Good for me…

I don’t necessarily think this is a sign of aging, but maybe just a sign of good sense. And you always hear “young and dumb” so perhaps there is more truth to this than I initially thought. Either way, this shit is legit!

At some point in your life, you have to really take stock of what you have and who’s around you, and decide if it’s right for you and your soul. And if they are not, it is time to let them the fuck go.

Hanging on to someone who makes you sad, hurts your feelings, makes you feel hard to love, and is totally fair-weather, and generally brings nothing good to the table is incredibly stupid… so why? I can’t tell you how many times, just in the last few months, where I have felt like someones fair-weather friend. Not in the sense that I am fair-weather, but that is who I am to them. I even texted my husband the other day and said “I don’t feel like I am good enough [for blank] anymore” and let me tell you, as a grown ass adult, this shit is still super real, and still super shitty. It is not to say I am not good enough, but it is a bit sad when that kind of realization and feeling hits you.

I know that friends come and go, I know that you grow and get busy, I understand all of that. But when people don’t make time for you anymore, it is no longer a matter of being busy, at that point, it is making a choice to no longer make time. People get busy, people have lives, bla bla bla. But when the months tick by, and the time between texts, calls, visits begins to extend to greater and greater spans of time, that is drifting my friends, that is not busy. And it is devastating when that shit happens.

And this all made me sad. Made me feel like I had a rock on my chest. I don’t like feeling like I am not good enough. It is no longer making me happy to keep this person around, it is no longer making me smile or feel loved and wanted… and truth be told, I am kind of over it. I am over feeling like I am not good enough, that I don’t look good enough, that I don’t make enough money, that I don’t have a nice enough house, that my sons sickness is annoying to hear about, that my sickness is annoying to hear about, that I no longer fit in this persons life or future. I am just over it. It doesn’t make me happy, and it hurts my soul.

I just want good people in my corner. My life is finally mellowing out and going in a good direction. I am happy. I am going somewhere with my life that I am happy about. I am no longer a swirling hurricane of shit and disaster. And I want good people behind me, and beside me. I want someone who asks me how I am. I want someone who talks to me about my plans, and how things are going. I want someone to tell me they are proud of me. I want someone who loves my kids and is excited to watch them grow up. I just want someone who wants me to be in their circle and who is happy I am there. I just want….. someone.

Guess I am just getting to the point in my life where I expect the people in my life to be good for me, good to me, and good for my soul. That isn’t too fucking much to ask, is it?

 

 

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The lasts of the firsts..

Tonight is just the same as any other night. It is Sunday in November. But while today is just like any other day, it is completely different – we are about to experience yet another last of the firsts.

My youngest turns 5 tomorrow. Five. I can barely wrap my head around this. And while he has already started school (another last of the firsts, as it was the last time we had a first day of school) this birthday is hitting me harder than most have in the past. Five feels big. It feels like he is no longer my baby, but this little tiny human who has this whole life that I am no longer a part of.

He is my last baby. I am not having any more. He completed our family. He was the last time I would be on the maternity floor at a hospital. He was the last bottle made for a 2am feeding. He was the last first time rolling over. He was the last time learning to crawl. He was the last first steps. He was the last first tooth. He was the last first giggle. He was the last first night in a big bed. He was the last first time riding a bike. He was the last first lost tooth. He was the last first day of school.

He is the last of the firsts.

And I know we have a lot of firsts to go through; not only with him, but with our other 2 boys (and there are firsts coming with them, as they are 11 and 13!! those are new firsts that I am not quite prepared for!!!) it is really sad to be closing the chapter on the first firsts. The baby firsts. The tiny heads and sweet noises, and the immense pride that you can only feel when you watch your tiny human do something for the first time; something you take for granted, like smiling, laughing, talking, walking, not shitting your pants…

