the future looks lovely

A short, little note today as I am preparing for our carpet picnic (homemade pizza) and have three very excited people (this includes my husband) to take care of.

On Friday, Becky and her little cluster of Chalmers children came over for a visit. When five little children, including two romantic almost-six-year-olds, a busy and energetic four-year-old and a sweet and ever-watchful one-year old, come together there is always great excitement.

By about half-way through our visit Sophie and Clara decided to dress in their wedding finest and marry the unsuspecting Sam. According to the girls, Sam was the "Awful wedded husband" and would be married to both girls.

Watching Sophie and Clara standing side-by-side, giggling and laughing, I felt like I had a glimpse of the future and although I am biased, the future looks incredibly beautiful.

holding my breath

A dear friend of mine, whose daughter was born three days after Sophie (but I budged and was supposed to let me friend have her long-awaited and overdue child first) very occasionally takes her daughter out of school for the day to have a "fun and free day". I loved this idea and thought that it made sense to allow a child, in their first year of school, to feel rewarded for their hard work and dedication to their new schedule. I also imagined that like a "mental health day" sometimes offered to employees, this free day for hard-working children could be a tradition carried through the life of their education. I imagined that this day spent with Mum (or Dad) doing something wonderful and fun would encourage their continued dedication.

Yesterday afternoon I decided that a day (today) spent with Soph would be just the thing that both her and I would enjoy (perhaps I was thinking that a day with Sophie would also take my mind off the daunting and exhausting task of looking for a job...).

We had finished dinner and were just about to go and put the girls in the bath when I said to Sophie "Lovey, I was thinking that maybe you could miss school tomorrow and we could have a day together doing something fun." She looked at me for a very long time, tilted her sweet little head to the side and said "Mama, I have school tomorrow and I don't want to miss a day because I learn a lot, but I'll do something with you on the weekend or next week because it's Spring Break".

My tail was immediately tucked between my legs and all I could say was "Of course. Well, I am proud of you for being so committed to school, Soph". The teachings of a five-year-old could never be more priceless.

Survivior

Today I went to the first of more than a dozen long and intense training sessions for my role as a Victim Assistance Unit Volunteer with the New Westminster Police.

I was up at 6:30, out the door by 7:15am, buying my coffee from my favourite friend "Alex" (who always thinks that I look as tired as he feels. Note: Does he know that he looks like $&%*)# most mornings too?) and then arriving at the Police Station for 7:45. Sharp (as the police like to say). The day went well. I felt good about my decision to do this. I know this is something that I can be really good at but the best, or perhaps the worst, part of the day really has to be the feeling that everyone has when they are herded into a small room, asked to introduce themselves and to tell everyone why you are here. GULP.

This really shouldn't be a big deal but it feels like an enormous step in creating the image and impression that everyone will have of you for the rest of your training. The instructors have already told all of us that we are going to be "the best of friends when we are through with this training". Would anyone like to add anything else to pressure cooker?

In my own way and perhaps to make myself feel better, I put on my "glasses" and watch the whole thing unfold as though I am a character in the game of Survivor. We all know that opinions and impressions are formed pretty quickly when we are thrust into a scenario where we must get to know and trust a new group of people. We all create our own list of checks. Who looks the strongest? Who would I want to align myself with? Who sounds like they know what they are talking about without being completely annoying? Who looks like they are serious about the work ahead but has a good sense of humour? Who is passive aggressive?

As the day went on today, you could see the personality puzzle pieces falling into their rightful places and the "stranger" dance became a little less awkward. People started to share more and more of themselves. Showing the building trust in their classmates. It is good to watch people open up. It is even better when there is a common goal and you can feel and see that everyone is in the game of Survivor to make it to the end.

Generations

So much of my life has been influenced by the wonderful female role models I have been fortunate enough to have as family. I have always had a profound connection with my maternal grandmother, who, although Danish, has lived in England since she was 18 years old. She is the same hero now as she was when I was a little girl of six, having tea with her in bed and telling her all of my stories and ideas.

