Makes me so MAD!!!

We were robbed Friday night -- or sometime between Friday night and Saturday morning. Not only do I feel kind of violated and creepy, but I'm just so MAD, both at myself for allowing it to happen and at the jerk who felt he had the right to steal my property.

I am usually very careful about making sure the van is locked at all times. When we go somewhere together, I'm the one always reminding Chris to lock the van. When I pull into our driveway and get out of the car I automatically hit the lock button on my keychain, sometimes more than once. But Friday night, I messed up.

Janelle has started going to get the mail for me from the mailbox up at the corner of our street. She loves to do it, and it saves me the trouble of doing it myself. On Friday, I had actually checked the mail already while I was out running errands, but it hadn't come yet. I had left the mail key in the van, thinking I'd just check again next time I went somewhere. So, when Janelle asked if she could get the mail, I unlocked the van from inside the house so she could get the mail key. I didn't remind her to lock it back up again. And I forgot to hit the darn button myself. It would have taken half a second. But I forgot.

I didn't need to get in the van again until yesterday afternoon. I opened the driver's side door and found a couple of CD cases and other miscellaneous items on the driver's seat. I knew what that meant. Someone had been going through my stuff. I immediately checked the opening in the console where we keep the GPS — one of my most prized possesssions since we've moved to this unfamiliar city. Sure enough, it was gone. So were all my favourite CDs that I keep in easy access right between the front seats. The DVDs and CDs kept over the passenger side sunshade were there. So were both CD wallets that we store in the compartment under the passenger seat. Only my favourite CDs were gone. I was concerned about the car because we don't have automatic locks on it, so Chris rarely thinks to lock it when he comes home. I checked, and could tell that they had been in it because the driver's side door was not fully closed, but nothing was taken.

I'm really mad about losing the GPS. Chris's dad gave it to us for Christmas last year, and we really loved having it, and obviously used it often since we've moved. We're heading to Indiana in a couple of weeks. Are we going to have to use (gasp!) a map? I'm mad about losing the CDs, a few of which I can't replace. But mostly I'm mad at myself. I learned a lesson. I just wish this lesson didn't have to be quite so expensive!

Fun Mom

Chris and Connor planned my birthday dinner the other night. I knew we were going out somewhere, but I didn't know where. Connor told me after school that only he and Dad knew where we were going, and that I wasn't going to find out until we got there. Chris's only comment to me was that dinner was going to be "experiential, not fancy". I had an idea then where we were going, but I made sure to play along until the surprise was revealed. Connor was so excited, and so proud that he had been part of coming up with the idea. We went bowling, big ball bowling, for the first time ever.

There is a bowling alley about five minutes from our home called Palasad, that is attached to an arcade and a fairly nice restaurant, at least when you consider what I would expect from a bowling alley restaurant. Pizza and hot dogs was the menu I expected, and I did have pizza, but it was gourmet chicken pizza, and Chris had some sort of chili pasta dish that was the special that evening. When the waiter found out it was my birthday, he told Chris to ask the waiter in the bowling alley to bring me a piece of cheesecake, on the house (my second of the day!), to enjoy while we had our game.

Our first experience with big ball bowling was hilarious! We had them raise the bumpers for the kids, but not for Chris and I. That was a mistake! My first turn up I got double zero, and the rest of the game wasn't much better. The ball was sooooo heavy! After my first time up I traded mine in for one the same weight as the kids had. Still, it was pretty heavy, and so awkward. It is definitely a whole different kind of game than we were used to. My shoulder and arm were still feeling it yesterday. My final score was tied for last with Janelle. Chris did a bit better than us, but Connor beat Chris by more than 30 points! We did have fun, and of course my favourite part was watching the kids enjoy this new experience we were having together. We made a memory.

I tell this story, not just to give the account of how I spent my birthday, but because of something Chris said afterward. He told me I shouldn't broadcast where they took me for my birthday because bowling doesn't sound like much of a birthday treat for a mom. But he said he didn't hesitate to do it because he knew that I'm the kind of mom who cares more about having fun with her kids than having a fancy meal.  We had considered getting a babysitter that night and going out on a date to celebrate, our first in months. But I couldn't imagine depriving the kids of being part of my special day. Our meal was very nice, but honestly, if it had been hot dogs and potato chips I wouldn't have cared. I won't ever forget our first game of big ball bowling together. And I consider Chris's comment about the kind of mom I am a huge compliment. I always want to be the fun mom, not the fancy mom. My kids had a blast on my birthday. And so did I.

