tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82614194206309623612024-03-13T07:11:40.352-07:00It's the Little Things...what else is there, really?Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-78315285832056197492015-12-07T15:38:00.001-08:002015-12-07T15:51:37.535-08:00The SnowmanI wrote the story below last February.<br />
This past 2 weeks, the stomach flu has swept through our entire family more than once. I'll spare you the gruesome details.<br />
But the way Ryan carried our family through it even when he was feeling awful himself reminded me of this story I had written... So I'll share it now!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">{Read as an expression of appreciation, not an essay on gender roles ;)}</span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Two months after Christmas, I decided it was time to take down the last remaining visual reminder of the season in our home: A set of 5 Russian matryoshka dolls - snowmen of, obviously, varying sizes.<br />
<br />
While I am a chronic procrastinator, that's not why these dolls lingered on the mantelpiece. It wasn't that I just "hadn't gotten around to" removing this family of snowmen; These snowmen just represent something beyond Christmas for me, occupying a very sentimental place in my heart.<br />
<br />
4 years ago, Ryan picked this particular Russian doll set out for me (in Russia) because he knows my warmth towards all things Christmas. So, that's one piece of my sentimental attachment: knowing that he <i>knew</i> that little thing about me.<br />
<br />
There's also the intricacy of the hand painting on these particular dolls. The brush the painter used must have been smaller than any brush I've ever had. Each detail on these snowmen is perfect. I love considering the care that went into each individual doll in the set. These dolls could only have been prepared at a slow and intricate pace that I long to experience more of in my life.<br />
<br />
<br />
Today, I discovered another layer to my appreciation for the snowman "family" as I unfolded a simple story to guide my son through the stacking and nesting process.<br />
<br />
I let the snowmen represent members of our family:<br />
<br />
"Put the Taylor snowman inside the Rylen snowman. It's like he's helping her - carrying her."<br />
<br />
"Now put the Rylen AND Taylor snowmen inside of mommy. That's just like how she carried you before you were born. And how she takes care of you now."<br />
<br />
Lastly, we put all of those snowmen inside the big Daddy snowman.<br />
And it got me thinking.<br />
<br />
All year, as we wait for next Christmas, the Daddy snowman carries all of the other snowmen.<br />
If our son was a little older, here is what I would want to explain to him…<br />
<br />
Daddy has a big job in our snowman family.<br />
We each have a job in helping to carry each other…<br />
But then Daddy has to somehow help carry all of us.<br />
God has given Daddy a big job.<br />
<br />
Here's how I see Daddy doing an awesome job of carrying us, just like the snowman Daddy:<br />
<br />
Daddy goes to work every day so that we can have money.<br />
He spends that money so that we get to have a place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear, and toys to play with.<br />
Daddy also has to do extra work to ask people for some of that money.<br />
That can be really hard, for lots of reasons.<br />
But he does it for us.<br />
<br />
Daddy gets up early in the morning so that the Mommy snowman can get some rest.<br />
Daddy knows that the Mommy snowman has to carry the Rylen & Taylor snowmen during the day, so he helps Mommy to be strong enough.<br />
Sometimes Daddy even gets up in the night to help Rylen or Taylor so that the Mommy snowman doesn't get too tired to carry them through the day.<br />
<br />
Daddy talks to the Rylen snowman in a way that helps him to learn. He is patient and shows him how to do things. He involves Rylen in things he is doing. And, maybe most importantly, he plays with Rylen. Right now, that's what Rylen needs. Daddy carries Rylen by taking care of those needs, and acknowledging that they matter - That <i>Rylen</i> matters.<br />
<br />
Daddy knows that the Taylor snowman is the smallest one of them all. Sometimes the little ones need something different to help them grow. They need eye contact, beard snuggles, and opportunities to see the world from a fresh angle. Daddy makes sure Taylor has those things.<br />
<br />
It's hard work being a Daddy snowman.<br />
Sometimes the other snowmen are fun and awesome.<br />
Sometimes they are heavy.<br />
Either way, Daddy has to help carry them.<br />
And our Daddy does an awesome job at that.<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you, Daddy. We love you.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-64187744533699899332014-07-14T22:52:00.001-07:002014-07-14T22:52:06.337-07:00Beating the Heat... (Not, I Suppose, Unlike the Spurs)It's stinkin' hot here.<br />
<br />
I lived in the Bahamas for 2 years, and I honestly don't remember complaining about the heat. Maybe it was because the ocean was never more than a 5-minute drive away. Maybe it's because I wasn't 36 weeks pregnant (or, pregnant at all, come to think of it). Maybe it's because I had a better attitude in my 20's.<br />
<br />
But between about 2 and 8pm every day right now, I'm wilting. I'm useless. I move from couch to bed (to floor) to chair to couch again. Once in a while I make it all the way across the kitchen to get a freezie. But then it's couch again.<br />
<br />
<br />
Here, however, are some little moments I've stumbled across that have redeemed <i>parts</i> of my last few sweltering, moving-from-couch-to-chair-to-bed kind of days:<br />
<br />
1) The Costco Dairy section. You know what I'm talking about. The one where you usually leave your cart in the hallway as you plan the most efficient route from the 4-litre milk jugs to the half-and-half cream and back out to the hallway again before you freeze to death. Well, not me. Not this week. This week I walked in, looked around at the different colors of milk jugs... and giggled. (I thought I should leave when poor Rylen started saying "It's coooold, Mommy. It's cold").<br />
<br />
2) Listening to Ryan Google videos for "How to make a home-made air conditioner."<br />
<br />
3) Walking into Walmart and fantasizing about that movie where the girl hides and then sleeps over in the store. You remember? Walking past the duvets and pillows last night, that's all I could think about. I giggled again.<br />
<br />
4) The moment where I sat down on a cold seat in a public washroom (sorry for any of you germaphobes), and I almost burst out in grateful song. Seriously, it was the coldest thing I felt all day. I was in heaven. I thought about feigning an embarrassing need to linger in the washroom, but... well, my social instinct to be cooler than that kicked in, I guess.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So we spent this evening shopping for portable air conditioners. Our city is almost entirely sold out, which was both disappointing and comforting. Disappointing for the obvious reasons; and comforting for the solidarity with the rest of the population, knowing we're not the only ones totally, like, dying.<br />
<br />
Through a series of circumstances and conversation at the first of 5 stores we went to, we landed fifth and finally at an obscure store, off the beaten path. We asked the first customer service provider we saw if they had any portable A/C units left.<br />
"Nope, sold out."<br />I told him I'd called 20 minutes earlier and been informed that there was one left... somewhere.<br />
(This was true. Sounds like the ploy of a desperate woman, but it was true).<br />
<br />
He went to check in the back, and came out wheeling a box on a dolly with a paper taped on it and the name "Mike" written in permanent marker. He informed me that he had set it aside for someone earlier that day, but that they had failed to pick it up, so he would like to sell it to us.<br />
<br />
Are we bad people for taking it?<br />
<br />
Sorry, Mike.<br />
Heat makes you do crazy things.<br />
<br />
<br />Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-46756593916491673752014-07-10T15:04:00.001-07:002014-07-10T15:04:55.137-07:00When All Else Fails, Press Re-setI just haven't been able to do it.<br />
<br />
My <a href="http://suzykrauseandtheskyscrapers.blogspot.ca/search?updated-max=2014-06-23T10:44:00-06:00&max-results=5">sister-in-law</a> has been sweetly asking (harassing) me to start writing again. She knows better than most people the value of <i>writing it down</i>.<br />
<br />
So, how the heck do I get re-started?<br />
I have an idea.<br />
<br />
With my Grade 6 students this year (who - whom? - I adored), we created a book all about <i>The Little Things</i>. {That's what parenting and teaching are all about, ya? Turning them into little clones of the things <b>you</b> love without telling them that's what you're doing}.<br />
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Each Wednesday, we'd all come up with one little thing that we noticed in life that was awesome, quirky, funny, noteworthy… or, eventually, an inside joke for the class. Then we'd paste it into this book, creating a paper-full collection in this paperless age.<br />
<br />
In honour of my students-who(m)-I-adore, and in the spirit of getting back on the horse, I'll share a few gems from the book:<br />
<br />
<b><i>"Beating part of a video game that you've been stuck on for years."</i></b><br />
- How many "years" of video games does an 11-year old have under their belt??<br />
