And I think congratulations are in order. Not for reaching this milestone so much as for choosing happiness.

I’m a much happier person at 40 than I was at 20. It’s too bad I didn’t have the self-confidence and drive back then to make my own happiness. I probably would have made some different life choices.

Like opting not to wear chambray shirts.

I see those hipsters trying to bring chambray back into fashion, and I ask you – why? Nobody over the age of 10 looks good in chambray. Nobody.

But perhaps my chambray wardrobe choice of days gone-by has helped make me who I am today. Because eventually I looked at photos of myself in my sleeveless, button-down chambray shirt and said no, there must be a better way. And that’s the path I pursued. And it’s all about the journey, right?

Since I like who I am and I love my life, than maybe it’s a good thing I made the decisions I did (good and bad).

Who knows, people of the world. As much as I loathe the look, your chambray shirt choices of the past — be it 20 years ago or 20 minutes ago — may be life-changing.

Slight exaggeration of course but there’s something to be said about looking back at how you got from point A to point B. Acknowledging the detritus you left behind and the awesome people and experiences you’ve held tight. How it’s made you better. Stronger.

It took me a good long while to learn that happiness is a decision I need to make. A choice of how want to live and who I want to be. I say this with a strong understanding of depression and it’s ability to take over a person’s life. Depression runs in my family. I’m not oblivious to its toll.

But there is no one holding me back from living the life I want. I’m not molding myself to fit anyone else’s expectations. Wasted effort.

I’m keeping to my own truth and establishing how I want to live from there.

Often, we are asked about those pivotal or life-changing moments that flip our outlook and perspective. Those moments that change everything. Our personal histories are full of these moments, and there are two that stand out for me:

• breaking my back cliff-diving in 2001 and the associated pulmonary ambolism (good times were not had)
• the birth of my daughter in 2009 (definitely good times)

Both experiences flipped my life completely. Beyond what I ever thought possible. And they’ve made me appreciate my past. They’ve helped me to be present in my present. And they’ve helped me to look forward to a future I am creating for myself.

Yes, bad things happen. A terrible truth. And we all make mistakes. I’ve made some seriously bad kick-me-in-the-ass choices (chambray shirt example to name one) but I’ve learned from them. Failure is okay. Being happy is okay too.

And you know what? This outlook gives me a sense of relief. Because I get to be who I want to be. Who I am. Without worrying about the expectations of people who frankly don’t matter.

Whether you’re 20 or 40 or somewhere in between, I hope you do the same.

(That said, if you choose to wear chambray, I will mock you. Mercilessly.)

[update: April 26, 2013] – Per Amy’s comment below, I’m clarifying that chambray = denim. So all you denim-shirt wearers…I’m calling you out! (Including you, Amy. Including you.)

This is 40! Woot! Woot! #lovingeveryminute

Work projects, home projects, hobby projects, and yes writing projects are behind schedule. My last blog post was almost a month ago. I hate that.

I’ve got lists – shopping lists, chore lists, project task lists and even blog content lists (aka ed cals) – to help me prioritize. And get myself organized! But these lists are getting longer – not smaller. And it’s causing neglect. I don’t like neglect.

I feel like a hamster spinning myself in circles trying to do everything and be everywhere. So silly. I can only do my best. At the same time I recognize that life is about choices.

The Gallant family returned from a two-week vacation last week. While we travelled west to visit family and re-introduce Sweet Girl to aunts, uncles and cousins she doesn’t get to see all that often, I thought for sure I would have time to shorten a few of these lists. To write a few posts.

It didn’t work out that way. In part because each day was busy! But mostly because I chose to fill my time visiting with siblings, nieces and nephews I wish lived a lot closer than they do. I pushed those lists aside knowing the repercussions.

But I needed a break from the hamster wheel. Because while it’s my choice to do or not do, to take on more and keep busy, I like a lot of people have a hard time saying no. No to others. But also no to myself.

So this is my confession of imperfection. I know the power and choice is in me to get things done. But I can’t do it all. Things are slipping through the cracks. I know this. I am doing everything I can to seam up the fissures. Some metaphorical sewing and mending is in order!

At the same time, I’m realizing that my sanity depends on me not stressing out on all of the above. I’m learning. I’m trying – doing everything I can – to roll with it. And not spin myself into oblivion.

“Life on the hamster wheel” – Spinning and spinning…

—

Image source

“Life on the hamster wheel” photo credit to Dr. Doug Frain and his photo collection of Toronto graffiti. As Dr. Frain explains on his site:

One of the most enjoyable aspects of graffiti is its artistic simplicity and whimsical approach to rather profound concepts. This recreational public art can be artistically enjoyed as well as thoughtfully contemplated.

Yes indeed.

Like emptying the dishwasher, folding laundry, ironing and cleaning bathrooms.

