Why is THIS acceptable? It happens coast to coast, in this case, in my province. It's something we don't talk about nearly enough, yet it goes on every day and like typical Canadians, we just ignore the things we don't like to discuss.
Just about every single one of us lives in some sort of privilege because this land was violently taken away from First Nations. To add insult to injury, our government added disease, poverty and worked their hardest to destroy a way of life through residential schools, which not only sought to erase that way of life, but erased any chances of hope of generations of children from growing up happy and well adjusted because of rampant abuse. Like Canadians though, we buried our heads in the sand.
When did it become acceptable that we do this? Why is it okay that 500K is set aside for infrastructure emergencies for an entire reserve, when it will barely cover the cost of ONE house in many Canadian cities.
Where is it acceptable that in a nation as rich as Canada, that there are communities where there are no schools? No health centres? No access to the services we take for granted? We put a great deal of lip service into wanting people to better themselves, but that's a little hard when there is no school.
How is it acceptable that our fellow Canadians (never mind fellow humans) live like people live in nations without all this wealth?
Why is it acceptable that our government and everyone else just keep turning their heads away when we created and benefit from people having to live in such horrible conditions.
Who do we blame? They government? Ourselves? The people living in those communities? The better question is, who can help change things? The answer is so easy...I'll give you a couple of cookies if you get it right...everyone! You've got it *ding ding!* Write the author, ask him how to hook you up. Write your MP, tell them you're pissed. If you're in Ontario, write your MPP, not that they listen might as well get your complaint on the record. Find groups in your community who are fighting this injustice, learn about the issues, talk to people, pass on brilliantly written articles from the Huffington and less brilliantly written blog rants written by yours truly...linking back to those brilliantly written articles. People need a wake up call, they need to be presented with this issue so many times that it finally sinks in and they are motivated to do something, hell anything! Just creating a dialogue can produce an important ripple. Bottom line is, do not ignore or turn away, it takes so little effort to do something like write a letter or hit forward, so you have no excuses for doing nothing, other than being Canadian and for all our many virtues as a nation, our ability to ignore uncomfortable issues and topics is not one we should keep.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Applications sent
I'm applying to university. Well universities, I have two choices and if I don't get in...well lets just say I haven't thought of plan B because I'm so certain plan A will work out. Well there is a small ping of doubt, but I don't think I've ever really felt so positive about something in a while. I can visualize myself getting the acceptance letters, and I stink at visualization with a capital S.
So I sent off the initial forms, which involved me paying extra to have my transcripts sent to the universities. Then came the supplemental forms, one of which required me to send in not only my college transcripts, but my high school transcripts. So I spent a week chasing them down, panicking the whole time that I'm going to miss my window of opportunity (the deadline is next year, but I'm a Capricorn!). And last Friday I sent one packing registered mail, and the other one I polished off online today. Kudos to the university that allowed me to handle all of that online!
So now the waiting game. This is the part where I am painfully bad at. Though, I can't imagine anyone being particularly good waiting to hear back on a university program. My marks are decent, I've supplied every scrap of school related paper, short of my kindergarten progress reports and I wrote two kick ass reasons why I must be accepted or I will simply perish in the gutter. I may or may not have paraphrased those words. You can imagine me flopping around like a cat on a harness trying to get a moments peace for the next few months...that will be the state of anxiety I'm in, and if I somehow get through this without pulling my hair out of my head, or biting my nails down to the quick, it will be by some sort of divine intervention.
I have a lot riding on this. It's key to the next phase of my life, getting my foot into the next chapter. Something that will enable me to stand on my own two feet, as well as offer greater direction, much more challenging work and, slightly better pay. It will also be a stepping stone should I some day decide to proceed with another direction in my life.
So fingers and toes crossed, every sort of lucky charm employed, a few prayers offering my assistance on every last church related bake sale to cross my path, a whole bunch of positive visualization and a bit of faith on my abilities to secure this next part of my life.
So I sent off the initial forms, which involved me paying extra to have my transcripts sent to the universities. Then came the supplemental forms, one of which required me to send in not only my college transcripts, but my high school transcripts. So I spent a week chasing them down, panicking the whole time that I'm going to miss my window of opportunity (the deadline is next year, but I'm a Capricorn!). And last Friday I sent one packing registered mail, and the other one I polished off online today. Kudos to the university that allowed me to handle all of that online!
So now the waiting game. This is the part where I am painfully bad at. Though, I can't imagine anyone being particularly good waiting to hear back on a university program. My marks are decent, I've supplied every scrap of school related paper, short of my kindergarten progress reports and I wrote two kick ass reasons why I must be accepted or I will simply perish in the gutter. I may or may not have paraphrased those words. You can imagine me flopping around like a cat on a harness trying to get a moments peace for the next few months...that will be the state of anxiety I'm in, and if I somehow get through this without pulling my hair out of my head, or biting my nails down to the quick, it will be by some sort of divine intervention.