Now that I am a mum of two little girls I appreciate, even more, the roles that various family members play in the world of children. My own children's connection to their grandmothers is something that I have watched develop and transform and I am always moved when I see the love and affection between the generations that I, myself, have always known.

Last summer, when I took Sophie to visit my Nin in England, we were lucky enough to have our trip coincide with a visit from my Mum and her husband. To be able to sit with my own daughter, my Mum and my grandmother was something I will remember, always. There is strength in family and if that strength could be measured, I am sure ours would be off-the-scale.

Blind Dragon

"As one child put it “I dislike nicknames – people use them to imply your character…”. Managing a nickname is one of the more fateful of social skills. Nicknames can serve not only as thumbnail character sketches, of illustrations of quirks of personality and physical appearance, but as capsule histories too, selecting and amplifying some moment in the life course that stands out as striking."

There are just some people who seem to "collect" nicknames whether they intend to or not. I haven't spent a lot of time trying to figure out if it is the actual person (and personality) that "asks" to be given a nickname or if it is the name given to a child that determines the "nickname-ability" of the person. Perhaps it is a combination of both.

What I do know is that I am a collector of nicknames. Some I love and have been given in love. Others are funny and a laugh usually follows the delivery of the name. And still others, are names that make me feel a bit sheepish and a bit defensive. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the name highlights some character trait that I am not especially proud of. At one time, I sat down and created a list of the nicknames that I have collected. I had more than a dozen. Here is just a sampling:

Nand - the name given to me by my family and the only name my younger brother knew until he was about 6 (when he found out I had a "real" name). This name makes me feel loved and cared for.

Nandy - another version of the above

Annie - The name that my closest of friends call me and one that I relate to. This name gives me a sense of belonging and reminds me that I have a really wonderful group of people in my life

Peg - A nickname given to me by a good friend and former manager who felt that my appearance in the early 1990's was very much like that of "Peg Bundy" from "Married with Children". Almost 20 years later, I am still Peg even though I have lost the big red hair, and even bigger red lipstick.

Double A - Another name given to me by friends and co-workers that represented my initials (using my maiden name). To this group of friends and former co-workers, I am still Double A despite being married and no longer having AA as my intials.

Kid - A name my husband and I use for each other. Origin - unclear

Spatch - A portion of my last name (maiden) and one only used by a handful of old high-school friends

Pinenut - Yes, 'tis true. This is a real nickname. Coined my closest friend, who moved from Vancouver almost 10 years ago. Since we were so far away from each other, I would often tell her that I was pining for her. Being the crazy soul she is, she once said that my face shape reminded her of a pinenut and since I "pine" for her, she will call me "Pinenut". I have to admit, I kind of like this nickname since it is only my friend that uses it and it makes me feel connected to her despite the physical distance between us.

The last nickname is clearly related to the opening of this blog as it is a name that I am not especially proud of and it obviously acts as a "character sketch" for the person that is woken up each morning by her two lovely children and husband. Blind Dragon is the lovely nickname that my husband bestowed upon me between two and three years ago based on a combination of my physical appearance in the morning and my obvious demeanor.

The thing is, this name is appropriate. I have to admit it. The combination of my incredibly poor eyesight (I cannot see anything without contacts) and my terrible moods in the morning have earned me this name. Each morning our Queen-sized bed is overflowing with my husband, my two children (who have joined us upon waking up) and our cat. While some might think this sounds charming and wonderful, I couldn't me more cranky about it. As I toss my head from side to side, trying to see who is talking and who has their elbow in my side and I "crank" about still being tired and really wishing that I could have 10 minutes more to sleep, I can only imagine that short of the fire shooting from my nostrils, I couldn't look more like a "Blind Dragon".

