adventures in dating (and life) - single mommy style

International Woman's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 20:04:01 PST

Since I'm a woman, and I have several women in my life who I love so, so much, and have many, many more who I really like, I feel it's important that I at least acknowledge International Woman's Day.

Women, we're wonderful. We have so many amazing qualities. We're the care takers of the world. Women like Mother Theresa stand amongst us. Women who nurse the poor and the dying without even a second thought. We have this amazing ability to grow little humans inside our bodies. And then we have even greater strength to push them out. We can love them with everything in our being, more than anything in the world. We can sacrifice things important to us for the ones we love, and not lose any sleep over it.

Women, we're brilliant. We can multitask like nobody's business. We can do 5 things at once while also thinking of 5 other things that we need to do. We can decorate cupcakes and set tables and braid hair and paint our finger nails with tiny little brushes. We can design our wardrobes. We can take little brushes and draw perfectly straight to outline our eyes and lips. We can spend an hour doing our hair. We can run a multimillion dollar company (not me, but some women) and raise children too. We can commute in four inch stilettos.

We're graceful and sensual and (oh, come on...we are. How many men do you know could be described as *graceful*) passionate.

We can change our minds in a second. Four times over. We can talk about our periods and our uterus' and that bump on our boob without embarrassment. We can relive our birth stories 50 times over. We can laugh through our tears. We can tell the same story to the same person five times and not remember. We can lose our keys inside our purse. We can get lost on the way home.

We can hold a grudge for years. We can remember things someone did like 10 years ago and bring it up like it was yesterday. And then act all surprised when no one else remembers it, like it wasn't important. *Eye roll* Of course it was important. Oh wait...never mind. We do not do this. Ever.

We can change the subject really, really fast.

I'm proud to be a woman. I'm so glad that I'm a woman in Canada, because the opportunities that I have are far beyond that of many other countries. I have an education. I can vote. I have a management position. I'm a single mother and I'm not shunned or written off by society. I can walk down the street without fear of walking down the *wrong* street or sitting in the *wrong* bus and *asking* to be raped and killed. There are women around the world who dream of these things I think of consider the norm. They're not luxuries to me. They are just the way things are. It breaks my heart that baby girls are still left by the side of the road to die, simply because they're girls. It breaks my heart that a little girl was shot on a school bus, simply because she wanted an education. It breaks my heart that women need to be covered up with only their eyes showing, so they don't tempt men. It breaks my heart that women are raped and then blamed for bringing it on.

Women, we have come so far, but we have so, so far to go.

We have to remember that as women, we need to be each other's advocate. We need to stand up for each other instead of tear each other down. We need to give women credit where credit is due. We need to assist making each other stronger and successful in whatever we dream possible.

And really, we shouldn't need a day to remind us of this. Every day should be International Woman's Day, just like if you're in love, every day should be Valentines Day (blah, blah, blah).

Think of how much more we could accomplish if we worked together.

Go give a woman you love a hug :)

images via Pinterest

What's Pissing Me Off This Week

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 20:23:24 PST

Why yes, yes it is that time again. Surprise, surprise. Interestingly enough, I have more views with my *What's Pissing Me off* than any other post I write. This must mean that you guys like seeing me pissed off. Or maybe you relate.

So, what is pissing me off this week?

The Skytrain.

Yup public transit. Like I am pissed off to the point that I want to write a letter to the Skytrain gods and tell them just how mad I am. Maybe I will. Maybe this is my trial run.

I have seen everything on the Skytrain. People having sex, drunk people throwing up, oh my goodness, once I saw a homeless man (I assume he was homeless because he smelled horrid and had a garbage bag full of pop cans, etc) doing stripper moves on the poles people use to hold onto so they don't fall over. Seriously, he was gyrating.

Today was a perfect example of how my Skytrain rides usually go...

This morning, actually get a seat. Beside a really smelly guy. Like stale beer and smokes and b.o. (yes it's unpleasant, but this isn't *what made me super happy today*). Anyways, I'm just happy I have a seat. It's easier to use my iPhone, drink my extra large double double (Canadian for coffee double cream, double sugar) and hold my computer bag and lunch bag. About half way through my ride, this old lady gets on. She's got a mask on and is missing huge clumps of hair, so I'm thinking she's going through chemo and no one offers her their seat. In fact, people are purposely avoiding contact because it's obvious she a) needs a seat and b) is actively looking for a place to sit down. Of course, because I'm a super nice person, I call her over to where I'm sitting and give her my seat. She looked so grateful. So, I stand near a bar so I'm not flung across the train when it stops. This girl keeps creepin' up on my space to the point where I actually have my arm around her so I can hold on to the bar. Get this...she glares at me, like I'm invading her space.

But wait. It gets better.

Without a word of lie, I had decided to do this post before my ride home. I almost started laughing out loud like a crazy woman while on the Skytrain because it was almost vindication - like I'm not wrong for being pissed off about this.

Luck would have it that I found a seat on the uber packed train on the way home. The very next stop, this guy walks on. He's grossly overweight, his pants are cinched underneath his every ample gut and his fly is open. The guy stands right in front of me. He stinks. Like he hasn't showered in a week and just went on eating/drinking/smoking binge - actually, if I'm being super honest - he smells like a fart. A serious fart. He keeps coughing, too and I can feel the germs landing on me. I can feel it. So, I'm trying not to stare at the unzipped crotch right in front of me. But it's at eye level. And every time the Skytrain stops, he's lurched forward and his gut comes within inches of my nose. As the train gets fuller it gets to the point where his one thigh is resting on my arm. His other thigh, touching my knee. That belly...right in my face. It's intimate. To say the least.

But then I'm distracting by this loud high pitched noise. I look over the train trying to figure out where it's coming from and I can see this huge guy sitting in a scooter, by the door. He has his face covered by his coat and he is singing to his *walkman* at the top of his lungs, completely out of key. He must know it's wrong because he's covering his face so no one can see it's him.

Seriously, so much excitement in one day.

This in an of itself isn't the worst part. Sure, it's the slap in the face, but the kick in the gut is that there is no incentive for me to take the Skytrain.

Financially, it's MORE expensive than driving. Sure there is a tax incentive if you buy a monthly pass, but it is not significant enough to be considered a benefit. If you buy a monthly pass, it's a little cheaper, but not by much. The monthly pass is only beneficial financially if you use it every single day. And I still have to pay for parking, which adds another $3/day.

It doesn't save me time, because I have to give myself extra time in the event that I miss one or two trains because they're too full. We need those guys they have in Japan who just keep pushing people on. But then I wouldn't be able to drink my coffee. Don't even bother talking to me until I've had my first cup of coffee. Even Q learned that early on. No matter what, I need to leave an hour and a half ahead of time. That's three extra hours every day.

They just raised the Skytrain rates. Because they're not making enough money. How about instead of making it more expensive, making it more convenient, making it more efficient. Then maybe people would want to use it. You know, because it's cheaper or faster or more pleasant. I don't know maybe it's radical thinking. Some people think I'm a genius, so maybe I'm making it a little more simple than others.

Fast forward to me, nice and warm in my car. Listening to the radio or iTunes. Or maybe talking on the phone with one of my girls. (Yes, I have bluetooth, geez...I follow the rules. I like rules.) I can drink my coffee in peace. I can even eat some breakfast. It's relaxing.

No one's fat gut or smelly armpit is in my face. I can sit the whole time. In a comfortable, clean seat. I don't think I'm asking too much Translink.

Seriously. Don't make me write a letter.

Hey, You Big Bully

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Tue, 26 Feb 2013 19:59:45 PST

I feel like my last post seemed really judgemental. It wasn't meant to be. I mean, seriously, I feel like I've been judged enough in my life. It's a horrible feeling. It was more meant to be an observation. People in this world are hurting and they'll do what ever makes sense to them in order to feel happy and to feel alive. And I am not judging them. I get it. I really, really do.

So, tomorrow is anti-bullying day in Vancouver. I'm not sure if it's just a BC thing or if it's country wide or what, but we'll all don pink shirts in support of everyone who has ever been bullied. We all stand up together and we say, "No, it is not okay."

I've been bullied. I remember as a kid in elementary school, my best friend all through out grades 1-6 became 'popular' and I didn't. Her new friends were not friendly to me at all.

I've bullied. I remember when I was in my tweens, inviting a girl to my birthday just because a friend had to cancel at the last minute. I was super mean to that girl. I still feel horrible about how mean I was to her.

I totally agree that bullying is horrible and needs to stop. I just wonder if we've over advertised bullying to the point where kids don't even know what real bullying really means. Q often comes home from school and says he's been bullied by so and so over such and such. Every single time, this kid has kind of gotten the idea wrong...."So and so got mad at me..." or "Such and such is so bossy..." or "This person said he didn't like what I brought for sharing." I'm like, Dude, people are allowed to have opinions that are different than yours. Just because he likes different things doesn't mean he's bullying you. Or just because someone starts bossing you around doesn't mean he's a bully. It means you need to stand up and speak your mind too.

It seems to me as though kids think any form of adversity is bullying. And it seems to me that by glorifying bullying we're allowing kids to play the victim. And I can't speak for all the other parents of all the other kids out there, but I will not allow my kid to be the victim. He needs to find his voice, and stand up to people. Instead of being anti-bully, I am totally pro-strength.

Q and I have had the opportunity to have some pretty awesome discussions around bullying. Because here's the thing...every bully has a reason why he/she is a bully. People don't just wake up one day thinking they're going to be mean. Something pivotal happens in every life that makes a person a bully. For example, Q has a *friend* who says he's the best ball hockey player ever and everyone wants him on his team and he scores all the goals. But then Q realizes that this boy doesn't even know the rules of the game and he wonders aloud to me, "Why would he lie about something like that?"

Feelings of inadequacy, the desire to be something you're not or something more start really, really early. Those feelings start when you're 8 years old. Why can't we address that? Why can't we talk about the fact that Q's friend is a habitual liar at 8 to make himself look/feel better? Why can't we wear a yellow shirt or a purple shirt in support of every body being able to find the strength to be who they really are? And why does it have to be so early?

Let's address the parents that aren't giving their children the attention or the validation they so desperately desire. Let's address the fact that children are bully's because someone somewhere doesn't care about this little life with the care that they deserve.

Bullying makes me mad, absolutely it does. But the bully makes me sad. It breaks my heart.

So yes, let's say "No" to bullying. But can we take care of the bully too? If bullying starts with 8 year olds...can we take care of an 8 year old? Can we take care of their hearts? Can we get them to the point where we they don't need to be a bully in order to feel better about themselves?

Can we do that?

Being Happy

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sun, 24 Feb 2013 17:30:56 PST

This post has been swirling around in my head for weeks now. I wouldn't exactly call it breaking news, because the pursuit of happiness certainly isn't something new, but I've been amazed by journey many have taken in order to find happiness.

It sounds so simple, doesn't it? Be happy. Just be happy, it's not that hard. Smiley face :), LOL, it's all good.

The thing is....it's not so easy.

I realize there are so many outside sources and inside forces that can determine or take part in our happiness or lack thereof. As someone who has suffered from diagnosed anxiety and depression to the point where it affects my daily life, I understand that being happy isn't something that comes all that easily. Having said that, being depressed and being sad are two fairly distinct events. Being depressed is an all encompassing experience. For me, it's like a horrible dream I cannot get out of on my own. Now, I am sure that being sad can feel as overwhelming, but it's easier to climb out of...or so I thought.