I have a lot riding on this. It's key to the next phase of my life, getting my foot into the next chapter. Something that will enable me to stand on my own two feet, as well as offer greater direction, much more challenging work and, slightly better pay. It will also be a stepping stone should I some day decide to proceed with another direction in my life.
So fingers and toes crossed, every sort of lucky charm employed, a few prayers offering my assistance on every last church related bake sale to cross my path, a whole bunch of positive visualization and a bit of faith on my abilities to secure this next part of my life.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Just give me a cross to crawl up on.
I came across a book about ex partners, in which it referred to the ex wife and mother as many things, but one of them was a martyr and not in the good way...although I don't know if there is a good way to refer to someone as a martyr. I was annoyed to think of my role reduced to several snarky vapid terms in order to sell a bunch of print. And when someone refers to moms as martyrs, well that just pisses me off, because whether single, married or somewhere in between, the job is fucking hard!
5 days a week, I'm running mad. From 6:30 when I rise, til about 8pm when my son comes out for his final stalling tactic I'm on the go. Rarely, I get a moment (like this) to sit down and write a post before bedtime. At about 11:30, my youngest decides to wake up and demand some comfort, and if I'm lucky, he's down for the night, where I then try to coax myself back to sleep. If I'm sick, too bad, I get up at night and keep on going. I recently had an ovarian cyst burst and as I was laying in bed the next morning listening to the ruckus downstairs, I realized it took three people to get the kids fed, dressed, off to school and the dog taken care of. Something I do on my own.
I somehow manage to tread water with the gabillion forms school sends home, the special days, the 5 day schedules, the visits, the playdates, the parties, the lessons, practices and whathaveyou. I also do all those mundane things like cook, clean, mend. My days off, I'm usually catching up on stuff or passed out on the couch from exhaustion, buried under a pile of paperwork or laundry or take out.
A martyr does all these things, but what a martyr doesn't do is accept help. I do. I have a great support system, whom without, I'd be toast. A martyr doesn't have interests. I do. I pursue them regularly. A martyr doesn't have a social life. I do. I have the bestest besties that ever were besties, a great family and a great social life...when I'm not passed out on the couch.
I don't do what I do because I want to beat my chest and say "LOOK AT MEEEEEEE! I ROCK BECAUSE I'VE SACRIFICED ALL MATTER OF ME FOR MY KIDS, FOR THE GLORY!!!" I do what I do because I have to. Would I like my work load lightened, you bet, but it's not going to happen anytime soon, so I dust myself off, step up to the plate and take my swings. My kids have gone through a pretty rough event in their lives, and in order to help them through it, not to mention, just survive and avoid being buried under candy wrappers and Lego, I have to step it up. That sucks, but that's parenthood, that's life, nothing is static and you have to be fluid enough to accept your new lot and as I've been driving home to my 6 year old "make lemons with lemonade". The less PG version of that is to grab some tequila and salt, which would be my preference, but alas, those damn responsibilities messing with my fun.
That said, if someone tries to diminish this role in some snippy trite way, you bet I'm getting a soapbox because this job is freaking hard and I'm doing a pretty decent job at it! Try filling out umpteen billion insanely redundant university forms (totally different rant altogether) while bouncing a baby in one hand and explaining to your 6 year old lawyer in training, why he's not watching Transformers for the hundredth time. It ain't easy. I don't stand on a perch crowing about it, but I will stand up for myself when someone is snarky about me doing a hard job well. And if that makes me a martyr, then hand me that cross, I'll nail myself to it.
5 days a week, I'm running mad. From 6:30 when I rise, til about 8pm when my son comes out for his final stalling tactic I'm on the go. Rarely, I get a moment (like this) to sit down and write a post before bedtime. At about 11:30, my youngest decides to wake up and demand some comfort, and if I'm lucky, he's down for the night, where I then try to coax myself back to sleep. If I'm sick, too bad, I get up at night and keep on going. I recently had an ovarian cyst burst and as I was laying in bed the next morning listening to the ruckus downstairs, I realized it took three people to get the kids fed, dressed, off to school and the dog taken care of. Something I do on my own.
I somehow manage to tread water with the gabillion forms school sends home, the special days, the 5 day schedules, the visits, the playdates, the parties, the lessons, practices and whathaveyou. I also do all those mundane things like cook, clean, mend. My days off, I'm usually catching up on stuff or passed out on the couch from exhaustion, buried under a pile of paperwork or laundry or take out.