And tonight, while my kiddos are home with a babysitter, I'll be out having a different kind of dinner with my husband. And I'm going to love that, too.

Sounds in the Night

Yesterday's post was way too long, and I wrote it way too late at night. I was still thinking about it when I woke up at 5 a.m., so I started a new one in my head as I tried to fall back to sleep. These are the sounds I was hearing in the wee hours of this morning.

The wind howling outside my window.

Wind chimes dancing in time to the wind.

My husband's deep and even breathing beside me in the dark.

My daughter's gentle snoring in the bedroom next door.

My own thoughts swirling inside my head.

No wonder it took so long to get back to sleep. I think it's time for a nap...

It's All About Me

Isn't that just the most narcissistic blog post title you've ever read? Well, as most of my friends will tell you, I love my birthday, and have always felt that it really is all about me. The only day of the year that I can just bask in the love of all my family and friends. Well, not the only day, but the only one that is really all about me. Do I sound like a 12-year-old? Yeah, I agree.

Unfortunately, my birthday comes with a counter that I'm not that crazy about anymore. I'm 41 today. I'm not sure why I shared that, since I've spent the past week trying to impress upon my son that it is rude to announce my age loudly in public places and to anyone who will listen. I remember being so excited about turning 16, and then 21, even 25. I'm pretty sure it was all downhill from there. Except that looking back on my life, all the best times have been since then. So why do we hate birthdays if life just keeps getting better and better?

I decided that my birthday was a good day to share a little bit about myself on my blog, for those of you who may not know me as well as others. For those of you who do know me as well as I know myself, feel free to point out mistakes, exaggerations, or omissions. This is just a brief overview after all. So here goes: it's all about me!

I was born on November 4, 1969, in Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada. I was blessed with absolutely the best parents on the planet. They loved me and supported and continue to do so. Even more importantly they loved each other and modeled to me what real love means. I'm the oldest of three, and my sister is definitely my oldest friend. She is 2 1/2 years younger than me, and is in many ways my polar opposite, and we therefore often drive each other crazy. But she knows me like no one else does, and I don't know what I'd do without her. She was there for all of it, and aside from my parents she's the only one who was. My brother didn't come on the scene until I was 9, and I adored him from the moment I saw him, if not before. I clearly remember thinking many times during his childhood "Is he really the cutest kid in the world, or is it just because we love him so much that we think he is?" Looking back, I think it was a little bit of both. I still feel that way about him, even though I don't talk to him nearly as much as I would like to. I'd still do just about anything for him.

We moved three times after I started school. From Moncton we went to St. Stephen, NB, then from there to Summerside, PEI, and then finally to Rothesay, NB, just outside Saint John, which became home. These places can be divided into milestones. Life began in Moncton. My brother was born in St. Stephen. My sixth grade teacher in PEI told me that I could write. That's why you are reading this blog. And Saint John is where I grew up.

Despite my talkative nature I was a pretty shy kid and I hated starting at a new school where I didn't know anyone. I love PEI to this day, but those were not good years for me socially. At least for the last year or two there I was bullied pretty badly. I remember crying my heart out when Mom and Dad told us we were moving to Saint John, but it was the best thing that ever happened to me. The day I started at Rothesay Junior High, my mother took me to school and when we got out of the car my head automatically went down. Even now I can hear my mother saying "Pick your head up and stand up straight!" I never forgot that, and still when I'm walking into a new social situation and I'm tempted to duck my head and disappear I hear her voice. Just one of those lessons that stick with you. I made friends that day who are still my friends today. Getting away from the bullying situation in PEI was the first step in building up some confidence that had been shattered over the past couple of years.