He is turning 5. I remember where I was at this time 5 years ago. I had just dropped my older two off for the week, as I knew I was having a C-section on Tuesday morning. My husband (then boyfriend, because we like to do things out of order, and don’t conform to what society says is right and proper, and also because I swore I would never get married again..) and I had our entire day planned, for our last day without our baby. He came home from work, we watched SportsCenter (as we always did in the mornings), I went downstairs to get some cereal and wanted sugar, but the only sugar we had was that stupid paper bag of Rogers sugar, and it was on the top shelf of the pantry. I grabbed it and it fell on me, and exploded all over the kitchen. I remember laughing hysterically as I called Trevor to come rescue me from my current sticky predicament. We laughed, I ate, and then showered. And while he was getting out of the shower, he smashed his baby toe on the edge of the tub, and busted it wide open. This maybe isn’t something normal to remember, but it comes out again in the story. Then his mother showed up, as she was planning on coming to the hospital the next day, as she had never been in the room for a grandchild being born (she wouldn’t again, as I was being cut open in surgery, but she would see him when he was only hours old, which was a first for her) and I had a sip of hot chocolate, but it didn’t taste right, so I dumped the rest out. We then piled into her car to go do my pre-reg at the hospital, as I would be there too early the next day to register. They hooked me up to the little baby heartrate ticker thing (three kids, no idea what it is actually called) and the nurse looked at me and  said “wow. you’re having quite a few contractions!” and I just laughed and told her they had been happening all weekend, but I had been getting them since August. She then told me that she wanted to do an internal to see if I was actually in labor. Trevor and his mom stepped out, only to be called back in by my shouting “as if!” as the nurse told me I was more than 4cm dilated, and would be having my son that day. This came as a shock to us all, as we didn’t have a bag packed, didn’t have anything ready, didn’t even have our truck!! We had planned on going to see Harold and Kumar, and for dinner, then planned on packing our bag that night. Beauty of having a planned C-section; there really is very little guess work. Or so we thought.

Trevor left in a mad rush, as I was taken upstairs and prepped for surgery. I stood in the hallway, pacing while waiting for my nurse, and made a bunch of phonecalls to tell my family and closest friends that our son was coming a day early. It ended up being kind of awesome, though, as my older 2 were both born on the 7th, and now, so would my third. We lived 20 minutes away from the hospital, and he had to pack all of our stuff, and rush back. He got there just as I was being wheeled out of the room ( he would have been there sooner, to you know, support and calm me down, but he stopped for pepsi… ahem) and within a half an hour, our baby was there, in our arms, and smack dab in the middle of our hearts. The 3 days we spent in the hospital was filled with its own drama and bs, none of which needs to be recalled or revisited.. except Trevor’s aforementioned toe, which reaked havoc the whole time we were there, as the nurses weren’t able to give him a bandaid, because HE wasn’t a patient. His toe bled for the whole week. Note to self: beware toe damage – that shit bleeds forever!

And now, here I sit, remembering his tiny perfect head, his beautiful little baby lips, his tiny little noises, and how much my heart exploded when I got to hold him the first time.

The last time I held my baby for the first time. The last time I brought a new baby home from the hospital. The last time I spent hours trying to figure out how to make his formula, work the bottle warmer and the bottle sterilizer (so much was supposed to be done that last night! haha) The last time we would have a brand new baby at home for the first time. The last time we got to show off our new baby.

The last of the firsts. I know there are lots of other firsts, but this chapter is officially closed. He is going to be 5. To some, that may not seem like a big deal, but to me, it is.

My last baby.

 

Manolo vs Nike…..

I have been on quite the Sex and the City binge the last few weeks. I will admit, it is a guilty indulgence of mine. There are a couple series that I will watch – start to finish – SATC and Friends top the list. And in a way, both of these shows apply to this post. And, ironically, both take place in New York, which is a place I have always always wanted to visit. But that little tidbit has nothing to do with anything but a snipit of me. I digress… and here we go…

Both tv shows are filled with beautiful people experiencing normal everyday situations (if normal everyday situations include insane apartments, overpriced shoes and more sex than most people have in their entire life).

