TIPS FOR SURVIVING TEENS

I couldn't just leave you hanging after my last post! Here are some tips for surviving teenagers:

Check your pillows. Make sure they are strong enough to survive a good bashing and dense enough to muffle your screams.

Stock up on junk food. Yes, I know, you want them to eat healthily, but forget it, you're wasting your time. Buy pizzas, those disgusting noodle packages, and as many frozen dinners as you can afford.

Check your microwave. It is the only kitchen tool that teenagers will use.

Take out a second mortgage. You're going to need it.

Toughen up your tongue. Chew it for at least an hour a day until it has the texture of rhinoceros skin. This will come in handy when they bring a new boyfriend/girlfriend home. If you keep quiet about the green-haired, tattooed, multi-piereced monstrosity they think is God incarnate, they'll soon get bored and wander off to someone a bit more human. Dare to voice your objections and you'll be stuck with the monstrosity for a long, long time.

Join a prenatal class. The deep breathing exercises are helpful in times of immense stress...pretty much 24/7. Alternatively, buy a crate of good wine.

Remember, at all times, that they really can't help being so loud/selfish/argumentative/unreasonable/thoughtless - it's just a phase they're going through and their hormones are raging. It'll only last oh, 4 years or so.

Keep photographs of their young, innocent faces handy to remind you of what they used to be like. Try not to cry over them too much.

Don't bother arguing with them. You'll never win. Teenagers are totally without logic.

Warn the neighbors about the increased noise levels - both from the screaming matches and from the volume of their music. (Well, they call is music. I call it 'Sounds from the Edge of Hell.')

Whatever you do, don't laugh at their choice of clothing, hair, etc. Remember what you wore in the 80's...say no more.

Don't expect any help whatsoever. They don't do vacuuming, dishes, or ironing, and they don't have a clue what the washing machine is for.

NEVER expect gratitude. You've kitted out their bedrooms with every state-of-the-art technology conceivable to man, spent hundreds of dollars on gas driving them places and scrimped for months to buy that expensive pair of board shoes, but they'll still believe your asking too much when you dare suggest they put out the trash.

Once they've reached oh-my-God-haven't-they-grown proportions, buy a step stool for those moments when you need to give them a swift cuff around the back of the head. Buy old copies of Land of the Giants to pick up tips on how to cope.

3 o'clock in the morning is a perfectly acceptable time for teenagers to go to bed during the week. Don't even question this.

Your eloquent child will turn monosyllabic overnight. Expect only grunts and dirty looks for at least the next two years.

Teenagers don't sleep, they hibernate - draped over the kitchen table or spread out like a starfish in the middle of the livingroom. You have more chance of finding the Loch Ness Monster in your pool than arousing a teenager from bed in the morning...or afternoon.

Remind yourself that teenagers are retribution for what we did to our parents, so just accept the inevitable and keep dreaming of peaceful times (when they've left home and you sit sobbing that you miss them!!)

BRACE YOURSELF!

Ah, the wonderful world of teenagers! I remember myself as a teen, so easy-going and amenable. My parents on the other hand were just a teeny bit uptight. Not to mention that they TOTALLY didn't get me (insert eye roll).

Fast forward 25 years and here I am...it's Freaky Friday...and I'm suddenly the parent of two teenagers. Two teenagers who are nothing like my sweet self at the same age. I see those of you with teens nodding wildly but for those of you without teens, please let me shed a little light. Nothing will prepare you for teenagers. Nothing. Brace yourself! You think childbirth was hard? Given the choice, I would be wheeled back into the delivery room sans medication if it meant expediting them to adulthood.

Not all teenagers are created equally however. One of mine is quite mellow but the other is simply apoplectic. Perhaps the younger one has just not found his stride. The older one however...oi! I'm not sure what the magic number was, but one day my child that was straight out of a fabric softener commercial suddenly had the starring role in The Exorcist.

Now everything I have read assures me that there is a perfectly scientific explanation for all of this. It's hormones and their rapidly changing brain the experts effuse. Eureka!! Thank goodness there is a logical explanation. I felt so frustrated before I knew. Yeah, okay. Truth is, I don't give a rat's hiney what the logic is, I'm ready to starting mashing elephant tranquilizers into his food.