My parents had always instilled the importance of faith within me. I had gone to Sunday School since infancy, and was shocked the first time I heard that some people don't believe in God. It was in my teen years that my faith began to become my own, though, and I began to really understand what a personal relationship with God meant, and how it could and would shape my life. From that point on I don't think that faith has ever really faltered. There have been very difficult times, but I have always understood that my heavenly Father wasn't causing those rough patches, but carrying me through them.

I wasn't one of the really popular kids in high school, but I had good friends — many of whom I still call friends today. I liked high school — I enjoyed the atmosphere and the school spirit. I loved English and I hated Math and Science. Reading and writing were always my passion where academics were concerned. I guess that's why it's not surprising that I studied English in university. I always knew I wanted to write and teach, but I didn't have the grades to get into a B.Ed. program right after high school, so I headed into a four year B.A. at UNBSJ.

I liked high school, but I loved university! I was so happy there. I made some wonderful friends my first year, and had a lot of fun. My grades attested to the fact that I was having a lot of fun, but I still did moderately well. I had begun to come into my own and was gaining confidence in who I was and who I wanted to be, and I was studying things that meant something to me.

I didn't have a serious boyfriend until after my second year of university. We dated nearly two years, and I always knew it was going to end, and probably end badly. He didn't share my strong faith, which was and is the guiding force in my life, and I knew I didn't want to enter a forever relationship with someone who didn't value the same things that I did. I was a mess after we broke up, for a long time. I think the time it took for me to get over that break-up was more a reflection of how I was feeling about myself at the time than it was of the person I had been dating. I will always encourage my kids not to date someone they wouldn't consider marrying. Not that I want them heading into serious relationships very young. I just want to spare them some inevitable heartache that I could have saved myself if I had been more intentional about who I dated at that time.

After university I did a lot of things. I went on a mission trip to Honduras that changed my perspective forever. I was a nanny. I was a tutor. I was a youth leader. I was a childcare worker. I bought a car. I spent a lot of time with friends. I made new friends. I said goodbye to friends who moved away to start their careers. I dated a bit. I watched a lot of friends get married. I had a lot of fun. I learned what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. And then I went back to university.

My husband and I don't remember meeting each other. We lived in different cities, but had some friends in common. We had attended youth groups at different Wesleyan churches, and had probably met at youth rallies. But one day it just occurred to me that he had always been around. He was interested before I was. We went on one date, and I really wasn't interested in another one. He continued to ask me out until one day he asked if I was ever going to say yes. I said no. I changed my mind a few months later, and I'm lucky he gave me another chance. I still didn't treat him very well. I was terrified of getting into a serious relationship again, but this time I knew that it had a chance of lasting forever. I was afraid of letting him have my heart for a long time, but when I finally did, I was done. I knew I'd marry him long before he knew. He is an amazing man and a gift I treasure every day... even if I sometimes don't show it as I should.

We got married two years later, a week before I graduated from the B.Ed. program at UNB. I thought I wanted to have kids right away, because I had always wanted to be a mother more than anything. Chris wanted to wait two years, and I agreed. It ended up being nearly four years before, after two heartbreaking miscarriages, we finally had our son. As painful as that period in our lives was, I am truly grateful for those four carefree years that we had together, just as a couple, before the responsibility of parenting became the major focus of our lives. I love being a mom, but I think our marriage is better because we invested a lot of time just in each other before we had to invest so much of ourselves in our kids.

Except for a year spent in Kingston when Connor was two, we have raised our two awesome kids in Fredericton, in the company of a bunch of other great and godly families who were raising their kids right along with us. I am eternally grateful for the foundation those friendships gave us, and the support they give us even now, although we're far away. Yesterday I received a loving care package in the mail from a few of the best girlfriends I could ask for. I am loved, and I feel loved, even from a distance.

At forty-one I am many things. I am Chris's wife, Connor and Janelle's mom, Stan and Marilyn's daughter, Tracy and Brad's sister, an aunt to a bunch of precious kiddos, a teacher without a classroom, a neighbour, a parent volunteer, and a friend. I know beyond a doubt that I am a precious child of God. And I'm a blogger. This post has a lot of holes in it, but it holds the essence of me. If you didn't know me before, I think you have a pretty good handle now on who I really am. If you already know me, perhaps even you have learned something. I think maybe even I have.