<br />
<b><i>"The smell of dishwasher cubes when you open the package."</i></b><br />
- Mmm. Good one.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>"Stepping on the bathroom a scale and realizing you lost 10 pounds."</i></b><br />
- Umm, considering you weigh like 55 pounds, I'm hoping this is something you overheard your mom saying last week… Not because your mom, you know… I didn't mean… Okay, just shut up, Mrs. Adams.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>"Going another year without a cavity." </i></b><br />
- Oooh, just give it a few years.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>"Watching a documentary which you think would be boring, and your dad is forcing you to watch, then you find it very interesting."</i></b><br />
- Insert [husband] for "dad" and I get it.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>"When you survive the apocalypse."</i></b><br />
- The very littlest of little things.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-49747738937815593082013-02-21T15:20:00.000-08:002013-02-21T15:20:22.692-08:00Pass Go. Do not Collect Anything.I'm a bit of a collector.<br />
<br />
That's a euphemism.<br />
I have a hard time throwing things away.<br />
<br />
That's also a euphemism.<br />
I'm a pack rat.<br />
<br />
<br />
Phew.<br />
It's good to hang your laundry out on the line, you know? Especially things that people close to you are already, like, more than aware of.<br />
<br />
I feel like this probably isn't the first time I've mentioned this on my blog. But I'm revisiting this issue because it's my goal to get rid of one item a day for 40 days. See, I started this about a week ago... and I've done it twice so far. <i>But</i>. Both of those times there was a small pile of actually like 4 things. So I think I'm pretty much caught up.<br />
<br />
In this book I'm reading, the author refers to something called "evil excess."<br />
Yikes.<br />
She's probably not referring to me, right? I'm, like, really nice.<br />
<br />
But I think it's safe to say that's not the point.<br />
<br />
<br />
Ryan and I tend to move a lot.<br />
<br />
That's a euphemism.<br />
We've moved 3 times since being married (for 3 and a half years). <i>And</i> we have recently discovered that we will be moving again this summer.<br />
<br />
When you move, you get the distinct privilege of facing your <i>stuff</i>. It's awful. In those moments you think to yourself, seriously, we could survive just fine with two pairs of shoes, one blanket, and a frying pan.<br />
But then you get settled into your life and you realize it's nice sometimes to have seven throw pillows, twelve picture frames, and three favorite pens all at your immediate disposal.<br />
<br />
What I'm realizing, though, is that there are many items that are nice to <i>have...</i> but are they nice to move?<br />
And, I believe more importantly, are they nice to <i>think about</i>?<br />
<br />
And <i>that </i>is my issue. That is what I'm working to overcome here. I don't want to think about things we have and feel their excessiveness boring a hole into my conscience. I don't want to think about things we have and realize I'd feel guilty purchasing a more useful item because the drawer was already full of things I just didn't have the will to part with.<br />
<br />
Mostly, I want to spend as little time as possible thinking about <i>stuff management</i>.<br />
<br />
Because there are just so many other more wonderful - and dare I say, eternal - things to consider.<br />
To be continued in a following edition...Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-44803876616504573182012-11-08T20:56:00.002-08:002012-11-08T20:56:48.202-08:00Falling Forward.At first, I didn't want to move to a small town. I like the feeling of things "happening." I love to spend solitary time, but with the hum of activity just out the door and around the corner.<br />
<br />
I think I've always been like that.<br />
I remember loving when I could hear my parents' friends or small groups over when I was trying to fall asleep (or, more likely trying <i>not</i> to fall asleep).<br />
I remember loving hearing the noise of traffic through my bedroom window.<br />
I liked the glow of streetlights too, because that meant we were on a busy enough street to warrant those lights.<br />
<br />
So when we decided to move to this small town, I was hesitant.<br />
<br />
<b>That now seems ridiculous.</b><br />
<br />
The small town we're in is one of the most coveted places to live, no exaggeration, in Canada.<br />
And I'm experiencing why every day.<br />
<br />
The hum of activity is literally just out our door and around the corner. My walk with Huck this morning will serve as evidence of the sweeter-than-sweet life we are privileged to be living these days.<br />
<br />
First, we stopped by the local church to drop off some unneeded clothing items in the big blue bin. I've noticed I'm more likely to do that when it's a 3-minute walk away than when the car becomes involved. <br />
<br />
Second, we considered stopping at the local chocolate shop for a mocha. But when I realized it was only 11am I decided I should wait at least 1 hour before consuming my first chocolate for the day.<br />
<br />
Third, we were magnetically pulled into the local antique store. More accurately, <i>one</i> of the local antique stores. There are 5 or 6. While inside, 2 small dogs ran half-way up my leg. It's okay, though - small town dogs are allowed in stores because they are innately friendly. Like the store owner, who oohed and aahed over Huck's eyelashes. We found a connection point by sharing in the common unfairness of a world where boys so often get nicer eyelashes than girls. Also, they were filming a movie in the back of her shop, so there was much to talk about.<br />
<br />
Fourth, we stopped to get mail at the post office. Nothing with our name on it today, but there's something precious about needing to walk to get your mail. Sometimes I wish emails were a little less accessible like that. Don't you?<br />
<br />
Between the fourth and the fifth thing, Huck and I turned to watch the train scratch its way noisily through town... as it does every 12 minutes or so. It seems like 12 minutes... And I promise that I'm only exaggerating by half an hour at the most.<br />
<br />
Anyways, fifth, we stopped in to the local bakery, which was recently sold, closed, and reopened within 4 days. I am keenly hopeful that this new baker will have also gone to the school where they teach bakers how to fold dough into these beautiful, sugary pockets and stuff them with strawberries and rhubarb. We'll see.<br />
<br />
Sixth, and finally, I peeked through the window at the "Growcer" to see if he was working today. He wasn't. But if he was, I was going to tell him that I saw a poster about a cat. He told me a few weeks ago that he lost his cat during a local festival, and he was very sad about it. While walking by the river a few days ago, I saw a poster: "Found Cat." I think he should know, just in case.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, we returned back around the corner, and through the door.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-53502216944547104542012-11-06T13:18:00.000-08:002012-11-06T13:18:59.149-08:00Piles Schmiles.It's 1pm.<br />
<br />
The kitchen is dirty.<br />
The recycling needs to go out.<br />
There are two wet diapers lying around somewhere that need to be chucked in the bin.<br />
There is a basket full of laundry waiting to be folded.<br />
Our toilet has one of those "clean-me" rings accumulating (sorry, gross).<br />
I have at least 5 emails I "should" respond to.<br />
I have one large administrative task to complete.<br />
And, I just received the last of seven daily reminders in my phone to order Huck's passport.<br />
<br />
But you know what I'm doing right now?<br />
<br />
I'm sitting on my bed.<br />
I'm in my pyjamas.<br />
I have headphones over my ears... {which I just realized are playing absolutely nothing}.<br />
And I'm blogging.<br />
<br />
Ryan told me to.<br />
<br />
Sometimes you need that, you know? Someone to tell you to be a little less self-sufficient. Someone to tell you that you're perspective is becoming skewed. Someone to load up the dishwasher in front of you when your eyes are glazing over. Someone to give you a hug before they leave for their third of four rounds of work for the day.<br />
<br />
When you find someone like that, you should probably marry them.<br />
<br />
Or, thank them for being your mom.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-59862549014574922102012-11-04T13:39:00.000-08:002012-11-04T13:39:28.144-08:00A Slippery Slope.I have a tendency to be overly ambitious.<br />
<br />
I don't mean like I want to be a medical doctor and get a PhD in English Literature and fly to the moon before I'm 38.<br />
<br />
I mean, when I have 45 minutes "free," I want to accomplish approximately thirteen things.<br />
<br />
<br />
A few days ago, I had about a 45 minute Huck-will-be-happy window to do a big Superstore shop. My goal was, surprisingly, straightforward:<br />
Just get everything on the shopping list.<br />
<br />
<br />
So.<br />
<br />
I would say that I flew around the store, collecting my items in the efficient style of an experienced shopper. I felt like I was doing that, but I'm self-aware that I'm not the world's fastest shopper.<br />
Let's compare it more to a methodical jog than to a 100-meter sprint.<br />
<br />
