Friday, December 14, 2012


There are lots of things that come with parenthood. The joys, the thrills and the unbelievable heartache that catches you so swiftly that it almost knocks the air right out of you. This heartache is not from hearing your child tell you they hate you, or from watching your four year old throw the meal you worked so hard on all over the floor. The heartache comes from the thought of being without him, ever.

I never thought something would attach itself to me so completely as my little one has. We are entwined together in a way that only another parent could understand. Life without this child is not a possiblity, not something I ever want to think about.

I often fear for my son. I know the chances of him being super sick or being in some sort of danger are minimal, but as a parent whose mind is prone to wandering, I think about this and have come to know it as my ultimate fear. I never want anything bad to touch him, in any way.

I suppose that is part why the news of todays shooting in Newtown has really rattled me. Some of the children who were at that school were only one year older than my child, forcing me to relate to something so tragic on a level I never thought possible. My god, how can this even happen?

We become so enraptured with these creatures we have created, have loved, have raised. We do everything in our power to protect them, to comfort them, to raise them right. We can't control everything, we can't control the whims and horrible urges of other people and that scares me. 

How do you deal? How do you handle that phone call? How do you comfort a child who has seen what those have? Heard what those have? At such a young age, how can you make them understand? There is lots of healing to be done, lots of work to restore the carefree days of childhood. Its feels somewhat corney to say there is a lot of healing that needs to be done, but its true. 

I have turned of the TVs today. I have stopped watching the news for the time being and I spent time with my son. My heartaches for them, I want to scream at someone, something. How dare you take away what is most precious to a parent? How could you think of hurting people in the most primal and complete way as this? 

There is no heartache that compares. There is no excuse for this level of hurt. There is nothing I can say to make myself or anyone else feel better about this. I'm not even going to try. What I am going to do is be hopeful.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

It Get's Better... Doesn't It?

I was bullied.

I was bullied, relentlessly until High School. Finally, in High School things mellowed out for me.

I grew up in the country and went to the same, small school from Kindergarten to grade nine. I knew after I completed grade nine, I would then go to the largest high school in the province, one so big I knew I would be able to hide from my tormentors, where I would have the opportunity to meet new people, where I knew it would get better.

I don't really remember when the bullying started. Doesn't really matter in the scheme of things. It did start early and by grade four I was going to doctor after doctor to find out why my stomach was in knots, why everything I ate seemed to go right through me. Not many children develop ulcers due to stress in grade four, do they?

I would come home from school and collapse in my bed in tears, I would fake every illness I could think of to avoid going to school. I had such horrible anxiety that at times I didn't know what to do with myself.

I was picked on, spat on, called names, hit and kicked.

I begged my parents to move. When I started Junior High, I begged that my parents drive to a different school instead of continuing classes with the same people who tormented me in grade school. When they refused, I screamed and yelled. I told them I hated them and I wished I had the guts to just end it all... somehow...

I focused on my studying, I worked hard and kept those close to me who proved time and time again to be true and honest people. I tried not to let them see how much the taunting bothered me and I went on as best I could, knowing that as soon as I finished grade nine and started high school at a new school, that things would be different. I knew I would have a chance to 'start over' and I kept my eye on that. Soon it would be over, soon I could start fresh.

High School was really a turning point for me. By going to the largest high school in the province, I was able to finally meet different people. I was able to start new and it opened new doors for me. I wasn't crying myself to sleep as often. My anxiety started to fade, and my horrible stomach finally stopped revolting against me. 

By the time I graduated High School, you would have never thought I was bullied for over eight years.

It gets better, sure it does. You learn to deal, you are able to see the light at the end of the tunnel, you can focus on the good and soon, when you all age and mature a bit, you realize how stupid and horrible it is to bully and you move on.

It gets better but in some situations, I'm skeptical to say it really does.

I'm always fearful of what people are saying about me behind my back. I have zero confidence in myself and my abilities. I am a complete push-over - I rather just agree and keep things calm and cool than create ripples or waves. I do this time and time again, even when I know I should stand my ground, when I know what I am saying or doing is the right thing. I lack the confidence to do so with conviction.