Awesome Lasagna

Finding new and interesting meals to feed my family that we all actually enjoy is always a challenge. Finding new and interesting meals that are also easy to have ready for our crazy Tuesday schedule is nearly impossible. My kids are both somewhat picky, as I think most kids are. Connor will eat a lot of things as long as he can cover them with ketchup, but won't touch fish and usually complains about anything with too much tomato sauce (a ketchup fiend, go figure). Janelle will most likely become a vegetarian someday, since she loves most veggies, but must be forced to eat the meat on her plate. Chris would say that I am picky, too, and I really can't deny it. He claims that he is extremely easy to please. I would counter that he is fairly easy to feed, meaning he will eat almost anything, but not always easy to impress.

We have our old faithfuls, as every family has. Stir-fry is a biggie for us, because both of my kids love it and so do Chris and I. I try to do the traditional meat-and-potatoes meal once a week, and spaghetti or some other form of pasta meal usually makes it onto the weekly list. Rice with meatball or wings is an easy crock pot meal that often makes an appearance on our dinner table. Tuesday nights (remember the Tuesday treadmill?) I usually resort to breadmaker pizza, or something I've dug out of the freezer. The last two weeks I've been determined to break that mold and come up with something different and unpredictable for Tuesdays. It has to be something that I can get onto the table quickly, and preferably something that I can transport easily to Chris to eat at Connor's basketball practice. Crock pot beef stew was a roaring success last week (except with Janelle the vegetarian, who begged for a peanut butter sandwich instead), and this week I made it my own challenge to come up with something else to surprise my family with. Something all four of us would love.

I used to make lasagna fairly often. I use a recipe that evolved from my mother's recipe, with a little tweaking here and there. Chris calls it my "awesome lasagna", because once early in our marriage I announced to our dinner guest that "my lasagna is awesome". I was actually refering to my mother's lasagna, since at that point I really hadn't claimed any of my cooking as my own yet. Everything I made was someone else's recipe, someone talented and experienced in the area of cooking, which I clearly was not. I have to say, that lasagna was pretty amazing, though. And now it's even better. But until yesterday, I don't think I had made it in years. I even had to play around with the recipe when I couldn't find a 19 oz can of tomatoes at the grocery story. Oh, well, 28 oz — more is always better, right? This is one meal that I'm not afraid to experiment with. I was convinced that no matter what I did, it would come out "awesome".

I had serious doubts as to whether on not my kids would accept this very foreign food to our dinner table. I'm pretty sure the last time I tried to serve it to them they both turned up their noses. This time I was determined to prove to them that "my lasagna is awesome". I was prepared for the whining, and had my "You only have to eat 5 bites and if you still hate it..." practiced and ready. When I first put it in the oven before I took Janelle to piano lessons, Connor made a quiet, skeptical comment: "You're making lasagna for supper?" When I came home from taking Janelle to her lesson, I walked into my glorious smelling house and said "Oh, that lasagna smells SOOOOOO GOOOOOOOOD!" Connor kind of hesitated before replying, "Yeah, Mom, it really does." Woohoo! I started to get my hopes up! When we arrived home after Janelle's piano lesson, the smell had changed a bit. I could tell that I had left it cooking too long. When I opened the oven door my heart sank. The cheese was brown, and the edges were nearly black. But I sucked back my disappointment and declared "Oh, you lucky kids are going to have the most delicious dinner!"

Connor actually smiled and made yummy noises when I set his plate on the table. He dug in with gusto. I guess he didn't care that it was slightly overdone. Janelle, on the other hand, said "Mommy, why did you make something I don't like for dinner?" I replied, "But how do you know you don't like it, Honey?" "Well, it sure doesn't look like something I like." It took some encouragement, but after the first frowny bite, she ate it pretty happily. When I sent her back to the table to finish her dinner (which I basically have to do every night, since my little scatterbrain inevitably finds something else she just has to do or check on in the middle of dinner), she ran back to the table and said "But Mommy, my plate is empty!" Hallelujah! Success!

When Chris came home from basketball practice I asked how he liked the lasagna and he gave me a half-hearted "Good". "Good?", I shot back at him. "Whattayamean, good?" "Well, that's no way to eat lasagna. Lukewarm, out of plastic, standing up in a gym." Okay, I had to give him that. Then I watched him pull the dish of lasagna out of the fridge and heat up two more pieces. I secretly smiled as he devoured them. I think I found another new Tuesday dinner.