A martyr does all these things, but what a martyr doesn't do is accept help. I do. I have a great support system, whom without, I'd be toast. A martyr doesn't have interests. I do. I pursue them regularly. A martyr doesn't have a social life. I do. I have the bestest besties that ever were besties, a great family and a great social life...when I'm not passed out on the couch.
I don't do what I do because I want to beat my chest and say "LOOK AT MEEEEEEE! I ROCK BECAUSE I'VE SACRIFICED ALL MATTER OF ME FOR MY KIDS, FOR THE GLORY!!!" I do what I do because I have to. Would I like my work load lightened, you bet, but it's not going to happen anytime soon, so I dust myself off, step up to the plate and take my swings. My kids have gone through a pretty rough event in their lives, and in order to help them through it, not to mention, just survive and avoid being buried under candy wrappers and Lego, I have to step it up. That sucks, but that's parenthood, that's life, nothing is static and you have to be fluid enough to accept your new lot and as I've been driving home to my 6 year old "make lemons with lemonade". The less PG version of that is to grab some tequila and salt, which would be my preference, but alas, those damn responsibilities messing with my fun.
That said, if someone tries to diminish this role in some snippy trite way, you bet I'm getting a soapbox because this job is freaking hard and I'm doing a pretty decent job at it! Try filling out umpteen billion insanely redundant university forms (totally different rant altogether) while bouncing a baby in one hand and explaining to your 6 year old lawyer in training, why he's not watching Transformers for the hundredth time. It ain't easy. I don't stand on a perch crowing about it, but I will stand up for myself when someone is snarky about me doing a hard job well. And if that makes me a martyr, then hand me that cross, I'll nail myself to it.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Birthday today
Today my oldest guy as of 7:55pm will be 6 years old. Having three kids, I work hard to make their birthdays special...mind you, those young enough not to remember their birthday cakes might end up getting cupcakes instead. Those who are 6 are getting the full deal with me hiring my wonderfully talented, but smart ass friend to make his ocean themed cake. So when my kids are in therapy, their birthday cakes are not going to be a subject for discussion.
All that said, there is something special for me for my oldest's birthday, because it marks the day when I first became a mother. Sure, you can say that starts at conception, but it's a totally different deal when you have a baby on the outside and you have to change diapers, nurse around the clock and get less sleep than you could possibly imagine. You also get to experience that love and wonder for the first time when you hold that little gift in your arms and not to over romaticize it, you also get to experience the panic that you feel when you have your first bout of "Baby's crying and nothing I can do is making him stop!!!" Me, I bravely reacted to that scenario by crying my eyes out, in my defense, I was 36 hours post partum.
Two more kids for me and I can say that this parenting gig is pretty hard, but I somehow manage to do it pretty well...if I do say so myself! Once in a while, you'll get a parent to be ask you for a piece of advice, my best tidbit of wisdom is be flexible. People get all sorts of funny ideas when they first find out that they are expecting. They map out the child's life from the birth plan to education to what food they'll eat, what friends they'll have, what activities they'll do. While I'm not saying to abandon the big picture, I'm also saying don't be married to it, and all the bazillion details, are not going to be set in stone. Sure, you can have a detailed birth plan set in stone about how you're going to have that baby, but when something goes awry, it's tossed out the door and being disappointed about that when you're safe and have a healthy baby in your arms is not going to set a good pace for the next thousand years of parenting. Like when your kid picks up a friend's blaster and automatically knows what to do with it, despite your no guns rule. Or when they discover junk food and demand candy every day after Halloween for the next three months...my kids have even started early on that bent. Or even when the bigger picture gets nuked and your family changes altogether, how can you deal if you're not prepared to roll with the punches? This last year has been hard for me and my kids. I was recently criticized on my parenting and the old me would have taken that to heart and been upset, but I turned out indignant and came back at that person very strongly about my parenting skills. My kids aren't acting out horribly, they're doing well in school, socially and emotionally and as much as it is their accomplishment in rolling with the punches, it is also mine.
Parenting is a crazy job. I think a lot of people love their careers, but I can't imagine being as emotionally invested in any job as much as you are in this. You're never prepared, you always have to think on your feet. I once had to apologize to God and offer my explanation of panicking because I compared Santa Claus to Jesus. I'm sure God will understand, obviously thinking on my feet is not my forte. You can be brought to tears, experience profound wonder and laugh until your sides hurt all within a matter of a few minutes courtesy of your kids. Your endurance will be challenged in ways that would make marathon runners weep and the rewards are plentiful and amazing. With all of this going on, can you see why my advice is to be flexible.