However, I was focused, determined, and honestly very proud of myself on this particular trip. I had read in a book the day before that one "Mama time-saver tip" is to stock up on those things you always end up needing at some point rather than waiting until they run out. So I found sales on my favourite shampoo, a high-quality body wash, top-notch coffee, creamy smooth yogurt... I mean, I was really winning this particular day.<br />
<br />
I found gifts for people on my list.<br />
I pre-ordered and therefore efficiently picked up medications.<br />
I comparison shopped for inexpensive yet quality baby cereal.<br />
And, I bought spinach, which made me feel like a very healthy and therefore comparatively better person.<br />
<br />
There was icing on this cake: I found the shortest line and I snagged it.<br />
<br />
Around this self-satisfied time, as I unburdened my items onto the conveyer belt, a thought occurred to me. This thought was the equivalent to "Oh, crap."<br />
<br />
One stinkin' item on my list couldn't be checked off: A little tube of diaper-bag-sized Vaseline.<br />
<br />
A quick internal debate led me to the conclusion that to give up my spot in this high-quality line would be worse (although barely so) than leaving that one thing undone. This almost killed me, you know? I had worked <i>so</i> hard. I had been <i>so</i> proactive in my shopping. Huck had been <i>so </i>cooperative.<br />
<br />
But I could not, <i>could not</i>, leave my place in line.<br />
<br />
So, if you don't know, Superstore has this thing where they give you a prize if you spend, like, 12% of your yearly income in one shopping trip.<br />
Last time, I got a huge box of little chocolates. (Subconsciously why I was buying spinach on this particular trip).<br />
This time, the cashier mentioned some gift box. I almost rolled my eyes. Thanks, Superstore, for taking, like, 12% of our money, then slamming us with a package of something you were unable to sell because nobody needs 14 different lotions in one big un-biodegradable package.<br />
<br />
Anyways.<br />
I don't know how else to end this story.<br />
<br />
Except to tell you that in the front window of the un-biodegradable gift box of 12 lotions....<br />
There was a little tube of diaper-bag-sized Vaseline.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-32546856218143015192012-07-16T13:35:00.000-07:002012-07-16T13:35:26.597-07:00E-Pens & Faucets.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
If there were little things to write about before… they now
overwhelm me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A literal flood. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of emotions, awareness, thankfulness, neediness,
desperation,… diapers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
8 weeks ago today, we welcomed little Huck. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
{He has another first and middle name… but for the
blog-world, he’s our Huck}.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And since then, the e-pen has been set to the side as I’m
learn to navigate the ins and outs of this little guy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p>{<i>look at those mitts, eh?!}</i> </o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyways, 8 weeks later, still learning. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As expected. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As is par for the course we’re now on. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And 8 weeks later, I’m ready to pick up the e-pen and return
to the place where I find some refreshment: writing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My plan is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
that these e-pages will now be filled only with mom-stuff. So please keep
reading, regardless of your life-stage or gender. Huck’s name is bound to
appear often; otherwise you’d wonder what I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> doing all day. And all night, for that matter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But these pages are also one of my treasure chests - a place
for reflection on the quirky little things all around, as I started blogging to
remember in the first place. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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So… <o:p></o:p></div>
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For today, one little thing I learned in the bathroom last
week. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Our bathroom has become a place of refuge. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t mean for Ryan or for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For Huck. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s the one room in our apartment with no windows. The one
room with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">two</i> sources of running
water. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, when the deep crying begins, we swaddle, and we head
into the dark, 30 foot square (if that, including the tub) abyss to comfort the
little guy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve discovered that while the bouncing, swaddling, water-running
darkness sets a good stage for eventual sleep, little Huck needs one more thing
to send him into a dreamy place:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Singing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m happy to oblige. We all sound better in the shower
anyways, everyone knows that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But here’s the little thing I’m learning: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Make sure you have a good array of mutually enriching songs
available at a moment’s notice in your mental repertoire. Because when you’re
desperate enough, you will sing whatever is nearest at hand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first day I discovered Huck liked the singing, I was a little
too frazzled to pull out the meaningful Gospel songs I’ve retained over the
years, or romantic soothing ballads, or childish lullabies. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rather, I found myself with only three words: “To the left,
to the left…” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ah, Huck… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’re Irreplaceable. <o:p></o:p></div>Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-18022263232314118642012-03-06T14:22:00.000-08:002012-03-06T14:22:37.853-08:00Anchors & Pears.Some people like to do things every day to mix up their routine. They call it "refreshing," "revitalizing," "energizing"...<br />
<br />
I call it terrifying.<br />
<br />
Why would I want to interfere with a wonderful routine that I've crafted to aid me in the carrying-out of each day with clock-work rhythm?<br />
<br />
Exhibit A:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F1coImaba4I/T1aIV5EGKFI/AAAAAAAAAGg/cig9xg48opM/s1600/breakfast+of+champions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F1coImaba4I/T1aIV5EGKFI/AAAAAAAAAGg/cig9xg48opM/s320/breakfast+of+champions.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I <i>love</i> to eat the same breakfast every weekday. Every single weekday.<br />
I begin by walking directly from bed to the stove to get the eggs boiling. And to pour myself a cup of cold Brita water.<br />
Then I go back to the washroom to, you know, relieve myself.<br />
Then I go back to the kitchen to make coffee. To pour into my favourite cup eventually.<br />
Then I put the bread in the toaster oven.<br />
Then I put away the clean dishes from the night before.<br />
Then I....<br />
<br />
You're getting bored.<br />
You see, while you're getting bored, I'm getting <i>relaxed</i>... ah, yes, this - this routine - is a terribly relaxing start to my day.<br />
<br />
Imagine how a person who loves those little routines feels about the News I watch while I eat my favoured breakfast. I am calmed by my daily greeting of the same CBC anchors (now that I know which days to expect whom). Do you find you get attached to your news anchors at all? Fascinated by the job they perform each morning?<br />
<br />
Yeah, me neither.<br />
<br />
Anyways, routine. Love it, thrive on it, appreciate it.<br />
<br />
<br />
Another self-observation (since today's post is, as usual, all about me).<br />
Exhibit B:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TafKUL505kQ/T1aIf5gj1nI/AAAAAAAAAGo/hSAOxXKFvAc/s1600/stairs+to+oxford.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TafKUL505kQ/T1aIf5gj1nI/AAAAAAAAAGo/hSAOxXKFvAc/s320/stairs+to+oxford.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
These are the stairs I climb to my tutoring-that's-not-tutoring-but-more-like-teaching job twice a week. Every time I'm walking up those stairs I feel like I don't <i>really</i> want to be going to work right now. I'd rather be outside, or at home, or.... who really knows where. I've just sort of got into this routine of thinking that I'd rather be somewhere else.<br />
<br />
Once I get to the top of those stairs and turn right, I always tell myself all the way down that hallway, "Be thankful, Deb; be thankful, Deb..."<br />
And then I walk in.<br />
And then I'm totally fine.<br />
<br />
And without fail, when I'm walking back <i>down</i> those same stairs a couple hours later, I'm always thinking how that went by so fast and how I genuinely enjoyed it.<br />
<br />
I suppose you could call that my thinking routine.<br />
<br />
<br />
This next and final exhibit is an aspect of my routine that I would like to change.<br />