Now I've been sad...not depressed, but sad. Like I've had to pull over on the side of the road because I was crying so hard because my heart was broken after a break up. I've cried over failing marks in class. I've been disappointed over jobs I've not been offered. Things like this are all a part of life, and the sadness comes, but it's never settled inside me.

Recently, I've been amazed at the number of people I've met who are sad to the core of their being. And it's not a depression, that I'm aware of (I mean, I'm not a certified doctor...), it's that they've never learned how to be happy. They settle deep into their sadness, because it's familiar and they find comfort in their misery. And they don't know how to be happy, because they've never known anything but sadness.

I had this conversation with a coworker the other week, who admitted he was one who had settled nicely into his sadness, and it was hard, miserable work to find his way out of sadness and into happiness. He had to learn how to be happy. He said he tried everything else to fill the void that was to be filled by happiness - drugs, alcohol, women, and nothing worked. He found his happiness in Buddhism, which really isn't for me, but seeing the difference in this man was amazing to see. He is like a completely different person, even the features of his face have changed and have a more relaxed, happier tone.

I've watched as a new coworker has left his marriage to be with a woman fifteen years his junior because he thinks she will be the answer to his longing for happiness. The sad part for me, is that she finds her happiness in men who are married to women other than her. I watch men try to find their happiness in status cars that cost a fortune, but do nothing more than take them from point A to point B. I watch my friends try to fill the happiness void with nights out at clubs, forgetting the evening with vodka and rum or with men they'll never see again. My friends who think that life will be complete once they find a boyfriend. I've even watched as people have tried to take money from those who either have money or are perceived to have money, never in an honest way. I'm watching the Oscars right now, and I see all these people with all this money, posturing with really big jewels, but fake smiles and blank eyes, and I wonder what they've sold in order to sit in those seats tonight.

And I've been there. Oh, how I've been there (well, not at the Oscars - hahaha, but at the bars, in the one night stands). I found, though, that the path I took to find happiness was destructive in the long run. Men do not make me happy. Money, certainly, does not make me happy. Things do not make me happy.

But I've found that in the past year or so, I've been happier than ever in my life. My happiness is found in my beautiful son, my wonderful family and my faith. I realize that I have no special formula for happiness. I find that I have no holes to fill, and no vices - except maybe chocolate. But I am happy in my own skin. I am content in my own company and in fact, I cherish the time I get to spend on my own. I think I'm fricken hilarious (well, I make myself laugh like all the time). And I couldn't be happier. I find when I am happy, all the stupid little things don't matter. What other people think of me doesn't really matter. Brand name clothes, don't matter. Huge bank account? No big deal. A husband? Well, God willing and only then.

Where do you find your happiness? Are you happy? Are you stuffing your sadness with things? Have you settled into your sadness? What would it take to make you happy?

In Which I Shamelessly Promote a Product I Love

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sun, 24 Feb 2013 16:12:48 PST

You guys know I am a consumer. It's true. If it's for sale, I want to buy it. If it promises to make my life easier, me prettier, my hair silkier, lose inches, weight, I am all over it. The thing is, many times it's just a fad that I go through. I go all crazy over something for a week, or maybe a month and then as fast as I fell in love with it, I'm on to something new that promises something even better.

The past 6 months my face has decided it's a 14 year old boy. There is nothing more embarrassing than being a 35 year old woman with the skin of a teenager. I've stopped eating red meat, because I was convinced the hormones were one of the main reason I kept breaking out. We're talking huge, cyst like zits all over my cheeks, chin and forehead. As soon as one went away three more would pop up. Here's the thing - it was so bad people actually feel the need to comment on it. Like I didn't notice.

And if being embarrassed weren't enough, it has been uber painful. Like so much pressure, I can feel my heart beating in the center of this big assed zit. Like tears running down my face if I hit it by accident, and throbbing pain the rest of the time.

Is there some perception that people with adult acne don't wash their face? I don't know, maybe there is. But I was seriously tempted to start every single conversation with, "Hi, yes I know I have something going on here. I'm not sure what it is, but I'm clean. I totally wash my face and shower daily. It's not my fault." It's a little too much information, but this is what I'm thinking people are wondering and maybe need to hear from me.

At the end of the day, it was starting to affect my confidence. I was finding ways to creatively hide my face while I was talking to people - pretend I was playing with my hair, rest my chin on my hand, pretend I was stifling a sneeze, I had thought of it all. The thing was, what kind of guy wants to date a woman who...well....has acne like a 14 year boy. I grossed myself out, I'm not gointg to lie.

I've seriously tried everything.

I went to the doctor to get a topical antibiotic cream for my face. It did nothing more than dry my skin out. I tried Bare Minerals because they advertised how amazing their skin care products are, and how they actually moisturize and heal damaged skin while you wear it - it just dried my skin out. I tried Clinique - also advertising how awesomely moisturizing it was and how it fights acne. Really, didn't do much more than dry my skin out.

I determined that the reason my skin was breaking out so horribly was because it was dried out. Having used Proactive in the past, I absolutely refused to do so again. It saps all the moisture out of your face and your lips crack when you smile. So you might not have acne, but you can't laugh without bleeding. Not really my idea of a solution.

It seemed as though my issue was that my skin was too dry. So I bought 100% argon oil by Josie Maran. I thought I had found the miracle healer for my face. And for a few days, it really appeared as though my acne flares and settled down and my face wasn't feeling as dry. But it was $20 for a tester size and I didnt' see results to the point where I was willing to spend $70 on a full size. Once I stopped using it, I realized my skin wasn't actually absorbing the oil. The oil was sitting on top of my skin. It wasn't moisturizing. It was masking the real issue.

In a last ditch effort, I found some old samples the RE9 line from Arbonne. I used this stuff in the past and had some amazing results, but I kind of thought that it wasn't really the Arbonne, but more so that my skin had matured and decided it didn't want to rebel like a teenage boy anymore. I also thought that eliminating the red meat and extra hormones had worked and I was in a zit free zone!! Time had shown me I was wrong, though, so I thought..."What the heck! I have nothing to lose, let's just try it."

Oh. My. Goodness.

Within 24 hours, I noticed a difference.

And I'm not just saying that you guys. I wish I had taken before and after pictures just to show you the difference 24 hours made. The dry, flaky skin was gone as my skin actually absorbed the cream instead of it just sitting on top. The acne scabs (gross, I'm sorry) that I did have were noticeably smaller and healed. I've had a few surface zits since starting but I've heard that it takes a month for a zit to pop up, so I'm convinced those were there before.

I'm going to be honest...the trouble that I have with Arbonne is that I can't just go to a store and pick it up. It requires a bit of forethought to purchase it before you're actually out of the product. Also, it is expensive. It cost more than the $20 cold cream that you buy from the local drug store. However, that being said...the so called trouble is absolutely worth the results. Nothing I've used even comes close to the results I've noticed in a week. In terms of cost, I find that I am spending $20 here or $40 there and in the end, it equals waaaaaay more than the $60 that Arbonne costs. It's not being thrown away or sitting idle on my make up table. And they don't contain parabens and other such gross, unhealthy ingredients.

My confidence is back. I feel prettier. My skin is glowing and pretty and even the red scars are beginning to fade.

So, here's my PSA:

Do you suffer from adult acne? And don't know why? Is your skin dry, sore and flaky with huge cyst like zits? Are you embarrassed by your skin? Then seriously, use RE9 by Arbonne. I know a seller, I can totally hook you up (no seriously, I can!! Inbox me. I'll give you the deets!) Tell your friends, tell your family, tell the stranger on the street. There is no need to suffer in silence, when the answer is just 24 hours away :)

What's Pissing Me Off This Week

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 15:58:14 PST

Seriously, for the most part I've been teary this week instead of angry. Like when my sister in law told me they were going to start trying for a baby this year (which I already knew) and I started talking about how excited Auntie C was and almost started crying. Then at dinner with my family (minus Q, he was at his dad's) I was talking about how when talking about when Q was just born, I refer to him as "the baby" because I've completely separated myself from that whole experience. I have a hard time equating Q with the first 6 weeks of his life. In that moment, in the middle of an Indian restaurant, surrounded by butter chicken, naan, and rice, I felt so robbed of that bonding experience I just wanted to cry. It makes me even more sad knowing that I've pretty much made my mind up to not have any more biological children. I mean, I'm not getting any younger, and life hasn't exactly handed me a supportive husband or anything...

But on Thursday, Q didn't get home from his dad's until almost 10 pm. Q didn't have school the next morning, but I had to get up at 5 am to go to work. Mr. Ex had taken Q ice skating with a friend (who did have school the next morning, so I can only imagine how his mother felt when he was dropped off...) which was fine, but I also found out that Mr. Ex had brought a *friend* of the female persuasion. He ignored all my texts, phone calls and then got Q to call me to tell me they were *lost* (riiiiiiiight...the guy has an internal GPS and I've lived in the same friggen house for almost two years.)

So, this friend...her name is Katherine. This is so super original...I wonder if she knows she's the third variation of Catherine since me?!?! This would also be after an Em, Lynette, Denise, another name I'm forgetting and the ones I've not found out about. I know what you're all thinking...you're wondering if I'm jealous. I am not. At all. Mr. Ex can have 10 girlfriends all at the same time if he wants. I am certainly not going to lose any sleep over that. What I am super pissed about is that my son has met every single one of these woman. Every. Single. One. (side note: it's super embarrassing reading your ex's dating life in your child's school journal...totally we went to such and such with so and so, blah, blah, blah). This pisses me off for more than one reason. First of all, Mr. Ex is using my child as a dating *tool* to get laid. "Oh look at what an awesome fun dad I am...." No woman I know can resist that. That's great, but how responsible of a father are you? Keeping your child out way past his bed time so you can get some action? How responsible is that?

Not very.

The other reason this really, really pissed me off is because I'm afraid he's teaching my son that women are dispensable. Who needs a life long partner when you can cycle women through your life one after the other? Who needs to put the effort into a relationship when you can have exciting one night stands instead? Monogamy is boring and infidelity is fun, fun, fun. And okay, I get that Q is not internalizing word for word, but if this is the example he's always known...what else is there?

I was reminded by my mother that Mr. Ex has a lot of baggage that Q does not have. Mr. Ex's mother died when he was 8, he was sent to boarding school and when he was home he had to live with a horrid stepmother. Mr. Ex never learned how to connect on any level other than surface. This is why he goes through women like other people go through underwear. He is incapable of anything deeper. Believe me. I know this first hand.

Q - he's going to be different. Q has connections. Q has a family. Q has me, and my mom and her husband, my brother and auntie Alice. Each one of us in our own way are teaching Q about relationships and bonds and how to love on a deeper level. We're teaching him that life long relationships are rewarding and worth the effort that is required. We're teaching him about responsibility. We're teaching him about love. He is surrounded by people he has a connection with...his best friend J and his family, just to name one of the many that have been placed in Q's life, creating and nurturing a bond.

I know that Q is going to be alright.

And that just makes me so emotional, I want to cry.

And...if he does grow up to think that women are just a conquest...oh, there will be words believe you me...

I will grab him by the ear...

Lessons From my Son (Who is 8...) and Q-isms

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sat, 02 Feb 2013 22:27:33 PST

Okay, so my kid is brilliant.