So happy birthday to my oldest. He is a wonderfully sensitive and strong little fella. He's the first to offer someone a hug and tell them how much he loves them. He's brilliant just like his ma with an insane obsession for sharks, dinosaurs and all things prehistoric. He's funny, silly and very much the little boy who still loves to bring me bouquets of dandelions and bottlecaps. In looking at my blessings this year, me being a parent to three wonderful little guys is tops on my list, and it all started 6 years ago with my Ninja.
All that said, there is something special for me for my oldest's birthday, because it marks the day when I first became a mother. Sure, you can say that starts at conception, but it's a totally different deal when you have a baby on the outside and you have to change diapers, nurse around the clock and get less sleep than you could possibly imagine. You also get to experience that love and wonder for the first time when you hold that little gift in your arms and not to over romaticize it, you also get to experience the panic that you feel when you have your first bout of "Baby's crying and nothing I can do is making him stop!!!" Me, I bravely reacted to that scenario by crying my eyes out, in my defense, I was 36 hours post partum.
Two more kids for me and I can say that this parenting gig is pretty hard, but I somehow manage to do it pretty well...if I do say so myself! Once in a while, you'll get a parent to be ask you for a piece of advice, my best tidbit of wisdom is be flexible. People get all sorts of funny ideas when they first find out that they are expecting. They map out the child's life from the birth plan to education to what food they'll eat, what friends they'll have, what activities they'll do. While I'm not saying to abandon the big picture, I'm also saying don't be married to it, and all the bazillion details, are not going to be set in stone. Sure, you can have a detailed birth plan set in stone about how you're going to have that baby, but when something goes awry, it's tossed out the door and being disappointed about that when you're safe and have a healthy baby in your arms is not going to set a good pace for the next thousand years of parenting. Like when your kid picks up a friend's blaster and automatically knows what to do with it, despite your no guns rule. Or when they discover junk food and demand candy every day after Halloween for the next three months...my kids have even started early on that bent. Or even when the bigger picture gets nuked and your family changes altogether, how can you deal if you're not prepared to roll with the punches? This last year has been hard for me and my kids. I was recently criticized on my parenting and the old me would have taken that to heart and been upset, but I turned out indignant and came back at that person very strongly about my parenting skills. My kids aren't acting out horribly, they're doing well in school, socially and emotionally and as much as it is their accomplishment in rolling with the punches, it is also mine.
Parenting is a crazy job. I think a lot of people love their careers, but I can't imagine being as emotionally invested in any job as much as you are in this. You're never prepared, you always have to think on your feet. I once had to apologize to God and offer my explanation of panicking because I compared Santa Claus to Jesus. I'm sure God will understand, obviously thinking on my feet is not my forte. You can be brought to tears, experience profound wonder and laugh until your sides hurt all within a matter of a few minutes courtesy of your kids. Your endurance will be challenged in ways that would make marathon runners weep and the rewards are plentiful and amazing. With all of this going on, can you see why my advice is to be flexible.
So happy birthday to my oldest. He is a wonderfully sensitive and strong little fella. He's the first to offer someone a hug and tell them how much he loves them. He's brilliant just like his ma with an insane obsession for sharks, dinosaurs and all things prehistoric. He's funny, silly and very much the little boy who still loves to bring me bouquets of dandelions and bottlecaps. In looking at my blessings this year, me being a parent to three wonderful little guys is tops on my list, and it all started 6 years ago with my Ninja.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Being Thankful
Lets face it, I've had a rough year and at first shot, thinking of things to be thankful for bring a bit of a cynical snort. A friend told me to start a list of all that is good in my life, what I'm thankful for is a good starter because I'm thankful for these good things in my life.
My hair: Just kidding, though I do love it.
10. My health: I know this is cliche, but really, the fact that I'm upright and relatively healthy. That I can race my boys in an orchard or pick up my baby with no difficulty is pretty important. And apparently I own healing.
9. Financial wiggle room: Money doesn't buy happiness, but not having to live hand to mouth everyday (I've been there) keeps the stress at bay.
8. Canadian healthcare: I know, it's weird, but I've been going to the doctor quite a bit, and it's been much needed visits. I'm glad that I have that opportunity and don't have to think twice if I can afford another trip.
7. My age: My life as I knew it was pretty much blown apart in a big Hollywood Bruce Willis scene explosion way. However, the good news is, that I'm young enough that it actually seems fairly feasible to start anew.
6. My resilience: "I get knocked, but I get up again, you're never going to keep me down!" to quote Chumbawumba. I do have to say that some times I'm mighty proud of myself for getting back up again and not going Incredible Hulk smashing through any and all hurts. They say that divorce is like a death, it is in many ways in that you're grieving something that was very near and dear to you. However with death, it's final, done and you have to get over that one giant horrible hurdle. This is like one big giant hurdle, then a bunch of awful smaller ones, brings to mind the saying "death by a thousand paper cuts" and some days that is what it feels like. That said, I'm still here, getting out of bed everyday, being on for three very important little fellas and just in general, keeping on going on.
