A Slippery Slope.

I have a tendency to be overly ambitious.

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.

I mean, when I have 45 minutes "free," I want to accomplish approximately thirteen things.


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:
Just get everything on the shopping list.


So.

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.
Let's compare it more to a methodical jog than to a 100-meter sprint.

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.

I found gifts for people on my list.
I pre-ordered and therefore efficiently picked up medications.
I comparison shopped for inexpensive yet quality baby cereal.
And, I bought spinach, which made me feel like a very healthy and therefore comparatively better person.

There was icing on this cake: I found the shortest line and I snagged it.

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."

One stinkin' item on my list couldn't be checked off: A little tube of diaper-bag-sized Vaseline.

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 so hard. I had been so proactive in my shopping. Huck had been so cooperative.

But I could not, could not, leave my place in line.

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.
Last time, I got a huge box of little chocolates. (Subconsciously why I was buying spinach on this particular trip).
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.

Anyways.
I don't know how else to end this story.

Except to tell you that in the front window of the un-biodegradable gift box of 12 lotions....
There was a little tube of diaper-bag-sized Vaseline.

E-Pens & Faucets.

If there were little things to write about before… they now overwhelm me.

A literal flood.

Of emotions, awareness, thankfulness, neediness, desperation,… diapers.

8 weeks ago today, we welcomed little Huck.

{He has another first and middle name… but for the blog-world, he’s our Huck}.

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.

{look at those mitts, eh?!} 

Anyways, 8 weeks later, still learning.

As expected.

As is par for the course we’re now on.

And 8 weeks later, I’m ready to pick up the e-pen and return to the place where I find some refreshment: writing.

My plan is not 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 really doing all day. And all night, for that matter.

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.

So…

For today, one little thing I learned in the bathroom last week.

Our bathroom has become a place of refuge.

I don’t mean for Ryan or for me.

For Huck.

It’s the one room in our apartment with no windows. The one room with two sources of running water.

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.

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:

Singing.

I’m happy to oblige. We all sound better in the shower anyways, everyone knows that.

But here’s the little thing I’m learning:

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.

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.

Rather, I found myself with only three words: “To the left, to the left…”

Ah, Huck…

You’re Irreplaceable. 

Anchors & Pears.

Some people like to do things every day to mix up their routine. They call it "refreshing," "revitalizing," "energizing"...

I call it terrifying.

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?

Exhibit A:

I love to eat the same breakfast every weekday. Every single weekday.
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.
Then I go back to the washroom to, you know, relieve myself.
Then I go back to the kitchen to make coffee. To pour into my favourite cup eventually.
Then I put the bread in the toaster oven.
Then I put away the clean dishes from the night before.
Then I....

You're getting bored.
You see, while you're getting bored, I'm getting relaxed... ah, yes, this - this routine - is a terribly relaxing start to my day.

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?

Yeah, me neither.

Anyways, routine. Love it, thrive on it, appreciate it.


Another self-observation (since today's post is, as usual, all about me).
Exhibit B:

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 really 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.

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..."
And then I walk in.
And then I'm totally fine.

And without fail, when I'm walking back down those same stairs a couple hours later, I'm always thinking how that went by so fast and how I genuinely enjoyed it.

I suppose you could call that my thinking routine.


This next and final exhibit is an aspect of my routine that I would like to change.
Exhibit C:

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?

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.

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.


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.

I don't.

Pockets & Shins.

I'm a little gloomy today. 

You can see why, right? 

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. 

Instead, I will share some exciting news that I think may change my life. 

Well, my blogging life. 

Do you know what this is?

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!

Which means this...

{that's a cloudless day for those of you who, like myself, have forgotten that those exist... even though it was yesterday}

And this...

{that's one of the areas where I walk... because I'm a walker now that I'm a front-end loader}

And this...

{that's a gate}

... are possible now because I have a camera I can carry in my pocket!


I'm hoping that this changes my life by helping me to keep my eyes open.
(Less bruised shins that way, for one).

I don't want to become a photographer.
(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).

I don't want to become someone who's perpetually glued to their pocket-electronic.
(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).

What I do want is to be cool.
(So, now I am).

Checkmarks & College Funds

Kind of creepy, right?

I pulled this out of our mailbox a few nights ago. 

For a moment, it took my breath away. Am I ready? 

Then, who are you (whoever this was) to question my readiness?

I pulled the flyer open. Ooooh, I see. They know I'm not "ready" yet. Wanna know how? 

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. 

Phew. 

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.

I don't know if I'm ready. To be honest, that's probably not a great question to ask. 

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. 

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.

But I'm proud today to announce that Ryan and I are ready in one of the ways! Here's the way:

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.

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 cares, right?! I mean, just pick a date and let people know. 

Anyways, back to how we're ready in one way: 

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 baby-moon. Cute. 

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?

Anyways, Ry found a sweet deal on Groupon for a hotel on the Oregon coast... So. We put our heads together... and booked it! Done. Check. We're going, and we know when! 

How liberating. Good for us. 

{Any of our family members on either side reading this are probably slow-clapping for us right now, I imagine}.

Let's head back to the beginning of this post for a moment: 

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}". 

Lanyards & 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. 

Yesterday was not that day. 

But I did realize that I have another most amazing person in my world. 

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. 

So, I'm doing my practicum in a Grade 5 classroom. My favourite {for real}.

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. 

It's from her daughter, who plays high school and club volleyball. 

Oh, cool. My husband is connected to the volleyball world a "little." Volleyball Canada in the mornings, and... 

"Ooh, my daughter has friends in that program. And, she's going to Paraguay in March with a guy named Ryan and that Athletes in Action group he works with."

Bingo. 

He's my husband. 

"WHAT?!?!" 

{sorry, I don't actually like all-caps, but that was what she sounded like}

"My daughter loves 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 so texting her!" 

She couldn't stop talking about it all morning. 

Only one word to describe how I felt:

SO proud.

I married the most amazing person in the world. Even a 16-year old knows that. 

Feet & Inches.

I parked on the sidewalk.

Yeah, I did that. In fact, I did that many times.
Here's how.
And here's why.
And here's why I won't be doing it any more.

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).
So that's how.

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 actually get to park on the big driveway attached to the house).
So.
Due to that side-swiping that led to a totalling of the car that led to a whole 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.
No big deal, right?
I mean, I get that that's better for cars but worse for pedestrians. I get that. But I also 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.
Anyways... that's the why.

As to why I won't be doing that any more... fifty dollars.
(That's like 30 Tim Hortons' or like 4 Starbucks', if that helps).
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.
But they won't.
And besides, I've had an epiphany.
The letter of the law is where it's at.
That's one of the reasons why I won't be doing it any more.

But here's my other reason.
I want to be a teacher again some day.
And when you're running a classroom, you have rules. And sometimes students break them.
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.
There's just no time for these things.

So I paid the 50 bucks.
Because you know what else?

You're not supposed to park on the sidewalk.