And hilarious.

And I haven't done a 'Q-isms' for a while, so this is a whole bunch of his wisdom all in one post.

Q: I'm think I'm going to have two kids. A boy first and then a girl. I'm going to name the boy Joe and the girl Maria.

Me: Why Joe and Maria?

Q: I don't know. I just really like those names. But I guess if I had twins, I let my wife name one and I'd name the other.

Huh, sounds fair. I didn't know 8 year olds thought about things like that.

Q: I'm getting married in the Dominican Republic

Let me tell you this is a far cry from his destination of choice last year, which was Russia...

Q's Daddy: What if your wife doesn't want to get married in the Dominican Republic?

Q: Well, she can go where ever she wants, but I'm going to the Dominican.

Q's Daddy: How could you get married then?

Q: Uh, she could call me...we could get married over the phone.

Ahhhhh, romantic just like his father...

Q: I'm going to stay at my school until high school, and then I've decided to go to Seaquam, not Tamawanis. Then I can go to school with S and B.

Again, do 8 year old boys plan their future like this kid? Last week we spent an hour in a book store while he looked for books. This in and of itself is not exactly odd behavior for a child, but he went around straightening all the books on the shelves as he was looking for books. He didn't even notice he was doing it.

Last week he came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth, with a huge smile on his face and said, "Mommy, look!!! If I curl the toothpaste tube from the end, it pushes the toothpaste to the end. It looks so much neater!" Seriously, could I be any more proud?? I know, I asked myself that question but then he asked me if we could clean his bedroom and give away any toys and/or clothes that he didn't use anymore...and I think my heart burst with joy. Where did this kid come from?

So a few months ago, Q began telling me and his dad how he was going to be in the NHL when he was older. I smiled to myself thinking how wonderful the dreams of young children are. They have the whole world ahead of them and really can dream as big as they want. But then, he started saying he wasn't going to University because he was pretty sure he would already be playing for BCHL and wouldn't have time to do both.

We put him in skating lessons shortly thereafter.

Listen, I don't know if he's going to be in the NHL. He's 8. He could change his mind a million times over between now and the time he has to choose a career. Truthfully, I still don't know what I want to be, and I'm 35. What I do know is that I'm going to do everything I can to try and make sure all his dreams come true.

Granted, he is starting pretty late if he wants to play professional hockey. Most kids start skating as soon as they can walk, it seems and they're playing hockey by the time they're 4 or 5. Q starting at 8 is a little late. Not only that, he has had to start from the very beginning. My heart ached for him, watching those first few skating lessons. Frustration was written all over his face. It was not easy. He fell. A lot. His muscles hurt. A lot. There were kids who were way better than him, and that is really hard for a perfectionist. (Just like me!!) He really wanted to be a 'hockey player' and every time he'd get cocky and do some smooth move, he'd fall or trip or lose his balance.

I went and watched Q at his hockey practice tonight, and I have to say, that kid has come a long way. I am continually amazed by the lessons I learn from my child. We really are capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for. Practice and perseverance. That's all it takes. If we want something badly enough, practice and persevere. I think of how many times I say, "I can't do that..." I really, really can. You really can. The question is really, "How badly do you want it?"

We've been practicing spelling since grade one. Ugh. I'm not going to lie, it's been painful. I am not even exaggerating when I tell you we've spent a hour and a half every night of the week studying for his spelling tests, just for him to still get half of them wrong. There would be crying. And sometimes, it was Q. There would be yelling. There would be, "Mommy. Are you getting mad yet?" Because we both knew it was coming.

But we persevered. People kept saying, "It will click. It will click." I didn't really believe it. I was super glad that spell check existed and the iPhone literally finishes your words for you. I knew Q would be okay. He wouldn't be an English Professor, but he wouldn't be playing guitar at the subway station either.

We kept practicing. Oh. My. Goodness. You guys!!!!! Something just clicked!! Lately, we've been spending 10 minutes a night on spelling. 10 minutes!! And he gets 100% on the tests. Something just clicked! If he gets one wrong, it's because he had a "brain fart" (his words). See what practice and perseverance can do?!?!?! I'm seriously reconsidering everything in my life. Everything I've said I cannot do. I'm not really giving myself enough credit.

Q...he's an introvert. He's quiet until he gets to know you. He's a perfectionist. He's determined, though and my heart is sooooo happy because he believes he's worth it. He's worth all the practice and all the frustration and all the falling down and all the spelling mistakes. He's worth it. And he knows he's worth it.

Do you know you're worth it? What are you holding back on because you think you can't??? I'm compiling my list right now. Specifically, I'm feeling completely overwhelmed in this new job and wondering if I've made a mistake. Am I capable of even doing this job? I am going to take a lesson from my kid, though, and persevere.

And now I leave you with an awesome picture of my awesome child.

The New Job

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Thu, 24 Jan 2013 20:13:26 PST

You guys!!!

I got the job!!!

And my silence this week has been because I've been preoccupied with my new job. In the first week, I forgot my employee pass, set off an alarm when I tried to go through the *wrong* door, and I was late (like seriously, what is worse than being late in the first week?!?!?!)

As with all change in my life, this has not come without freak outs. In fact, as we speak (or as I write) I am having a mini freak out. Have I made the right choice??? As I waited for the skytrain with like 500,000 other people today, I realised that my recent decision has essentially put me in the middle of the proverbial *rat race* that so many other people are trying to get out of. And that kind of makes me freak out. Am I going the wrong direction? I had a job where my commute was 20 minutes and I was home by 4 pm every day. Now, I have a lap top specifically for work, an hour and a half commute each way and I haven't been home before 7 pm any day this week.

But I really, really like what I'm doing! I can't even really explain how important I feel. Not to mention, I got the job. I have no idea how many people applied for the job, but I got it. I haven't the educational background for it, I have no experience in the field. But I. Got. The. Job!!!! I'm so proud of myself (but not in a *prideful* way....in a way to go, girl way!!) in a way I can't really explain. It's like, I got this job on my laurels - specifically who I am and the name that I've made for myself. My new boss said that out of everyone he spoke to about me, not one person had anything bad to say about me. Not one!!! That's incredible, because on any given day, I have something negative to say about me. And I've come in contact with a lot of people at work...all different walks of life, opinions and personalities...and not one could think of anything bad to say.

And...in a company where nepotism is rampant, I did this on my own. Daddy didn't get me in, I didn't get the job because my sister or my husband works there too. I did it all on my own and I love that.

Anyways, getting this job - it just seems to validate my whole career.

So, what's the bad part?

Why am I freaking out?

I have a child.

An 8 year old son, who needs his momma. And truthfully, his momma needs him too.

Have I chosen to advance my career at the expense of my son's childhood? I feel so guilty. So guilty. I don't want to be the mother who spends all her time at the office while her child is raised by other people. I want to be fully involved in Q's life. I want to spend oodles of time with him. I want him to have millions of memories with his momma.

Am I totally over thinking this? It's the age old struggle for balance.

Maybe it's a really good thing for him to see - his mother with a good career, a strong work ethic. I strive to be a good role model for him, and it's important to me for him to see how women can be successful and just as good as any man out there.

And seriously, looking at Q...he doesn't look devestated or anything. He doesn't look like he's lacking in attention. He looks pretty well adjusted...

Sigh...life choices...

Christian, Julia and Jayden

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 14:33:27 PST

Social media has totally changed our world.

I know, this is earth shattering news, isn't it? Like you haven't noticed. But bear with me...I'm not about to write a whole post stating the obvious (but that would be fun, wouldn't it???)

I was watching the News the other day. This is odd for me. I don't watch the News. It's too depressing. As someone who suffers from anxiety, watching a whole hour of people dying and fighting and bombing and raping and shooting is just too much for me. I choose to not fill my mind with awful things. It mean that I'm sometimes the last to know certain *big* events (like, did you know Obama got reelected for a second term!! Wow, Way to Go, Obama!! Okay just joking, I knew that.)

Anyways, I think I was getting my nails done and they had the News on. Holy moly people, things have changed. They want you to tweet them. Twitter hasn't really caught on with me, it's too invested. Who has the time to tweet what they're thinking every five seconds?? We've already established my mind goes a mile a second, so I'd be switching it up like all. the. time. I wouldn't have time to do anything but tweet. The stress to be witty all the time, too - that would kill me. They want you to follow them on Facebook. They want you to send in videos from your iPhone or smart phone - they basically want you to do their jobs for them, I think. It's become much more interactive though, I guess in an attempt to stay relevant in a world where every answer to any question is just a Google away.

People use You Tube to post their *own* music videos and hope to be discovered. People publish their own books without the need for a editor or publisher (not always the best idea...but done none the less). People get University educations on-line. People meet their husbands/wives on dating sites. I even read an article about people using Craigslist for adoption instead of an agency.

People blog. I know, right? Totally foreign idea to me.

The amazing thing about blogging and following blogs is that you get to *meet* so many people from so many different walks of life. I have a follower from India!! I have a mentor in Washington. I have fellow mom followers. I have single women followers. I follow a single momma from Germany! I follow a 22 year old mother of 13 (!!) adopted children in Africa. Once a day or once a week, I am invited into their home and into their lives via my computer screen.

The written word has long been valued for its depth, its beauty and its power to move and convict its followers.

*Phew*

That was a long introduction to my point, wasn't it!?!?!

Through Facebook and through Blogger, I have been following the fight of two (now three) young children and their families who have courageously stared cancer in its ugly, evil face. One family is a childhood friend that Facebook reconnected me with, who's daughter, Julia, was diagnosed with a tumour in her nasal cavity. The second family, I've blogged about before, after finding his Mother's blog about her beautiful son Christian, who's tummy was riddled with tumours. The third is a little boy - I 'met' through a Facebook support page started for Christian - named Jayden who is fighting tumours throughout his whole body.

These three children and their families have changed my life forever. It is hard to imagine that your life could be changed by someone you've never physically met before, isn't it? Before the Facebook and Blogging and Twitter, there wasn't much of an opportunity for this to be the case. But my life has been forever changed for the better, because of three brave children. I love these children. I love their families. My heart rejoices with their triumphs and sinks with their set backs.

The faith that has been shown by these families in the face of utter devastation has touched my heart. I find with my perfect little life, with my healthy happy child, I cry out to God in desperation, "Where are you?? Why can't I feel you? Do you exist??? Are you there?" These families, in the face of an untimely death of their child, their baby, in the face of insurmountable odds against a miracle and complete healing, with doctor's saying, "All we can do now is wait...", what did they cry?? They cried, "God, you are here. We feel your presence. You are here."

My faith in God has grown more in the past few months because of these families than it has grown in the whole of my adult life. That is pretty significant. I read of a young five year old boy - dying of cancer, lying in a hospital bed, with so many tubes you could hardly make out where is body was - upon hearing a new worship song, raised his hands in praise. I want a faith like that. Jesus spoke to Christian and told him he would heal his body, "he told me three times" Christian whispered to his family. I want to be that close to Jesus, that I can hear his whisper in my ear.

