We had a wonderful weekend, Piglet and I.  The weather has been been sensational and this weekend was no exception.

I was looking very forward to this year’s Mother’s Day and apart from not seeing my own mother I couldn’t have asked for a better one.

Piglet and I spent Saturday greenhousing and gardening with some BC besties, which we followed up with dinner on a deck and trip out for ice cream (insert girly squeals by all four of us).  The combined forces of so much sun & squees made for an easy bedtime for Piglet and a glass of vino on the balcony for mummy. (insert spa-like ahhhhhhhhhh)

If you’ve read me for a while you might remember that last year Piglet and I did a Mother’s Day walk & run with a couple Calgary besties.  I was in no physical shape to be embarking on such a journey, but I had beautiful bestie with me, and, well – I get by with a little help from my friends.

I decided to keep this tradition going, despite not having run or really engaged in any sweaty activities since then, and after a little looking found one going on in my lovely neighbouring community of Port Moody. I signed up immediately before I could think twice about it; tomorrow never knows, after all.  I then noticed, keeping a keen eye on the ‘hitting backspace will not cancel the transaction’ window that not only was this event in unfamiliar territory, but race time was at nine am. (dammit!)

Prepare to be impressed, mes amies, because not only did I not get lost, I was fantastically early.  I assembled the jogging stroller and sorted my way to registration and pinned my little paper number on (is it wrong that that’s my favorite part?)  and got us to the back of herd of runners, as is proper etiquette.

I’d been a bit distracted thus far with getting us settled & taking photos, and as I surveyed my fellow runners, I realized I may not have selected the most appropriate race.  For me, see, the term ‘race’ here means ‘slightly-faster-than-walking-leisurely-stroll-intermittent-with-bouts-of-actual-walking’.  Not race, race.  But as I looked around at the crowd, it was comprised of those ‘real runner’ types, you know who wear those flimsy little short-shorts and have like 2% body fat so you can see all their veins and muscles. And while last year’s race was mostly moms with strollers and little kids – I looked around here to find only  two – TWO other strollers.

Holy doodle batman, this was going to be embarrassing.

So I shrugged and laughed and thought, What the hell?

The whistle blew and off we went, many like a bat outta hell and me like I had all the time in the world.  I was greatly enjoying the scenery, and was immensely happy to notice the 1km mark come up long before I expected.  I was slightly dismayed minutes later I saw people who had already made it all the way to the end and were on their way back, passing me.  Holy hell.  Hello Goodbye! I confess at that moment I cast a glance behind me praying Please let there be people behind me still and by the good grace of God there were.  Not many, mind you – but there were.

So I carried on happily, singing along to One Republic’s Goodlife and thinking what a good life indeed, when I passed some poor pale woman panting her heart out and speaking, with a heavy accent, on her cell phone.   I was right between songs and in exactly time to hear her say ‘I mean gawwwwd, I just got passed by someone with a kid!’

Well!  I don’t know how they do it back in the USSR, sweets, but you might want to start with getting off the horn.  (Bitch.)

I resumed my cheer and my stride and carried on.  (Ob-la-di ob-la-da!)

Several hours later I crossed the finish line (I’m kidding… but barely) and was greeted by all this dreadfully embarrassing encouragement by all these well wishes shouting out their congrats and support for the ‘stroller’.  Everyone was staring.  I finally laughed, knowing of all these people, I am the walrus, and fell through the finish line with my head (if not the rest of my body) held high.

After the real race there was a tiny tots 100m dash for the wee ones, so Piglet and I acquired a paper number to pin on her shirt and wedged in with all the other squirts.  (So.  Damn.  Cute.)  I saw her standing there as she gave me the I wanna hold your hand eyes, and tucked my finger into her palm, loving every minute of it.

Then they posted the race results and I thought, Why, yes, I would like a laugh, so I went to find myself and laugh I did, mes amies.