They’re filled with Manolo Blahnik, Ralph Lauren, Gucci and Prada. Sex in public bathrooms, blow jobs in taxis, everyone is beautiful and no one seems to ever work. A wonderful life that would be, if it were true for everyone!

The women in SATC have amazing clothes, amazing jobs, amazing apartments, and their shoes… OMG! I will be the first to admit, I am not big on shoes. I own 1 pair of sneakers, 1 pair of runners and 3 pairs of flip flops. PERIOD. That is honestly it. The most expensive shoes I own are my Nikes – and while I do not have a problem with that, sometimes I wish that I were a little different. I would love to have a little stash of great clothes, amazing shoes, expensive lingerie.. But that just isn’t me. If I don’t have on a hoodie and jeans, I feel like an impostor in my own life! I have had the same sort of wardrobe for years and years.. It is who I am. I am a jeans and hoodie kind of girl. Whether I am wearing flip flops or sneakers is all dependent on the weather.

I enjoy my jeans and my hoodies, but I have started propping my closet up with some sweaters… trying to fancy it up. Seriously. Sweaters are fancy. Oh jennie… that is lame. So I suppose for the time being, I will just watch these shows and lust after the amazing stuff they wear on their bodies and their feet.. cuz let’s be serious, if I wore that shit, my ankles would shatter.

And I don’t care who you are, shattered ankles fit into Nikes better than Manolo’s. Just saying….

 

What do you want to be when you grow up?

It is an age-old question, that is mostly only ever presented to kids, or teenagers. It is something that you are expected to just know. When I grow up, I want to be…  bla bla. It is something that is asked of us before most of us even know who we are.

And it got me thinking of all of the answers I have ever given.. Ophthalmologist was the first one I ever remember.. I even did a report about it. The two that stuck with me the longest are plastic surgeon and lawyer. I thought it would be fun to suck fat out of people.. there may be something wrong with me. And lawyer… that is the one I have wanted more than anything else. I have a knack for arguing, making people see things my way, and I have an impeccable memory. I would do it still, if I could. But that is a lot of schooling for someone who is as old as I am… I am not sure I have the drive in me, anymore. (I mean, of course, there is writer. I have wanted to be a writer as long as I can remember. Nothing would make me happier than writing for a living.. but it never seemed realistic. So it was never really considered a career option for me.. so I has always just remained a hobby and dream)

But, how can people know what they want to do with their entire lives, before they have even got a chance to live? It seems like an absurd thing to put on someone who still has a curfew. And yet, we do! And it is perfectly normal and acceptable.

Here, in Canada, things work a bit different than in the states (or anywhere else, but my knowledge of schooling in Canada and the US is a bit more inclusive, so that is where I’m sticking) In the US, they take SAT tests to determine what kind of post secondary education they are entitled to. Seriously. I don’t know about you, but I consider myself to be quite smart… and I know for a fact, that I probably would have sucked ass at that test and ended up in some fourth rate community college. Why? Because I second-guess everything when test scores are on the line! In Canada, we just have diploma exams.. and you apply where you want, and hope your high school transcript isn’t total shit.

Then you go, you learn, and you (hopefully) walk away with some form of diploma, and the absurd notion that this is going to be the beginning of the rest of your life.

Now let me ask you this… how many people actually do what their diploma grants them access to? How many people have bullshit degrees that don’t land them with anything but a mountain of student debt? How many people take schooling for something because they thought that is what their parents wanted? Or a boy they liked was going to be an engineer, so maybe I can be too, and we can get married and have kids and be all engineery together? How many people actually think about their life and what they want out of it?

I have two college diplomas. I use neither. One was a pressure-apply, and the other was because I thought it would be a good job to do while I was at home with my kids. Neither of them was my passion. Neither of them made me feel alive inside. And now here I sit, with my laptop warming my lap (see how that works?), and I have no idea what I want to do with the rest of my life!

Sure. I could go back to travel, and come home every night angry. Or I could push for a job in transcription, and sit alone in an office with headphones on for 8 hours a day.. no music, no talking, no outside interaction.. But I don’t want to do either of them. Nor do I want to cut hair (gross). Nor do I want to do nails. Nothing against any of these professions, but it is not what I want do to for me.

