So we finally finished the house. Yeah us!,
We got it just the way we always dreamed it could be…it was perfect. Well…apart from the black tile floors.
Don’t get me wrong they were stunning…I first met them in the dust free, pet free, humans having a life free …showroom of our local flooring store. I fell in love..so elegant..so rich looking…I just had to have them…..I imagined the statement they would make when I moved them into my home…how they would majestically redefine the hallways, the kitchen, the bathrooms, the family room, laundry room and the staircase…in that moment I felt as though nothing would ever feel so right.
And then the man came and laid my beautiful treasured tile…and in an instant I knew nothing would ever be right again.
They were a mistake…huge mistake…a huge soul sucking mistake…Did you know that black tile floors expose every single fleck of dirt, dust and hair and magnify them to the power of infinity? I had to up my OCD medication just so I didn’t stand in the corner all day wielding a Swiffer wet jet like lady Macbeth…screaming “Out, damned spot.” It was a thing…I got help…it didn’t help…so we put the house up for sale.
Yes, you heard me….we decided to move…
No, not just because of the tile…I mean obviously….we’re not that obsessive….however if questioned in a court of law….I would be unable to deny ….under oath…that it was not not a contributing factor.
The truth is we went on a cruise and one of the places we visited was Nova Scotia and we fell in love. Not like the “black tile” love…that ended in betrayal and sadness…but real life affirming this feels like home…love. We jokingly said if there was ever a job opportunity there we would seriously consider moving.
Never joke…true story…you’re welcome.
Now, I’m pretty convinced the Universe eavesdrops on my off the cuff remarks like an ambulance chasing lawyer desperate to have some relevant skin in the game. I could be wrong…but just one week later, we were staring at a job offer that was too good to turn down…and 2 weeks after that we were sitting at our dining room table talking to a realtor about home cost evaluations and curb appeal.
And just one short month later …contracts were signed, our house was sold and the movers were booked. It was November 25th and in a mere 5 days we would be leaving beautiful British Columbia to start our new adventure in Sydney Nova Scotia.
You’d think the story would just end there, wouldn’t you? Probably for most people it would. But our family’s freak flag flies torn and tattered and at half mast at least fifty percent of the time so this story is not quite over yet.
You see we operate under the assumption that Irony and Bad Luck had a love child (Chaos- its Christian name) and when they want a night off….they leave Chaos at our house for safe keeping.
I remember it as though it were yesterday…it was Friday night and I was watching the news and a story came on about a massive flood in our almost new town of Sydney. I remember thinking it was very sad.
Now at that time I did not know I was babysitting Chaos….they truly are the worst parents….they never call ahead and make sure I’m free….they just drop him off and run…usually I don’t even know he’s there until it’s too late…and yes I have tried calling child protective services…but the last time I did they just opened a file on me….which I thought was very rude and completely unsupportive.
Anyway that night as we slept…blissfully unaware that Chaos was in our charge….our dishwasher sprung a leak and by morning our ceiling was buckling and we had 3 inches of water in our basement. It seemed that Chaos wasn’t very sleepy that night so he decided to entertain himself by making our home into a rather sad little water park.
We were to close on the sale of our house 6 days later.
The good news is it all worked out. Not without a modicum of trouble and strife but all things being what they are…for us…business as usual.
The bad news…It’s the end of this chapter…but don’t worry…I haven’t even got to the good part…so stay tuned…
The countdown has begun. End of days? Maybe. Apocalypse? possibly. In my opinion the citizens of the United States are staring into the abyss…and the abyss due to its utter embarrassment is refusing to look back. I mean I assume it is…it’s not like the abyss and I are Facebook friends…but if I were the abyss I would be like…nope I can’t watch this…you people are officially on your own…it’s a pretty sad day if even the abyss won’t return your calls.
I’m speaking of course of the 2016 presidential election…or as I like to call it the battle between the bottom of the barrel and the sludge you might find stuck on the side of said barrel. I for one don’t envy their choices. How does one decide between a lying manipulative entitled garden gnome and an ignorant racist sexual predator with combed over troll hair? It’s not as easy as I make it sound..gnomes can make lovely lawn ornaments and trolls can manage bridge tolls and I assume also have working knowledge of expansive walls? Both have some, albeit limited, value.
So I would like to offer a third candidate. Now It’s a little unprecedented and I’m not entirely sure of the legalese of my suggestion but given the fact that this entire campaign has been run with the decorum of a Jerry Springer baby daddy reveal, I feel that the bar has been set so far underground it may or not have been reduced to molten steel.