5. My kids teachers and caregivers: Someone once told me how important quality childcare is in helping you function during your day and it's so true. I can go along my merry business not having to worry if Ms A, Ms H or Aunty T needs me. I know my kids are safe and sound and in the hands of competent people with great judgment.
4. My therapist: Yes, I'm thankful for her. She's listen to me rant and rave, or tried endlessly to make sense of things in my insane Capricorn need to have order in the Universe, she's held me while I cried, she's scolded me for not relaxing while trying to massage me (she's multi-talented). She's built me up and praised me, and has constantly reminded me that I an a good person and very deserving of love.
3. My family and friends: Really, many of them overlap. I tell people that I would not be here if it weren't for them and it's true. They have the full time job (and believe me, I'm a full time job) of helping me through this. My family downtown has welcomed me home with open arms, the safety I feel there is like a drug and something I need so much now. My online friends and hussies have listened "read" me to me pour my heart out, to get my feelings out before acting on them and have offered much love, support and priceless feedback which always gives me such food for thought. I've had several new friends come into my life this year, they play a role because they know only "post marriage" me. They have nothing to compare me too and while this isn't a bad thing, the fact that they've only known post marriage me and will testify in front of a jury of their peers that I'm pretty likeable and not a bitter, ugly, jaded person is encouraging. My besties, well, what can you say about your besties...not enough! From force feeding me (food and once in a while booze), to coming to my rescue after I decided to take on a bus with my minivan, to pimping out their mates (for "icky man" jobs I'm unable or unwilling to do) to dragging me out for a fun night, to listening to me bitch, or holding me when I cry heaving chest sobs of despair. When people hear of the shit my friends have done for me, they look at me with awe and tell me how envious they are and they should be, because without them, I seriously wonder if I'd be here and as sane as I am...which is all relative, but I put up a pretty good front.
2. My faith: Even at my darkest moments asking the inevitable "why me?" my faith has kept me on track. When I've wanted to do dastardly deeds, I would rely a lot on my faith to put me back on the straight and narrow. But it's also not necessarily just my faith in a higher power, but being able to open up my faith and just have faith in that things will turn out. It requires a lot of letting go on my part, and I'm not nearly at a reasonable level of accepting that I do not control every last thing on the planet, but I'm getting there. Letting go a bit does feel pretty good.
1. My kids: Some of you are wondering why I didn't start off with them...this is a countdown! Seriously, I love my guys, they are the lights of my life. I'm happy I get to spend my days watching them grow and develop. I admire them for coming through this hard year so well, they are little troopers. They always make me laugh...along with pulling my hair out, but they are quick to charm me back into adoring them again. My oldest won't get to escape this pain, he's not blessed with uber young age like the other two, but he's been trucking along like the best 6 year old survivor out there. His favourite song is Tubthumping by Chumbawumba, he even sings it complete with the accent (my kid is talented), but he has handled this with such grace and love that he inspires me to continue going on and being a good person despite everything that has happened.
I hope to update this list frequently, but this good to start off with. I think it was a good exercise writing some of the things I'm thankful for, I encourage everyone to give it a go.
My hair: Just kidding, though I do love it.
10. My health: I know this is cliche, but really, the fact that I'm upright and relatively healthy. That I can race my boys in an orchard or pick up my baby with no difficulty is pretty important. And apparently I own healing.
9. Financial wiggle room: Money doesn't buy happiness, but not having to live hand to mouth everyday (I've been there) keeps the stress at bay.
8. Canadian healthcare: I know, it's weird, but I've been going to the doctor quite a bit, and it's been much needed visits. I'm glad that I have that opportunity and don't have to think twice if I can afford another trip.
7. My age: My life as I knew it was pretty much blown apart in a big Hollywood Bruce Willis scene explosion way. However, the good news is, that I'm young enough that it actually seems fairly feasible to start anew.
6. My resilience: "I get knocked, but I get up again, you're never going to keep me down!" to quote Chumbawumba. I do have to say that some times I'm mighty proud of myself for getting back up again and not going Incredible Hulk smashing through any and all hurts. They say that divorce is like a death, it is in many ways in that you're grieving something that was very near and dear to you. However with death, it's final, done and you have to get over that one giant horrible hurdle. This is like one big giant hurdle, then a bunch of awful smaller ones, brings to mind the saying "death by a thousand paper cuts" and some days that is what it feels like. That said, I'm still here, getting out of bed everyday, being on for three very important little fellas and just in general, keeping on going on.