So, while collecting nicknames is rather entertaining it is also a exercise in humility and today, after my cranking this morning, I am a rather humble dragon...

Shar Pei Complex

I have been writing, lately, about being grateful and working very hard at being positive. I am taking a departure from that in this entry. I have a dilemma and it is trite and completely vain. I do not know what to do with the criss-cross pattern of wrinkles that have taken up residence on my forehead.

I kind of think I have three options:

1) Suck it up, stop being so vain and live with the lines that are me
2) Get myself a french woman's facelift - a solid set of bangs
3) Actually consider (gasp) Botox

I know, I know...Botox can you make you look like Nicole Kidmann (did anyone see her when she was on David Letterman? Yikes!) but I am not sure that I can deal with the grid that I stare at each morning. I just stare at my forehead and think about how smooth it appeared just 5 or 6 years ago.

I actually went to a Botox place about 2 years ago (they did free consultations) and saw a doctor who took one look at my forehead (when I was wrinkling it up as he had instructed) and he kind of made a face like "wow, or yikes" I said to him (after taking one look at his expression) "is it that bad?" to which he replied (ever so diplomatically) "Welllll, you do have a large number of very strong muscles in your forehead and they are very expressive". So. What the heck did that mean? "You would need a lot of injections to really take care of all of the individual muscles." "At least 25-30". Yea, not likely.

So, as you can guess, I went as far as a consultation and that was that. But, two years later, with the prospect of going to job interviews and hopefully finding myself in a new career, I am thinking that maybe 25-30 injections could be manageable. All of this deliberating certainly doesn't help since I am sitting here with my forehead all creased.

So, as horrible as this post may seem, it is what it is. I have a Shar Mei Complex and will continue to deliberate my options. I'll let you know when I make a decision!

needs and wants

Today, on this sunny, crisp February day, I was lucky enough to be able to call up a dear friend, last minute, and arrange for a walk, some tea and some chats. Since I was feeling a teeny bit sorry for myself this morning (due to the prospect of more resume flogging and more interviews), this interlude with my friend came at a perfect moment. How fortunate I am.

Part of our conversation this morning, saw me (of course), telling a story about a friend that I had made many years ago who I still connect with every 12 to 18 months. The phone will ring and this deep, rich, rolling voice will say "On-dray-a, its me...". I love that voice and the image that is conjures up. In my minds eye (I have not seen my friend in many years as she no longer lives here) I see her beautiful smiling face; her flashing gold earrings and her colourful headdress and clothes. I can smell the unfamiliar but comforting smell of African spices.

Yet, the strongest memory I have of my friend was her ability to stay positive and happy with so little. I can remember going to the house of a family where my African friend was staying for a few weeks (she had given up her small suite in order to save money to go home to Africa). This basement suite, from the outside, looked rough and was in an even rougher part of town. When I went in to the little suite (I was helping my friend pack up her things to go home), I was met with that fragrant smell of traditional African food and the smiling faces of the family that lived there. They graciously welcomed me in and offered me tea and a seat. There were five people. All of them also from Ghana, originally. The father, a fellow in his early thirties, had been sponsored by a brother to come to Canada with his family and had taken the chance.

I was struck at that time but even more later in my life and certainly today, by the fact that this family, together, and healthy, appeared to need nothing more to be happy. The basement suite had two bedrooms, and so the parents were in one room and their three little children were in the other. My friend was on the couch until her departure. There was no TV, no playroom crowded with tacky, brightly-coloured plastic, no playstation. There was a simple room, neat and tidy with some books on the table from the library. One of the children, a little girl, took me by the hand to show me the room that she and her sibling shared. She was so pleased with the big bed that they got to sleep together on.

When I hear every day about our struggling economy and, I myself, look for a new job, I think about this family and about the smiles on each of their faces. Each of them willing to share the little they had. Each perfectly content.

Today, I am inspired by this memory. Today I am working on being content. Today, I am grateful.