It breaks my heart with sadness to say that Julia and Christian both died on the same day. I don't understand why God chose to take them so early. I know their families are beyond heart broken, and this makes me so sad. We were all praying for an earthly miracle, but Christian and Julia were both healed. They are in perfect form in Heaven, with no pain and no tumours, no tubes and no chemo. They touched more people in their short time here than many do in their whole life. I think God used them to teach us all about faith and love. People from all over the world followed Christian's Mommy's blog. People all over the world prayed for the first time, or the first time in a long time, that God would heal him. Some people (me included) had their faith renewed in a God they doubted.

Isn't that a wake up call to faith?

Doesn't it sound so much more appealing to face death with peace than with fear? While these families are mourning the loss of their children taken too soon, they believe without failing that these children are safe now, and free from the horrors of cancer. Julia can see now, with both eyes. Christian can run and jump with energy that was taken from him here on earth. If they had earthly bodies, their hair would grow back long and healthy and beautiful. I think it's important to recognize that cancer did not win.

I'm so sad that Christian and Julia died. I wanted so much for an earthly miracle so I could say, "See? See what God can do?" But their lives were a testament that so many of us will never get to experience.

And Jayden, he has people praying for him all over the world 24 hours a day. Every moment of every day, someone is praying for complete healing for Jayden, peace and strength for his family. There aren't many people in this world that unite people from all walks of life, all over the globe, but these three children did just that.

And I am forever changed.

Are you?

http://christiansfight.blogspot.ca/

http://www.gofundme.com/1iufdg

If you follow me on facebook, look for the open group, 24 Hour Prayer for Jayden and Christian.

Workin' on my Game (aka...I Got no Game...)

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sat, 12 Jan 2013 13:57:53 PST

Hey! How you doin'?

*wink*

Hey. How you doin'?

*lip bite*

Heeeeeyyyyyyyyy, how you doin'?

*head nod*

Hi there. How are you?

*eye batting*

Do you like coffee? I mean....do you drink coffee...like with other people???

Would you like to drink coffee with me? I mean, go out for coffee with me?

Hi. My name is Catherine. Miller. Catherine Miller. Do you need to know my last name?

If you haven't figured it out...I'm working on my game, trying to find my mo-jo...

Someone asked me the other day if I was ready to start dating. I can honestly say that I am. I've worked on the majority of my past issues, and any residual issues I may have will probably have to be worked through once I'm actually in a relationship with someone. Poor bastard, huh?? But I can't, off the top of my head, think of anything that I haven't recognized as a flaw in myself and resolved to fix. I won't know what else is wrong with me until it rears its ugly head. I apologise to my future boyfriend in advance.

Now that I've determined I'd like to be in a relationship, and what I'm looking for in a partner (I officially declared 2013 as the year I find my husband...a little presumptuous, I know...) I realized I don't know - or I've forgotten - how to flirt.

Let me tell you...in my day, I was a good flirt. It got me into a bit of trouble, yes, but I was good at it.

Oh, but I was young then.

I had a nice figure.

No grey hairs. No wrinkles. No stretch marks. No baggage.

I wasn't a mom. It's sometimes difficult to separate yourself from that aspect of your life. Especially when it's been the only aspect for almost four years (with the exception of a horrid blind date here and a POF disaster there...)

I have my eye on a couple of good prospects. I don't know how to approach it though. The fact that I call them *prospects* is probably not a good start. People always willing to give advice, tell me to just go up to them and introduce myself and ask if they want to go for coffee. What's the worst that can happen, they say.

Uhhhh, they could say no.

Or I could work myself up to it, and practice over and over in my head, "Hello kind sir. I've noticed you have been standing alone for quite some time now and was wondering if I could ask the pleasure of your company for a spot of tea..." in my best British accent, of course. But no matter how eloquent I know I sound in my head, I'm pretty sure it's going to come out like this, "uh....wha.... ummmm....hiiiiiiii...I...uh....was....uh....huh?" and then it is quite possible I would choke on my own saliva, because I'm not going to lie...it's happened before, and it's never graceful, nor un-embarrassing.

Instead, I ignore the person I have my eye on (figuratively) because I (literally) avoid eye contact. Even when they're standing right beside me. I look at my phone. I look at the ground. I basically make myself look as unapproachable as possible. I don't want to look too eager, you know. That's a total turn off for men.

I'm working on a plan right now, though. It involves tripping them, and then offering to help. I kinda like it because it puts me in the drivers seat.

Who looks like the fool now, hmmmmm?

Where Has Customer Service Gone???

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 11:46:38 PST

Oh. My. Goodness.

People should know not to mess with me when angry uterus is in the house. Yes. This includes strangers. Especially when it's the Customer Service industry. Even when over the phone (you should be able to tell by the tone of my voice), but especially in public...if you cannot see it in my eyes then at least pay attention to my pheromones or something. It would make all of our lives so much easier. Mine, yes...but probably yours too.

So, I'm in the market for a new pair of glasses. My benefits for the new year have kicked in. Mine are getting older and are starting to scratch. I figure after four years, it's about time for a change. I do some research online. I really like Lenscrafters because they really are done in about an hour, reasonably priced, and like I said, these ones are four years old and only now have started to scratch. I picked out a few fav's on line, made an eye appointment. I waited for the store to open and then I called to ask a seemingly simple question.

Him: Lenscrafters. This is mumble mumble mumble trail off....

Me: Hi there, I'm just calling to see if you direct bill to my insurance company...

Him: Oh we don't do that here.

Me: Like this specific Lenscrafters? Because....

(he cuts me off...)

Him: No Lenscrafters doesn't do that.

Me: Oh. That's funny. Cuz I was just on your website and...

(he cuts me off again...)

Him: No. Eye wear stores don't do direct billing. That's mostly just dentists and stuff like that.

(side note: Pearl Vision does it....I know for a fact. I just didn't like any of their glasses...)

Me: So....your website is wrong then?

Him: You must have been on the US website. They do it there, like in California and stuff. But not in Canada.

(Thank you for the geography lesson)

Me: Nope. I was on Lenscrafters.ca where it says to call a store and confirm which insurance plans are accepted directly...

(he cuts me off a third time...seriously?!?!?!?!)

Him: You were on the wrong website.

Me: So where it said all provinces but Quebec...

(I don't even think it's necessary to point out he cut me off yet another time...)

Him: We don't bill insurance companies directly at Lenscrafters.

Me: Okay, so your website is wrong. Thanks.

*Click*

Seriously?

Check out the link.

http://www.lenscrafters.ca/lc-ca/insurance-plans

Am I missing something? Do you see how even the link itself has insurance plans in the name?????

The thing that was so infuriating was that this kid (puberty hadn't hit yet, I don't think....) was so freaking cocky and condescending. Dude, I was willing and prepared to drop at least $500.00 in your store by the end of the day and you couldn't even take the time to listen to me finish my sentences. And you talked to me like I was 5 years old. I've been reading for like 30 years. I've been a consumer for like 25. I think I can read the fine print on a website.

Dude probably lives in his parents house and uses his pay checks to pay for his souped-up lime green Mustang with sub-woofers in the trunk. And gel. He spends the left overs on hair gel...

Let me tell you, there has been a whole generation of kids raised up who think they know it all, haven't had to work towards earning anything in their lives - it's the Generation Y (as in Why me??). They think they have it so hard, but have been handed everything on a silver plate. And then they talk to me....me(!!!!) like I'm stupid. Dude, I've worked hard every day of my life. Let me tell you, in my day...oh, never mind. I'm not that old yet. Oh, and what happened to 'The Customer is ALWAYS Right???'

Small print: If you happen to click on the link and I am somehow (unfathomably) wrong...please do not tell me.

Thanks!!

Ode to Momma

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Wed, 09 Jan 2013 13:15:30 PST

Last weekend, I gave my momma away. No, I did not leave her by the side of the road with a sign that said, "Free to a good home..." (while that would have been funny...I don't think she would have stood for it...) I literally walked her down the aisle and gave her away to the man waiting at the front. Her Husband.

I'm quite adamant that there are stories that are mine to tell and others that are not. My mommas story is not mine to tell, but suffice it to say, she is enjoying her honeymoon on a Caribbean Cruise. I was given the opportunity to give a toast at her reception, but I knew I'd cry - and they wouldn't be tears of joy, but tears of sadness. I thought that was really very selfish of me, so I didn't say anything. But this is my safe place, and it's all about me here, so I'll say it because it will be therapeutic to get these thought out of my head, as they just circle around and around. I have a tendency to dwell on things a little more than healthy...

There was a time, a good long time ago when I was angry with my mom. I've never said it to her face, but I'm sure she knew. I'm not going to rehash the events, but I tell you only as a testament as to how far a seemingly broken relationship can come once healed.

Growing up, I always had a really good, healthy Mother-Daughter relationship with my mom. What I mean by that is I was the child, she was the adult. We were not friends. I had boundaries (but no curfew! She would just say, "I can't sleep until you come home." I would come home early, so she could get a good night's rest - I'm thoughtful like that!!). There were rules and a bed time. There were consequences for bad behavior. There were treats and cuddles and traditions and family road trips. I had a really good childhood. No complaints. Good memories. It's all good.

As I grew up, though, our relationship grew and matured to the point where we became friends. The distinction between mother and daughter kind of blurred, and a genuine friendship grew. Two and a half years ago, we even moved in together. With her single, and me single - it just seemed like the right thing to do. Make no mistake, I wasn't moving in with my *mom* so she could do my laundry. There was no, "Mom!!!!!! What's for dinner???" or "Where did you put my shoes when you cleaned the house????" We did not live together so she could look after Q. We did not live together so I could support her knitting habit. We just genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

So this past weekend, I not only gave away my momma, I gave away my friend. For the past two and a half years, my momma has been my *significant other*. She has been the person I went home to. The person I told about my day. I shared with her my hopes, my worries, my bumps and my bruises. And she did the same with me. My momma is probably the most non-judgemental person in my life. This is an awesome balance for me because I am so incredibly hard on myself. I beat myself up over things that should be long forgotten and my momma reminds me to let it go. She loves me and my son without question. It's always been amusing how well we know each other, and can easily finish each other's sentence and sometimes say the EXACT same thing at the EXACT same time with the EXACT same tone of voice. We watched Coronation Street together. We laughed together. I would help her find her lost keys and her purse and her credit card. Hahaha, and then she would have to turn around and do the same for me. At her reception, it was good for me to see just how many people love my momma, because she is not just gracious and loving and kind with me, but with others too.

It hit me just how sad I was when I went to get the groceries and was buying for two instead of three. Also, sleeping with my bedroom door open is very strange, but it is no longer necessary to close it. There is no one around to wake me from my slumber.

While I am very, very sad that I lost my companion, I am also very, very happy that she found someone who loves and accepts her unconditionally and offers her a life I (very obviously...hahaha) could not. And a little piece of me is looking forward to what is in store for me. Often times, the best experiences of my life have come when I've been pushed outside of my comfort zone. It's given me the opportunity to grow into the person I've become.

Who knows...maybe I'll find my husband.

But I think then I'd have to work on my "Hey, how you doin'?" And I think I've forgotten how...

The Interview

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sun, 30 Dec 2012 15:57:37 PST

I've never really given much thought to my career path - effort, yes of course, but thought? Not so much. When I was a little girl and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always struggled with the answer. Even as a young girl, I understood the fight of all those women who had gone before me so that I may have the opportunity to be whatever I wanted. The thing is, though, all I really ever wanted to be was a mommy. I dropped out of university after a year and a half, because I just had no focus. I knew I wanted to learn everything there was to learn about everything, but I really couldn't afford to pay thousands of dollars a term just to learn arbitrary things with no end goal in sight. It wasn't a logical step for me.