To blame these character traits on being bullied might be right or it might not. I may have developed this lack of confidence even if I wasn't bullied. Anything is possible.

But I doubt it.

Hearing about Amanda Todd bulling, suicide and continued bullying enrages me, and also reminds me of how I felt. It's easy at that age to think its not going to get any better, that things will never change. We all make mistakes, we all say and do things we may not have wanted to at the time and in time it would have been forgotten, it would have gone away. But at that age, you can't see that far ahead... I sometimes felt like doing exactly what Amanda did. What stopped me? I honestly couldn't say anymore. Fear? Lack of conviction? Love of Family?

Probably, and probably the light I did see at the end of the tunnel. I had something to work towards, something that would probably offer me some reprieve. 

Now, as an adult moving up in her career, raising a toddler, I often wonder. How will things be for him? Will he be bullied? What will he do? What will I do? Will my love be enough for him? Will it keep him with me until he moves beyond the torment? What if he becomes a tormentor?

And me... I am confronted by my horrible lack of confidence often at my job and now with the promise of a new position, I know that my lack of confidence will bother me every single day. I see myself back down from people often at work, curling up into a nervous and unsure version of myself when the confront me, stand before me with such amazing confidence - confidence that I wish I had.

So yes, it does get better, but it also stays somewhat the same. The difference is the older you get, the better you are equip to deal with things and better to see the light at the end of the tunnel. People are also more mature and usually don't want confrontation or to be called the office 'bully.'

I wish Amanda Todd would have hung on. While I sure she would have never forgotten what happened to her, she would have been able to see beyond it. While it still hurts me, still chokes me up to think about those days in grade school, I take extreme comfort in knowing that they are long gone.

I wish she could have done the same.. some day.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Sometimes, Taking a Breather is the Best Thing to Do...

Lately, I've been feeling light I've been fighting off a lot of anger and frustration - at work, at home, everywhere. Its like I have these extremely high expectations and no one can come close to reaching them. Instead of being understanding, I get frustrated and angry.

A few days ago, I was killing some time before picking up the kiddo at day care and stopped into a store I am in often to try on some new clothes. Usually, the staff is really on the ball and do all the things they've been instructed by team leaders to do - you know, the stuff that usually annoys us? Like making sure they greet you within your first five minutes in the store, by telling you about the deals that week and by starting up a change room for you when they notice more than one item in your arms (I used to work in a few clothing stores in my time, I know the drill). Usually these things annoy me, but I do see the purpose and reasoning behind them, having done them myself many times, and I hear out the sales reps and try not to make them feel uncomfortable in approaching a new customer in their store (which, trust me, can sometimes be a hit or miss thing. You never know what mood a customer is in...). 

I walked into the store and noticed that the staff was in the process of switching their inventory - a whole bunch of new items had come in, so I forgave the fact that no one greeted me when I came in the store. The thing that really started to get my blood boiling was the pile of clothing that soon accumulated in my arms. 

See, I shop in a very specific way. I go through the store once or twice and collect all the items I want to try on. This usually means that my change room has anywhere from two to 30 items in it when I finally get done my sweeps of the store. I figure if I'm going to get out of my clothes, I only want to do it once. Usually the staff is very diligent and once they notice a few items in my arms, they either start a change room going for me or add the clothes to the ever expanding amount of fabric I've picked to try on.

This visit, nothing. I swear I had about ten things in my arms before anyone came by to ask me if I would like them to start me a change room. And then another ten before anyone came back to see if they could add those clothes to the room too.

I know, it's a little thing but it really got me annoyed. Even thought there were a few items I really liked, I said screw it, and left the store without buying anything. I was really annoyed.

The constant nit-picking at work, the lack of understanding really gets to me sometimes too. And at home? It's the same. No one is going out of their way to upset me - in fact I'm sure some people are trying to do the opposite, yet lately I find its easier to get angry at the things that keep happening, over and over, rather than to focus on the good changes that have been taking place.

I need to stop and relax. sometimes, taking a breather is the best thing to do.