I have a few ideas rolling around in my head, and thanks to a new friend, I may have come up with the best option for me. But now it is going back to college! It is being a 35 year old and starting new. Do I have the drive and desire to do that? I am not sure yet. All I know is I have to do something. Not for money. Not for approval (anyone who talks shit about me can suck my ass). Not to feel important. Not to feel equal to my husband. But for me. I want to do something that makes me happy. That makes me feel fulfilled. That makes me feel good about myself. That is what I want…

My life is crazy… any parent of a diabetic can attest to how insane things can get in the blink of an eye. I also have a teenaged son (good times) and a little monkey that is starting kindergarten in the fall. So I feel like this might be my time. The diabetes is under control (well, as under control as that bastard disease can actually be), the teenager isn’t a douchebag who’s getting into all sorts of trouble (he is very trustworthy, thank god!) and my little guy is starting school.. seems like the perfect time for me to go do . Be. Do.

But what?

What do you want to be when YOU grow up?

“baby” always applies…

I read this article the other night, and before I knew it, tears were involuntarily pouring and running down my cheeks. This lady was talking about her boys, and how they are no longer chubby cheeked toddlers, but these little mini-men who were pulling away into lives of their own, and my heart shattered.

I have three boys, spanning in age from 13-4. There is a big gap in there because the youngest is a product of my second marriage, and what I fondly call my “second chance at a happy ending”. My husband swooped in and saved me from myself, showed me that love is real, how it feels, and how swollen a heart can get when it is literally overflowing with love. I have ALWAYS adored my boys; for the longest time, they were the only source of my heart swelling feelings. Then I had a third little boy and got remarried, and now my heart is so full, it feels like it couldn’t possibly fill any more. But then I think about everything these boys are going to do and become, and I’m reminded of just how much more love I am going to encounter in my life.

My oldest is about to turn 13. A teenager. Really? How did that happen? I realize time has passed, I’m not that daft. But it feels like just a few months ago I was bringing this tiny little thing with a white-blonde mohawk home from the hospital. My first kid, at the absurdly young age of just 22. And there we were, learning it all together. He was a lot of firsts for me, the biggest being the first time I felt true, deep and real love. Until I held him in my arms, I just had no idea how real love felt. 

Then came my second bouncing baby, a mere 2 years and 3 months later. This one was a bit more of a struggle to get into the world. He’s been a stubborn little shit from the get-go. But again, I held him in my arms, and my heart pounded in a different way than it had even earlier that day. Having kids changes you. You don’t make room in your heart for them, your heart grows to accommodate all of the new love for these tiny little pieces of you. 

It was many years before my uterus housed another rib-cage orangutan. My oldest was 8 and middle was 6 when the final addition to our family came into the world. After my first two boys, and my husband and love of my life, I didn’t think my heart could grow bigger or pound harder than they made it, but I was wrong. My littlest guy was the final piece of our puzzle, and my heart finally felt complete. 

These little humans, these little pieces of me, they will always be my baby’s. From the moment they were a thought, until this very second, I have been around for every single moment of their lives. I know their looks, their tones, their noises, their laughs, their snores, their souls.. They are the best pieces of me and the biggest part of my heart.

Every time I refer to one of them as my “baby” I get a fresh serving of hell from certain people in my life. I’m not calling them a baby, nor am I being a clingy helicopter mom. But let’s face it, whether anyone approves or agrees, those three will always be my baby’s. When I look at them, I can still hear their baby noises in my head, remember my first scary moment with them, remember their first laughs, their favorite first foods, hear their tiny little cries, remember when they crawled, walked, ran, jumped, hurt themselves, said mommy.. Even typing it, my heart is pounding differently. 