At 20, I was working in a coffee shop - a brother-in-law of a friend from high school came in and said, "Hey, we're hiring at the airport if you'd like to apply..." and my life was forever changed. Literally within a week, I had a job, a career that I loved. It was there that I learned how to deal with conflict and adversity, how to be efficient and organized, how to balance a strong work ethic with genuinely enjoying what you do, how to be outgoing and professional equally. I don't know of any University courses that could have taught me these skills as well as organizing a 24 hour delay for 320 passengers expecting to go to Mexico.

Ten years later, after four lay-offs, I applied for a job, not knowing where - just knowing they were looking for a lot of the skills I had. Turns out, I had applied for a job with Canada Post. While the challenges were much different than that in the airlines, I found that I had a job with security, a job that paid well, and a job that allowed me to provide for my son. I hadn't been looking for it, but it found me. Here I learned the art of compassion in a way I had never known before. My eyes were opened to how many broken people live in this world, and how caring just a little bit can change their world. I learned to supervise all walks of life by appealing to their humanity, rather than enforcing productivity and volume and procedure. It's been an awesome life lesson for me. One lesson I can't imagine being taught in a lecture hall on a Monday morning in business class.

Five years later, an opportunity found me yet again. A temporary management position was brought to my attention by a coworker, with the belief that I would be a really good fit. I fancied up my resume, rewrote my old cover letter and said a quick prayer. Weeks and weeks went by without a word, and I assumed I would receive a "thanks for applying, however you do not possess the basic requirements for this job" because in point of fact, I do not possess the basic requirements for the this job. It requires a certificate program which I can easily attain, but do not have yet.

A call came in asking me to come for an interview. An interview!!! Prepare as I might, it had been five years since my last interview. I had no idea what kind of questions they would ask. I knew of STAR competency based questions, and tried to familiarize myself with the Situation, Task, Action, Result answers.

I had no idea what I was in for.

Funny enough, on the day of the interview I wasn't the least bit anxious. My plan was to go in and dazzle them with my charm and humour. Unfortunately, charm and humour only get you so far. Especially when the interview was over an hour and a half long. These were not the questions form 15 years ago. These were not, "What is your greatest weakness?" I should say, I'm thankful for that, because seriously who can say what their weakness is without expecting to get fired - my answer is evidently the cop-out answer - I'm a perfectionist...but it's true - I expect the best from myself and from everyone else - so I can sometimes be a little hard on people who I do not believe to be giving their best. But, I digress...these were insanely difficult questions.

They give you a definition of a word, and then ask you a question, which you must answer with STAR which demonstrates the qualities of the definition of the word. I know, have I lost you yet? Because then the question is four fold.

Naturally, I lost my train of thought in the middle of my answer. Naturally, I forgot the question in the middle of my answer. Naturally, I could not think of one single example of anything I had ever done in 15 + years of working. Naturally, I forgot what I was saying in the middle of a word. I was a mess.

A hot mess, though. If I could have been offered the job based on my hair, I would have had it in a second. My hair really rocked - held the curl, nice volume. I was impressed.

We got through all the questions. I was able to have a coherent conversation about the job requirements, how the working relationship is with the disability management team we have, and what effects the new collective agreement would have on the job I was applying for.

And then came the awkwardness...

The interview was over, and I stood up to shake hands with the two gentlemen doing the interview. I shook the first man's hand, and then put my hand out to the second guy and he left me hanging. It felt like my hand was there for 30 seconds, but it probably closer to 1 or 2 seconds. He says, "oh I'm walking you out. I'll shake your hand later..." But then puts his hand out...after my hand was down. So I put my hand back up, but his was gone. Three times I tried to shake his hand. Three times unsuccessful.

How do you recover from something like that?

Some people might ignore it. But not me. I acknowledge it. And it's awkwardness. And then try to make a joke about it. I don't know...this could have been the make or break it moment.

I'm still waiting to see if I'm the successful applicant. Either way, I'll be happy with the outcome. Because God always has a way of taking care of me and giving me what I need even when I don't know I need it. Fifteen years of providing jobs and experiences that have given me an education that, in my opinion, far exceeds any University degree. Truthfully, I still lack the focus. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and I still just really love being a mom (and dream of being a wife some day).

But it sure is nice knowing I don't need focus. I don't need to know what the outcome is. I just need to do my best, give my all, and trust.

I'll keep you all posted. Can you believe they made me wait the weekend?!?!?! I mean, seriously, if I get this job...I have a wardrobe to plan!!

Les Mis - My Review

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sat, 29 Dec 2012 18:30:00 PST

One of the benefits of being semi anti-social (hmmm, maybe just semi-social? I think the anti looks misplaced...) with my nose in a book, and very few engagements written on my calendar is that I get very, very excited over things that regular people with regular social lives may over look as just another part of another day.

For instance, I was in a movie theater watching the trailers for upcoming movies and almost stood up and cheered when the preview for *Life of Pi* came on. First of all, how did I not know it was being made into a movie? I usually know stuff like that. Second of all, it is probably one of my favourite books and one of two books I have read twice (the other one being Rapture of Canaan, which I totally recommend). The twist at the end of Pi took my breath away. I had to read it a second time so I could picture it in my head knowing what I didn't the first time around. I will have to read it a third time now, because in discussing how badly I wanted to see the movie, my brother mentioned he started reading it, but had stopped because of how it was total blasphemy, and against every thing he believes in. I need to read it again to see if I'm completely naive, because I saw it as a beautiful representation of God, nature, the resilience of the human spirit and what it can overcome. It is so amazing to me how people can read the same thing and have completely different interpretations of it.

So you can only imagine my excitement when I heard Les Miserables was coming to theaters. (Side note: Probably the only thing I really, really, reeeeeeeeeeaaaaalllllllllly want to do before I die is go to New York and experience a real live Broadway show. And Central Park. At Christmas time. Preferably with a boyfriend - seeing as how it's my dream and all, we can make it as unrealistic as possible, right??) I could not and did not wait - I went to see it on Boxing Day. Let me tell you folks, the movie did not disappoint. Having not seen it on Broadway, I had no idea what to expect - but I was blown away. It reminds me how I long to live in a musical, where it is common to break into song when something a) awkward or b) lovingly is needed to be said. But Gah!! If I were the Academy, I would give every single actor an award, Anne Hathaway, Hugh Jackman, Amanda Seyfried, the chorus. Boom...Oscar, Oscar, Oscar.

Along with the amazing acting and the singing and the falling in love, it also reminded me how very fortunate and thankful I am to have been born into the 21 century as a woman. We really, really have come leaps and bounds. As a single mother, I cannot fathom having to hand my beloved child off to strangers (horrid strangers at that), while I work to support them by any means necessary. I cannot imagine having to stand up to an army to fight for a better life and for what I believe in and die for that belief. Ahhh, and what a wonderful story about second chances - it is truly never too late to start again. Oh the power of hatred and anger, how it eats us up inside and destroys us.

The only complaint I have about the whole experience is the woman who sat beside us in the theater who felt the need to do a running commentary throughout the whole movie. That's right...all two hours and thirty eight minutes. Out loud. For two hours. And thirty eight minutes. She was oblivious to our shushing - probably because she was too busy talking.

"He's a prisoner."

"Oh my, he's starving. Look how fast he's eating!"

"Do you think he's going to fall?"

"He doesn't have his papers. Oh no. What will happen? Will they catch him?"

And when words escaped her, she just filled the silence with...

"Hmmmmhhmmmmmmmm"

and

"Awwwwwwwwwwww"

Did I tell you how long the movie was?

Merry Christmas!!

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Wed, 26 Dec 2012 12:17:56 PST

I'm probably not the only one, but Christmas is my favourite time of year. I've been listening to Christmas music since December hit. How can you be in a bad mood listening to Christmas music? Our living room looks like the North Pole opened up and puked lights and decorations and presents everywhere. Of course, having an eight year old is really the only encouragement you need to make every Christmas the best Christmas ever.

I'm sure this will be remembered as the last year that Q believed in Santa. He's already starting to debate the logistics of Santa...thinking it impossible rather than magical. I love his innocence. I love his ability to believe in something that is just so completely, well...impossible. He's been asking questions lately, though, that tell me his innocence in *this* category is slowly fading.

"Why didn't the dog bark last year when Santa delivered presents? She barks at everything?"

"It's impossible for Santa to deliver to every child in the whole world in one night."

"The Norad Santa Tracker is so fake. They said he was in Vancouver, but the news said he was in Winnipeg." (Geez, multimedia...get your stories straight please...)

It reminds me of my best friend's son who said when he was about this age, "Mommy, I'm pretty sure Santa doesn't exist, but could we just pretend for one more year..."

This was also the first year there were no toys under the tree. I mean, don't get me wrong, there werent just books and clothes and underwear, but there weren't any Legos or Hot Wheels or Stuffed Animals. There were movies and video games and sports equipment and an iPod. It's the end of an era, really.

Hopefully the end of a cluttered, trip-over-wayward-toy, why-is-that-toy-so-noisy era...

So today, I will leave you with some amazing words from some amazing Christmas carols. We sing them so often by memory, how often do we stop to think of their meaning?

Joy to the world

The Lord has come.

Let Earth receive her King

Let every heart prepare Him room

and...

A thrill of hope

A weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks

a new and glorious morn

With so many horrible events taking place in our world lately, I'd say we are desperately weary, all looking for a reason to rejoice.

Merry Christmas from our home to yours!!

In Which I Almost Die From a Brain Infection (...only not really)

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sat, 22 Dec 2012 16:13:04 PST

The top of my phobia list is without a doubt, bar none, totally and completely - the dentist. Whether it's genetic, the fact that I come from a long line of Brits, or just luck of the draw, I have really crappy teeth. I think I had my first root canal before I was 20. The pain from an abscess is probably only comparable to child birth or having a limb cut off with a saw. I heard somewhere that in times of war, dental work has been a form of torture (well, pulling teeth with pliers, and such but potay-to, potah-to I say...). My second root canal was done partially without freezing (torture) because it was the end of the day, the freezing had worn off and the dentist did not want to wait for more freezing to take effect. I sat in the chair with tears streaming down my face as the hygienist held my head down by the pressure points (so I could not move) and the dentist said, "This is a painful lesson to learn, but hopefully you've learned it..."

Yes, I learned my lesson very well.

Never, ever, ever go to the dentist.

When I do have a dentist appointment, I work myself into such a tizzy I have to cancel because I am physically sick to my stomach from worry. My third root canal I bailed on (only postponed, really, because I've learned the need for a root canal does not simply *go away* like a cold or food poisoning...) the morning of the attack on the twin towers.

Generally, years and years go by before I can summon up the courage to go to the dentist. And usually, it's only because I am in some sort of pain. Logical people would say, "the more often you go, the less it will hurt..." But I think we've established I'm not all that logical to begin with, and phobias don't often have much to do with logic anyways. Appointments made for the dentist are usually only done with tons of pep talks from caring friends, and a bottle or two of wine - and that's just to get me to *make* the appointment...

About four years ago I found this awesome dentist. He is handsome to look at, super nice, and has reaaaaally pretty teeth. He specializes in *sedation dentistry* however, I've never needed to use it because he talks me through every single step of every single procedure. I still avoid him like the plague, but it's a little less worrisome when I know Ativan is in the cupboard if we need it.