Today I haven't thought about what we'll have for supper. But I know what I'm having for lunch. My lasagna is awesome!

Too Many Books, Too Little Time!

I love reading. Have I mentioned this? Only one, two hundred times? I love really good books. I love getting to know the characters, feeling a part of an exciting story, falling under the spell of words that a really great author can cast. A couple of weeks ago I finished reading Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett, a book that had been on my reading list for years, and I finally took the time to read it for my book club. At nearly 1000 pages it was like a mountain to me that I was determined to climb. I'm not a fast reader, but I am a voracious reader. When I find a book that I love, I can't get enough of it. This was one of those books. I spent as much of my time reading it as I could, and when I wasn't reading it, I was thinking about it. It was like a rich tapestry, one that only a really gifted author could weave. I couldn't wait to get through it, but when I did, I was so sad. I missed the characters, I missed the atmosphere, I missed the feeling I had reading it. So I started a new book.

My friends, Julie and Denise (my NaBloPoMo buddy), and I are meeting in Toronto this month for a girls weekend together. The catalyst for this planned getaway was the Tony award winning Broadway show Wicked, which is playing in Toronto for just a few weeks. We made our plans last spring and got tickets the week they went on sale. We've all heard wonderful things about this play, which is about the life of the Wicked Witch of the West, basically a prequel to The Wizard of Oz. Julie had read the book by Gregory Maguire and suggested that Denise and I read it before we see the play, so I picked it up a couple of months ago, but just got a chance to fit it into my reading list last week. When I finished Pillars, I decided to dive into Wicked. I was looking forward to it. I love The Wizard of Oz, and I usually love fairy tale type stories, so I expected this to be right up my alley. Julie warned me, however, that this was not going to be an easy read. One of the ladies in my book club had told me that her father, who loves the play and has seen it multiple times, hated the book. They were both right. After 50 pages, I still wasn't drawn into the story, I didn't care about the characters. Not a good sign. After 100 pages I was getting frustrated. I still didn't feel any connection to the story. After 200 pages, despite tremendous feelings of guilt, I decided to quit.

My dear friend and fellow book-lover, Joy and I have always had a saying: "Too many books, too little time". It is so true! There are a million books out there that I want to read — I don't have time to waste on books I'm not enjoying! I'm not in university anymore, where I had to read three or four books a week that were someone else's choice. Now I get to choose, and there is really nothing compelling me to continue a book that I am not enjoying. I decided a few months ago, after finishing a book that left me feeling like I had just wasted a great chunk of my time, that from now on I am not going to read books that I don't like. Not even for my book club. I'll give them a try — I think 200 pages is a really good try! — but if after even 50 pages there is nothing there to make me want to keep reading, I'm closing the book and moving on. I even told my kids about this decision last week — to which Connor responded that he had given up on a book at school that very day! I'm not sure he quite got the message I was trying to convey. Oh, well, he knows a good book when he reads it. He still loves reading Harry Potter with me!

Despite this revelatory decision, I still feel guilty about giving up on Wicked. I think the problem is that I'm not quite sure how to articulate exactly what it was that I didn't like about the book. And in the back of my mind I do think I'll come back to it after I see the play. I'm just not good at being a quitter! At least not where books are concerned.

But I have moved on. I started reading The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill, which my book club read last year before I was a part of it, and which has been on my shelf waiting to be read for over a year. It had been highly recommended by a number of friends, and I decided that it was time I found out what all the fuss is about. I've read about 60 pages, and I am enraptured. It is wonderful! I already love everything about it. The voice of the narrator is just endearing, and I already find myself carried away on her journey. So quitting Wicked was worth it. I don't feel like going back at all.

At least not for a couple of weeks...