5. My kids teachers and caregivers: Someone once told me how important quality childcare is in helping you function during your day and it's so true. I can go along my merry business not having to worry if Ms A, Ms H or Aunty T needs me. I know my kids are safe and sound and in the hands of competent people with great judgment.
4. My therapist: Yes, I'm thankful for her. She's listen to me rant and rave, or tried endlessly to make sense of things in my insane Capricorn need to have order in the Universe, she's held me while I cried, she's scolded me for not relaxing while trying to massage me (she's multi-talented). She's built me up and praised me, and has constantly reminded me that I an a good person and very deserving of love.
3. My family and friends: Really, many of them overlap. I tell people that I would not be here if it weren't for them and it's true. They have the full time job (and believe me, I'm a full time job) of helping me through this. My family downtown has welcomed me home with open arms, the safety I feel there is like a drug and something I need so much now. My online friends and hussies have listened "read" me to me pour my heart out, to get my feelings out before acting on them and have offered much love, support and priceless feedback which always gives me such food for thought. I've had several new friends come into my life this year, they play a role because they know only "post marriage" me. They have nothing to compare me too and while this isn't a bad thing, the fact that they've only known post marriage me and will testify in front of a jury of their peers that I'm pretty likeable and not a bitter, ugly, jaded person is encouraging. My besties, well, what can you say about your besties...not enough! From force feeding me (food and once in a while booze), to coming to my rescue after I decided to take on a bus with my minivan, to pimping out their mates (for "icky man" jobs I'm unable or unwilling to do) to dragging me out for a fun night, to listening to me bitch, or holding me when I cry heaving chest sobs of despair. When people hear of the shit my friends have done for me, they look at me with awe and tell me how envious they are and they should be, because without them, I seriously wonder if I'd be here and as sane as I am...which is all relative, but I put up a pretty good front.
2. My faith: Even at my darkest moments asking the inevitable "why me?" my faith has kept me on track. When I've wanted to do dastardly deeds, I would rely a lot on my faith to put me back on the straight and narrow. But it's also not necessarily just my faith in a higher power, but being able to open up my faith and just have faith in that things will turn out. It requires a lot of letting go on my part, and I'm not nearly at a reasonable level of accepting that I do not control every last thing on the planet, but I'm getting there. Letting go a bit does feel pretty good.
1. My kids: Some of you are wondering why I didn't start off with them...this is a countdown! Seriously, I love my guys, they are the lights of my life. I'm happy I get to spend my days watching them grow and develop. I admire them for coming through this hard year so well, they are little troopers. They always make me laugh...along with pulling my hair out, but they are quick to charm me back into adoring them again. My oldest won't get to escape this pain, he's not blessed with uber young age like the other two, but he's been trucking along like the best 6 year old survivor out there. His favourite song is Tubthumping by Chumbawumba, he even sings it complete with the accent (my kid is talented), but he has handled this with such grace and love that he inspires me to continue going on and being a good person despite everything that has happened.
I hope to update this list frequently, but this good to start off with. I think it was a good exercise writing some of the things I'm thankful for, I encourage everyone to give it a go.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Strong Women
When you have something you are passionate about, if you get a bee in your bonnet related to your passion, it continues buzzing until you satiate the damn thing. In my case, it's writing down my thoughts. Even when it's closing in on 1:30am and I have to be up in 5 1/2 hours to three bouncing off the wall boys and a very stoic poodle puppy. So I was having a chat with a friend, shooting the breeze about life in general and old times and it got me thinking about something that's been a good positive consistent theme in my life. So as I'm lying in bed thinking about the conversation, I can't get the topic out of my head, so I heaved myself out of my nice warm and ever so comfortable bed, and made my way down to old Betsy and here I am...nose inches from the screen because I already took my contacts out and I can't find my glasses. So this is going to be filled with oodles of errors because I'm tired and I can't see. Duly warned!
For those who don't know, I grew up in Regent Park. Most of it is rubble now, including my former home, but back in the day it was a community rich in culture, people and relationships. It was much like a small town in that we were pretty isolated from the outside world. We would do our food shopping and get supplies when needed, but for the most part, entertainment was local, schools were local, friends and family were local, churches, etc...you get the picture. So that consistent theme. Well everyone always thought of Regent as this scary place filled with drug dealers and criminals, and while the drug trade did find a convenient place to exist in that poorly mapped out community, there were families. Tonnes and tonnes of families. Thousands of people crammed into roughly 1000 units total. Many of these families were headed by women. I can probably count on my hands the number of dads who were consistently there and kudos to them, however fellas, I'm here to talk about the women...why? Because I am one, and it's my blog. :)
These moms were tough! I mean tough as nails tough. We never crossed the moms, didn't matter if they were our own or not, they'd just as soon chew you out, then go tell your mom, who would proceed to make your life hell for the next little while. They had to be strong, strict, caring and stand up to shield us as much as they could from a very chaotic world. On top of that they had to deal with poverty, living in broken buildings, several jobs and all the little things we take for granted, but were magnified because of all the additional crap we had to endure.