That being said and without further ado I would like to introduce to you my mini dachshund chihuahua Wiggles and nominate her to be your next president of the United States of America. She has decided to select our Siamese cat Salem as her running mate as she feels that he rounds out the ticket with his ethnic diversity. Also it’s important to note that he has been neutered so he is unlikely to be a political liability with regards to any sexually deviant behaviour and the only “Bush” he hangs around is the one by our front door.
Some of you might be asking yourself what qualifies either of these four legged furry phenoms to be the leaders of the most powerful nation on earth? I say some of you because there is obviously a faction of individuals who believe that the lesser of 2 evils is the way they will be utilizing their constitutional right to vote on November 9th. If that isn’t just the saddest most demoralizing use of of democracy I don’t know what is?
Wiggles and Salem recognize how important it is to once again inspire and bring hope to your great nation and they are challenging all to cast their vote for the party of Barksalot and Purrsome..(working title only)
They are willing and currently able to leave their home in Canada and take on the most auspicious office in the free world. ( I say “currently” because Wiggles is of Mexican descent and Salem has been batting about the idea of adopting the muslim faith, so obviously their immigration status and freedom of religion may become a bit of a logistical nightmare if one of your current candidates wins the election) but I digress…
Their sacrifice of free healthcare and the ability interject “eh” and “I’m sorry” for no apparent reason is not something that they will easy part with. However it is their determination to reset the balance of democracy in favour of something a little less ridiculous that fuels their belief that they are the one true hope for your nation.
Also it’s important to note that Wiggles will absolutely release her tax returns and Salem has never been allowed to use our home server to access any of his work related emails.
If you could see Wiggles and Salem right now you’d see that their passion for governing is second only to their love of naps and snuggles. So it is with a humble heart I would like to give you this alternative on November 9th because a vote for Wiggles and Salem is a vote for furrmocracy.. And let’s face it isn’t that the best mock-racy there
Mr.Trump just won again….I know it seems bleak…Sodom and Gomorrah bleak….but I was hoping you would refrain from sending in the horseman of the apocalypse for just a bit longer.
I’m not saying that a certain voting demographic couldn’t benefit from a strongly worded burning bush…or maybe even a very localized weather event in the genre of say a Red Sea parting or a semi great flood….or anything else that might remind them of that little section in the bible that talks about of the perils of deifying a false prophet or just about anything that discusses what to look for in an antichrist.
Not trying to tell you how to do your thing….I know you got this…it’s just….if you could possibly give us a sign that this is just big cosmic ha ha….I for one would sleep a lot better at night.
Yours faithfully Janyce
PS. In the event of a sudden rapture I would totally prefer to ascend wearing my clothes …more for the benefit of others than myself. Again this would be up to your discretion.
I’ m not a lot of things. In fact, the laundry lists of things that I am not, is quite impressive if I do say so myself. For example I am not a man nor am I pigeon or a particularly skilled athlete. The latter can be attested to by anyone who has ever watched me participate in any activity that requires both my brain and my body to coordinate in any meaningful way.
I once dislocated my knee in the 30 seconds it took me to stand up and walk over to the dance floor. True story. Luckily the fellow with whom I had attempted to dance with was able to quickly slam it back into place. He had that skill set. So while I always knew that I shouldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time without a supervising medic, I know have to live with the painful knowledge that just plain walking is not something that I am gifted at.
So I’m not coordinated. I own that. I’m fine with it and if I find myself in situations that require me to perform acts that could cause me bodily harm I wear a helmet and make sure my health insurance is current. I like being prepared. That’s my skill set.
Now if I can accept what it is that I am ‘not’ why can’t more people embrace and accept the limits of their own realities?
So what’s lit the fire in my belly that has lead to yet another one of my epic over shares?
Well the answer to that question my friends is simply this: crappy drivers.
Just because you can spell the word “car” doesn’t mean should drive one. For example. If you consistently drive in the left lane a minimum of 10km below the posted speed limit, whilst seemingly sharing recipes with the driver keeping pace with you in the right lane. You should both immediately pull over, put your vehicles in park and burn your drivers license and or your cars. Now of course there is no law requiring to do so…but it is fair to say that driving is ‘not’ your thing. It’s ok, no one will judge for accepting this simple truth about yourself.
Animals have zero difficulty accepting what they are and aren’t capable of. Case in point, you will probably never see cats teaching quantum physics or sharks climbing Mount Everest. I say probably, because I am also not a zoologist and I would be remiss in speculating on the possibility of either one of these things occurring at some later date. However as of this minute it would appear it is still well beyond their current evolutionary purview.
So, if genetically speaking, we are all predestined to live within our own evolutionary constraints; why do so many people fight against it with every fathom of their being. It’s okay not to be awesome at everything. It’s okay to not to be much good at most things….I am in fact the living breathing testament to that statement. That being said, if you are this driver or you know this driver …do mankind a favour, stop trying to do what your not good at….and maybe just call a cab.
