Part of me thinks that I should share her story. I have it pieced together, mostly. I don’t think that I can distinguish what is truth, what is hearsay and what is make-believe. Some of it has come from her lips, some from the people who she has confided in over the years, some of it strung together from little nuggets that various people have shared with me.

After all of the puzzle pieces that I’ve been given I still don’t have enough to get the full picture. I know that she was born to a single Mom who was barely out of her teenage years, and spent the first ten years of her life being raised by her grandparents. I don’t know much about her Father, apart from the anecdote that my own Father told me. He said that they were walking down a street in some small town in Nova Scotia and encountered a homeless man who was staggering, drunk, down the street. She turned to my Father and said, “That man is my Father.”

There are so many other tidbits of information that have been simmering inside me. She told my Grandmother that before she was married, she had a child and subsequently gave it up for adoption. She never told her husband this, for whatever reason, but I think it might be one of the demons that she battles on a daily basis. Her own loss, compounded with the loss of the only parents she ever knew (Her grandparents) when her mother arrived to whisk her away to a new life, in a new Province, with her new husband, could be nothing but overwhelming.

Throw in a thousand other inflictions and you might understand why this woman is a bitter, raging alcoholic.

Wait.

Her story is not mine to tell. As I have already said, I don’t really know what her true story is. I only know that her story has directly impacted my story.

I do know what my story is.

The woman who is such an enigma to me is my own mother.

I have been the stereotypical enabler. I only call her on Saturday mornings, when I know that she will be sober. While I can admit to those who love me that her actions have hurt me, I am also quick to defend her. “When she’s sober, she’s so kind. She helps her neighbors! She volunteers her time! She’s not that bad.”

A few weeks ago, it all came to a head. What was supposed to be our regular Saturday chat turned into an emotional uproar. She tore into me for a good three hours. Us never coming to stay with her was somehow a judgment on her home, when in reality it stems from the fact that friends in high school rejected me and I have no desire to go back. We’ve offered to pay her way here to come and stay but she says that we haven’t and, well. Maybe she was too wasted to hear me?

She told me that she thought my Dad was making up his ALS diagnosis and subsequent miracle. And I quote, “I don’t want him to die. But I do want him to suffer.” Who says that?

There were many more hurtful things thrown at me. My “children are so fucking perfect” and my husband is “too good for me”. Oh! And then the whole, “Are Matthew and you splitting up?” WHAT? This woman, who gave birth to me, hates the fact that I am happy and in love and living a good life. She would be happy if I were broken and miserable and downtrodden. Because I would be just like her.

I spent a lot of time crying into the shoulder of my dear husband who confirmed that this was not the best situation for our family. My kids do not need a mother who is a weepy mess for hours on end. I wiped away my tears, gave it to God and now go many days without thinking of her. This is not because I am bitter or angry; it is just the opposite. I have let it go and am not a slave to the bitterness.

So why am I bringing it up now?

I am bringing it up because it is my story. It is the very reason that I am the woman that I am today. Well, that and the whole faith thing. It’s a two-for-one deal. It is why I am the wife and mother that I am. I experienced the exact opposite as a child. I had a Mom who spewed hatred at me, who made me feel stupid even when I was smart, who pitted (and still pits) her two daughters against each other. She hates me. She said so herself.

Please don’t hate her. She’s my Mom, after all. If nothing else, her being the antithesis of what you consider to be a “Good Mom” is what has gotten me to where I am today.

I often have people commenting that my love for my kids is abundantly apparent. It is because I want them to have what I did not. I want them to feel like they have a stable home base. That they have a Mom who will rejoice in their every day. Who will never (NEVER) make them feel ashamed. Who will do everything in her power to pour a million shades of love into their lives so that they are confident in their very being.

I love her, but I refuse to be her. And maybe, by doing what we’re doing, we can break the cycle. Better yet, we can blow this thing called Life out of the water.

We all know about the “fight or flight” instinct. When faced with something formidable most creatures, whether human or animal, feel an adrenaline rush and have all but a split second to decide whether they are going to stand their ground and fight the good fight or whether that are going to turn tail and run in the other direction.

Neither choice is more noble than the other. Sometimes, straightening your shoulders and taking on your enemy is the best course of action. Other times, the wisest thing you can do is walk away and prevent further trauma for yourself and the people you love. There are times that you need to put up your dukes and other times where you need to breathe a deep sigh, turn on your heel and walk until you cannot walk anymore.