We refueled with some juice & muffins and headed out, and as I was packing the jogging stroller back into the car I noticed a Beatles CD tucked into the door side pocket.  (We’d borrowed Fella’s vehicle, to accommodate the massive girth of the jogging stroller.)  Delighted, I popped it in and Piglet and I rocked out with John and the boys, windows down hair blowin in the wind, all the way home.  (And may I take this moment to ask – how does anyone not LOVE the Beatles?!  Such cheerful music.)

After some down time at home we headed out to a local cupcakery I’ve been drooling at the mere thought of since moving out here, for our special Mother’s Day treat together.  We dressed up, and oh! darling she was.  Dresses, earrings, headbands, etc, and when the girl behind the counter said, ‘My, haven’t we dressed up for the occasion!’ I thought, Yes, of course we have, is there any better reason, is there anything in the world more to celebrate, than being mother to this beautiful child?  (apologies for the cheese.  Mother’s Day and all – free pass.)

Such a simple thing, going for a cupcake, considering all the swanky Mother’s Day teas and brunches at hotels and resorts, but so often it is exactly those little things that bring happiness and memories.

We’d been invited to a Mother’s Day dinner with two other beautiful mammas, and played away the afternoon while dinner was made for us.  (um- join me in the petition to have every day like this?) It was doubly wonderful because it was Piglet’s first day on her new TRIKE!  Complete with streamers and a bell and basket, I swear it was more exciting for me than it was for her.  She mastered it almost immediately and she and her little buddy rode all the way to the park, cutest thing you’ve every seen.

Both dinner and company were amazing, and I very nearly collapsed into Piglet’s bed with her when we arrived at home.

It was busy, it was sleepless and it was exhausting, but the whole weekend was the epitomy of happiness for me.  For some, happiness is success, or money, or luxury or fame, and for still others happiness is a warm gun, but for me happiness is coming in 267th in a race of 277 people and being damn proud of it. 

I often joke about myself and my plights, but if there’s one thing in this whole world I feel I’m even moderately good at or was born to do… it’s being a mother.  It’s 24/7 and eight days a week and I couldn’t be happier about it.  I peppered her little face with kisses and sang her our bedtime song and felt my heart absolutely squeeze with gratitude, knowing that in all the other stresses in my life, I have the most wonderful child in the world and for that, I will forever thankful.  Sometimes… Love really is all you need.

Colouring comes before gardening, mom!

Baby girl gardeners

It's dirty business being in the garden all day!

Race time! Piglet holds out her cheese... She's got a ticket to ride!

Lovely day for it!

Still alive! Woot!

How could I not take photos...

I mean lookit!

See?

Piglet stretches for Tiny Tots

"Mom! Don't take my picture, people are looking, GAAAHHH!"

We survived!

Post-race stretches.

Cupcakery. Pink one for Piglet, chocolate for Mummy.

Off we go!

Here come the big girls on their princess bikes!

Trying to get them to pose for a photo...

Somehow lifting skirts became funny...

And... oh dear.

And then the girls brought us flowers, awww!

Here’s hoping yours was warm and wonderful and full of love…

With much love, from Piglet and Mummy.

“When we’re out in public, my child’s face and clothing will always be clean.”

“When we’re out in public, I myself will always be put together.”

“I will not be one of those annoying people who thinks their child is the brightest/cutest/most beautiful.”

“I will not allow Cheerios to take up residence in every nook and cranny of my home.”

“I will not be one of those annoying parents who thinks everyone they meet wants to see the 90 billion photos they’ve taken of their child.”

“I will not cater to a child’s picky eating habits.”

“My house will never look like a daycare threw up in it.”

“I will catch up on sleep when baby sleeps.”

“I will never show, or even have, doubts or insecurities about my parenting.”

“I will not be one of those annoying people who thinks it’s hilarious and adorable when their child squeals loudly in public.”

“I will not allow my child to ruin everything I own.”

“I will never be manipulated by a toddler.”

 

Turns out…

I lied.

I have this friend.  She’s in ‘that’ place, all head over heels ass over tea kettle, truly, madly, deeply, desperately in love.  They’re ‘soul mates’, ‘made for each other’, ‘meant to be’, blah blah blah.