Exhibit C:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g6K30j-lZME/T1aImDFpCvI/AAAAAAAAAGw/ttwTb5CSrhE/s1600/spice+cupboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g6K30j-lZME/T1aImDFpCvI/AAAAAAAAAGw/ttwTb5CSrhE/s320/spice+cupboard.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
Do any of you have one of these? That cupboard that you open with your eyes closed while you cringe and try to think happy thoughts about something else because you feel guilty about the disorganization hiding behind the doors?<br />
<br />
This is clearly one of those cupboards. Every time I need to find a spice in one of those dreadful yellow (although inexpensive!) bags, it's always on the bottom of the pile. Always. And so I go through these 2 minutes of self-loathing while I get what I need and try to avoid planning for the day where I will take the time to figure out a system for that thing. That horrid, looming thing.<br />
<br />
So. Somewhere in my routine I need to build in the "one-times." Those times where you step out-of-system in order to fix or prepare something that will help you to operate more smoothly and efficiently in-system.<br />
<br />
<br />
By the way, while I'm on the topic of guilt, I suppose I should confess that I only put the pear in my breakfast picture to make it look like I start my day off with a piece of fruit.<br />
<br />
I don't.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-89602530533167581832012-02-24T12:08:00.000-08:002012-02-24T12:08:03.466-08:00Pockets & Shins.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZUR-IZbD0JI/T0fqcJnzEMI/AAAAAAAAAGY/ensYbr7tfDY/s1600/library+rainy+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZUR-IZbD0JI/T0fqcJnzEMI/AAAAAAAAAGY/ensYbr7tfDY/s320/library+rainy+day.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm a little gloomy today. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You can see why, right? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I won't further explain why the sloppy, dull-grey, reminds-me-of-crying mess I see to my left is not positive energy-inducing. Because you get it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Instead, I will share some exciting news that I think may change my life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, my blogging life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Do you know what this is?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SAfPcNihL6M/T0fqX_g8P4I/AAAAAAAAAGI/YPuGlJqqtjA/s1600/R+%2526+D+get+iphones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SAfPcNihL6M/T0fqX_g8P4I/AAAAAAAAAGI/YPuGlJqqtjA/s320/R+%2526+D+get+iphones.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
This is 2 people on a sunny day not very long ago who were privileged enough to have their phone contract expire... so that they could get iPhones at a very good price!<br />
<br />
Which means this...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gA6RyIw95sQ/T0fqUc4AvaI/AAAAAAAAAGA/H7k6cwwZfzw/s1600/bare+tree+%2526+blue+sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gA6RyIw95sQ/T0fqUc4AvaI/AAAAAAAAAGA/H7k6cwwZfzw/s320/bare+tree+%2526+blue+sky.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
{that's a cloudless day for those of you who, like myself, have forgotten that those exist... even though it was yesterday}<br />
<br />
And this...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5cdmYJDco1k/T0fqSQzZwwI/AAAAAAAAAF4/2AztuaiP6lk/s1600/gate+to+pathway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5cdmYJDco1k/T0fqSQzZwwI/AAAAAAAAAF4/2AztuaiP6lk/s320/gate+to+pathway.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
{that's one of the areas where I walk... because I'm a walker now that I'm a front-end loader}<br />
<br />
And this...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uryWSODHF2M/T0fqZxzB6QI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/UU-omEv-syw/s1600/wooden+gate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uryWSODHF2M/T0fqZxzB6QI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/UU-omEv-syw/s320/wooden+gate.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
{that's a gate}<br />
<br />
... are possible now because I have a camera I can carry in my pocket!<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm hoping that this changes my life by helping me to keep my eyes open.<br />
(Less bruised shins that way, for one).<br />
<br />
I don't want to become a photographer.<br />
(I already want to be a teacher, a mother, a crafter, a craft-school teacher, a writer, and a few other things I've thought of this week).<br />
<br />
I don't want to become someone who's perpetually glued to their pocket-electronic.<br />
(I won't. I'll probably forget how much I can do on there. So, still talk to me in person. Or send me a postcard).<br />
<br />
What I <i>do</i> want is to be cool.<br />
(So, now I am).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O7VJyeK2B0Y/T0fqQVjJZYI/AAAAAAAAAFw/k9MXVUx79Jo/s1600/swirly+purse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O7VJyeK2B0Y/T0fqQVjJZYI/AAAAAAAAAFw/k9MXVUx79Jo/s320/swirly+purse.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-32281575984373315172012-02-22T11:51:00.000-08:002012-02-22T11:51:19.414-08:00Checkmarks & College Funds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5o_GqmrKwtk/T0VBbakxz1I/AAAAAAAAAEw/4ScqAvZNO4U/s1600/Are+you+Ready%3f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5o_GqmrKwtk/T0VBbakxz1I/AAAAAAAAAEw/4ScqAvZNO4U/s320/Are+you+Ready%3f.jpg" width="291" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Kind of creepy, right?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I pulled this out of our mailbox a few nights ago. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For a moment, it took my breath away. <i>Am</i> I ready? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then, who are <i>you </i>(whoever this was) to question my readiness?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I pulled the flyer open. Ooooh, I see. They know I'm not "ready" yet. Wanna know how? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because I haven't yet ordered my free diaper bag and some kind of can't-possibly-have-a-baby-without-these wipes or something. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Phew. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I thought it was a test or something - that I would have to carefully consider the question... then essentially check that intimidating box off. Or not, and then live with myself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't know if I'm ready. To be honest, that's probably not a great question to ask. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you ask it in public, I will give you the expected "ooh, can we ever really be ready?!" Then we'll laugh together in that haha-so-true kind of way. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you ask me in private with a very serious face, I will probably say the same thing... only with a serious face too. Then we'll share a prolonged gaze and nod to each other in that depth-of-understanding kind of way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I'm proud today to announce that Ryan and I <i>are </i>ready in one of the ways! Here's the way:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First of all, you need to understand that Ry and I have chronic troubles making decisions. We always try to find the best option (well, Ry does most of the research to find all of the options, then I try to find the cheapest one). But sometimes the best option takes for-EH-ver to find. And eventually, as you know, you just pick something. And most of the time, it works out and you wish you wouldn't have taken so long to get there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Like our wedding date, for example. We went back and forth for-EH-ver on if Saturday or Sunday was the better choice. Like, literally for months. Who <i>cares</i>, right?! I mean, just pick a date and let people know. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyways, back to how we're ready in one way: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We heard the fantastic idea a few months ago that sometime before you have your first child, you should try to do something memorable as a couple. Perhaps you've heard it called a <i>baby-moon</i>. Cute. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So we've been considering a few options. The criteria: low-budget (can't spend the baby's college fund just so we can get away together). (Ha, gotcha. You think we're actually organized enough to have a college fund set up?!). Other criteria: ground travel. I'll be past that marker where you can no longer load your belly onto the plane. Too heavy or something, I guess?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyways, Ry found a sweet deal on Groupon for a hotel on the Oregon coast... So. We put our heads together... and <i>booked it</i>! Done. Check. We're going, and we know when! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How liberating. Good for us. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">{Any of our family members on either side reading this are probably slow-clapping for us right now, I imagine}.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let's head back to the beginning of this post for a moment: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I suppose the other possibility - which would render the above unnecessary - is that the picture was supposed to be the baby saying "Deb, are you ready?" (yeah, no way am I letting our baby call me Deb) after I say, while laughing to myself because of what is about to happen, "Pull my finger!... {insert adolescent giggle here}". </div>Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-59506043027239524842012-02-08T16:44:00.000-08:002012-02-08T16:44:11.062-08:00Lanyards & Bingo.There comes a time in every person's life when she realizes that she's not the only most amazing person in the world. <div><br />