People may get defensive and combative about mothers and their “special” bond with their children. That’s not to say that dads don’t feel things, too. But at the end of the day, my bond and attachment with my kids will always be a million times different than anyone else’s, because regardless of how much daddy’s love their baby’s, my kids heard my heart beat from the inside. Sure, they are half their fathers, but kids physically take, and keep, parts of their moms from when they were in the womb. I will always have a special attachment to my kids. And it will always be something that no one but me will understand or feel. 

Thinking about them growing up, not hugging me anymore, never being home, choosing their girlfriends over family time, going off to college, getting their own homes, having their own lives.. It makes me proud and excited, but it pulls at my heart – the heart that each of them helped build and expand – and it turns on my eyeball faucets. I’m so excited for their futures, because I know I’ve raised them to be the best versions of themselves.. But for now, for the time I have left, I’m going to kiss their foreheads while they sleep, rub their heads while they have breakfast in their pajamas, let them hug me a million times a day, smile when they call me mommy (mom is not far off), watch cartoons with them on Saturdays, laugh at their really silly jokes, listen to their stories, and look into their sweet innocent eyes – the same eyes I looked into when they were only minutes old. 

They’re my baby’s. They always will be. And even when they’re too old to call me mommy, that’s who I’m always going to be. 

Defective? Or sucky?

Yesterday, I found myself pondering.. damn you sickness, do you see what you made me do? You made me ponder! When I am left to my own devices, and allowed to wander the dark recesses of my own brain, horrific terrors are usually emerge. Yesterday’s theme was “am I defective? or just sucky? why does everyone leave?” and from there, it spiraled. I frequently feel like “the girl that everyone remembers, but is easily forgotten” and that is a sad and lonely way to feel.

I thought back on a few of the larger losses in my life (people who chose to leave, not people who passed away.. I didn’t go that dark) I came up with a top 10 list of the more memorable (and sad, confusing, befuddling or down right douchey ones)

  1. the sisters. I would like to preface this with my total and utter disdain for vapid, shallow, self-involved fake bleach hair bitches. These two, I had been friends with since grade four. FOUR! That is a long time when you are 20 years old. Why did they decide to unfriend me? Their words? “you are just the wrong body type” THANKS! Nothing boosts your ego more than people telling you you look the wrong way when you are a measly 110 pounds. Apparently that extra 4 pounds I weighed more than them made me unsavory. Oh, and I am pretty sure it was also because my hair was brown.
  2. the dude from high school. He decided I was no longer worth being friends with because I was “squishy” in my mid-section. Another boost to the ego.
  3. the people who decided I was no longer worth being friends with because I got a divorce. Thanks. May you rot in hell, you hypocritical douche-monkeys.
  4. the girl with the big truck. She helped me stay sane during my divorce, and spent one night a week with me, just so I wasn’t lonely.. who phoned me one night, drunk off her ass, and told me she had just hooked up with some dude I BRIEFLY saw (like, so briefly, it lasted only a couple hours.. that is a funny story, but one for another day) which also meant she had cheated on her boyfriend. She didn’t ever call me again after that.
  5. the girl from high school. Friends since grade 10. Went through all sorts of crap together. Pretty close. Had a couple crazy fun weekends (one of which I was roofied and dragged into some strange persons car, pulled out by some other dude, and apparently rode in a stretch hummer? I have no recollection of any of this, but this is what I was told happened..) attended her wedding… then one day she texts me and says “I unfriended you on facebook. You are just too negative to be friends with now. See ya”. She did this while I was in Mexico on a family vacation, and hadn’t spoken to her in over a month at that point. WTF.
  6. the girl who tried buying my friendship. We had been friends since 2005. Talked all the time. Hung out lots. She was someone I leaned on heavily during my hardest times, and vice versa. She was a very good friend to me. When I was single, sad and alone, she texted me every night, because she knew that my saddest thing was having no one to say good night to. She started getting distant and apologized, once even offering to buy me things to make up for being MIA. “I am gonna be around anyway, you might as well get something out of it” to which I replied “being my friend is all I want”. And one day we were friends, and the next, she removed me on facebook and hasn’t responded to a text I have sent, since. 8 years of friendship, and no reason why it ended.
  7. the girl with the asshole husband. I am pretty sure he decided that we weren’t to be friends anymore.. Cuz there was no other logical explanation.
  8. the here-when-it’s-convenient-for-me-only girl. Really no need to delve into that one.. it is pretty self-explanatory. Pretty sure I just didn’t properly fit into her world anymore, and it was just easier to only pop in and out of my life when she had nothing else going on.
  9. the self involved selfie taker. We were good friends, our kids were friends, we had a lot in common and talked all the time. Then one day, after we had hung out, she decided that I didn’t fit in her life anymore, and that was that.
  10. the best friend since grade 7. What can I say about this one? She was my best friend. We grew up together. We leaned on eachother. We were a huge part of eachothers lives. I loved the crap out of her. She was my person for the longest time. We had coffee two days before I moved away from the town where we were both living, and everything was fine. I hugged her goodbye, we vowed to stay in touch, and shed a few tears as we walked to our vehicles. I tried texting after that, but never got a reply. I have facebooked her on her birthday every year, but rarely get responses. I sometimes go and look at her pictures, and it makes my chest hurt. She was my best friend and I miss her all the time. I don’t know why, and I probably never will. Friends from 1991-2012 and just gone.. just like that.