The story could very well end there- they ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after- but this is the 21st century, chalk full of speed bumps & baggage.

The ‘he’ in this story is a member of Club D, for starters, and has the ultimate in baggage – kidlets.  (cue Jaws music)

Now, for my friend here, this is not a problem – this is in fact an asset.  She loves kids in general and positively adores his.

The kids, the guy, and the ex have all acclimatized rather well to my friend’s presence in their lives; indeed, she has an excellent relationship with his kids – but she herself can’t shake a certain amount of unease and discomfort.

The problem, for her, lies in being something of the Other Woman.  The nemesis to his ex, to their mother.

She comes to me with this often, as a) I’m a mother, and b)she points out, I could soon be ‘that’ woman-Piglet’s father has a rather large social circle and it’s only a matter of time before some woman starts making a regular appearance in my child’s life.  (cue Jaws music for real this time… as this is happening.)

I balk at this; I am indeed a separated mother, but I’m not quite ‘there’ yet, not ready (and don’t know that I ever will be) for my child to start showing an affection for some girl Babydaddy brings round.

My friend pleads with me to put myself in her shoes, to put myself on the flipside, in the other camp, then; seeing someone with kids, and an ex.  What would I say, how would I deal, she asks, knowing I too am soft and sentimental and would abhor the very notion of being the Other Woman.

So I really put myself there.  I really thought about it.  I am in this split situation, I am the child of divorce and re-marriages, and have had a front row seat to everything the experts tell parents not to do when splitting ; inarguably, I am the ideal candidate to be giving solid, sound advice in this department.  I owe it to my friend, and others like her, to put my experiences to use.

There is no problem with the relationship with the kids, (lucky lucky lucky) and though that’s obviously my area of expertise and experience, I considered what I’d have wanted from my father’s wife to my mother, what I’d want from some girl of Babydaddy’s to me, and, were I to find myself in that situation, what I’d say myself to an ex.  And, so, my carefully thought-out advice on ‘his-ex-and-mother-of-his-kids’ dealings, is to let her know.  Let her know:

I would want her to know how much I admired and respected her for bringing up such beautiful little people.

I would want her to know I genuinely adored and cared for her children and felt lucky to have them in my life.

I would want her to know that she could trust me, that I would only and always have her kids’ best interest in mind and would love and care for them like my own.

I would want her to know that I’d like us to be a team of sorts, allies, possibly even (because I’m so idealistic) friends of sorts, able to visit easily and comfortably at the kids’ parties & functions.

I would want her to know that as a mother myself, I know my place, and while I would want to be close with her kids, I would never over-step my boundaries or try to replace or one-up her.

I would want her to know that as we’d be bound together in one way or another for the rest of our lives, I’d really like for us to have a nice, amicable relationship.

But how does one say those things, how does one let her know?  Well… I suppose that’s for you to figure out.

]]> http://healthyorganicmom.com/2012/04/30/my-little-horticulturist/feed/ 0 http://healthyorganicmom.com/2012/04/30/my-little-horticulturist/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/HealthyOrganicMom/~3/7PvFhaU5XQ4/ http://healthyorganicmom.com/2012/04/23/monday-muse/#comments Mon, 23 Apr 2012 07:55:34 +0000 marisa http://healthyorganicmom.com/?p=973

It’s already a little overplayed… but I like it.

I keep meaning to write.  I’ve logged in no less than half a dozen times, often writing up a sentence or two which I invariably decide I hate and  then delete, and thus have been left staring at an empty box, no words to convey my million thoughts.

It’s been three weeks since my last post; long, even for me.  So, what’s new, then? Well… many things.  Some sad, some great and some, progressive, we’ll say.