What the selfie is happening to us humans? If I see one more teenage girl using her phone to take a picture of herself wearing a surprised duck face I am going to be forced to make a citizens arrest.
I could you know. It’s a thing… I looked it up….
The criminal code of Canada allows for a citizen to detain and charge an individual who has performed an indecent act. Now I realize I may be taking some liberties in my interpretation of the law, but I have watched the entire series of Ally Mcbeal and Boston Legal on Netflix so I feel pretty confident that I could make a very strong case.
I would further argue that the selfie stick should be registered and included in the list of prohibitive and restricted weapons. With all these crazy narcissists waving them about in public, it is only a matter of time before they impale some innocent bystander and or somebody loses an eye.
You know the old saying “it’s all fun and games until somebody’s on their way to the emergency room.”
I’m not saying they should do time in a maximum security facility but I would definitely advocate some jail time in that prison I’ve seen on the show Orange is the new black. Try taking a good selfie with a disposable one shot camera wearing a shapeless prison jumpsuit and posting it to Facebook. I dare you.
Sometimes I close my eyes and remember a quieter gentler time, when people had the good sense to resist the urge to capture every inane moment and faked facial expression that occurred in their lives. I’m reminded of the days of old when taking pictures was reserved for special occasions like birthdays, weddings, funerals, gathering evidence for a criminal investigation or to leverage a better settlement in a divorce. Those were kinder gentler times.
To those of you out there who are guilty of this non crime…..be warned. Life has funny way of self correcting, and if you insist on taking your picture posing like you just had your lips sucked up in vacuum you run the real risk of capturing the enduring image …..of an idiot.
Sent from my iPad
‘When I reach out to you, it is not to gain redemption or for personal gratitude. I respond from the grace and spirit in which the call was made. I am not perfect. I am not grace. I am merely the vessel that was chosen to answer your call. I give to you what was given to me. Hope. Love. Forgiveness. My soul asks only this …pay it forward, if you see someone in need reach out, if you see someone without hope give them the vision of tomorrow …if you recognize a person without…give from within ….if you see someone living despair give them peace from the past…I don’t ask this for me or of you. This is for spirit. We are all energy which cannot created or destroyed. The more we live in the positive the less we can evolve in the negative. May love and peace find you all tonight and always.
It came without warning. The news.
It was not supposed to happen this way and definitely not at this moment. There were too many things left unsaid and unfinished. The reality of the message was too surreal for my brain to take in. The words once spoken could not be unheard and yet the realization of what it all meant seemed to come at me in waves. They still do even now, 3 weeks later.
In that instant it appeared that all the air had been vacuumed out of the room. I could not breathe nor could I comprehend the magnitude of the raw emotion that I felt. There were no words.
The phone had rung and all I heard her say was “your dad has passed.”
This can’t be right? There has been a mistake.
You see I was planning a trip to go and see him next weekend. We were going to plan our trip to England together. He was going to show me “his London”. I was supposed to go last year and the year before but I was too busy with work and my kids and my life to carve a week out to spend with him. I thought there would be more time. But there wasn’t.
The thing about time is that it seems to have a short shelf life and the supply never meets the demand.
My time with my dad had run out. There was no getting it back and that truth is as brutal as it gets.
I think I squandered my time. I wasted it on busyness. Not this weekend dad and not this time dad because we had that thing but we would definitely come to see you soon.
It feels lonely here now, knowing that he won’t be calling me 5 times a day to see how I’m doing. To ask the same questions over and over; and to hear him laugh and say that “his mind was going”, when I gently reminded him that we had spoken only a few hours ago. What would I give to hear him ask me these things just one more time?
Time. That’s what I’d give. My time.
Parenting is hard.
The problem is, kids do not come with how-to manuals. I did ask for one but the doctor just shook his head and laughed. I’m not talking about the myriad of books available on the subject of parenting, I mean a back to basic, A to Z, step by step, idiot proof guide like you get with a new blender or anything from Ikea; just a simple book of do’s and do not’s, that if executed properly, will result in the perfect Stepford child.
Actually, maybe Ikea is a bad example because I once had to put together a bookshelf I bought from there and after four days, one migraine and a rather nasty leg wound, that labyrinth of hell went straight back to the store. Turns out I may have been reading the instructions in Dutch.
Did you know that unlike Ikea, children don’t even have a return policy? I guess it’s just a ‘you bake it, you take it’ kind of deal. The hospital won’t even give you a receipt, just your baby and a bag full of welcome wagon coupons. Like fifty cents off of wet naps and a visit from the Tupperware lady gives you enough working knowledge on how to raise a child. Just try calling her at 3 AM for instructions on how to calm your colicky baby and I guarantee you will not be getting your free gift.
