my life a little more stressful. Every meal that I cook needs to be accommodating to her nutritional needs. I don't mind. I just wish I knew why she has altered her eating habits. Her friends are not vegetarian and she is not an animal rights activist. It is a mystery to me. But Rachel is a bit mysterious and I like that. She never complains about the food that is put in front of her. Although she may not say anything, I always feel Rachel knows the value in gratitude. She rarely looses anything and takes great care with all that we give her. Gratitude is important in an over-indulged world.

Emily is the child who contributes the most to dinner conversation. She is almost an adult.  She talks about school, work, friends, and running. She shares the ins and outs of the day with us...although I think she edits most everything to convince us she's the perfect angel that was sent from heaven to us on a cloud. And she can convince us to believe a lot of crazy things...some of the time. But we aren't easily fooled. We were sixteen not that long ago. I have often caught Emily in a lie. She puts up a good front...but eventually the truth will come out. Honesty is a value that I hope will prevail someday. I will keep my fingers crossed.

As parents, the family meal is a lesson in patience. We patiently wait for children to smile at us and respect each others feelings. We try to get through the meal without telling Colleen to be quiet. We listen to Emily say the word 'like' too many times. ("And then we like went to the mall and like we saw this guy who like totally followed us around and like....") We wait for Rachel to look up ... and not give Colleen a look of disdain. We try our best to make it work. Sometimes it takes two beer for Brad and a glass and a half of wine for me, but we get through the meal.

Politeness. Gratitude. Honesty. Patience. Four little words that mean a lot.

The Price of Beauty

I am not crazy about getting my hair done. This may sound strange to other women...but it causes me a lot of anxiety. I always wonder if the bangs will be too short or the layers too shaggy. And coloring is worrisome, too. I had a bad experience in 2005....the year I turned 40. I won't go into detail, but an allergic reaction caused my forehead and eyes to swell to elephant-man proportions. I scared the children in the neighborhood for a good week...but my hair looked spectacular. That was the last time I dyed my hair.

Hair color is important to my daughters. My girls love their hair and are quite obsessed with achieving the right look. My 14 year old daughter (Rachel) prefers the punk look and has opted for jet black hair with purple highlights. She gave me the heads up last night at suppertime that she wants to dye it red...not Julianne Moore red...more of the Raggedy-Ann variety. Her current look has already set me back $300 since September. That has made a big dent in my wine and chocolate budget.

Emily is a bit more conservative. She had her first set of highlights when she was 14...just a few blonde strands to lighten it for the summer. Next, she had reddish-plum highlights and then...after excessive flat-ironing and blow-drying..she was told (at the ripe age of 15) to stop hurting her hair. It wasn't growing. I have always had thick hair so this was shocking to me. She dyed it back to her natural color and waited.

This year she started Grade 11. She wanted to experience life as a blonde...so she had a million highlights put in to give her a subtle, overall effect. I picked her up after the 3.5 hour appointment and was shocked...because she looked pretty much the same. That cost me $150...and another $50 in products because her hair was pretty damaged.

As mentioned in my previous blog, Emily has spunk. She told the hair dresser that she was not happy...the girl said it was a miscommunication.  She would redo it if we came back next week. We did. I dropped Emily off and returned 3 hours later. This time she was sporting a blond-red shade...and it was awful. It resembled the shade of a golden retriever...but not that nice. Apparently the hair-dresser ran out of time that evening so we would have to come back to tone it a bit. Was she kidding me? I am not a personal taxi service to the salon for my teenage daughters. There are other things I could be doing with my time...like popping open a bottle of red and unwrapping a Hershey.

Emily cried for the next few days... I cried on the inside. We spoke with the manager and they agreed to have another hairdresser fix the mistakes at no cost. The new hairdresser was a gem. She listened to what Emily was saying and I felt like I was leaving her in capable hands for the next two hours.

Upon my return, Emily was waiting anxiously at the front for me...she was grinning ear to ear. She had even used her own money to buy some special Argon Oil to make her hair feel silky. Should I mention how she looked? Her hair was brown again. Yup. Three weeks, $230, and many tears later, she was back to her natural shade. And she loved it. But all is not lost..other than my money, that is. Since this experience, she has learned to be more precise about what she wants. She is currently a dark red-brown and I love it...and so does she.

So it's probably good that I don't like getting my hair done. I've probably spent $125 on my own hair in the last year. And I think I look presentable. I use dollar store shampoos....sometimes I splurge on the ones at the drugstore...if they have a good sale on. But life is a balancing act...I budget what I spend on myself so the kids can have the little luxuries in life.  When they smile, I smile.

There are a lot of blogs out there in cyberspace. Frankly, I never really understood people's need to share their vast knowledge about things....wine, food, sex, money. (I don't know why those things popped into my head first.) For instance, google "wine blogs" and you will find 24,700,000 in .14 seconds! That many blogs about wine? Really????? Safe to say that I probably have nothing else to enlighten you with respect to wine. And don't get me started on food, sex, and money...