Getting the sad out of the way – I haven’t spoken to BD in weeks.  At all.  We’d sat down, and he’d expressed his desire not to have any contact whatsoever, anything to do with me, which you can imagine hit very hard.   I’d been hoping for the exact opposite at this chat, had been hoping that we could finally reach a place where we could put the last 18 months of muddled misery behind us and regain and rebuild the friendship we once had.  I have respected his request and have not contacted him at all, which is so terribly painful and difficult.  I want to text and call and share with him all of Piglet’s adorable happenings and incredible achievements; I want to parent together.  I want to ask after him, have a nice if brief exchange that doesn’t begin and end with pick up and drop off times.  I understand that this is no easy feat; obviously, I’ve had to deal with and sort out my own pain/anger/heartbreak, find the strength to climb over the mountain of them, in determination to arrive at a good place with him.  In any case, I’ve been able to grant him this wish only because I believe that time really does heal all wounds; by losing patience and sinking into a pit of nastiness and ugly feuding, it would be Piglet who would come out scarred.  So, I hold belief that one day, we will arrive.  One day, we will be good again, we will have healed hearts and our shared love for Piglet will over-ride any sour or otherwise unsettled feelings between us; it is for her, if not for each other, that we must do this.

Sad and difficult as the cut-off was, it did get remarkably easier with one simple move on BD’s part:

He filed for divorce.

Insert tidal wave of emotions followed by a week of sorting my heart out, all of which I will spare you the details of, you’re welcome, followed by quiet acceptance.

And so I launched forth with Project New Life.  I was once accused of ‘renting space’ out here in BC, keeping one foot in Alberta, never really letting go or settling in.  It was true, of course; over the past ten months, a lovely little life has been slowly, quietly unfolding around me, as I’ve established myself in what is now home.  I’ve learned my neighbourhood, found some local gems in parks & activities for Piglet and coffee houses & sushi joints for me, and I’ve even made a couple of friends.  (as has Piglet)  Most importantly, though, I found something else, and like all the lovely things above, I kept this something, or someone, as it were, on the outskirts of my heart, too terrified to fully embrace the seemingly impossibly wonderful life I could have.

In the face of the big D, though, (not to mention Piglet’s continual mistaking the photo of one of my blond friends for BD’s new girlfriend – zing) I thought, ‘What the hell am I doing?  What am I waiting for here, a written invitation?’

So I wrote my own:  Six letters, two words, easy to say, hard to do: Move on.

And, quite simply, that was it.

I spent the entire Easter weekend with wonderful fella-after-my-own and his equally wonderful kidlets, and therein begins the great part of what’s new.

It was the best Easter of my life.  I arranged a slumber party sleepover, assembled baskets for all three kids and woke to the beautiful, jubilant squeals of ‘Dad!  DAD!  The Easter Bunny came!’ and Piglet’s curious ‘The Easer Bunny came our house?’  We made pancakes for breakfast, dressed the girls up in matching tutu’s and bunny ears, and went for  an egg hunt in a park (yes of course I set it up ) with friends & family and had an afternoon BBQ while and after five beautiful babes hunted, played, and chalk-coloured every inch of concrete they could find.  Between bubbles and balloons and chocolate covered everything…It was pure happiness.

My ‘progressive’ news, in line with Project New Life, is that I’ve adopted a new approach to commuting.  As in, I’m not.  I’m now working day trips out of Vancouver.  I will still fly Piglet into Calgary once a month to see her dad for a week, of course – quality time with him is important and I will never deny either of them that, but she needs stability, routine, a home life.  I felt selfish before, wanting as much time with her as possible, guilt-driven into sharing her as fairly as possible but now I realize it’s about her, not me or BD.  She needs me.  A full week after being back here, she was still saying ‘I want Mummy’ before realizing she was already with me.  Every question – ‘Do you want to go to the park/read books/play ponies’ was met with ‘No… I want go park/books/ponies… with Mummy.’  ‘What do you want for lunch’ heard always ‘I want cucumbers, cucumbers with Mummy’.  Heartwarming as this is, (and it IS, mes amies – my heart absolutely blossoms) it’s clear indication that she misses me.  She needs me.

Working day trips gives me the ability to be with her more often, and to give her a normal routine.  She is such a happy, well-adjusted child, I feel so lucky to have a job that allows me to be with her as much as I am.