I think becoming a parent is hands down the most optimistic thing I have ever done. For me, having children, seemed like an appropriate next step in my life’s journey. Sure I got lost in Costco and couldn’t boil water without burning a pot but everyone else seemed to be doing it so why not give it a go? Looking back now, I am amazed at the level of narcotic free delusion I must have been experiencing. It’s logic like that, I am now convinced, must have preceded the invention of Fundies. It’s a thing; Google it.
Before I was a mother I couldn’t even keep a house plant alive. I tried but I kept forgetting to water it. Luckily, children will make a lot of noise if you forget to feed them for any significant length of time and my plants just never seemed to try that hard. So I guess even if they don’t come with instructions they do have the odd fail safe. They will cry if something is wrong, sadly they will also cry when nothing is wrong which can be a bit of a conundrum.
The good news is, that so far, even without any degrees, step by step instructions , expertise of any kind, or any discernable skillset, I have managed to keep all of them alive (with my husband’s help of course); wait let me just double check…yes all still alive and well. I think that it’s important to celebrate the little victories when parenting like this, and remembering to pick them up from soccer practice and maybe even getting their name right on the first try (not as easy as it sounds). It may not seem like MENSA material but when mixed with a lot of love it seems to be getting the job done.
It was nearly Christmas, almost nineteen years ago, that I was pregnant with my first little miracle. I was reminded of this not long ago, as friends of mine recently gave birth to their own bundle of joy. Well, to be specific, one of my friends did the birthing and the other one had the lesser role of “coach”. Not to say that his role was not significant, but let’s face it, it’s not as if reminding someone to breathe and running for ice chips is the same as pushing a baby out of your… well, you know.
My husband and I were pretty stupid about babies and giving birth. That’s kind of the reason I called her my first a miracle, given the fact that we put about as much thought into the entire process as we did deciding on what movie to go to. Probably less actually.
These days people are so focused and organized they have actual birth plans. I had always thought that plan was a forgone conclusion after conception. I am pregnant, so I plan on giving birth. No need to get a pen and paper for that little piece of obvious. These days, birth plans can be small novels, and often involve more contingencies than FEMA.
Did you know that someone actually wrote something called 12 steps to easy labour? The first one should have been adoption, but surprisingly, that wasn’t even on the list. Giving birth is ridiculously hard and incredibly painful. There is nothing easy about it and I am convinced that whoever wrote that bit of crazy is a misogynistic Nazi.
My first baby was seventeen days over-due. I was induced 7 different times to try and coax her from my fat, bloated belly to no avail. Finally, they decided to introduce me to a special kind of hell called pitocin, which was supposed to encourage the birthing process. It didn’t. It did, however, encourage me to discuss sterilization in one of my more lucid moments between excruciating contractions. The nurses kindly supplied me with laughing gas. I did not laugh.
I have yet to give my husband credit for his part in the birthing experience. I feel remiss in that, so I will say that he did, at one point during a very painful contraction, pat me on the arm and tell me to shush because I was making too much noise. If you didn’t believe in miracles, here’s one for you … he managed to escape that comment with all of his appendages intact.
It would seem that he could have used a birthing plan. I made him one for our subsequent children’s births. It’s called ‘What Not to Say to Your Wife While She is in Labour.’ For a copy, please send requests via email.
Finally, after 13 hours of hard (not that easy stuff) labour, the doctor stepped in, had a wee look, and decided that I was incapable of giving birth naturally. I could have told him that in my first trimester, about five minutes after I watched a natural birthing video.
It was then decided that they would carve me up like a Christmas goose and do a scoop and run. I may or may not be correctly remembering the exact language. You see, it was being described post epidural and at that point, they could have been planning to sell my body parts on the black market and I would have gladly signed the paperwork. I felt that good.
Can I just say, epidurals are God’s gift to pregnancy. I, for one, am very thankful and have referenced it on more than one occasion at a thanksgiving meal. An attitude of gratitude is the key to all life’s successes, big or small.
So after all the egregious things that I had suffered through, at exactly 10:33 pm one week prior to Christmas, I delivered the most perfect baby that had ever been created by my husband and I up until that point. My mother-in-law had requested that I wait an additional 1 hour and 27 minutes so she and my daughter could share the same birthday. She was escorted from the room before any harm could come to her.
Anyway, I thought I would share my birthing story at this time of year when we celebrate the most blessed birth of all. Oddly enough, those two didn’t seem to have much of a birth plan either and their child turned out kind of amazing. I’m talking about Mary and Joseph, not my friends Keilen and Ryan. Although I’m sure their little one will turn out quite super too.