Three years ago, I had a filling fall out. I left it for a year. Sadly, a year was too long. He filled it saying he thought he had saved the nerve but we couldn't be sure. He said if I ever woke up with a swollen face, to get to the hospital right away. Otherwise, we'd wait and see.

I've been a ticking time bomb ever since.

Two weeks ago, I wake up to this bump in my gum right where that tooth is, so I do what anyone with a disabling fear of the dentist would do...I ignore it. A few days later, and the bump gets a bit bigger...going right into Christmas...this is all I need. Determined to just leave it, I google...

"Can you die from a tooth ache??"

...and in less than a second I have pages and pages of examples of people who have died from an infection in a tooth. The most extreme cases - the infection spread from their eye tooth (the one tooth I'm having a problem with...) to their brain and they died of a Brain Infection. Well, literally the next second, I was on the phone begging to get in to be seen. The last thing I need is to leave my child motherless because of a tooth ache.

"Aggressive" is the word my dentist kept using to describe this bump in my gum above the tooth. "Ah...this infection is aggressive." "Can't we just do an open and drain?" I ask (as this will now be my 5th root canal, I'm familiar with the lingo). "No," he says. "It is too aggressive."

So instead I do two different antibiotics for a whole week - three times a day. And book a root canal for January 17. (I'm feeling ill at the thought already)

The meds are done. The bump is still there. My dentist is on vacation out of the country until January 15.

And I'm left with the instructions, "If you wake up and your face is swollen and you have no movement of your facial muscles, you must get to the hospital right away. It means the infection has spread to your nasal cavity and you've gone septic."

Awesome.

For someone who has irrational fears of dying from a totally obscure way, this is the last thing I need to hear. I seriously check my temperature 5 times a day to see if I'm *burning up* from some infection that is ravaging my body.

The funny thing is...I have no pain. And...while the swelling hasn't gone down, it's not getting worse...

...I have a sneaking suspicion it might be a canker sore.

A Heavy Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Fri, 14 Dec 2012 20:44:23 PST

This morning I woke Q up the same way I do every morning (well, every morning that he doesn't wake me up with a "Mom-my, I'm hungry) with a "Wakey, wakey eggs and bac-y!!!"

Okay, so it starts that way. Then it's, "C'mon!! Rise and shine!!"

Then it's "Q. Now. Up."

Today, I reminded him that he had a super exciting day - a field trip to The Nutcracker and he'd get to ride on a school bus. That got him up. He ran downstairs to open his advent calendar.

Then he chattered away the whole way to the babysitter...

"Mommy, how many sleeps til Christmas?"

"I think Santa starts delivering presents at 1 am. Do you think so?"

"I love spending Christmas Eve with Daddy because we go skating and stay up really late - but not too late, because Santa comes. We watch where Santa is on the Santa Tracker and we play Monopoly."

I dropped him off at the babysitters. He gave me a big hug. I said "I love you!" and kissed the top of his head. He said, "I do too!!"

It was just another day. Nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly not super special.

Today, parents in Newtown, CT took their children to the babysitters, to school just like any ordinary day. Their children excited for a visit from Santa, maybe a field trip on a school bus. Kisses on foreheads, whispers of "I love you!" in little ears.

It is horrific and tragic that some of these children did not go home today. I cannot even begin to imagine the devastation these parents must be going through; their lives never the same. A huge hole in their hearts, their child gone too soon.

Today there are three specific children I think of that did not go to school because their little bodies are battling tumours and the ill effects of chemo and radiation. Modern science has nothing left to offer. "I love yous" are precious and plenty and kisses are never ending. Prayers are constant. Every time I think of them, I lose my breath, because I cannot fathom anything worse than watching your child, no older than 5 or 7, die before you, helpless to do anything but pray for a miracle.

My heart breaks every time I think of these children and these families.

Every morning for me is an *extra* ordinary morning because I have been blessed with a healthy little boy, who right this very minute is safe and sound. He's happy. He's not scared or worried. I can say with confidence that I know he will wake up tomorrow, healthy, happy and safe.

And I am so grateful.

I hope and pray that I never take for granted the ordinary mornings. The cuddles. The kisses. The talks. The laughs. The games. The school plays. The spelling tests. I pray that I never take for granted the awesome responsibility that has been bestowed upon me - raising up my beautiful boy. It makes things like *things* and money so completely irrelevant in comparison. I have a gift that has been horrifically stolen from far too many, far too soon. With every grateful prayer I say for my son, I will pray for peace for those who have gone, for those who long for little fingers and tiny kisses.

I am overwhelmed with sadness tonight for those robbed of their little blessings, taken to heaven far too soon. Tonight when you tuck your babies in and kiss them goodnight, say a little prayer for those mourning the loss of their children.

Lessons at Middle Age

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Wed, 12 Dec 2012 10:59:24 PST

I've learned something about myself recently - which in and of itself is pretty amazing considering how old I am. You'd think that by the time you hit 35, you'd know everything there was to know about yourself. Evidently this is not the case, because I just had a pretty big life lesson.

Feeling as though life was passing me by, that I was wasting my nights away with my nose in a book, or blogging, or watching "Greys Anatomy" - I resolved to take on more projects. I was going to be busy. Life was going to be hectic. Every moment from dawn to dusk would be filled - it was going to be great. I was going to feel useful and productive and a real live contributing member of society.

And it's not like it's any big deal. I mean people do it all the time and they thrive. They're the better for it. I was so excited. There are two people who come to mind immediately who are constant over achievers and they LOVE it. You two, you know who you are. I am amazed by how much they fit into a 24 hour period. I wanted to be just like them.

At Q's school, I volunteered to be the 'Emergency Preparedness Coordinator', Editor of the PAC (they don't call it the PTA anymore...it's the PAC - Parent Advisory Committee) newsletter (monthly distribution to 245 families), and I also volunteered to organize a Christmas craft for 66 children at a Christmas Craft night at the school. This involved cutting out and sewing together by hand 66 felt coffee sleeves.

Next, I joined a book club. I was super excited about this. A whole bunch of ladies sitting around discussing a great read, drinking wine and eating appies? Seriously, what could be better?? Nothing much in my books.

Q has soccer twice a week and skating lessons on Tuesday. Tack on a half an hour to an hour a day practicing for his spelling test on Friday (by Thursday night we were still spelling Invisible, i-l-l-i-s-e. There were tears and I don't think they were Q's).

Christmas at the Post Office is always a little...hectic (and that is putting it mildly). It's pretty much a given that I will work 6-7 days a week for the month of December. This is the deal. Co-workers post statuses on FB about not being contactable for a month and not to start looking for their body or knocking their front doors down. The thing is, I love being super crazy busy at work. It makes the day go by fast. I feel useful. I feel smart!

I was busy seven days a week. Busy, busy, busy.

Turns out, I do not thrive being busy all the time. Turns out, I am the type of person who thrives being at home in the evening reading a good book, watching a t.v. show or two, imparting my wisdom on my blog and getting an average of 9-10 hours of sleep a night.

Seriously.

I had four loads of clean laundry sitting on my couch for a week because I didn't have time (or was too exhausted) to fold it. I hadn't grocery shopped in weeks and just ran to the store for essentials like milk and bread. The house was a mess. Q was eating Chef Boy-R-Dee or McDonald's for dinner like every night. Christmas cards that I pride myself in making every year had gone unmade. My blog was neglected. My friends were neglected. My life was in disarray. I was in a continual state of agitation and panic.

The rush I get from being busy at work is not the same rush I get from being busy in LIFE.

I haven't read a book in months. I had to bail on the book club. I bought store made Christmas cards and have been carrying them around in my purse for a week now, hoping to find the time on my lunch break to write "Merry Christmas, Love C and Q!!"

I learned my lesson.

I am not an over achiever. I am an achiever. That is it. I love having my nose in a book whenever I get a free moment. I love writing on my blog. I love having a clean house, with clean clothes. I even really like making Q a healthy meal for dinner and having time to clean it up afterwards. I love, love, love sleeping - and functioning on 6 hours is NOT an option.

I cannot change who I am. Well, I guess I could...if these qualities were really super bad or destructive. But I think in this case I'll just roll with it. I don't want to run myself ragged for the rest of my life. I want to be happy. I can take on a volunteer project here and there, sure.

But my number 1 priority right now, is raising a healthy, happy child. And the best way to do that is being healthy and happy myself.

And by actually being there, present. That's pretty important too.

I guess an old gal really can learn new tricks.

What Angry Birds has Taught me...

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Wed, 21 Nov 2012 17:44:34 PST

Some people think I'm a genius.

Bwahahahahahahaha, that is so funny. I am not a genius, not even close. I just have a mind that does not stop working, ever. I probably think like twice as much as most people. I think I can be thinking of three things at the same time. This comes in handy when supervising the world and with multitasking. Of course, I'm a woman, so that also helps with the *multitasking* and the over thinking things, too. I remember always asking boyfriends, "What are you thinking?" and they'd always say, "Nothing." And I thought they were lying. How could you seriously have nothing going on in there? Nothing? Ya, right. Since having a son, I've realized they. were. not. lying. Men's brains really do go blank. Me, no such luck.

This gift I have is most troublesome when I'm trying to sleep. My brain says things like, "Oh...remember how you handled that thing at work today??? How could you have done that differently, with a more positive/faster/effective end result?" or "Let's think of your bank balance, and all your bills for the next two weeks. Let's plan how to spend/save the money, all of it, right now. No, no, no, we don't need a calculator, we can do the math" or "Hmmmmm, do you really think you're raising Q the best way possible? Let's think of examples of your poor parenting since Q was born and disect them one by one."

Seriously, this is how I fall asleep every single night.

Please tell me I'm not the only one.

So, to shut down my brain I play games, it's more fun than counting to a thousand...10 times over. Suduko, Words with Friends, Chuzzle, the iPhone has literally revolutionized the way I fall asleep. It helps me shut my brain off by playing mindless games. Lately, I'm really loving Angry Birds, and as I was playing I thought (see multitasking even when I'm trying specifically to not multitask) of the many lessons we can take from Angry Birds.

1 and 2. I was reminded as I played level 18-8 (Birdday Party...my favourite level...might be the pink) that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I was reminded of this, because I kept making the birds attack the pigs the exact same way every time. And every time I expected that *this* time it would be different. It wasn't. Funny enough, I was consciously doing it the same way every time because I thought all I needed to do was get better at doing it the *same/wrong* way. Look at this, two lessons in one. In addition to remembering that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and over and over again, expecting a different result - I also had the crazy thought that we need to be wise enough to prioritize what's important enough to practice over and over and what is *crazy* enough to be left by the wayside.

3. Sometimes you need to walk away...and then walk back. Gah, doing the same level over and over, shaking things up with the birds and still not getting any results is so frustrating. And yes, really very alarming that I can easily waste a lunch hour without a second though. Anyways, out of frustration, I would throw the game to the side, do some work for a bit, and then pick up the phone again during my coffee break. The break was really all I needed - a fresh outlook and boom! those piggies didn't even know what hit them. Sometimes you need to take a step back, reassess the situation and then come in with a clear mind.