I see these people I am friends with now, and they have friends from when they were kids, in school, etc…. and I wonder how that feels. Because I don’t have that. I used to. But I don’t anymore. And it makes me wonder… why? Why was it so easy for these people to just go away? Am I defective? A sucky friend? A crappy person? I don’t think I am. But there is clearly something fundamentally wrong with who I am, if 10 people can just turn and walk away, without ever looking back.

It sucks that I will never have that person in my life who knew me when I was a kid (outside of family, of course). Or when I had my first kid. Or when I went through my hell and landed on my feet. It sucks that any of my “remember when” moments with my current people all start when I am in my 20’s or 30’s. It is sad. I feel like I have been robbed of a part of life that everyone around me has. It makes me sad. It makes me feel broken.

Like, I know that my life was a rollercoaster ride for the longest time. I know that I went through an enormous amount of pain and shit. But most of these people left me either right before, or right after, all of the hell on earth. So, who knows. I will probably never get any answers (other than the obvious ones, which are those certain people in that list are just giant fucking asshats…)

Still, if I could get any of them back… I would give my left kidney for #10 to be sitting at my table laughing with me again. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I miss you.

A bad example? Or a cautionary tale?

Have you ever sat back and thought “holy shit, my life has been insane!” No? Just me? LIAR! Everyone has at least something that they look back on and reminisce and wonder how the hell they made it out alive. It can’t just be me. I mean, I have had a bit of a whirlwind life thus far, but I know for a fact that I am not the only person who has ever made a mistake or had shit thrown at them and lived to tell the tale.

This was all brought to my mind today, while telling a friend the “cliffs-notes” version of my life. I mean, I didn’t go back very far (only 8 years or so.. as the brunt of my “are you effing kidding me?!” started happening around my 28th year of life.. there was a shitstorm of epic proportions prior to that, but that’s a story for another day) I was spewing forth some of the happenings in my life, and a familiar catch in my throat appeared. Hello old friend, I haven’t had to swallow you in a while. Then it hit me. That shit is all behind me. Very behind me. I survived. Like Eminem said “that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano..” that is exactly how I feel like my life was for the longest time. A tornado and a volcano. But, I have been on solid ground for a while, and am so thankful for the ability to say that!

While telling my friend about all of my highs and my many many devastating lows, I wondered something – am I more of a bad example? A “what not to do”? Or am I a cautionary tale? Leading others on a path that may not land them in the shit that I dug myself out of? Interesting.

To some, I may seem like the worst example. Divorce. Single mother. All the other shit that was swirling at that time. To some, what I did and what I went through is considered heinous and abhorrent. Well, I am here to tell you, it wasn’t that bad. I am not a bad person. I just do not believe that people are required to stay unhappy forever. And once someone has done everything in their power to fix a perpetually broken and shitty situation, and it just isn’t fixing, then it is time to pack it up and move the hell on. Which is what I did! Was it easy? Hell no. Was it scary? Fuck yes! But I did it, and I survived (as did my kids!)

