As parents, we want the best for our kids so we shower them with toys and trips and dinners out. As a child I had ample in the way of material things but that is not what I remember when I think back. What I do remember is that I always knew how very much I was loved and accepted by my immediate family. That love was wrapped around me permanently, always there, always keeping my heart safe.
The world is full of 11 year old girls who decide one day that they will stop speaking to you just because. But in the grand scheme of things, their pointless betrayal didn't matter because wrapped around me like a cloak, forever reminding me that I was loved, was that security provided to me by my family. And when I exited the bus after being ignored for the duration of the school day and bus ride home (what kind of karma is that they were also on the same bus route as me?) by those who I thought were my friends, there was my mom, waiting to envelope me in that love and security.
I am the mother of two school aged boys. Boys that started out loving trucks, front end loaders and tractors. As they grew older they moved on to cars and race tracks, then it was trains and most recently it's all things superhero. I thought this was normal, acceptable, and part of their boyhood. That is until my eight year old son came home from school with a birthday invitation that specified "no superheros please". In checking with the mother of the birthday boy regarding some suggestions for suitable gifts, it was mentioned that superheros were not okay in their house.
I fully respect others choices but I have to say it got me thinking about what life would be like in our house without superheros. We have not forced our kids to play with Batman, or Superman or Power Rangers. Neither did we force them to love trucks when they were toddlers. These are their own interests developed with minimal interference from us.
Not all boys love superheros. I venture to guess that my brother never owned a single superhero action figure. My boys, however, do love superheros. And I think that's wonderful.
I have lived in Canada my whole life, and save for three years spent in Ottawa, Ontario as a child, the entire time has been in Saskatchewan. That means that snow and Christmas, for me, go hand in hand. I am an expert at complaining about winter, how could I not be after 35 years of practice? However, it's not the snow that bothers me. Oh sure it makes driving more challenging but I get used to that. In fact, I kind of enjoy driving right after we get a huge dump of snow. I feel powerful and mighty maneuvering my van through the drifts (Murphy, you didn't hear that did you?). I am woman, hear me roar, a little snow isn't keeping me down.
My mom has always been big on traditions. For each holiday there are designated dishes that must be prepared, there are decorations to put out and always, the family must be gathered together. As I kid, I loved these traditions. Come about the middle of November I would begin anticipating the Nanaimo bars, scuffles and butter tarts that I knew she would bake for Christmas (yes, it was all about the food). As an adult, I appreciate all the hard work that my mom put into making the holidays special with each of her traditions. And I still anticipate my first bite of Nanaimo bar, despite the fact that I have now taken over responsibility for preparing that delectable treat. Honestly, it would simply not be Christmas for me without each tradition created by my mom.
Now that I am a parent, I want to create these same memories for my boys. They already, at age eight and five, appreciate the traditions that each pair of grandparents offer up as well as the ones we have created in our own home.
Earlier this year, I wrote about the next stage of motherhood, the one that I could never see because I was too deep in diapers and potty training and temper tantrums. At that time I was a bit anxious about the transition. Those days of anxious anticipation have now passed. My boys are now both in school. Dare I say I have adjusted to this new stage?
Isn’t that always the way with motherhood? It’s really a series of stages, each one presenting its own set of challenges. Some challenges we know are coming (potty training, everyone’s favourite), and many surprise us out of nowhere (picky eater times two). All give us ample opportunity to worry, fret, plan, revise plan (anyone have a plan F?) and then we come out the other side with a big sigh of relief (not there on the picky eater thing though, seriously, plan F, anyone?), a few thousand more grey hairs and some sense of pride that we made it through another battle.
The leaves are falling and the weather has turned from summer heat to crisp autumn chill. On the Prairies that means the combines are in the fields racing against time and the weather to get the crop into the bin. Both my grandfathers emigrated from Eastern Europe in the early part of the last century and spent their lives toiling in the unforgiving climate of the Saskatchewan Prairies. I won’t lie, I would love to ask them why not California but I am guessing it has something to do with differences in cultivating grapes versus cereal grain, blah, blah, blah.
They etched out a life here, clearing land to grow most of what they needed right on the farm. I don’t envy the excruciating hard work they endured not to mention being at the mercy of Saskatchewan’s unpredictable weather. I am immensely proud and grateful to them.
My baby has been in Kindergarten a grand total of fourteen days and we've already settled into a routine. The routine involves the normal things you might expect, breakfast, getting dressed, brushing teeth and packing a snack before he happily goes off to school. It also involves me wondering what the day will bring. Will today be the day?
He is my second son and is very unlike his brother in numerous ways. On the other hand they have both inherited from me, some of the very traits I would have banned from being passed on, if, you know, God had asked me. He didn't. As such, they both have inherited my shyness. It is beyond difficult to watch them struggle with the very same things I struggled with. Partly because I understand but partly because I have come out the other side. If only I could impart the knowledge that I have to them without the painful lessons I had to endure (mostly out of my own stubbornness).
I have shopped at your store for the past eight and half years. As such, I know the store like the back of my hand. I know it so well I can whip in and out in under a half hour if I hoof it while still managing to get what I need. I have perfected my system over these past eight years (the first half a year I was preggo, there was no system, only waddling) such that it’s akin to a well oiled machine. I even have a favourite check out that is always open and never busy.
I know it’s considered progress to change things.
I know new management comes in and thinks they can do it better.
There is a reason I don’t work in retail, especially when there is commission involved. First and foremost, I don’t have the ability to talk out my ass. Now don’t get me wrong, many salespeople are wonderful and full of helpful advice, and then there is the other kind. Like the guy we had the pleasure of dealing with at the music store the other day that used a fast food analogy when discussing the purchase of a keyboard.
Yes, that’s right folks; apparently buying the keyboard without the stand is like buying a hamburger without the bun. And he didn’t stop there, oh no, the dude was on a roll; he went on to tell me that the keyboard without the pedal was like getting the burger without fries.
I love bedtime.No really, I do and I don’t mean my bedtime but bedtime for the kids.It’s a time of family togetherness that ends the day perfectly.There is no screaming, bargaining for five more minutes or general debauchery in my house.I rule with an iron fist, of course, how else is this possible?
Actually there is no need to use the iron fist (for bedtime anyway).What makes it work so well is that we have a set bedtime, always have, 8pm or bust.Naturally it’s flexible, for special occasions, but 95% of the time, the kids are in bed by 8-ish.This gives us much needed adult time, you know, forsanity maintenance.
As parents, we want the best for our kids so we shower them with toys and trips and dinners out. As a child I had ample in the way of material things but that is not what I remember when I think back. What I do remember is that I always knew how very much I was loved and accepted by my immediate family. That love was wrapped around me permanently, always there, always keeping my heart safe.
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