</div><div>Yesterday was not that day. </div><div><br />
</div><div>But I did realize that I have another most amazing person in my world. </div><div>I don't mean that I suddenly had this realization. Or that it's never crossed my mind before. I just mean that I was reminded. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So, I'm doing my practicum in a Grade 5 classroom. My favourite {for real}.</div><div>I've noticed my mentor teacher wearing a Volleyball BC lanyard for her keys the last couple of times I've been with her class. So, since I'm, like, kind of connected to a guy who's, like, kind of connected to everything volleyball, I asked her about it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It's from her daughter, who plays high school and club volleyball. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Oh, cool. My husband is connected to the volleyball world a "little." Volleyball Canada in the mornings, and... </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Ooh, my daughter has friends in that program. <i>And, </i>she's going to Paraguay in March with a guy named Ryan and that Athletes in Action group he works with."</div><div><br />
</div><div>Bingo. </div><div>He's my husband. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"<i>WHAT?!?!" </i></div><div>{sorry, I don't actually like all-caps, but that was what she sounded like}</div><div>"My daughter <i>loves</i> him!! He is so amazing, she is going to be blown away when I tell her Ryan's wife is in my classroom!!... I'm <i>so</i> texting her!" </div><div><br />
</div><div>She couldn't stop talking about it all morning. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Only one word to describe how I felt:</div><div><i>SO proud.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>I married the most amazing person in the world. Even a 16-year old knows that. </div>Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-34496683106076206152012-02-03T17:07:00.000-08:002012-02-03T17:07:05.255-08:00Feet & Inches.I parked on the sidewalk.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I did that. In fact, I did that many times.<br />
Here's how.<br />
And here's why.<br />
And here's why I won't be doing it any more.<br />
<br />
The how is easy. When we pull up to our spot, I veer slightly to the right until I feel the 2 right wheels raise up a couple of inches. Not up to the yard on the other side of the sidewalk. But about a foot or so onto the sidewalk. (Please note that that leaves about 3 feet of available sidewalk, should anyone need to walk the 6 feet from the front of our car to the back).<br />
So that's <b><i>how</i></b>.<br />
<br />
As to why... You may remember me mentioning at some point a few months ago that our pretty blue car got side-swiped while parked in front of our house. (Well, it's the house we rent from. That's why we don't <i>actually</i> get to park on the big driveway attached to the house).<br />
So.<br />
Due to that side-swiping that led to a totalling of the car that led to a <i>whole</i> bunch of money being applied towards the search and purchase of a new car.... I now choose to help our neighbours. How do I help them? Well, since I thought maybe the car-hitting-neighbour was potentially not the only neighbour to find our car in its way, I've been helping everyone out. You know... by putting two of our wheels part way onto the sidewalk.<br />
No big deal, right?<br />
I mean, I get that that's better for cars but worse for pedestrians. I get that. But I <i>also</i> get a thing or two about our society. I mean, let's be real: I see many many people driving around here. I see almost no one walking. Terrible, really. But it is what it is.<br />
Anyways... that's the <i style="font-weight: bold;">why</i>.<br />
<br />
As to why I won't be doing that any more... fifty dollars.<br />
(That's like 30 Tim Hortons' or like 4 Starbucks', if that helps).<br />
I thought for a while that for sure if the neighbourhood police (like the actual ones who have uniforms and get paid for it, not the ones who go for a walk every 2 months and then feel its their duty to call the real cops to rat out their neighbour who's parked on the sidewalk) heard my reasoning, they would care. And they would understand. And therefore they would, you know... cancel the ticket.<br />
But they won't.<br />
And besides, I've had an epiphany.<br />
The letter of the law is where it's at.<br />
That's one of the reasons <i style="font-weight: bold;">why I won't be doing it any more</i>.<br />
<br />
But here's my other reason.<br />
I want to be a teacher again some day.<br />
And when you're running a classroom, you have rules. And sometimes students break them.<br />
And when they break them... I don't want to have beholden myself to hear a whole story from every student every time they feel they have a great reason for why they should be allowed to break the rule.<br />
There's just no time for these things.<br />
<br />
So I paid the 50 bucks.<br />
Because you know what else?<br />
<br />
You're not supposed to park on the sidewalk.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-81764029881862882612012-02-02T20:34:00.000-08:002012-02-02T20:34:09.930-08:00Gills and Qi.I'm doing what I'm always doing when I've sat down to make a list of the homework I need to accomplish over the next 4 days.<br />
<br />
A lot of other things.<br />
<br />
For example, I'm drinking coffee.<br />
Decaf, of course.<br />
Selfishly, so I sleep tonight... and protectively, so our baby doesn't get gills. Or a headache. Or something like that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ZXQCpVStn8/TytfYT-q-kI/AAAAAAAAAEo/F_ccjz1TCnY/s1600/coffee+mug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ZXQCpVStn8/TytfYT-q-kI/AAAAAAAAAEo/F_ccjz1TCnY/s320/coffee+mug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I look sad. But I'm not.<br />
Because:<br />
<br />
A) I love that coffee mug. My mum bought it for me as a pre-wedding present. I use it every day - sometimes twice. And I'm trying to get over this perpetual fear I have... every time I see it on any table anywhere, I worry that it will fall off and smash to bits. Because I love it so much.<br />
<br />
B) I just got to watch the girls basketball team that I coached for the last 2 years play in their Junior game. I love those girls. They hugged me. They giggled. They scored a lot of points today.<br />
<br />
C) I am hearing occasional "blips" in the background that indicate someone has played a word. So it's my turn.<br />
<br />
<br />
Which brings me to my next subject today. <i>Words with Friends</i>.<br />
Ryan has been very concerned for me and the millions of people out there playing this game. He worries about its addictive properties.<br />
Psssh. Ryan.<br />
{be right back. just heard another blip}<br />
<br />
The thing with Words is that it kind of makes you smarter... but mostly makes you un-smarter. (I wasn't allowed to call things stupider growing up, I don't think).<br />
For example.<br />
My conscious, linguistically-minded brain knows there's not a word out there spelled J-U-G-O-F.... or V-I-M-E-F... but you better believe I'm going to try to use those words. For like 37 points, I'm going to try.<br />
<br />
So we try. And try.<br />
<br />
And then after a while you get used to certain words. Like QI.<br />
Ya, you heard me. If you ever play this game, you're like "Yeah, yeah, I just used that word this morning to score like a triple word!"<br />
<br />
So now my goal is to use qi in conversation (my spell check has actually underlined qi in red... what does <i>that</i> tell you?...).<br />
But I have no idea how. Is it a noun? An adjective? A verb??<br />
<br />
"My, what a nice <b>qi </b>you have. Could I borrow it for the weekend?"<br />
<br />
"Ooooh, you're looking very <b>qi</b> today. Was it something you ate?"<br />
<br />
"Before I get up every morning, I <b>qi</b>. Then I put my feet over the side of the bed."<br />
<br />
<br />