How about considering myself a cautionary tale? A “this is what happened to me due to these choices, and should you want to avoid this, perhaps don’t make these choices!” kind of situation. I am not sure I really want to be portrayed that way, either. But maybe it’s not so horrible. I maybe didn’t make “horrible” choices, per say. I made the same choices that millions of other people have, I just made them with the wrong people and at the wrong time. So, look to me for answers about what not to do, fine. But also know that if you happen down the same path that I did, and find yourself in the same crap-stew that I festered in for a very long time, know that one day, you will fight your way out of it, and you will find yourself even stronger and more resilient than you were before.

Cuz if I can survive everything I have, and still have a smile on my face, hope in my soul and love in my heart, than anything is effing possible. Well, maybe not anything.. I mean, I am still not a millionaire. HAHAHA!!

 

Roll with the times…

I grew up in the 80’s and 90’s (Geeeeez that makes me feel so old to type!) and I can recall my childhood, and think of it very fondly. I didn’t grow up in a home with all the bells and whistles, or with all of the latest and greatest of everything, but we did have one thing – happiness. We had a crapton of happiness, and I have so many good memories from my childhood. We moved a lot, but my mom always managed to find us great homes to live in, with lots of room to run and play.

The last house I lived in with my family has provided the brunt of my memories. We had an acerage, so there was always something to do. We had a trike (those devil machines that were pulled off of the market because they were horribly unsafe – yay us – we drove it and lived to tell the tale!), at one point we also had horses, we had chickens and turkeys and a rooster (no good memories from those sons-of-bitches, let me tell you! you know no pain and terror until you’ve been chased by turkeys and a pissed off rooster, and had your ass clamped down on by a beak!), we also had a basketball hoop on the back pad that I spent hours and hours playing on (which is probably why I had such a good shot!) OH! And a trampoline (what kid didn’t have a trampoline growing up!? I landed in emerg due to that contraption, but that’s a story for another time) We spent all of our time outdoors, and if we weren’t outside (due to the wonderful Northern Alberta weather!) you could find us in our basement playing Kings of the Beach on our bad-ass Nintendo – yes, you read that correctly, the original Nintendo! That’s how I grew up – exploring outside, playing outside, getting into “country kids” mischief, and being in insane shape.

NOW!! My kids – yikes. Not to say that they aren’t active or adventurous, or in bad shape, but they certainly don’t play like I used to. My husband and I were talking about that today, actually. Kids nowadays are so wrapped up in electronics and all of the newest and latest gadgets, that sometimes I honestly believe that they forget that there is a whole world outside of their little digital Minecraft village!

But, that is the life we live in, now. Kids have more electronics than their parents, toddlers can work iPhones and Wii’s and tv remotes, and parents ask their children to help teach them how to work the tv and phone and iPad and computer. HA! It is a bit ridiculous, but that’s our world, now. The scary part about it is how much easier it is for predators to get at your kids, now. But I have lots of locks, restrictions and passwords set up on my kids electronics, so I will keep them safe for as long as I can.

I just wish they would spend more time outside. Outside is good! Outside is free – hahaha! But it is the world we live in – outside is no longer a fun novelty, it is a punishment thrust upon them for goofing up on their electronics. I am glad my kids enjoy their skateboards and bmx bikes and trampoline and swings and baseball bats and golf clubs – I feel like I am doing something right in that aspect… then they come running up to me, all bursting with pride and excitement, and then show me their Minecraft village. HA! I love you boys, but I kinda don’t care where you put your make-believe kitchen and living room. But good job on making everything so symmetrical!

I’m really not an uncaring person, I just lack the desire to look at a world made of little cubes. But maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am just too old to get it? Who knows.. All I know is that to go outside is free, and my 4 year old has been able to work iTunes for 2 years. My, how the times have changed.