Providing her with consistency is the most important thing for her, and in arguing my decision to live out here what no one seems to recognize is that it wouldn’t matter if I lived in Calgary, Vancouver or Christchurch New Zealand; she needs consistency, and she’d be with me the same amount anyway.  Anyway, we’ve discovered and created such a wonderful world out here, she has more love in her life than ever before, and we are both so happy here.  I used to feel so compelled to justify and defend my choice, but I realize now that I could – and would – waste my whole life trying.  People are convicted in their beliefs and opinions, and no amount of reasoning or evidence is going to change anyone’s mind, unless they themselves are ready to change it.  I know, I know in my heart that I’m giving her the best possible life I can, and furthermore, I can see the results.  And finally, for me… that’s enough.

Every so often, I get a handle on myself, and for a period of time I’m all head-up-optimistic-cheer & sunshine.  Then the Universe says ‘Okay, alright, good for you but that’s enough.’  And then it straps me into the jumpseat with an emotional mess of a woman for several 12 hour days; a woman who is going through an ugly separation/divorce, and – oh joy – wants to talk about it.  And talk, and talk, and taaaaaalk about it.

She’s only about 6 months into things, and upon discovering my own endless struggle, (and by ‘discovering’, I mean pulled and yanked relentlessly until I grudgingly gave up the bare facts) she’s been absolutely plying me for information on how to cope, what to do, how long it takes to get better, etc.

“I can’t wait to get where you are,” she says, surveying me with such hope in her eyes.  “You look so… calm’, she finally says, which I laugh out loud at but understand as I once was (sometimes still am) the same picture of disarray and hopelessness as she.

Unfortunately, she’s not at all seeing things as they are, for either my situation or her own, I think, and also unfortunately her naivety has reopened a few of my own wounds, and salted them.

For the entire time I’ve known this woman – some 56 hours – she’s been on her phone at every opportunity, engaged in a heated discussion/ text-a-thon with her (ex)husband.  Words are spat out or slammed into her phone with such ferocity I’m amazed it’s even still working.  She’s never finished typing one retort before her phone’s buzzing with his; they work fast.  I watch their back-and-forths with interest.  I can hardly get BD to reply to actual important time-sensitive things let alone matters of the heart.  But what this woman sees, by my not flying to my phone at every landing or having it wedged between my ear and shoulder during the entire airport walk, is ‘settlement’.  Peace.  Order.  And those things couldn’t be further from the case.

“I wish I could be like you,” she’s always saying, (I know right, how hilarious) “I wish I could refrain from screaming at him, I wish he would leave me alone the way yours does, I wish he wasn’t so full of fight and nastiness, you are so lucky…”

Obviously, I want to puke (for so many reasons) but I’m also ashamed to admit that having this couple’s bitter goings on in my face all day every day has unfortunately had me hovering at the dark door of despondency myself.

Irony is almost always cruel.  For the year we rode out the rocks and the year since, I wished BD was full of fight.   I wished he would argue, or snap, or even rage at me with nastiness the way my fellow FA describes.  They are locked in a battle of blame, both feeling so wronged and so hurt and so full of fire at the destruction of their marriage.   Looking past the anger and the ugly words, there is clearly so much love there, between them; it’s what’s fueling the whole fire.  I would know.

Watching her spam-text only reminds me of my own desperate attempts… but BD, when he has replied, only reacts with… apathy.  Even now, when I’m flying and missing Piglet so much I almost can’t breathe, I’ll send him a desperate text inquiring after her & asking him to tell her I love her, but it doesn’t faze him.  When he actually does afford me a message, it’s as brief as possible and entirely full of spelling & grammatical errors, which isn’t a reference to my being a grammar spaz – it’s reference to how very little time & care he has for me.

He never addresses anything I say, despite my desperation, he can spare no more than 30 seconds to fire off some half-assed ‘she’s fine’ update, from his phone, likely while on the shitter.  Even in the initial days of realizing we were on a fast train to splitsville, while I was an emotional pendulum swinging violently from We Can’t Be Together to We Can’t Be Apart and back again… But never, ever, once, not one single time, did he ever consider putting effort forth.  He never fought for us.  For me.   He’s never looked back, and that, my friends, is a tough pill to swallow.