I better stop before I accidentally say something rude.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-77574481412650279732012-01-21T13:47:00.000-08:002012-01-21T13:47:40.825-08:00Spools & Tools.What dreams are made of...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TjHGeey9fTU/TxsOMKJ5JgI/AAAAAAAAACI/_TYTVCdcVCc/s1600/sewing+supplies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TjHGeey9fTU/TxsOMKJ5JgI/AAAAAAAAACI/_TYTVCdcVCc/s320/sewing+supplies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">I found this pinafore pattern online a few months ago. </div><div style="text-align: center;">{Isn't "<i><b>pinafore</b></i>" one of those delightful words you could chew on all day?}</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">It's reversible, so the two images below are the same dress. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Made for a brand new dark-haired beauty named Evelina Rose. </div><div style="text-align: center;">{almost as delightful as <i>Pinafore</i> <i>Rose</i>}</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DWzVFHjDSaE/TxsQUh3TvZI/AAAAAAAAADo/kuB202OYCkM/s1600/Pinafore2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DWzVFHjDSaE/TxsQUh3TvZI/AAAAAAAAADo/kuB202OYCkM/s320/Pinafore2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FHp3xtvSzgU/TxsQZJmvKuI/AAAAAAAAADw/xBWJpBVfaUw/s1600/Pinafore3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FHp3xtvSzgU/TxsQZJmvKuI/AAAAAAAAADw/xBWJpBVfaUw/s320/Pinafore3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">It was so much fun the first time, I thought... why not try again?</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm addicted. </div><div style="text-align: center;">{What if we have a boy?...}</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Shcmxu9HIc/TxsQPOXEpuI/AAAAAAAAADg/ECPoQMYosqM/s1600/2+pinafores+on+hardwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Shcmxu9HIc/TxsQPOXEpuI/AAAAAAAAADg/ECPoQMYosqM/s400/2+pinafores+on+hardwood.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">I'm not a one-craft kind of woman. </div><div style="text-align: center;">So to keep things fresh I alternate between sewing, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and knitting (but that's for another day), </div><div style="text-align: center;">and paper crafts (again...), </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">and this one: </div><div style="text-align: center;">A combo of fabric, paint, mod podge, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and happiness. </div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> Credit for the initial inspiration goes to a large chunk of off-white wall. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TkZLP5fw5dU/TxsQfBCjdEI/AAAAAAAAAEA/jKoKiWg8o2Q/s1600/blank+canvas+with+pics+above+A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TkZLP5fw5dU/TxsQfBCjdEI/AAAAAAAAAEA/jKoKiWg8o2Q/s400/blank+canvas+with+pics+above+A.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">When we decided to pursue home-made Christmas gifts this year, </div><div style="text-align: center;">I knew of a couple sisters with an affinity for craftiness. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Yep, craftiness.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's the new-and-improved (self-acclaimed) versions I'm morphing into:</div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ee5hfAmjgk/TxsQmw035PI/AAAAAAAAAEY/cBa4HZlgyJo/s1600/suzy%2527s+canvas+chandelier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ee5hfAmjgk/TxsQmw035PI/AAAAAAAAAEY/cBa4HZlgyJo/s320/suzy%2527s+canvas+chandelier.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--ftB6FD-qT4/TxsQh7v_L_I/AAAAAAAAAEI/XudoMdH8BjQ/s1600/julia%2527s+canvas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--ftB6FD-qT4/TxsQh7v_L_I/AAAAAAAAAEI/XudoMdH8BjQ/s320/julia%2527s+canvas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mVtcNmdDcQo/TxsQp8VGwPI/AAAAAAAAAEg/W9qhjRTlTDQ/s1600/suzy%2527s+canvas+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mVtcNmdDcQo/TxsQp8VGwPI/AAAAAAAAAEg/W9qhjRTlTDQ/s320/suzy%2527s+canvas+desk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
If you need me, I'll be at my sewing machine.<br />
Happy as a clam.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-58168499724606956032012-01-18T11:34:00.000-08:002012-01-18T11:34:47.099-08:00Dust & Blueberries.So far, my favourite thing about this new semester has been the 2 hour break I have between classes on M, W, F.<br />
Don't misunderstand me. I wasn't necessarily one of those kids who said my favourite part of school was recess. It's just that as an adult, these pockets of time where you can't be at home tidying up after yourself or walking back and forth to the kitchen to turn on the kettle... and turn it on again because you forgot about it... or grab a handful of blueberries from the fridge...<br />
(mmm, there's no good way to finish that long sentence read-ably now).<br />
<br />
So, let me just say that when you're not distracted by <i>those </i>things, you can tackle some of the other little things you've new-years-resolutized to do!<br />
<br />
One of those things is to work out on campus. It's an interesting experience to hit the elliptical in a gym full of "young" people... when your belly is growing out in front of you.<br />
It's funny the thoughts that run through your mind when you're running through the air - sweating, but going nowhere:<br />
"I hope people realize that just because my belly is growing doesn't mean I haven't been to the gym."<br />
"Hmm, should I stick it out so it's clear how distinctly baby it is?"<br />
"Or, should I suck it in so maybe no one will even notice?"<br />
"Oops, should not have sucked in. Now I have to pee. Again."<br />
<br />
Anyways. Choosing not to use this particular hour to tread thin air in the presence of 20-year old taut-and-toned bodies.<br />
<br />
Rather, I'm in my other favourite place on campus.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fJLAfuy4PyE/TxcbZqSOSFI/AAAAAAAAABo/cl-BYhKdq-c/s1600/Library+bookshelf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fJLAfuy4PyE/TxcbZqSOSFI/AAAAAAAAABo/cl-BYhKdq-c/s320/Library+bookshelf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<br />
What better place to read the Good Book that surrounded by the smell of thousands of books.<br />
I genuinely love that smell. The perfect mixture of nostalgia and dust.<br />
You?<br />
<br />
The other reason it's my favourite:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zaXG8xoqqWw/TxcbeD5HqxI/AAAAAAAAACA/So7mrUOWKSs/s1600/Library+Snow+View.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zaXG8xoqqWw/TxcbeD5HqxI/AAAAAAAAACA/So7mrUOWKSs/s320/Library+Snow+View.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Snowy day, wet day, fall day, sunny day (well, theoretically)... always a good view. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hard to believe the snow, really. Only 3 days ago, I took this picture:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xz0Z8F2fXaE/Txcbbi2QMII/AAAAAAAAABw/-v2BgOz_gPE/s1600/Library+cellphone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xz0Z8F2fXaE/Txcbbi2QMII/AAAAAAAAABw/-v2BgOz_gPE/s320/Library+cellphone.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That was in BC. I promise. No touch-ups to make that sky blue (like I'm computer literate enough to know how to do that anyways). Blue sky. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyways. That's me. That's where I hang. Me and the books. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd say come join me here sometime, but to be honest... I like my alone time. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>And</i>. They don't let you talk there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So we'd just be awkwardly staring at each other. </div>Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-67889100294045645512012-01-12T09:57:00.000-08:002012-01-12T09:57:03.856-08:00Bedsheets & Frosted Flakes.Cleaning up from Christmas has been a gradual process for me. I'm finding this year that I'm allowing myself the pace I needed to reflect, respond, reenergize...<br />
<br />
For example. When we stepped off of the plane and arrived back at our BC apartment on Dec. 29, I took down about half of our Christmas decorations - approximately 26 days earlier than usual for me. Approximately. And I don't know if any of you do this, but I find when I've had time to sit (i.e. on a plane for 2 hours) before I clean (i.e. remove a Christmas village from a beautiful shelf), I've pictured the process in my head over and over about 34 times.<br />
<br />
So, when I actually do it in real life, it's very satisfying.<br />
<br />
Another gradual response to Christmas ending has been spending time with people. We had a really <i>meaningful, quality</i> visit with family and friends in Regina for Christmas. Because of that, we came back refreshed in spirit. I can't say in body, because Ry was sore from all the outdoor hockey and a hard spill on the curling pebbles. And I had bad heartburn I think from 2 weeks of "sipping" eggnog, in which all the sips added up to a great big pool of liquid wonder.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless. We were refreshed in spirit.<br />
<br />
So. When our house was filled with people from all over the "world" (Paraguay, North Carolina, Toronto, Regina, Ottawa, Winnipeg... Langley), we <i>loved</i> it. Loved it. It was a continuation of a season of thankfulness for relationships that allow you to enjoy good conversation and hearty laughs (thank you Chelsa) over coffee, David's Tea, Frosted Flakes, and chili.<br />
<br />
It makes me wish every day was full of rotating towels and sheets through the wash. Seriously. I like that kind of indication of a full season of life.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, this morning, I took down the Christmas balls that were hanging in our window. I can look out at the mountains now. (Well, okay. The balls weren't like so big they were blocking a whole mountain range before. But kind of distracting).<br />
<br />
I'll be moving on to another semester of school now... in which I am determined to try hard despite at times feeling even moreso like the old, pregnant lady I am. Thankfully, the pregnancy "glow" occasionally produces a few more skin blemishes (I hate to call them that ugly "z" word), so I might have a meaningful connection point with some of my young classmates. They'll enjoy that.<br />