But there were those moms, those aunts, those sisters. In Regent, often your family was your friends and neighbours. I have so many people I consider family who I don't share a drop of blood with. You might squabble with them over the noise of their TV, but they'd also give you their last cup of milk if your kids were screaming. We watched out for one another.
One time, we had the fortune of having 3 crack houses on our floor! This caused a lot of night time traffic, fighting and just overall a terrible situation for the rest of the families there. The police did the minimal, the landlord too, so the moms decided to take matters into their own hands. For weeks, they'd whisper death threats to us kids to not leave our apartments (we never listened) and they would collectively stand at the elevator doors and harass anyone who was there to do drugs. There was a church lady there. And anyone who grows up in an inner city community knows that you do not FUCK with the church lady. She had an old fashioned school bells, so the first thing those folks were confronted with when that door opened was an angry Jamaican church lady with a very loud bell, giving them the well mannered, but in no uncertain terms chewing out that only an angry Jamaican church lady could give (God help me if she ever saw the language I use on my blog). But really, all these moms took a serious risk, they could have been hurt in so many ways, there were plenty of opportunities to get them alone, but they decided as a collective that this nonsense had to end and they'd fight like hell together to do so. Within a month, those crack houses had moved on.
Our community was enriched by many dedicated professionals who came in and worked hard. From the school teachers, to the doctors and nurses, the admin staff, the community workers. My sense of constant moral outrage comes from my grade 4, 5 and 8 teacher. She's way crankier than I could ever muster, but dammit, she'd be proud at my uppityness. I remember discussing my sexual health as a teenager with the caring doctors and nurses at our local health centre. I'm sure all you women can remember how much fun THAT was as a young woman. I can remember how much love and encouragement I got from everyone really. Our moms might have squabbled, but they left the kids out of it, that was a hard and fast rule. I used to write for the local youth paper and bringing my sense of moral outrage and uppityness, I wrote an article slamming the local community police liaison committee for classism and completely ignoring Regent Park in favour of the much wealthier communities surrounding our home. Well, didn't all these folks demand a meeting with me, where they proceeded to tear 16 year old me a new one. I was there with two of my 16 year old friends getting that beating. But my mom whom I whispered death threats to if she went all mother bear on me, was there and made sure that I was okay at the end of the meeting. Shortly after, I was at a local committee meeting and was presented with a journal from a lovely woman. She told me to keep writing and keep giving them hell, I intend to make good on that. I still have that journal.
And really, just thinking of how many countless people who have come out of Regent Park, with all the temptation to fall into despair and destructive activities, as folks who have avoided all that and have made good lives and relationships for themselves and others, is a testament in itself to the sheer force of will and soul our mothers had to get us to that point.
I've struggled in the past 8 months, God knows how I've struggled, but I've survived and I've come to a point where I know I'll survive. I've also noticed that the people who have circled the wagons around me, have been predominantly women. One of my most favourite recent memories, was coming home to my bestie aka my wife, my babysitter and our kids at home and dinner well on the way. How perfect was that? My only regret was that my life saving, I worship the ground she walks on, nanny and my mom weren't there. Just women doing what we always do, to take care of the kids and banding together to take care of each other.
I sometimes wondered where I learned how to be this strong, but tonight while chatting, it dawned on me or was presented to me, I'm sorry, it's late, I can't remember that I have this legacy of amazing women all throughout my life. They have been strong, opinionated, generous, downright bitchy if need be, terrifying and loving all at the same time. It's very humbling to think of them, because living or dead, even though their blood does not run in my veins, their wisdom and passion lives within my soul. It was an epiphany tonight, and I know the next time I feel burnt out at the end of my rope, I will remember them. Words cannot possibly express the gratitude and appreciation I feel, it's overwhelming, so all I can do is to vow to live my life with the same strength, fire and kindness that they do/did.