I hate when these thoughts are forced into center stage in my mind.  I could sit around and feel sorry for myself all day forever about it, but having spent a few months in that camp I’d like not to go there.  These thoughts will spring back up now and then, I realize, no matter how happy I am or how settled things are/get.   I’m trying to teach myself to stop, acknowledge them, think ‘Wow that’s all rather shitty’ and then gently dismiss them.

Rather than letting the runaway train of Woefulness fire up and speed on, and thus ruin my day (and subsequently, my life) when that happens now I stop, acknowledge, and redirect my focus and energy to something else.  Something positive and productive, preferably, usually like how blessed my life is otherwise.  Sounds so lame, but I know things could always be worse, and it really helps to count my blessings and give thanks.   And I am happy, I do have much to be thankful for.

I  am alone in the galley, tossing out all the cans from service and trying to think of how to work all these thoughts into words for my fellow FA, how to tell her that while the fighting feels awful now it does signify feeling and will eventually calm down and is, in my humble opinion, a much less destructive alternative to stonewalling, when she slips undetected into the galley.  I don’t know how long she’d been watching me, but when I finally looked up and saw her, she’d drawn her own conclusion of my quietness; “How I envy you.  I wish I could get lost in quiet thought like that.”

And I said the words I’d been thinking all the while: “Be careful what you wish for.”

You know that feeling of distaste you get when you realize that someone you’d thought was kind and noble and grounded is actually a pompous ass with an inflated view of themselves?

It’s so disheartening.  Disappointing.

It’s even worse when you realize that person is you.

Pause, for dramatic effect.

One of the clearest marks of true friendship is honesty, being able to say what’s needed; especially when it’s neither realized nor easy to hear.  I had someone so dear and true in my life recently give me a humbling awakening, which wasn’t, and still isn’t, easy to swallow, but has been good for me in the grand scheme of things.

I was having a little whine and a moan about my happenings with BD, as I am seemingly forever unable to – what?  – get over? – come to terms with? – accept? – our situation, and before you roll your eyes and tell me to shut up about it already, I’d like to state that I seldom (if ever) bring these thoughts to actual voice; they forever smear the pages of this blog, yes, but I try to refrain from tainting real life time with friends.

Alas, sometimes we’re caught by someone when in an imprudent state, and so such was the case for me the other day; and, like a good, true friend, the concerned party sat me down to unclog my backed-up emotional sewage.

What ousted me was a sudden impromptu text with/to BD whereby said concerned party saw me say, in desperation, something to the effect of ‘All I wanted was for you to love me that way’.  Questions abounded and conversation ensued, during which guilt reigned supreme as I dragged us both down the same miserable path I always frequent in desperate attempt to explain myself, explain that I hadn’t wanted the world, I’d just wanted the same kind of love I was giving.

As I spoke, I saw understanding dawning in Concerned Party’s eyes, but the accompanying facial expression wasn’t the kind of understanding I’d hoped for.  It was instead more one of astonishment.

“I finally get it.  I finally see why you’re like this, where all your guilt comes from.”

Imagine my excitement at finally having my crazy explained; I was breathless. “What?!  Where?!”

“You don’t think he can ever do better than you.  You think you gave him all these things and this wonderful life and loved him so much, that he could never have a better life without you.”

Cue cessation of respiratory functioning and the beating of my heart.  Completely frozen and absolutely horrified, I didn’t even realize my mouth was hanging open until a small stream of drool snuck over my bottom lip.

Oh… Oh, my God.  I – I do feel that way.  Or at least I did right up until that very moment.

My mind raced back to all the things I’ve thought & said over the past year, the broken record repeats of my broken heart…

Fortunately for me, Concerned Party also wears the hat of Wise Party, and then dispensed much sage & somber advice while I gathered my wits and composure.  “You need to realize that he can and will have a better, or at least happy, life without you, and just as he wasn’t a good fit for you, you weren’t for him.  You need different things from a husband than he’s able to offer and so he too needs different things from a wife.   You’ve got to stop feeling like you gave him the world on a platter and then ripped it out from under him; it’s not fair to either of you, and it’s not even true.”