<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for a post in the near future... in which I will discuss some of my most favourite crafts of the season.<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S. If you haven't seen it yet, check out the short post below :)Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-66700344212683576842012-01-10T15:36:00.000-08:002012-01-10T15:36:40.989-08:00Miniature Bones.Can there be any little thing more little-thing-ish than a fetal ultrasound?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3B7m-Z1sTCE/TwzKuuTHeMI/AAAAAAAAABg/VEbpo_ETAlU/s1600/Deborah+Adams+0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3B7m-Z1sTCE/TwzKuuTHeMI/AAAAAAAAABg/VEbpo_ETAlU/s320/Deborah+Adams+0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Peace. </div>Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-90572107940987990242011-12-05T14:52:00.000-08:002011-12-05T14:52:35.693-08:00Fabric & Elves.And so we begin the last week of classes.<br />
Which will lead into the last 10 days of final exams.<br />
<br />
And where do I want to be?<br />
<br />
At my sewing machine.<br />
Or with a paintbrush in hand.<br />
Or donned with an apron (And sweatpants. And a baggy t-shirt.), baking Christmas goodies.<br />
Or surrounded by a small mountain of sharpie markers.<br />
<br />
You see, I can honestly say I'm very happy with my life. I enjoy most parts of most days. Maybe even more than most parts.<br />
<br />
<i>But</i>. There's just this one little thing I wish I had more time for.<br />
<br />
Crafts.<br />
<br />
Especially at this time of the year, I get so many ideas of things I want to make. Partly it's the inspiration of Christmas craft magazines. Partly it's that I just joined "Pinterest," which will knock your socks off with its DIY craft ideas. And partly, of course, it's that my alternative is studying for final exams.<br />
<br />
Another reason I can't complain about my life is that I genuinely believe there are many more than one ways for me to be vocationally fulfilled. When I am at school or in front of a class, I <i>know</i> without a shadow of a doubt that I am born to be a teacher.<br />
<br />
But, when I'm browsing in Michaels or sitting in front of a swath of colourful fabrics, I am also completely within my dreams.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I have now jumped on a series of alternating years of teaching my heart out and crafting my heart out during nap time for little redheads...<br />
<br />
Or, I suppose I could start a craft school.<br />
Very similar to the North Pole, I would imagine. And, I mean, that's gone over well for as long as anyone can remember.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-91167153043670181132011-11-25T11:19:00.000-08:002011-11-25T12:04:43.385-08:00Sunshine and Salad.I'm about a quarter of a way into a 16-page paper. It's due later today.<br />
<br />
So, naturally, what a great time to blog.<br />
Every athlete knows it's good to warm-up before you work out or play in the big game, right? [Side note: my HKin professor says that's not necessarily true in current research. But I'm old-school. And invariably tight]. So, I offer you... my warm-up.<br />
<br />
Many little things have adorned my journey lately. Not the least of which is the Christmas music playing about 7 feet away from my desk.<br />
And the peel of a Christmas orange sitting beside me (throw it out.... check).<br />
And the much-appreciated <i>sun</i>shine lighting up my world. Literally and metaphorically.<br />
<br />
<br />
I had a birthday last week. My 30th.<br />
And... it was fantastic, for all of the right little reasons.<br />
<br />
Rather than just list them, I'll identify <i>why</i> each of these little things was so particularly meaningful.<br />
<br />
1. Ry took me to the Olive Garden for lunch. I <i>love</i> the Olive Garden. But we don't like waiting for the inevitable 45-75 minutes you have to wait for supper. Word is apparently out: non-stop fresh salad is the most amazing meal you'll ever eat without feeling a drop of sick after.<br />
<br />
2. My parents bought me a sewing machine! I <i>love</i> crafts. If it doesn't work out to be a teacher... I would like to be a professional craft-doer. Maybe both. Anyways, isn't there something kind of romantic about sewing your own things?<br />
<br />
3. Ry planned a surprise for me. I <i>love</i> surprises, any shape, any size. He picked a date for us that was something he knew I would enjoy, even if it's not his cuppa tea (which it turns out maybe it could be?). We painted ceramics together for 2 hours!<br />
<br />
4. My voicemail was full. I <i>love</i> bragging.... Just kidding. I have a teeny tiny mailbox. But it meant a lot to me that people tried to call. I also appreciate the FB messages. It's a nice little thing to know you crossed someone's mind for a period of time. People are often so thoughtful with words, I find.<br />
<br />
5. When we got home from our painting adventure, the kitchen was clean, and the table was adorned with three of my favourite things: flowers, sour candy, and a craft magazine. I <i>love</i> my husband.<br />
<br />
6. My sister-in-law sent me a package full of wonderful things. I <i>love</i> getting mail. Among the treats was one of the softest pyjama shirts I have ever slept in. Every night is a nice little thing right now.<br />
<br />
7. We had a sweet party with a bunch of friends on the weekend. I <i>love</i> bunches of friends. We played a games tournament, concluding with some of the most hilarious skits and song compilations I have ever heard in my life. The humour, the kind words, and the chocolate-dipping with friends was icing on the cake of a wonderful intro to my 30's.<br />
<br />
8. Last, but not least... although perhaps littlest. I was delighted to be pregnant on my 30th birthday. I <i>love </i>this. Subconsciously - and at times consciously - I have always hoped I'd be a mom before I hit 30. Well, I'll take it. I am deeply thankful that God has granted us this gift at this time. And that I'm past trimester #1.<br />
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So, wherever you are... crank up the little things.<br />
Pull out the slippers... Put in an old movie... Mix up the sugar cookie dough... Life is grand.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-6547578830058192492011-10-28T17:59:00.000-07:002011-10-28T17:59:04.151-07:00Twenties & Fives.Little things sometimes add up to be a loooot of money. I'm sure you've noticed.<br />
<br />
For example, tax. Try not to think about how much you've spent in tax over the past year. Or the past month. Especially if you're living where we are and it's a hefty 12%.<br />
<br />
Other things add up too, though. Like, say your car gets hit, say. Say it's just sitting out front of your house minding its own business, and then <i>boom.</i> Ouch.<br />
Miles of scrapes.<br />
Dented in wheel wells.<br />
Five feet of metal ripped off.<br />
Oh, and almost forgot.<br />
Axel broken.<br />
Don't know <i>too</i> too much about cars, but pretty sure you can't drive when that happens.<br />
Write-off.<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyways, that's obviously not the little thing. That was kinda the big thing.<br />
<br />
Here's the little things:<br />
<br />
#1 - Rental car. ICBC covers the rental... but we "strongly encourage you" to get our insurance package. Being hyper-sensitive to potential danger, we of course gladly accept the kind offer. For only $16.99/day you can be completely insured. Let's just say we have the car for 16 days, the first 8 of which it is parked. Just sitting there. But we had to. Ya, good job math whizzes. Ouch again.<br />
<br />
#2 - Then let's say your bank kindly reminds you that you should do a lien check before you buy the car you're considering. Great idea, we'll take one of those. Of course you will... for $65... plus tax. But niggling in the back of your brain is "what if we get saddled with someone else's loan? I mean, he seems like a trustworthy guy, but...." Yep, all good.<br />
<br />
#3 - Oh, and for just $22 more, you can make sure that the car actually hasn't been in any reported accidents. Again, I mean, he seems so trustworthy, but we should check. For 2 cars we're thinking about. First one, <i>well spent</i>. Car came back with <i>seven</i> accidents. Seven. One of them was a total write-off. Suddenly the $22 is a breeze - thank you for saving us from a likely lemon and a lying gentleman.<br />
<br />
The second one... perfect. Normal. No accidents. Just like the seemingly-trustworthy guy said.<br />
<br />
#4 - Then of course you want to have a thorough inspection done on it. With inflation, the $102 you paid for that service three years ago has now made the reasonable, gradual jump to $156.<br />
(At that rate, if we're buying a car another three years from now, I'm reading up and then inspecting it myself. Or using an iGadget of some sort that will, by then, be able to do it for me).<br />
<br />
#5 - I think my favourite little thing was when the guy at the insurance plan place tried to scold me using a little money as leverage. Yeah, scolding. I know, I'm like do you know that I'm almost 30? Only I didn't say that because then he might have said "Right, so then you really should have been mature enough to remember that one document you forgot..."<br />
Instead, he said, so much more scoldy-pants: "I'm going to have to charge you 5 dollars for forgetting that document [you should have <i>obviously</i> known to bring]." Five whole dollars? Take it, buddy. We're scamming <i>you</i>. You have no idea that we've paid way more than that for far littler things than a document that lets us buy or not buy the car.<br />
<br />
Funny thing is, he forgot to charge us.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-52623879386908480462011-09-19T12:42:00.000-07:002011-09-19T12:42:58.538-07:00Institution and Resolution.This post isn't going to be polished. <br />