For those who don't know, I grew up in Regent Park. Most of it is rubble now, including my former home, but back in the day it was a community rich in culture, people and relationships. It was much like a small town in that we were pretty isolated from the outside world. We would do our food shopping and get supplies when needed, but for the most part, entertainment was local, schools were local, friends and family were local, churches, etc...you get the picture. So that consistent theme. Well everyone always thought of Regent as this scary place filled with drug dealers and criminals, and while the drug trade did find a convenient place to exist in that poorly mapped out community, there were families. Tonnes and tonnes of families. Thousands of people crammed into roughly 1000 units total. Many of these families were headed by women. I can probably count on my hands the number of dads who were consistently there and kudos to them, however fellas, I'm here to talk about the women...why? Because I am one, and it's my blog. :)
These moms were tough! I mean tough as nails tough. We never crossed the moms, didn't matter if they were our own or not, they'd just as soon chew you out, then go tell your mom, who would proceed to make your life hell for the next little while. They had to be strong, strict, caring and stand up to shield us as much as they could from a very chaotic world. On top of that they had to deal with poverty, living in broken buildings, several jobs and all the little things we take for granted, but were magnified because of all the additional crap we had to endure.
But there were those moms, those aunts, those sisters. In Regent, often your family was your friends and neighbours. I have so many people I consider family who I don't share a drop of blood with. You might squabble with them over the noise of their TV, but they'd also give you their last cup of milk if your kids were screaming. We watched out for one another.
One time, we had the fortune of having 3 crack houses on our floor! This caused a lot of night time traffic, fighting and just overall a terrible situation for the rest of the families there. The police did the minimal, the landlord too, so the moms decided to take matters into their own hands. For weeks, they'd whisper death threats to us kids to not leave our apartments (we never listened) and they would collectively stand at the elevator doors and harass anyone who was there to do drugs. There was a church lady there. And anyone who grows up in an inner city community knows that you do not FUCK with the church lady. She had an old fashioned school bells, so the first thing those folks were confronted with when that door opened was an angry Jamaican church lady with a very loud bell, giving them the well mannered, but in no uncertain terms chewing out that only an angry Jamaican church lady could give (God help me if she ever saw the language I use on my blog). But really, all these moms took a serious risk, they could have been hurt in so many ways, there were plenty of opportunities to get them alone, but they decided as a collective that this nonsense had to end and they'd fight like hell together to do so. Within a month, those crack houses had moved on.
Our community was enriched by many dedicated professionals who came in and worked hard. From the school teachers, to the doctors and nurses, the admin staff, the community workers. My sense of constant moral outrage comes from my grade 4, 5 and 8 teacher. She's way crankier than I could ever muster, but dammit, she'd be proud at my uppityness. I remember discussing my sexual health as a teenager with the caring doctors and nurses at our local health centre. I'm sure all you women can remember how much fun THAT was as a young woman. I can remember how much love and encouragement I got from everyone really. Our moms might have squabbled, but they left the kids out of it, that was a hard and fast rule. I used to write for the local youth paper and bringing my sense of moral outrage and uppityness, I wrote an article slamming the local community police liaison committee for classism and completely ignoring Regent Park in favour of the much wealthier communities surrounding our home. Well, didn't all these folks demand a meeting with me, where they proceeded to tear 16 year old me a new one. I was there with two of my 16 year old friends getting that beating. But my mom whom I whispered death threats to if she went all mother bear on me, was there and made sure that I was okay at the end of the meeting. Shortly after, I was at a local committee meeting and was presented with a journal from a lovely woman. She told me to keep writing and keep giving them hell, I intend to make good on that. I still have that journal.
And really, just thinking of how many countless people who have come out of Regent Park, with all the temptation to fall into despair and destructive activities, as folks who have avoided all that and have made good lives and relationships for themselves and others, is a testament in itself to the sheer force of will and soul our mothers had to get us to that point.
I've struggled in the past 8 months, God knows how I've struggled, but I've survived and I've come to a point where I know I'll survive. I've also noticed that the people who have circled the wagons around me, have been predominantly women. One of my most favourite recent memories, was coming home to my bestie aka my wife, my babysitter and our kids at home and dinner well on the way. How perfect was that? My only regret was that my life saving, I worship the ground she walks on, nanny and my mom weren't there. Just women doing what we always do, to take care of the kids and banding together to take care of each other.
I sometimes wondered where I learned how to be this strong, but tonight while chatting, it dawned on me or was presented to me, I'm sorry, it's late, I can't remember that I have this legacy of amazing women all throughout my life. They have been strong, opinionated, generous, downright bitchy if need be, terrifying and loving all at the same time. It's very humbling to think of them, because living or dead, even though their blood does not run in my veins, their wisdom and passion lives within my soul. It was an epiphany tonight, and I know the next time I feel burnt out at the end of my rope, I will remember them. Words cannot possibly express the gratitude and appreciation I feel, it's overwhelming, so all I can do is to vow to live my life with the same strength, fire and kindness that they do/did.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
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