4. Never underestimate the power of a small bird. You know the small blue ones? When you hit them mid-air, they burst into three and do the most damage. They're the small ones. They're still pretty powerful. You feel small? Remember the lil blue birds.

5. When all else fails, bring in the big guns. You get that eagle and wipe out all the suckers in one fell swoop.

Any great lessons you've been taught or reminded by something that seemed otherwise insignificant?

Halloween Past and Present

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 10:10:00 PST

Homemade costumes for Halloween has become somewhat of a tradition around our home. I cherish it because I know that soon enough, Q will be too cool for *homemade* and will want store bought. Of course store bought will mean way less work for me, but I've come to enjoy our new tradition and will miss it once gone. Q tries to outdo his costumes from the year before and I think he also tries to think of the most difficult costume idea ever.

This year, I will not lie, I was totally stumped. I lost sleep trying to figure out how to make Q the Stanley Cup. I pleaded with him to be a hockey player instead, but he said, "Mommy. That would be so dumb." He wouldn't even give it a second thought. My first attempt at the Stanley cup ended up looking like Q was a schizophrenic trying to protect himself from the *voices*. Not only that, I had made it out of cardboard and it was so fricken heavy the kid was having a hard time carrying it on his tiny frame. I think it weighed more than he did. In a panic, I made a trip to Home Depot and found a roll of this stuff you put in your car window to reflect the sun and it worked perfectly! Light weight and warm. Foil tape was the perfect way to put it all together and if you look closely, there is even a layer of black weather stripping along the bottom to imitate the plate the cup sits on. Q wanted me to write all the teams names on the cup to make it more authentic, but uh....no. I'm not that crazy. He beamed the whole day at school (they get to wear them for a parade through the library) and I was pretty darned pleased with my handy work, too!!

The year before that was easy peasy as Q wanted to be a Vampire. The most fun part of this was seeing him all dressed up in a tie. The make up was pretty fun too. He's a good little actor, isn't he though. He totally looks un-dead. But not the Twilight kind, because let's face it...they're not real.

And the year before that, he wanted to be a skeleton. This was so much fun and super easy. The bones are made out of foam, and then painted with glow-in-the-dark paint. I hot-glued them all onto a hoodie. The most tedious part was cutting out foam bones for the fingers and toes. The toes were glued onto oversized socks and then he wore them over his shoes. For a template I just enlarged an image from Google. What did we do before Google? I don't know. It knows everything!!

The tradition started when he asked to be a shark and I couldn't find a costume to buy anywhere. I'm not a seamstress, but I made my own template, got out the sewing machine, poked myself 5 million times with pins, and came out with a pretty realistic looking shark. Except for the tail...it looks more like a whale's tale. But whatever, he was four and didn't know the difference. He could see from the *mouth* of the shark, with big felt teeth and plenty of fake blood, as this shark was out for the kill.

Anniversaries

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sun, 11 Nov 2012 19:00:02 PST

Late Fall, early Winter is filled with anniversaries for me. Whether good or bad, I cannot stop them from coming every year. They make me who I am and so I guess I should be grateful for them, because I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the person I have become and everything I have been blessed with.

Two years ago, on October 23, I quit smoking. Probably one of my proudest accomplishments - besides Q, of course - because of how incredibly hard it was to quit. I watched "Flight" recently and a commiserated with two of the characters who struggled with addiction - knowing how bad something is for you, and yet craving it with all your being. Two years later, I still miss smoking. I still crave nicotine. But the benefits outweigh the cravings. My circulation is incredible - my hands and feet are almost always warm. I rarely am short of breath. I haven't had a cough in ages. My headaches are down. I guess the only downside of not smoking is my weight is up. My biggest mental hurdle with quitting was the idea that I *wasn't allowed* to smoke and that bugged me because, I'm an adult, dammit...if I want to eat ice cream for dinner and then smoke a pack of cigarettes, so be it. I can do what I want. A valuable lesson - just because we can, doesn't mean we should...

Six years ago in December, I officially became a single parent. I say 'officially' because it sure felt like I was one waaaaay before that. Six years ago, I had a two and a half year old toddler, lived in a one bedroom basement suite, had borrowed $300 from my ex for a security deposit, and had about $10,000 more in debt. I know it sounds really depressing that we split over Christmas, but really it was the greatest gift I ever gave myself. The only disappointment is that I'm still single, six years on. Way back then, I had the hope of a healthy marriage, maybe some more babies. That hope is dwindling.

Eight years ago in October, I was a new mom diagnosed with post partum depression and went through the most horrible time of my whole entire life. I know that it was eight years ago, and most people probably would have moved on by now, but I remember because it makes me who I am. It reminds me to have compassion for others, because you never know their struggles. It keeps me humble. It reminds me how fragile our minds are, and how we need to protect ourselves. It reminds me of how much I have overcome. It reminds me how blessed I am to have a beautiful child, who is a true treasure in my life. I truly hope that I never forget where I was eight years ago, because if I do, I might lose who I am today.

Thirty five years ago, in the middle of November I was born. Thirty five years. I think we need to pause for a moment of silence as we reflect on all those years...gone. Just gone...

*Poof*

In years past, I have welcomed my birthday with excitement. As a child, I wished to be older. And now it is so. I am 35 in one week. T-H-I-R-T-Y F-I-V-E. It seems so old. I was talking to a couple of my employees the other day, and age came up...they were 23 and 24. It might have come up that I was a *cougar*. The worst part of being thirty five is that nothing I do will stop it. I can ignore my birthday (which I most definitely will do), I can lie about my age (it's in the plan..), but no matter what I do, I will still be 35. It literally fills me with fear when I think about it. I want to puke and I get the chills and my heart rate gets faster. I literally experience a panic attack when I think about 35. This might be a midlife crisis.

It's not even that I'm evaluating my life and I'm disappointed with what I see. I mean, I did hope to be married by 35, but other than that, I'm quite content with who I am and where I've been. It's just that....well, if you must know...I'm totally over my mini skirt wearing days. I'm finding more greys and more wrinkles every day.

I'm reminded that life is finite.

Pondering Deep, Deep Freaky Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Wed, 24 Oct 2012 17:05:34 PDT

I recently read this book by author Donald Miller, called something like a million miles in a thousand steps? Or a million steps in a thousand years? Or maybe it's a million miles in a thousand years...if you really want to know that badly you can google it. I read one of his other books called Blue like Jazz (or was it red like country....haha, just kidding.) I really liked Blue like Jazz because it gave a different view of God than I have. I pretty much have been terrified of God my whole life. Like not in a biblical *fearful* way, but more in a panic attack, can't breathe kind of way. I like reading books that show a different side to Christianity, a way that separates from *religion* and makes it a less scary, more humanity driven way of life.

In this latest book, Donald Miller talks about living a better story. He's learning how to build a character for a movie/book and he wonders, "Why can't I apply this to my own life and build a better story for myself?" Now, I'm not going to lie. I did think the picture of him on the back of the book wasn't so bad. I also noticed he hails from Portland, which isn't far from me. I noticed he's only a few years older than me and I also noticed he was single. I thought of how convenient it would be to fall in love and marry someone who shares your last name. Think of all the time it would save changing all your bank accounts and drivers licence and passport and credit cards (if you were allowed to have one...). So, I was tempted to write a letter to this man, telling how his book really made me think, blah, blah, blah.

Side note: this is my thing, lately...writing letters. In the movie Stuart Little, every time the Little's get bothered by something, one says to the other, "Oh dear, we must write a letter." This is what I say now, too...only to myself because there is no one else to write the letter with. Sigh.

I googled Donald Miller and was led to his blog. Which is not really a blog. It's more of a website. I think I was expecting everything to be a little more low key. But it seems as though, since finding a better story, everything for Mr. Donald Miller has become a whole lot well, bigger. I mean the guy has had at least two best sellers. But what I liked about his books was that he was kinda laid back, lazy, and really wanted a better story. I'm the same way. I really want to change the world, but in a laid back kind of way. I'm not about to protest on capitol hill or participate in a hunger strike. I'm more about volunteering at a school and maybe becoming a Big Sister...change the world laid back style. So, I was a little shocked when I found out that Donald Miller has basically created a franchise around "building your story".

Now, I'm not judging. And I'm certainly not saying it's a bad thing. I'm just surprised. I expected everything to be a little more subtle, I guess. I expected it to be a small town, hand written thank you's, taking the bus everywhere revolution. I guess everyone is looking for a better story. Not just me. I mean, it was an national best seller. Why wouldn't conventions be a natural progression from that? How many other motivational speakers are out there? How many of them came from lying on their couch in sweats, eating tuna from a can? What better way to sell a story than to be the product of an amazing one?

Anyways, needless to say, I will not be writing a letter about how this book really made me think about my life and how I could make it a better story. It would only get thrown in a pile with a thousand other letters, and then given a generic letter back. The wedding is also off, sadly. Thank goodness I don't have to change my name back. What a hassle that would be.

Fast forward to a conversation with a friend of mine who believes that God is in ultimate control of our lives. Everything in predestined. Our fate is sealed. We on a road we may not know, but it has been written by God and nothing we do will change it. We can only submit to it and follow the plan.

Wow. More food for thought.

I found myself thinking, if this is the case, then what is the point of getting off the couch and changing out of my sweat pants. It's already been written, it's already known that this is what I do. If my story has already been written, I can't rewrite it. It totally blows my mind. So God creates billions of people, creates a story for each person, then watches them act out that story? Is this what life is? Is this supposed to give me comfort?

What if my life story is to lose my job, live on the street and freeze to death at 40? That's my story. Nothing I do will change the fact that it has been predestined for me to live out that fate. I could stock pile money, I could find a great stable job, and this would still be my demise. I cannot wrap my head around it. My story could be that I never, ever get married so no matter how much I pray for it or yearn for it or even if I fall in love, if it is written that I will not get married, I won't. No matter how many signs point otherwise. All these months I've been thinking I'm not doing anything productive with my life, basically going through a midlife crisis, when this is exactly where the story is...a single mother, sitting at a desk in a post office, renting a house and living just within my means.

What is the point of life if it's already planned out for me? If this is what I believe, that there is a God and that I am created in his image, and I do believe it, then what is the point? Believing in a higher power is supposed to give your life meaning, but I just feel like I've hit a brick wall. I could set out to cure cancer, but if it's already known that I won't...what's the bother in even trying? Imagine the frustration at having an over-achieving personality, but under achieving at everything. Gah!

On the other hand, what is the point of life if there is nothing after this? If everything we've done on earth is all we have and then we die and our souls die along with our bodies and then, boom, that's it. We're dust. We're forgotten in a generation - or two if we're really lucky or really amazing. What's the point if my story has no direction at all, does that make everything possible? Or nothing possible?

I'm totally blowing my own mind right now. I should be smoking pot or something. Only of course I wouldn't, because it's illegal, and all...

Ideas? Theories? What belief gets you through the day???

Q isms - Worth it

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Wed, 24 Oct 2012 13:39:36 PDT

I've been battling a sore back these past 2 weeks. It's been super frustrating because it's constant pain and I can get no relief (let alone satisfaction...hahaha). Breathing hurts, sitting hurts, standing hurts, lying down hurts. Sometimes the pain shoots down my left leg, sometimes it throbs in sync with my heart beat, but it is always a constant pain.