Add to that putting away clutter and picking up socks off the floor. Like seriously, why are there socks left willy nilly in this house? And not even discarded together. I’ll find one sock in the family room and another on the steps leading upstairs.

I want to ask my family: what happened? You took one sock off over here. Then another over there. Why? Why the long the journey across the house to remove the other sock?

I don’t ask because I know there is no answer. Much like asking why is the sky blue or why a grown man must scratch his junk in public, it is what it is.

On a side note, what’s up with dryers periodically eating socks? Like is there a sock tax I’m unaware of that all dryers demand? I see the socks go in and yet only one of a pair comes out. It’s as if the dryer is self-righteously proclaiming: Yes human, for every four permanent press cycles completed, you will give up a sock of my choosing.

Anyway.

I know there are people who love housework. Find it relaxing and dare I say, enjoyable. You people who say this and mean it? I don’t understand you. I also don’t believe you and feel the need to tell you that are you most likely causing untold damage to your psyche. Stop the lies. Just. Stop.

While there’s about a million other things I’d rather be doing, the housework I like don’t mind tolerate includes washing the dishes, doing laundry (but not the folding part) and mowing the lawn. Okay, the last one is outside of the house but it’s still work required of a house owner.

I like mowing the lawn because it doubles as a workout.

Multi-tasking. Killing two birds. One stone. You get my drift.

I know a lot of men are the lawn mowers in their families. And that’s cool. But I find it funny that some men say things like, oh I don’t do the vacuuming. Or grocery shop. Or wash dishes.

Well, I’m all for dividing up the housely duties. Because there sure are a lot of them. And honestly, if my husband didn’t vacuum it wouldn’t get done.

Not because I’m lazy but because I have a sore shoulder and he doesn’t. Also, he’s a whole lot taller than me – not to mention stronger – so he can whip that vacuum around the house like nobody’s business.

And sure, there’s definitely some things he’s better at than me. Like fixing the leak on our roof. And re-calking the bath tubs. And I’m better at cooking meals that aren’t half-burned, half-undercooked massacres.

Yes when it comes to housework, there’s a give and take.

And to do my part, there are some chores I must do. No choice. But boy I sure do wish I had a housekeeper like Alice on The Brady Bunch. If I did well…

That dishwasher? Unloaded every freakin’ day.

Those clothes? Folded (and put away!)

That ironing? Ironed (and put away!) *

And those bathrooms? Sparkly clean.

Alas, there is no housekeeper in sight for me. And I like living in a shiny, sparkly clean house (truth: while the house may not always be this way it certainly is my preference).

And so I continue to toil away at my housework. But I’m counting the days until Sweet Girl is old enough to take on some of the load herself.

It’s why people have children, right?

* Full disclosure: I avoid ironing by doing my best to not purchase clothes that require it.

Random discarded sock Chez Gallant.

I’ve been doing it for about seven years now on sites across the Interweb. Most of it in a professional capacity – blogging as part of my job. It’s my favourite part of the work I do. It’s my passion.

Which is why you’d think I’ve blogged a lot longer in my personal life but not so. I’ve only really been doing it steadily since 2009. And it all comes down to a struggle to find my voice. To see the words on the web page and say yes, this is me. And know it.

One of the most impactful experiences in terms of defining my approach to this blog is the first Blissdom Canada conference I attended back in October 2010. I had such a great time at that conference and I learned so much.

Prior to Blissdom Canada I didn’t know what I wanted to write about. I didn’t write all that regularly and what I did write wasn’t all that personal. But that conference was so motivating. I met these amazing women who were doing so many cool things and I took inspiration from them.

I had three goals coming home from Blissdom Canada:

• Dedicate more time to this blog (I’ve definitely had spits and spurts with this one but I am for the most part consistent)
• Work at sucking less as a writer (still up for debate)
• Find my writing voice

While I’ve made progress on the first two goals to some degree at least, it’s the last one that’s got me stumped.

I feel sometimes like I’ve almost got it but not quite. The words I want to use and the points I want to so eloquently make are just out of reach. I mean, the damn thesaurus and dictionary are right here but still. I can’t quite get the pieces of the story sorted and so the words jumble together in a disjointed marriage of thought.

Other times the words flow and I don’t understand how or why. They simply come naturally.

It’s completely whack.

And the funny thing is that the harder I try to find that perfect flow the harder it is to write. The stupid cursor just blinks at me with doleful contempt.

In the instances where the words seem to leap from my brain to the page – those are the posts that have received the most comments. Like ya, I hit a nerve here. Not in a bad way but in a way that invites people to read and respond.

So here’s what I’ve figured out. When I take the leap to share something close to my heart, to open up and give a piece of myself here, the words aren’t that hard to find. The journey then isn’t so much about finding my writing style as it is finding the truth of the words I share. Not truth in the general sense but the truth of my life experiences.

Whoa deep, right?