This past weekend found me in that in-between state. All that I have on the go and all that is coming down the pipe caught up to me and I felt that all-too-familiar tightening in my chest. I spent the bulk of Saturday at the office followed by a big grocery shop. I arrived home and immediately started prepping dinner for that night and the next. Matthew had to bring a bunch of yard waste to the dump and upon his return he walked into the kitchen, wrapped his arms tightly around me and said something that struck me as both odd and wonderful at the same time.

“I like you.”

It is no secret that I strive on words of affirmation and that switch-up from the usual, “I love you” made me smile from the inside out.

We talked about the stresses we are both facing. Me with the bazillion work hours and him trying to balance his part-time work while the kids are on spring break. (One week down, one more week to go. He deserves a HUGE treat (if, and) when he survives it.) We then sat down together and booked our first! ever! family vacation that does not involve staying with relatives or doing a whirlwind tour de États-Unis. We’re going to spend three nights in Vancouver (BC) at the kids’ request and take in big tourist attractions: The Zoo, Science World, the Aquarium. Can you believe that I lived in Vancouver for six years and never went to the Aquarium? Me neither. It’s time to remedy that.

Right about the time that Matthew’s tolerance for The Big City wears out, we’ll be heading to Cannon Beach. While we managed to squeeze an afternoon down there during our annual fall shopping trip, we liked it so much that we think it’s the perfect place for us to get away to and relax. We’ve booked four nights in a cute little cottage that’s only two blocks from the beach. There will be walks on the ocean, trips to the ice cream parlor, evenings spent sitting on the deck and just being. We plan on spending a day in Portland to (hit up our beloved Powell’s Books, and) see Kerri and any of the other Portlanders who want to (Finally!) meet ma familia.

Cementing those plans made them feel real finally and gave me something to look forward to as I hunker down for these next seven weeks. If that glimmer of hope wasn’t enough to boost my spirits, Matthew insisted that I stay home from church on Sunday morning. Sunday afternoon/evening is time spent playing in the yard with the kids, taking photos and just hanging out. After the kids are in bed I try to read or write or something that quiets my spirit. It’s basically a time to recharge before diving in to Monday morning. I guard Sundays fiercely because it keeps me (mostly) balanced.

We had family in town and the only day that worked for the big family dinner was Sunday. I love our extended family and knew we’d have another great visit filled with lots of laughter but Matthew knows how much I need my down time. He insisted that I sleep in and take the morning to do whatever I wanted. I woke up as they were driving away and put those three hours of alone time to good use. I cleaned the bathrooms (He usually does them, so it only seemed fair) and then I set to work having “me time”. I read for a bit, I journaled for a bit, I mapped out my week so that I could feel ready for the days to come.

The rest of the day consisted of the playing in the yard, the taking of the photos, the hanging out with extended family. Now I sit here with a little sense of foreboding because Monday is coming but I think that all of the good from Sunday should carry me through it. If not, there’s always chocolate.

I know that I will get through the next seven weeks. I always do. I’m a fighter. I’ll dig in my heels, stand my ground and get ‘er done. I just may have a few meltdowns in the process. Brace yourselves.

Another thing that has brightened my week is this video by OK Go. I’m sure you’ve seen it, but if not, you must.

This too shall pass, INDEED.

I don’t like to blog about blogging, mainly because I don’t like to read posts about blogging. This is not to knock those who do so; I would just rather hear about diaper explosions, sleepless nights, parenting dilemmas, nights out on the town….you know – life outside of your site. For me, reading blogs about blogging is like listening to a preacher preach about preaching or a singer sing about singing. I’m all, “Really?” And then I move on to something that I find more engaging.

I’m sitting down tonight to write my thoughts on blogging because all signs seem to be pointing that I need to. I have had a number of emails and comments in the last few weeks to do with this thing called Blog and I think I need to get my thoughts about it out there so that I can move on and write about more important things like pre-schooler temper tantrums and seven-year-old’s who think they are seventeen.

The blog-related conversations I have been having seem to fall into two camps: Comments (or lack thereof) and how (or why) to even get started. I had one commenter say that she had thought about starting a blog but didn’t know where to start and asked, “How did you get so many readers, anyway?” Almost five years into this gig, I’ll let you in on my secret: I have no idea. I hope that helps.