Halloween on Westwick Walk

Our first Halloween in our new neighbourhood has come and gone, and we've all survived, and stocked up on enough sugar to keep the four of us on a high until Christmas. I had no idea how many "spooks" to prepare for here. My neighbour said that since this is a new street, the number increases every year. So I bought candy --- LOTS of candy. And we really didn't have that many trick-or-treaters at the door. Not nearly as many as we had on Crocket Street, anyway. I'm not someone who counts each bag I plop a candy into, but I would estimate we had around 80 kids at our door this year. Unfortunately, that means lots of candy left for me to munch on. And if it is made of chocolate, I am helpless to resist it!

Usually Connor and Janelle both know what they are going to be for Halloween long before the actual day arrives. Connor loves to get a costume and then make it even "cooler" with stuff he finds around the house. This year he had decided he wanted to be a werewolf. I almost gave in to actually making him a werewolf costume, but gave up after I couldn't find the right faux fur and realized it would really be quite a lot of work. I looked everywhere for a werewolf costume for him, but didn't find one until this week at the party store, where we found the perfect werewolf costume advertised -- for way more than I was willing to pay. Connor begged and pleaded and offered to pitch in half from his allowance, so I gave in — only to find that the "perfect werewolf costume" was sold out. We considered buying a mask and gloves and making the rest, but even that was so expensive I couldn't justify it unless Connor would be perfectly happy, and he didn't think he would be. So he resorted to an orange prisoners' jumpsuit. Much more economical. And as we found out Saturday afternoon when the zipper broke, CHEAP, CHEAP, CHEAP! Between Chris and I, we managed to fix the zipper temporarily — meaning until about five minutes before the trick-or-treating train was leaving. So out came the safety pins, which surprisingly, Connor was okay with. Needless to say, this is not a costume I'll be selling on Kijiji!

Janelle, on the other hand, knew what she was going to be for Halloween last Christmas. Aunt Tracy gave her a sweet Hannah Montana costume, which she used for dress up all year, but until a couple of weeks ago, still planned to wear on Halloween night. That's when Camryn from down the street arrived with a purple princess dress that she thought Janelle might like to wear for Halloween. First Janelle thought she might combine the two and be "Princess Hannah", but by Saturday she had decided that the Hannah wig had gotten way too messy to wear, and she really wanted curls in her hair. So yesterday around 4:30 we got out the curling iron and the hairspray and started attempting to curl my daughter's pin-straight hair. It took a lot of patience and bobby pins, but by 5:00 it looked adorable, and by 6:30 when they were ready to leave, a few of the curls were still in their places. Princess Janelle was happy anyway, and really, what else matters?

Chris and I divided up Halloween duty this year. He took our princess and escaped prisoner north up to the end of our subdivision and back to our house while I handed out candy, and then I took them south as far as the three of us could manage. I actually enjoy the fun part of Halloween. I hate the gruesome costumes and decorations, the horror movies on tv, and the desire to scare the living crap out of people. That isn't a holiday I want to celebrate with my kids. But carving pumpkins, fun costumes and some community commaraderie -- that's the part I can get into. I really enjoyed going door-to-door with the kids, visiting with my neighbours, and seeing what familiar faces from school live in which houses. I actually ended up travelling most of the way with my neighbour from across the street, who was dressed to the nines as a witch: green face, green hair, tall black hat, black dress, striped stockings and heels, while she pushed her baby in the stroller and followed her six-year-old Avatar from door-to-door. I had put on Janelle's Halloween headband with two orange and black pigtails, so we made quite a pair. My biggest struggle was getting Connor to wait for Janelle. He would have happily run around the whole neighbourhood if I had let him, and little Avatar was keeping up with him every step of the way. But just after 7:30, the baby started to cry and Janelle announced that she was done, so I sent my daughter home with the Wicked Witch of the West, and I soldiered on with the convict and Avatar. We arrived home at 8:00, to find most of the candy I had bought waiting for me.

Janelle, who is really amazingly self-aware for a seven-year-old, told me that she had already eaten her two pieces of candy and was ready to go to bed, and I had her tucked in and heard the story she wanted to read to me by 8:30. Connor, who would fight bedtime every step of the way, took a little longer, and was much more of a struggle to keep out of the candy, but by 9:15 he had settled down and we had finished reading a chapter of Harry Potter together.

Our first Halloween on Westwick Walk. Fun. Delicious. Exhausting. Over. Time to go put away the decorations for another year.