It’s not about being popular. I know this. I’ve always known this. It’s about being me and trusting that what I have to say is worth saying. I’ve always feared that kind of openess.

But it’s through this journey – and through reading other blogs – that I’ve learned it’s the only way forward.

Clickety-clack.

There was all kinds of fun going on during that event — from crafts to drawing art to dancing. And my Sweet Girl loves to dance. We host regular dance-a-thons Chez Gallant because we are a family that likes to boogie-woogie.

But Sweet Girl is a shy girl and while she loves to dance, she gets intimidated by crowds (who doesn’t, really?).

So for the first little bit of the dance party fun at Old Navy, Sweet Girl danced in my arms. With her head tucked in my shoulder.

But when she finally got comfortable with the music, the energetic dance instructor and all. those. people. Well, let this video show the cuteness factor:

There were a tons of kids who were out on the dance floor with Sweet Girl and a huge crowd of people watching the kids learn new dance moves. It was hilarious, cute and a great time.

I have tons of video footage but you don’t want to see minutes and minutes of my girl dancing. And frankly, I’m not that good of a video editor to make it even tolerably interesting for you.

Why I never blog my own videos

It took me 2.5 hours to get 15-seconds of video worth your watching time. At least I hope it was worth it. Please tell me it was worth it otherwise I may cry.

And while the time it took to deliver that final, ah-mazingly edited video to you can be attributed to a learning curve, video still requires a time investment I’m not sure I’m committed to giving. I’ll stick to publishing photos for the most part.

Do you use video as part of your blogging strategy? What tools do you use to make it easier? For the record, I used iMovie to create the above.

Family Day dancing fun.

I guess that’s kind of weird though. Because really I could just record them. On my camera. And then have a giggle-listening/watching marathon at my leisure.

But I like the idea of bottling them up. Capturing the purity of those giggles and unleashing them on a day I really need a pick-me-up.

The way her laugh has changed since her first giggle-gurgle makes me realize how quickly time is flying by. Yes, yes we parents all comment on this time-flying phenomenon at one point or another.

But no, really. I can’t believe how quickly life is whooshing.

Already my daughter doesn’t need my help as much as she used to. Be it getting dressed, using craft scissors to cut paper or “reading” a story – she’s got it.

I now need to consciously back off and let her direct when she needs help as opposed to just stepping in and providing it.

In a blink we’ve gone from swaddling her close to registering her for junior kindergarten.

Flabbergasted.

And yes, we have most definitely had our ups and downs (bunny in the face, anyone?), but we are by in large a house of full of giggles. I love those giggles.

House of laughter. House of love. Yep. That.

Me and Sweet Girl, summer 2011

Tears and yelling on all sides. Hurt feelings and frustration that leaves you wishing for a rewind. A do-over where you’ll take a breath. Moderate your words. Keep your voice calm.

Instead, the aftermath leaves you questioning what the hell just happened?

It’s not Sweet Girl. It’s not circumstance. The blame lies in me. Because I’m the grown-up. The one who should have the control to not let the little things get to me.

I grew up in a house where people yelled at each other. I know I didn’t like it. I don’t want my girl growing up in that kind of environment. Talk about zero fun.

A few weeks ago I stumbled, literally stumbled, across this site and it was exactly what I needed. It’s called The Orange Rhino and it follows one mother’s goal to not yell at her children for 365 days.

We all lose our cool as parents. I get that, I do. What I want to be cognizant of is why. So I can recognize my triggers and stop the knee-jerk reaction. Or run-away until I can (thank goodness for locks on bathroom doors).

So why am I letting the little things get to me? Who cares about laundry to fold? The million tasks on the to-do list? I’d much rather be focused on what my daughter needs from me in that moment before she gets lost in a tantrum. Is she tired/hungry/frustrated/bored? How can I help her?

Just as important, how can I help myself? So I’m going to do what Heather at Literary Mama suggests:

Let go, Mama. Sit here with me. It’s a struggle. So we’ll struggle and we’ll struggle and we will make a lot of mistakes, together. And then we’ll be okay.

Sounds good to me.

Yes, we all make mistakes in parenting. I believe parenting well means owning up to them.

What have you struggled with in parenting? How have you overcome it? 

No predictions of where the next word will take you. Simply an adventure in vocabulary.

To me, words are delicious. Some more than others. I’ve touched on this point before (le beurre d’arachide anyone?).

And we all know words hold power. Good and bad yes, but I like that words can be used as a mantra. A statement repeated into truth. A promise to the future.

Lara at Wellman-Wilson Consulting recently shared her three words for 2013, and challenged others to do the same. The goal is to identify three words that represent how you will focus your energy this year.

Hmm…this challenge got me thinking. And here’s what I’ve decided. 