Anytime I am asked why I started this site I give an honest answer: I started it as a way for family and friends to see what we’re up to. It’s morphed into more than that, yes, but it is still the core of why I sit down here a few times a week to bang out my thoughts. I am a social creature by nature. Small children and a busy schedule make it almost impossible to catch up with the people in my life and sitting down for a half an hour or so a few times a week to get my thoughts down is an easy way to stay connected. The big stuff is there for people to read and keep up with us. I can then use my other spare moments during the day to catch up on everyone else.

As for the comment thing, I may sound like an old fart but they aren’t what they used to be. Friends who are considered “Big” bloggers have lamented this fact as much as friends who may not have the same traffic numbers. I know that personally, my blog subscribers and readers keep growing, though comments are far less than what they used to be. I once read a statistic that only 2% of readers commented. I think that number has declined to a mere 1%, if not 0.5%. It’s not you; it’s them. Everyone is busy and many people are trying to build their own blog empires and some people might feel like they’re cooler if they don’t comment. Or maybe a billion other reasons.

It’s not like I am immune to “comment anxiety”. Every time (EVERY TIME) I hit publish I feel like a high-fivin’ white girl. I’m standing there, arm in the air, waiting (hoping) for someone to validate me. I’ve gotten better over the years, but GLORY BE was I an insecure mess back when I first started. Now, once I get one sweet soul chiming in, I breathe easy and back away from the “Blow Up The Site” button. All of this to say that you are not alone. Me too. I hear you. We’re soul mates and all of that. Related: It’s the Internet. Let’s not take it too seriously, ‘mmkay?

The people I consider close friends do not buy into the hype. They don’t chime in on the latest Internet drama. They crack me up daily. They write about becoming superheroes. They write about being homeless. They are just awesome. They wonder how they got the life they have. They write about broken relationships and hope for the future. They write about I DON’T KNOW. They do the best Oscar recap EVER. They write about dive bars and about Irishmen. They make the best illustrations on the planet (Including my banner. Yo.) They are as ridiculously crafty as the last girl.  They rock the every day. They make me shout, “TWIN!” They write about life. Including prairie life,  life in Vancouver and life in New Zealand.

I could go on, but I think you get the point. If you are one of those people who are befuddled/confused by posts about stats and traffic and SEO and blah, blah, blah… please  don’t give up. There is a whole world of people out there who are just like you. They may not know you (Yet) but they are just. like. you. Possibly? Even more awkward. But you didn’t hear it from me.

Whether you are new or old to this thing called Blog, I want you to keep on keeping on. Do it because you want to. Write when you want to write, comment when you want to comment, and get out in the real world and live your life every chance you get. Unless you’re striving to be the next Dooce (Good luck with that) blogging should not be a stress in your life. It should be something that you consider to be good and fine and FUN. The best way to make it as good as it can be is really, truly simple.

Write like nobody’s reading.

It took me all of two minutes to acknowledge that the reason behind it is the same thing that I’ve been talking about since returning to work. I’d rather be at home.

I am thankful for my job for a long list of reasons. I work with great people, some of whom I consider friends, and not just because they forward me jokes via office email. I have a position that I’m not only comfortable in, but that I’m actually pretty good at. I get paid a fantastic salary and benefits, for which I’m especially thankful for after sitting down with Matthew last week and going over our monthly budget. I know that so many people are without employment, which makes me feel as though I have no right to complain.

But it’s my site and I can whine if I want to.

I know in my head that this is the best thing for my family. We’re living a comfortable life where we can do wild and crazy things like spend money on fruits and vegetables that are out of season. The kids get way more Daddy time that most kids do. I get to play the part of a professional and wear nice clothes and go for solo walks at lunchtime. We’re going to be living this way for a long time so I really need to just get used to the fact and quit my moping.

I’ve adjusted to it all during the bulk of the week. We’re all in the groove of our new routine and the days fly by pretty fast. It’s just the Mondays, man.

We had yet another great weekend together. Busy, which is how our lives will be until the end of days, but good. Saturday even saw me having a nap with Miss Emily after I had Twittered that the odds of me having a nap were about the same as the odds of me winning a Gold medal.