I'm supposed to be getting into my homework any time now, but I can't focus because I just feel so <em>relieved</em>. <br />
<br />
I've had some "issues" with my schooling to start this year off. It came down to a lot of trying to find a paper trail, needing to prove why I felt I was misled, yada yada... <br />
<br />
It's been a process. But in the end, when it all comes down to it, my resolution has come from sitting in a room with 3 people who can do something about my situation - one who knows me a bit better than the others - and sensing that they genuinely wanted to help me get it right. <br />
I was heard. <br />
I heard them. <br />
<br />
In the end, that's all that really matters. I don't have to be <em>right</em>. I just want to be a teacher some day :). Again. <br />
<br />
Anyways, I am just so thankful, but for a different reason than I originally thought. Originally I thought I would be thankful if I achieved a result I was hoping for. And for sure I am thankful that things are working out in a way that's not going to cost me more time or money than we have. <br />
But I'm for some reason thankful for the difficulty of the process. I've learned a lot this past few days - following a chain of hierarchy and conversations... <br />
And through it all, I have somehow sensed that this is exactly where God wanted me to be. I think He is refining something in me through this process. So I feel the 'wear' of that for sure. But I can honestly say I feel content. <br />
<br />
Very similar to the sore-muscle feeling you experience while you're drinking your smoothie after a hard work-out.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-36182693357421119932011-09-07T16:57:00.000-07:002011-09-07T16:57:04.522-07:00Meat and Potatoes.Oh-for-three.<br />
<br />
I thought it was oh-for-two when I first sat down to write about the little things I missed in the process of being a really cool, well-read person.<br />
<br />
But nope, oh-for-three. And that's just the ones I know about...<br />
<br />
I was really excited a few weeks ago to find the title of a book I've been wanting to get on Amazon - and cheap, too! So I added it to my "shopping cart." No biggie. What's this, free shipping if I spend more than $25? Yes, please.<br />
So I added one more book I've been looking for. Great deal. Puts me at $26.81. Nice.<br />
<br />
We leave on our trip to Ontario.<br />
We get back.<br />
<br />
I anxiously look for our mail, and I'm <i>so</i> lucky. Like, I thought I was going to have one of those "please pick up your package at this post office that's in the busiest traffic area in your city at your earliest inconvenience." Which would have been fine, because excitement would have gotten me there.<br />
<br />
<br />
But, like I said, I'm so lucky. The box just came right to the door; imagine that.<br />
<br />
<br />
But I don't feel as lucky right now. Because the original book-I've-wanted turns out to not be that book exactly. It has the same words in the title. And even the same author. But rather than being the meat and potatoes study I was looking for, it's the "Personal Reflections" series <i>about </i>the book I originally wanted. Nothing against personal reflections. Heck, I'm an Education student. I can reflect with the best of them.<br />
But that's <i>why</i> I was craving meat. And spuds.<br />
<br />
<br />
At least I got the second book right, though.... Oh, wait. Nope. Same title I asked for. Same author. But if I had zoomed in on my original order screen to 700% or so, I would have noticed the tiny white writing that says "Participant's Guide." Great, I guess, if you have the DVD series. I don't. And I'm too disappointed to get it now.<br />
<br />
<br />
But I said oh-for-three, didn't I? Well, this one just kicked me while I'm down. Not having the benefit of learning-from-my-mistakes this morning, since I didn't have our mail yet, I am now swimming in a pool of unluck.<br />
<br />
<br />
Always a fan of saving a few bucks, I decided I'd try ordering my textbooks online today as well. This decision came on the heels of my decision that I shouldn't have to pay $96 for a book I can see when I can order one from an invisible place for more like $17. I would still be feeling proud of myself, except that I just checked the order status of three of the books I ordered; try to spot the one I'm concerned about:<br />
<br />
<br />
1) <i>Processing order.</i><br />
<i>2) Processing order. </i><br />
<i>3) Awaiting publication.</i><br />
<br />
How is that even fair. I was duped into believing that if a book had a virtual cover the size of a large postage stamp, it had a real cover somewhere the size of an individual pizza box. With, like, actual pages beneath it.<br />
<i> </i><br />
<br />
Silly thing is, you probably would have felt sorry for me if I just told you that last one. Now you're singing to yourself (quietly, so as not to make me feel bad), an octave above your usual pitch, "...<i>common denominator?</i>..."<br />
<br />
<br />
Me too.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-86428731767788658702011-07-14T08:36:00.000-07:002011-07-14T08:36:33.678-07:00Gloves & Java.I had a craving to write this morning.<br />
I didn't wake up with it.<br />
Because, really, the only thing I wake up craving is coffee.<br />
<br />
I heard the mild rebuke in Ry's voice yesterday when I explained how my day was off-balance until I found that precious cuppa. Yeah, that's right, I said cuppa. Do you know what cuppa is? I don't officially know... but the author of the book I'm reading has used the word a few times, and I want to be like her. She's a really good writer.<br />
<br />
But, see, that right there is an example of <i>not</i> a really good writer: to describe the creator of a delicious, haunting novel as "she's a really good writer."<br />
<br />
She weaves a magical web...<br />
Mysteriously, she orbits the edges of a tragic tale...<br />
As pieces of an entangled puzzle are gently connected...<br />
<br />
(All of that without a thesaurus, by the way).<br />
<br />
So, this delightful novel has all of the things that I need in order to drink the author's KoolAid:<br />
<br />
- The majority of it takes place in England (really, I could stop here, as you know if you've been reading me).<br />
<br />
- There is a garden involved, and it's both wild and perfect. Perfect.<br />
<br />
- Also there's an English cottage, shrouded in mystery but you know it was beautiful once-upon-a-time...<br />
<br />
- The inside of the front and back covers have drawings that are carefree yet magical.<br />
<br />
- England is a prominent setting.<br />
<br />
- Actually, the other setting is Australia, and I <i>love</i> hot places.<br />
<br />
- Instead of saying something like, "It didn't make sense to her", the author says something like, "The truth still fitted like someone else's glove..." <br />
<br />
- There is also an English castle, an English ship... although I still like the English garden and the English cottage best.<br />
<br />
<br />
So. Here I am, with my cuppa - which I can now assume means tea, given the quaint yet illustrious setting. But I have my Canadian cuppa, which led me to sit, which led me to write, which I hope will lead a few of you to read...<br />
Not my words.<br />
Kate Morton's <i>The Forgotten Garden</i>.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261419420630962361.post-87103417884448649402011-06-09T14:34:00.000-07:002011-06-09T14:34:30.617-07:00Yarn & Parsley.It is wonderful to have time.<br />
Time that isn't already spoken for.<br />
Time that can flex as we go.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, we did yoga for an hour and a half, and it didn't make us late for anything.<br />
<br />
We watched 2 periods of a hockey game, and then left the cafe... (but really, how much did that have to do with having time, or was it sparing ourselves?)<br />
<br />
I crocheted almost half of a blanket that I've been working on for... sheesh, I don't know. I bought the wool when I lived in Regina, so what does <i>that</i> tell you?<br />
<br />
<br />
On a different note, I also spent some time while we were watching the hockey game looking up healthy recipes - which brings me to my next train of thoughts:<br />
<br />
I really enjoy looking at healthy recipes. I sometimes even like shopping to make those recipes. And even less frequently, but still occasionally, I like making the recipes.<br />
Really, though, just by browsing through them, I feel like a healthier person. I mean, I <i>could</i> be looking at the "how-to-make-a-cake-that-will-leave-your-dinner-guests-longing-for-more" page. But I'm not. I'm looking at oatmeal and dressing-less salad, and quinoa.<br />
<br />
The problem I find is this:<br />
<br />
I also really like some food that is not good for me.<br />
I don't think what we eat is by any means <i>all</i> bad. In fact, I think I'm a pretty balanced eater/cook. But I definitely resort to comfort foods and cravings more frequently than I care to admit.<br />
<br />
And sometimes that makes me feel guilty.<br />
<br />
So, the only reasonable solution I can think of, really, is to stop looking at those healthy recipe pages.<br />
All they make me do is wish that I had a garden combined with a green thumb.<br />
And a kitchen full of herbs combined with a food processor.<br />
And an organized grocery list combined with a lot of time.<br />
<br />
Instead, I am choosing to be thankful. Thankful for tasty treats, for 4 food groups, and for the very occasional salad.Deb Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15042526518068935416noreply@blogger.com0