There was more – something very valuable about how thinking this way absolves BD of all responsibility and his part in the demise of our relationship, which is neither true nor fair, and if I don’t start thinking differently I am never, ever going to grow or move on (gulp) – but I’m sorry to say much was muddied from then on as after those words I’d drawn inward, my head and heart racing, already unhinging (if not entirely shedding) their shackles and reaching out to the light, squinting at the brightness after having lived in captive darkness for so long.

Without question, it was probably the best slap in the face I’ve ever gotten in my life, and certainly the best one since this whole mess began.

That was nearly a week ago and honestly I’ve made great strides since then.  The humility of it all; it’s incredibly humbling,thinking that someone else could be better for someone you loved whole-heartedly… I really did give everything of myself to my marriage and married life, and I’m glad to be able to say that with full sincerity, but the simple truth is that it just.  didn’t.  fit.  An almost embarrassingly obvious case of the old ‘square peg round hole’ phenomenon.

The back half of this whole dawning/realization/awakening is the rapidly growing seedling of my long lost old friend… Optimism.  Hope that one day, both BD and I will be truly happy again, and, should we play it right, happy for each other.  I would very much like to one day be able to be close, warm again, (the eternal optimist) as I will always love and care for him and his.

In the meantime, I’m actually glad to have reached this turning point, to have had my head shaken like an etch-a-sketch.  Somehow, it’s made things more clear.

Scribed my none other than my own daughter, surely:

Tis a little late for resolutions… and what’s the point of making them anyway, I say.  Does anyone really get all the wiser from analyzing the past year’s mistakes?  Or does it just make us all feel bad?  I think it might be better to highlight, and focus on, the good that was.  I myself had an absolute shitter of year, likely the worst of my life, (though I feel I can’t say that in full sincerity because since the moment Piglet came into my life, I’ve felt more love and more blessed than I ever thought I could, so the dichotomy of the two makes descriptions difficult… but you get the point.) but rather than focus on all the negatives, I’d like to remember the positives.  And – despite the woes and sadness and misery this poor page saw – there were many, many wonderful things that happened last year too.  (thank you, Piglet.)

And so I bring you: The Year in Pictures.

JANUARY

Hawaii

Piglet meets the Pacific

FEBRUARY

I learn to laugh at life, after the snow melts and reveals our frozen-to-the-ground-unmoveable-pumpkin.

MARCH

The loveliest Kiwi ever born ties the knot!

(we girls shake it up)

APRIL

"Oh no! Someone has eaten all the Easter eggs!"

MAY

Piglet & Mummy partake in our first Mother's Day Run & Walk

(Mummy & Bestie nearly pass out)

Piglet accompanies Mumsy & I for our annual Mother's Day Greenhousing.

JUNE

JULY

Piglet's first waterpark. It got better.

AUGUST

Two months before two - peepee on the potty begins!

Too hot for full clothes

 SEPTEMBER

Piglet makes friends at the pool

Some people really do make it! My cousin and I orchestrate a surprise party for Nana & Papa's 50th.

Playing with an Aunty at Granville Island

Piglet turns TWO! Flies into Calgary with another Aunty for her big day!

Presents for Piglet!

Sesame Street becomes Piglet's...

Party favours for our great friends

Lovely mommies

OCTOBER

Piglet picks out pumpkins

First Vancouver visitor and first Cirque de Soleil experience courtesy of my gorgeous bestie

NOVEMBER

Baby Jack joins the Rennie clan

DECEMBER

Our Christmas card. Happy HoHo!

Late night celebrations with my Bestie... chocolate, wine,endless girl-gab... no need for Santa.

Santa. Scarier in person. FUN.

10pm! Christmas Eve with our Besties

Handsome Fellas. (For you, Jer )

Merry Christmas friends!