The nap was a great idea because after we woke up I decided to give Matthew a break from parenting. I took all three kids to the mall to shop for work clothes and then on to Costco. By myself. On a SATURDAY. It was…fine. Everywhere we went I was complimented on how (cute, and) well-behaved my kids were. I am so ridiculously proud of them. (Please don’t hate me.)

The warm(er) weather we’ve been having meant that we spent a lot of time outside on Sunday. There was road hockey, baseball, bike riding, swing pushing (My least favorite) and general Good Times. Let me show you.

After having a weekend where we played hard and laughed even harder the drive to the office on a Monday morning always includes heavy sighs and a mopey mood.

But, hey. It’s Tuesday. It’s a whole new day. I’ve got six days until Monday hits me again.

My kids and I have a routine that happens whenever one of us says, “I love you”. The response is never a simple, “I love you” or the standard, “I love you too.” The response is always (ALWAYS) “I love you more“.

(Close friends of mine have been subjected to this response as well whenever we email. If they throw out a “Love you!” I always (ALWAYS) lob back with, “I love you more“. Because I do.)

One example of this exchange occurs during the bedtime routine with Miss Emily. We will read a story and pray about all of the things she is thankful for. I will tuck her in, kiss her (Sweet, chubby) cheek and say, “I love you.” She replies with “I love you!” Then, as I walk towards the door, I throw out an, “I love you MORE.”

Her: “I love you more.”

Me: “I love you more.”

Her: “I love you more more more.”

Me: “I love you more more more.”

Her (as I’m closing the door): “I love you more.”

Me (Swinging the door back open): “I love you more.”

Her: “OK.”

This happens every. single. night.

The day that it doesn’t happen will see me as a weeping, crumpled mess on the floor. I said as much elsewhere and so many people replied that they still have this routine with their parents, decades later. It (made me cry, and) gave me hope that we can keep up this up until infinity.

Without going into details that will hurt anyone else, I am incredibly thankful for and in love with my kids for a reason. They are everything I wished I could be when I was a kid myself and they are a thousand times more amazing than I ever dreamed them to be. I simply cannot believe that these three beautiful beings have been entrusted to me. I catch myself looking at them and wondering how and why and what the heck?

I love you more only scrapes the surface of what I feel when I when I look at them, but it is the only way I know how to articulate it. Because I do. Love them more.

I love to give him the chance to get away to balance out my solo excursions and my return to full-time employment. Daddy Daycare is demanding what with the shuttling to and from school, the laundry, the grocery shopping, the meals to cook, the house to clean…you all know the drill. He’s also working part-time in between dealing with everything else and (more than) deserved a rest. If you can call maneuvering a big beastly machine through snow drifts a rest, that is.

In addition to being happy that he gets a break, I wait in anticipation for him to arrive home and hand over my point-and-shoot camera. He has no desire to learn how to use the 7D but has such an incredible eye that I’m always excited to see what he does with the Powershot. I do my (tiny) part on the editing side but he gets full credit for the shots taken.

It almost makes me want to embrace winter and take up snowmobiling. Almost.

As for me, I’m still happy but really feeling the weight of life on my shoulders. This week marks the first week that I need to work overtime to compensate for the crunch of tax season. Instead of wiping out my entire Saturday, I’ve chosen to arrive at work an hour early each weekday so that I can pull a shorter day on the weekend. This sees me rising for the day shortly after five o’clock in the AM. It’s only (Only!) for nine weeks but I’m only (Only!) four days in and already feeling that come April 30th I’ll be rocking a look that closely resembles that of a Zombie. I’d rather be a Vampire, though, because then I would not only not need sleep, I would be all sparkly and ethereal.

There’s also all of the life commitments and extra-curricular activities that start piling on now that spring is ready to burst. If they could wait until May 1st, it would be fantastic, but it appears that the world does not revolve around me. Good to know.

We’ve been hammering out the logistics and will make it work…somehow. I just hate that feeling of running from dawn until dusk with nary a moment to sit and just breathe.

This is why I am sitting here typing after the kids are in bed. Those photos have been edited and waiting for me to share them since Sunday and I’ve been aching to do so. Playing with photos and writing it out makes me feel like the pendulum of my life is swinging a little bit back to the center.

Besides. How can you look at the beauty of nature and not feel your soul do a big, peaceful sigh?