I'm sure the ladies at the store were really busy changing their stock. I remember how stressful those days were at the store as you needed to get the new merchandise out quickly. This is the first time since I've been going to that store (and trust me, I got often) that this has happened, so maybe I need to cut them some slack here.

At home, maybe I need to not be so upset when things don't go the way they are planned or how I think they should. I need to roll with the punches more.

Deep breaths. I will reconnect with my inner Zen and it will be awesome.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Get Along

Why did I start this blog? 

Well, most importantly I wanted an outlet where I could be creative, and write about anything, at anytime. I wanted a place where I could vent, cry, complain, boast and share the things in my life I felt I needed to and wanted to share.

I wanted to find some that would work as a warm up for my writing, a forum I could use to hash out ideas and thoughts before commiting them to paper in something more together than random blog posts.

I really just wanted to place to get things off my chest.

I think most of us start blogs for reasons like that. Its our moment, its our place, its our voice, no matter how little, that we can use to say whatever we want. It's our soapbox.

That being said, I'm still very careful about what I share in this blog. There are many things I have thought about sharing and have made the conscious decision not to publish here. There are things about my personal life that are just that, personal. There are also things that are personal to other people that I don't believe I have the right to share.

At times there are moments I want to say fuck it and really let you all into the dark reccess of my mind and really, really give it to you all in complete and brute honesty. But something stops me, something prevents me from putting my whole life and the lives of others out here for all to read, over and over again. 

I won't say I'm completely innocent. I have let loose on people in here. I have bad mouthed business I've had bad experiences I have, but I won't do it with the soul purpose to stir up contraversy and I try my hardest to be fair and just in those situations.

Why can't we all just get along?

Monday, July 02, 2012


I like to think I'm a strong person, but as my history shows, I tend to crumble and fall apart when the pressure comes down. I may fake really well that I am together and in charge, but truth be told my insides are often crashing down and there is only a small thread holding everything together.

When it was just myself, I never really had much of a need to keep myself in check. If I crumbled completely and fell apart, that was fine. The only person it would really affect was me and my bruised pride.

Being a mother has changed that. 

If I let things get to me, if I cave, it affects not only myself but my son. Think about it - do you remember how devastating it was as a child to see your parents hurt or scared? Its like seeing the fountains crumble around you, crashing down everything you thought was stable and secure. 

I've had to learn to put my own shortcomings behind me, now that I am a mother. Kiddo is at the age where he is going to get bumps and bruises - some more serious that others. It's important for me to keep my head, to keep myself together and do everything I can to comfort him in those moments. 

Nothing hurts more than seeing your child in pain... and not being able to really do anything to help. Its those moments where I want to cave completely and give into the frustration and fall apart, but I can't. I refuse to.

I need to stay in control, I need to keep him focused on getting beyond the pain, beyond the scrapes, beyond the bruises. Being his rock will only become more important the older he gets, as his aches become mental and internal. There will come a period in time when he won't share with me all the things that make his heart ache and I will feel like there is nothing I can do to make him feel comfort, when in fact, there is. By being there, by staying in control, by being his rock, I will provide the comfort he may or may not know he needs at that moment.

Its a challenge, and its something I can not fail at.

Sunday, June 03, 2012

Why I Took My Three Year Old to Pride....

The weather today was beautiful for a parade. Clouds were threatening and at one point, even let loose a few droplets from the sky right before the parade started. It stopped as quickly as it started - no spirits dampened by it at all.

It's now late in the afternoon. I can hear that the Pride 2012 party at the Forks has slowed down, maybe even stopped. I don't see brightly dressed people outside our highrise window, I don't ear music or hoots and hollering anymore. 

Correction - just as I finished typing that I heard what had to be the loudest cat-call whistle I've ever heard in my life.

I took my three and a half year old son to the Pride parade today. He loved the music, made quick friends with a boy probably more than twice his age and was all smiles while parade goers handed him treats and flags and balloons along the route. He danced, he hollered and he waved his rainbow flag vigorously to all the people marching today - many smiling and waving back, blowing him kisses, or commenting how 'cute and adorable' he was.