My three words

Centered

When I don’t pay enough attention I let life-happenings happen to me versus taking them as they come. It took me much of my 20′s and early 30′s to figure this out. That life is as I make it. That I can’t control others or the situations I find myself in, but I can control my reaction to them.

Recently, I forgot this lesson and so I’ve allowed some crappy circumstances have unnecessary power over me.

I want to remain centred on the truths I know for myself. What I know to be important to me and my family’s happiness. To not let that knowledge blur for me again.

Discover

There are a lot of fun projects I’m a part of this year. Some are already underway, some are related to work and others are more hobby-like (I will knit-one, purl-one with flair one of these days!).

I want to learn and discover and flex my skills and knowledge more this year. The adventure awaits.

Seek

Write more. Create more. Use my imagination more. I’m brimmed over with words I for some reason hesitate to share. I need to be fearless in this journey to find my voice. I need to seek it out and not be afraid of revealing who I am, what I think and what I feel.

It doesn’t mean I’m opening the book on myself. I’m too much of an introvert to do that, but I need to step out of my comfort zone and story-tell more. Oh that it could be easy!

So that’s where I’m at for 2013. Have you considered doing something like this for yourself? It is kind of like a New Year’s resolution but I don’t see it completely that way. It’s more like that mantra I spoke of earlier. Three simple words to live by.

What do you think? Will you give it a try?

It’s such an earworm that I have it on constant replay these days on my iPod. I listen to it in the car on my way to work (and home again). I listen to it while prepping dinner. I sing it to myself (under my breath of course) perusing the grocery aisle. Yes, I’m stuck on this song.

The video of “Blood Brothers” is a time-lapse of Ingrid getting morphed into various famous people. Pretty crazy what make-up artists can do to recreate a person into someone new (or something else for that matter). Check it out.

Life anthems

I like how a specific song can be the perfect fit for how I’m feeling. An anthem or theme song for my life. For a short while anyway.

(Case in point: Where Them Girls At was my previous life anthem. Hey, sometimes you just need a song with a good beat you can dance to.)

With how crappy the end of 2012 was and me wanting to bury myself in a book all the time, I could use some uplifting reminders about the goodness of people. That “what I need you need too.” That we’re all in this together. In all the ways life manifests itself.

What’s a song on permanent replay for you right now?

Earwormin’ it…

** Phonograph photo credit to Ingrid Michaelson

Eventually she’s going to ask. Like really ask to have her ears pierced. I don’t mind this. DH however does. What is it with men and their daughters’ ears?

Maybe it’s just the men I know.

When you don’t have real earrings, you fake it with pipe cleaner earrings.

I was four or five years old when I got mine done. I remember asking a long time too. My mom hesitated because my step-dad (my sister’s dad) didn’t want it done. But I think I was driving my mom crazy with the constant asking so she just went ahead and did it.

Boy was my step-dad furious.

I was so happy to have pierced ears. I remember my earrings were green-stone studs. I loved them. Oh and when I could finally swap them out for “fashion earrings”…talk about ecstatic. I remember receiving a pair of ladybug earrings for Christmas (when I was six-years-old I think?) and I thought they were the bomb.

Fast-forward to me at 11 years-of-age and dying, just dying to get my ears pierced again (double-pierced — so cool). My mom said no for what felt like forever. My now step-dad (my mom remarried when I was 11) was against it. Like super against it.

I guess I badgered my mom enough (again) that she capitulated and boom! I had double-pierced ears.

Fast-forward again and I’m now 14. My friend and I wanted to get one ear (our left) triple-pierced. So we went and did it. I was able to hide it from my dad for a while because I had super long hair back then. Oh but the one day I tucked my hair back behind my left ear in front of him…ooh was I in trouble.

My dad saw it as me permanently scarring myself, but I didn’t — and still don’t — see it that way.

When I was in my twenties I took my “extra” piercings out. I just grew tired of the double- and triple-pierced ear-fashion I guess. But at 21-years-old, I got a helix piercing on my left ear. A simply silver hoop. Nothing too ostentatious. I think it was the trendy thing to do in the 90′s because a lot of women (and men) my age got it done.

Anyway, it doesn’t bother me at all that Sweet Girl wants her ears pierced.

I know parents who had their daughters’ ears pierced when those girls were infants. I see the smartness of this — the pain is nominal and before you (or the baby) knows it, her ears are pierced.

Different when you’re older and have a deeper memory bank of pain. Although when I was four-/five-years-old getting my ears pierced, I remember it hurting. But then it was over. I only had time to take in a breath to scream but then…bam. It was done and didn’t hurt anymore.

Anyway, DH’s argument is that he would rather wait until Sweet Girl asks to have her ears pierced. In other words, asks and asks to the point we know she really means it.

I get DH’s view point. Her body, her choice.

I think that day is fast approaching.

How about you? Are your ears pierced? How old were you when you got it done? If you have daughters…same questions.

Pierced!

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