I went to my chiropractor who usually makes me so, so happy but it just seems he's made me worse. I went to the doctor and he gave me all these hard core drugs - but the side effects were worse than the pain and they didn't even manage to dull the pain, so I stopped taking them. I'd rather have a sore back and no shits than a sore back and the shits. The pills were only successful in making me so stoned I didn't care if my back hurt anymore, as I ran to the loo. I also went to a massage therapist (who also happens to work with the Vancouver Whitecaps) and he gave some temporary relief, but holy moly, back pain is horrible.

I'm now into my second week. I long for after work when I can take a Tylenol 3, not having to worry about being coherent, and plug in my electric heating pad. I think this officially counts as being old.

The most frustrating thing is I cannot think of one specific incident that caused the pain, it just kind of crept up on me. I now feel bad for all the times I suspected my employees were lying when they had a *sore back* - right? Like we can't see the pain, so it's not there. I still suspect some of them were trying to scam the system, but whatever, I can't prove it, right? Oh, and my pain threshold is very low, I suspect.

The one thing that my doctor, chiropractor and massage therapist all agree on is that the route cause of all this pain is most likely the fact that I gave birth to a 10lb 6oz baby eight years ago. One of them (and they're all men, btw) likened it to a 'wrecking ball' smashing through my girly bits and beyond (latter words mine, not his - that would just be creepy...), another compared it to delivering a butterball turkey. To this day, when I hear pregnant women say, "Oh my doctor says my baby weighs blah, blah, blah..." it angers me to no end. I was so big, strangers on the street would tell me I was huge and ask if I was having twins. I had no neck for crying out loud. Yet, MY prenatal doctor told me that there's no real way to tell how big a baby is...and then AFTER the baby was born said, "Geez, if we had known he was going to be that big we would have done a c-section. It would have been way less intrusive." I must have had the only doctor in the lower mainland who did not know of a little thing called an "Ultrasound".

I wonder if I can sue?

Suffice it to say, I am not even remotely tempted to have any more children in the next 20 years. This is good, because it looks as though I will also not find a willing partner anytime within the next 20 years either. See, everything works out in the end, right?

So, Q hearing that he is the cause of my pain now...says....

"At least it was worth it, right mommy?"

And then about 10 minutes later...

"Eight years later, and I'm still coming back to haunt you."

Ahhhhhahahahahaha, he's a comedian.

However, he did offer to keep an eye out for any of the multiple side effects the pharmacist rattled off. He really is thoughtful like that.

I Have a Dream (about a boat...)

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sun, 14 Oct 2012 09:00:03 PDT

I have been dreaming about being on a boat for weeks now. Literally. It's not exactly a recurring dream, because every dream is different, and every dream in super vivid. But I'm always, always on a really big boat with a lot of people. Some people are strangers, some are from my past, some are from my present. Sometimes my past and present mixes, sometimes there are only people from my present or only from my past.

The first dream was a few weeks ago...I was on a cruise ship with my mother. Everyone was receiving gifts just for being on the ship, before they left, but we (my mom and I) did not get a gift. They were really nice gifts, too...like pearl earrings or diamond necklaces, so we really wanted ours. Next thing we know, they've set sail and we're stuck on the ship for another week, without a gift. The under carriage of the boat was see-through and we could watch hundreds of enormous whales swim by us, both amazing and terrifying.

My second dream was two nights ago, again on a boat. But it was an old wooden boat, just like a pirate ship...huge, with many levels, doors and secret passageways. We were getting prepared to go on a two week voyage, but I really didn't want to go. Q couldn't come with me, and everywhere I looked all I could see were my employees. I couldn't imagine being on a ship with my employees and no Q for two whole weeks. It was a game within a game, and we were all pawns on a game board that each had to take our turn, and do whatever was asked of us. At the last minute I got off, relieved.

My third dream was during a luxurious two hour nap on a rainy Friday afternoon. Again, a boat. A bit older than the last, still wooden, and I remember stairs. Lots and lots of stairs and railings. We were in rooms with bunk beds, separated by gender. We all had rations for the trip. If you used up your water rations, you were done, even if others had some left. So, you had to watch how much water you used to brush your teeth, or how often you flushed the toilet, because that was all included in your water rations.

My most recent dream was last night. I remember seeing people from the airport when I worked there 5 years ago. It was kind of like a dating boat, because you had to go on dates with people from the boat. You were sent off to an island for a day on a date, then came back to spend the rest of the time with everyone. It was really awkward, because everyone had been on dates with everyone else, and then graded the date. Needless to say, tempers were high. I don't remember any dates, or feeling particularly attracted to anyone. I remember being more the mother hen.

Of course, I think that everything happens for a reason. Everything is a sign if you only look deep enough to see its meaning. SO......what do these dreams mean?? I haven't been on any boats lately, but it has rained solid for 2 1/2 days. Maybe it's a sign I should build a boat. A big wooden boat. Boats aren't particularly fast...they rock from side to side, maybe I'm in a lull? Maybe it's a sign I need to take a risk, jump from the boat and take on a new challenge? I haven't read about any boats or watched any movies about boats. It's all very odd, but I'm looking for a change. Maybe one of these boats can take me and my Q to a beach somewhere warm with sand that feels like silk and pina coladas on tap :)

Just sayin'

What's Pissing me off This Week

noreply@blogger.com (Catherine Miller) — Sat, 13 Oct 2012 12:33:06 PDT

True to form, I am a raging hormonal mess. This is what is pissing me off this week.

1. The City of Surrey. Usually I don't hate a whole city, so this is big even for me. The last week of September I came home to three large garbage cans, each with a different lid colour. They are so big, they don't even fit in my garage. I have to let Q out of the car, then park Lola, then squeeze out the drivers side door.. There was an instruction booklet that didn't even begin to describe what was expected of us. I had to research, research how to separate the garbage, how to make biodegradable origami garbage collectors, which days what product was collected. I invested some time in this, let me tell you. I didn't mind, though, because Surrey had committed to reducing garbage waste in landfills by 40% over the next number of years. I thought I could do my part. I separated the gross left overs from the packaging. I washed the gross recyclables. I put up with the fruit flies. I dealt with the rank smell of fermenting organics in my garage. I was proud when, in a week with a holiday, we filled one kitchen sized garbage bag of garbage and the rest went into the recyclables or organics. The first week I put out the garbage, recycling and organics because I didn't know which they would take. All they took was the garbage. The next week, by chance, we found something in the newspaper telling us exactly what they would be taking, so I put out the recyclables and organics. By now, the organics had been sitting in my garage during an abnormally hot week for October in B.C. There was condensation on the inside from the fermenting of foods, there was rank mold smell, it was disgusting. I came home from work...and they had picked up the recycling. Seriously. I put out the organics the next morning, hopeful they were just a little behind. After work, I dragged it back in the garage. Thursday, they pick up the organics. The organics that were sitting inside my garage because I thought, "No way they'd pick up organics three days late without communicating it to anyone..." But yes, yes they did. So now in my garage sits the fermenting, moldy, smelly mess for a third week while Surrey gets it shite together. I've done my part. I've done what Surrey has asked. Surrey has not followed through. I am so mad. Q says, "Mommy, if you're really that mad...you should wait 24 hours before you call them to complain. Then if you're still mad, you can call." Smart kid. He's like the mini conscience outside my head when I need it most.

Deep breath...

2. I am a Canadian citizen who really, really, really loves Grey's Anatomy. It is the highlight of my week, watching Grey's. I look forward to it. I think, "I wonder what will happen on Grey's this week." So, when I go to tape it on Thursday, so I can watch it on Friday night without distraction while Q is with his dad, I expect to find it and NOT the Vice Presidential Debate. Seriously, bumped not for the Presidential debate, but for the VICE Presidential Debate. I do not care to listen to old men sitting around talking about how they'll do this or that, and then don't do either this or that once voted into office. I want to see how Arizona is dealing with her missing leg, I want to see how people are dealing with Mark Sloan's death. I want to see if Derek will get his operating hand back. I know. I'm a little weird. But seriously...it's one thing I look forward to. One thing. I did find out though, that I can watch it on line for free!! How did I not know this? What century have I been living in?

3. I had some training this week for a new process that we're rolling out early next week. Here are a couple phrases I do not wish to hear from the trainer...

a) That's a good question (aka I do not have the answer...)

b) Why isn't this working? Why isn't this working?

c) Oh wait...let's try this instead.

...I expect the trainer to not read word for word from the training manual the whole morning. I can read from a training manual. The guy had no idea what he was talking about. It was obvious he hadn't done any prep work for it beforehand. This is a particular sore point for me, because I applied to be a trainer and was told I didn't possess the *basic* requirements for the job. False. I can read, so I obviously do possess the basic requirements. Then I was going to take a certificate program, so I could qualify and the woman who supervises the department told me that even if I did get the training she wouldn't even consider me because I don't have hands on experience. I told her I train all the employees in my area on new procedures, etc. and she said that I would need to volunteer for a school, teaching a class. Which is...uh...impossible. How many schools do you know of that are looking for volunteers to teach? Not many, in any at all. So then when I have to sit in a class with some yahoo who hasn't the *basic* skills either, I get a little miffed. Just a little. I can feel my blood boiling as I type this.

4. Recently, there was a young girl who posted a video to either YouTube or Facebook, crying out for help. She was depressed, lonely, sad, bullied. A week later, she committed suicide. Facebook R.I.P pages start popping up, with thousands upon thousands of people *liking* her, and hating bullying. People say how much they loved her and miss her. Radio stations, news stations, Internet websites are playing her story over and over. Don't get me wrong. It is a really, really sad thing that happened. Bullying is horrible. Tearing someone else down just to build yourself up. It is terrible. It is so sad to me that she felt there was no other way out. Here is what is pissing me off though....all these people who say now that they love her and are creating these Facebook pages for her...where were they while she was alive?? Where were they then? Why did they wait until she killed herself to tell the world what a wonderful person she was. There are signs, there are always signs, and no one chose to see them until it was too late. No one cared enough while there was time to do something about it. What? Does creating a fb page make you feel better about your indifference while she was alive? Guess what? It's a lame attempt. She was a person. The disregard for human life in our society makes me sick. Creating a webpage, posting a video on You Tube, liking a Facebook status is not a humanitarian deed. Get up off your ass and DO something about it.

Well, I could go on forever. Bad Drivers? If I wrote about every time they pissed me off, we'd have to change the name of this blog. The price of gas? Highway robbery!! In a few days however, none of this will seem so dire and I will blissfully return to a state of calm. Pray the state of calm comes quickly - for those around me.

adventures in dating (and life) - single mommy style

International Woman's Day

What's Pissing Me Off This Week

Hey, You Big Bully

Being Happy

In Which I Shamelessly Promote a Product I Love

What's Pissing Me Off This Week

Lessons From my Son (Who is 8...) and Q-isms

The New Job

Christian, Julia and Jayden

Workin' on my Game (aka...I Got no Game...)

Where Has Customer Service Gone???

Ode to Momma

The Interview

Les Mis - My Review

Merry Christmas!!

In Which I Almost Die From a Brain Infection (...only not really)

A Heavy Heart

Lessons at Middle Age

What Angry Birds has Taught me...

Halloween Past and Present

Anniversaries

Pondering Deep, Deep *Freaky* Thoughts

Q isms - Worth it

I Have a Dream (about a boat...)

What's Pissing me off This Week

Pondering Deep, Deep Freaky Thoughts