While walking home after the parade, I started to think about why I was taking him to the event. I've always identified as straight - probably almost as straight as they come. Starting in my young adult life, I've been surrounded by people who identify a number of different ways - gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, trans, poly, etc. While I myself enjoy men, I never an issue with people loving or being with whomever they chose - just as long as they were happy. I attended my first pride parade in my early twenties to show support and love for my friends who decided to walk and partake in the event. I won't say I went every year, but I went more often than I didn't. 

When Hunter was eight months old, he attended his first Gay Pride parade. While he was too young to understand what was going on, I believe he had a good time. He was all smiles, and just before we walked home after the parade had winded down Broadway, he feel asleep in his stroller. 

Today, this parade, it was different. He was involved, he was interested, he was point things out and he was asking questions.

I've always maintained that I would be as honest as I possibly could with my son. I don't want to hide him from anything and I don't want to influence how he should feel about things. When my grandmother passed this last November, we were honest with Hunter about what happened. We told him exactly what was going on and while I don't think he completely grasped the concept, he knows the language, he understands enough.

While walking home from the parade, after everything was done, Hunter asked me why everyone was saying "Happy Pride!" 

"Well," I said "Mommy is a girl and daddy is a boy and we love each other, right?"


"Sometimes two girls might love each other or two boys might love each other. And that's alright, as long as they are happy and treat each other well. Sometimes girls get married to boys and sometimes boys get married to boys and girls get married to girls - and today, the parade was to show everyone that its okay to love whoever you want to love, boy or girl."

"Oh," said Hunter. He stopped walking (which he does when he is thinking hard) and then said "I love you Mommy - can I marry you?"

I laughed and gave him a hug and we continued on our walk home. On the last block home I started to think of why I wanted to take him to the parade and why I'll always take him. I want a son who is understanding and accepting of other people. I want a son who understands that is it normal to love whoever you love - and that I'll always be understand and accepting of him, no matter how he turns out. I want a son who is respectful to people, maybe people he might find a little different from those that he is normally around. I want him to understand that is alright to be different and its alright to be proud of that.

I want him never to be afraid to be himself.

I'll be his biggest supporter, I'll be here for him and happy, no matter who he falls in love with - man or women.

Most of all, I want him to feel at peace with himself and his ability to make his own decisions. The only thing I can do is inform him, expose him to different cultures and situations and help him keep an open mind and be understanding.

Love is a wonderful and precious thing - and we should cherish it, no matter who we find it with.

Happy Pride, Winnipeg.

Wednesday, May 02, 2012

Vacation Drone...

Five weeks is a long time.

At first I thought five weeks would go by in a heartbeat, but now, they seem to be passing at a slow, leisurely pace. Who would have thought?

I have a little bit less than two weeks left till I return to work. And I am half looking forward to it and half not. I have really come into my routine here. I wake up early, I get the family off to daycare and work and then I eat breakfast and usually do a short 20 or 30 minute work out. Then it's a shower and I start my day.

I have come to really enjoy my morning work out - doing my EA sport video or going for a long walk, or even just jumping and dancing around to some music in the morning. I've decided to make this a habit and have been working hard at sticking with it and making it a routine.

So now, with my return to work looming on the horizon I've started to think about my morning workout. I think I would much rather get my workout done early in the morning, and then if I get any other activity in the day, then kudos to me. To do a short morning work out, I would have to set my alarm to go off at about 5:30 AM. Yes - you read that right. 5:30 AM. That would give me enough time to do my work out, get myself cleaned up, dressed and then move on to wake up the kiddo and get him going for his day at daycare.

This is something I am resigning myself to do, this is something I think I will have to do. I don't want to do this workout after work, I don't want to do it after my son is in bed. We live in an apartment and we doing the workout in the evening will occupy the whole living room area with my sweaty running around. That's not fair to the family. Besides, after work is a time to relax and spend with my son and boy friend.

So, an early morning work out it will be. I'm not sure how this will go but I am making a point to try and wrap my brain around this and to get myself prepped and ready for this. These are the changes I need to make in my life to improve my health and to get results on the diet/exercise plan I on. Others have done it before me and I know I can do it if I put my mind to it.

Wish me luck!