I am not a writer so why try my hand at blogging? Well...why not? Bloggers are cool...I think. I mean, who writes on paper anymore? Why try to get a magazine interested in your musings about everyday life when you can have instant fame through the power of the internet? That would require way too much work...and we live in the age of instant gratification. Think...write....post!

So now I must write about what I know. That poses many limitations on this blogging adventure. I will have to make the mundane seem interesting enough to make you want to return. Who would want to read about a forty-something's account of her everday life with her family? I know...this could be boring.

Well, let's start with my job. Four days a week, I am a dental receptionist. It's a pretty good gig....I like my co-workers. Most of the women I work with are moms. They understand me...and I think every mom who has had their teenager (and tween) roll their eyes at them appreciates having some allies. For 36 hours a week, I pretend that I am a competent dental professional. I dress in nice clothes and drink coffee and eat salads with other grownups. We talk about healthy meals, spa treatments, shoes, exercise (or lack thereof), and great movies. Sometimes, we even talk about current events...until someone brings up shopping. It's my happy place...the land of adult conversation.

At my desk, I deal with insurance companies so patients don't have to. I try my best to make the dental experience a pleasant one. Everyone hates coming to the dentist...they all have a story about a childhood experience from the pages of "Dentists from Hell" (not a real book). I know this because patients are always willing to share this piece of information with our staff. They tell me when I answer the phone, when they check in for their appointment, when they sit in the chair and when they pay the bill. (And just so you know, I've heard this one too many times ---"Now for the painful part...." when they reach for their wallet.) But I listen to them all...I don't mind. The dentist has the tough job. I mean, who would want to be the dentist? It takes a brave person to put their hands in the mouth that might bite back. Luckily, I work for a guy with a sense of humour. He keeps them laughing without the gas...

I am also a wife and mother...which really are tied for role #1 if we are categorizing by level of importance. My husband (Brad) and I have been married 21+ years. I am still not completely sure what his job is...but it has something to do with computers. He is extremely good at what he does...I know this because we live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood where people can afford more than the 1.4 children that Canada census says is the average. Brad is the voice of reason in this relationship. I am the emotional one. Together, we are indestructible when it comes to parenting. We are the proud parents of three girls...Emily (17), Rachel (14) and Colleen (9). We always knew that we wanted kids...I'm just not convinced that we got the right ones. (Ba-
dum-dum.) It is not an easy job...they are a challenge. But we are stronger than they are...as long as we stick together. If one of us bails, the kids will win. And we are both too stubborn to allow that to happen.

I can't give too much away about the kids just yet. Their everday antics will be the main source of my musings and hopefully your entertainment. And I can't forget the dog. She definitely will contribute to the blogging experience. Her name is Maggie and she is motivated by food and belly rubs. (You could say the same about a lot of people.)

Well...maybe one story.

Today was another typical day in my life. Our oldest daughter is in Grade 11 and today was day 2 of second semester. Yesterday, she was not happy about her C block options. She started out in "Film and Editing". She stayed in class for 10 minutes and decided in was full of 'pot-heads". She went to her guidance counselor and was sent to "Intro Spanish". She doesn't plan to travel to Spain so she went to another counselor and was given the option to take "Phys. Ed. Leadership" (is that a course?). She's an active kid...runs half-marathons...so she was okay with this and came home happy.

She returned to school today and was told she could not take "Phys. Ed. Leadership" because she was not in Grade 12. The only option left was "Food Sciences" - aka -cooking. (To appreciate how funny this is, you should know that when Emily wanted a fresh baked cookie in a hurry, she took Pillsbury cookie dough and put it in the microwave for 2 minutes. DON'T try this.) Dissatisfied with this course, she went to the principal. I have to admire her...at 5'2", that kid has moxie...she goes straight to the top.

Late this afternoon, I got a phone call from the principal. She admires the kid's spunk, too. She wants to let me know Emily will be taking Grade 12 Academic Math during C-block. Great! Why was this course not an option from the beginning??? I mean, my kid's smart...she wants to go to one of the most expensive universities in Canada. She has big plans to make a name for herself in forensic sciences...she's the next "Dexter" - minus the serial killer part.

So what's the catch? The principal was impressed with her ambition (or worn down by her persistence) so she decided to allow Emily to teach herself Grade 12 Academic Math. Huh? That's an option? She can do that? I am not crazy about this. The principal assures me that other students have done this to get the credits they want. And if she needs help, we can hire a tutor because the math teachers will only provide help to the students that were lucky enough to get a spot in an actual classroom. WHAT????? I thought education was free around here until they left high school. My tax dollars don't ensure my daughter gets a spot in Math? I am not happy. Her dad is not happy.

But Emily is happy. And in the end, if my kids are happy, so am I.