I've always prided myself on not being "that mom." You know the one that needs to kick and scream to get their children to listen. No siree. That wasn't me, because I had it all figured out. Ha! Now I resemble Momzilla ranting and raving and pulling my hair out. It was so much easier when you could take the computer away for an evening as punishment. Now I stare as this 6'5" man in front of me and think, what now?

Don't get me wrong. My teenagers are awesome. They don't get into any trouble beyond the ordinary teenage hijinx but those hijinx are enough to keep Loreal's hair color division in business for a very long time.

Everyone tells me to hang in there. Don't give up. Things will get better. I hang on to those words like a Cuban to a floating door. I look forward to the day when he can look at me without complete irritation and disdain. I know it's coming. I remember when I actually enjoyed spending time with my parents again.

I guess the thing I've learned the most from all of this, is that I love my parents for everything they have done for me. I mean REALLY love them. If they could love me and support me while my heading was spinning and I was puking pea soup all over them, they must be pretty darn special.

CURSING IS GOOD FOR YOU!

For years, my potty mouth as been a bone of contention between Jay and I. "You sound like a longshoreman," states Jay with annoyance. "Are you fucking kidding me? There isn't a longshoreman alive with a mouth as bad as mine," I reply. I think I'm hilarious. He so does not. In fact, it's the thing he likes the least about me, this potty mouth of mine.

It's not my fault. I can't help it. It's a bad habit. My favorite excuses. The truth is, I enjoy swearing and let's face it, there are times when nothing else will do. I wish I could exclaim, "Crumbs!" or "Darn!" when things go awry but I'm not cut from that cloth.

So imagine my glee when I read that swearing is good for you! It turns out that a potty mouth does more than earn your conversations an R rating: it actually relieves pain according to a new study. The study states that swearing has an analgesic, pain-lessening effect that could give Ibuprofen a run for its money. Somebody give these guys an award!! Of course, I knew this all along. I mean I always feel better after I've cursed a blue streak. Always!

Alas, this is great news for those of us who have no intention of changing our ways. So let's fucking celebrate, bitches!! (Sorry hon, but my headache is instantly gone!)

BEFORE I WAS A MOM

How do you explain what being a mother is like to someone who has never had kids? The following poem does one heck of a job summing up how I feel. The author is unknown, which it too bad because I would love to give her a big hug for capturing it so well!

Before I was a mom.
I made and ate hot meals.
I had unstained clothing.
I had quiet conversations on the phone.

Before I was a mom,
I slept as late as I wanted
And never worried about how late I got into bed.
I brushed my hair and teeth everyday.

Before I was a mom
I cleaned my house each day.
I never tripped over toys or forgot words of lullabies.

Before I was a mom
I had never been puked on
Pooped on
Spit on
Chewed on
Peed on
Or pinched by tiny fingers.

Before I was a mom
I had complete control of:
My thoughts
My body
And my mind.
I slept all night.

Before I was a mom
I never held down a screaming child
So that doctors could do tests
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a mom
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put him down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
When I couldn't stop the hurt.

I never knew that something so small
Could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew that I would love being a mom.

Before I was a mom
I didn't know that feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
Could make me feel so important.

Before I was a mom
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
Every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth
The joy
The love
The heartache
The wonder
Or the satisfaction of being a mom.

I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much before I was a mom.

I'm a lucky, lucky lady.

NO!

No - adverb (a negative used to express disent, denial or refusal, as in response to a question or request)

Can you bake five dozen cupcakes for the bake sale tomorrow? Would you like to help organize our cancer walk? Will you please make a hundred wedding invitations for my third cousin? Absolutely! I'd love too! No problem!

What is wrong with me? Why does the word no evade me so? The answer isn't what you think.

You're a people pleaser many reply. So I turn to the internet for answers. It turns out that people pleasers are "desperate people" who want "everyone to like them." Well, anyone who has seen me drive knows that this is simply not true.

Perhaps I just have an altruistic desire to make a difference in the world. I believe that each of us is responsible for leaving the world a little better than we found it. I mean, if us so-called people pleasers don't step up to the plate, who will? Lord knows, this beautiful planet does not need any more selfish people. If I can touch a life in some way I will. Those cupcakes are going to help build the playground that hundreds of little kids will use every day!! How can I say no to that?

So I'm here to tell you that I'm not crazy, desperate, or afraid (no snickering!). I just enjoy making a difference. I realize that giving really touches a chord deep within all of us. Helping others brings good feelings to both the giver and the receiver and using your special gifts to help others makes you feel more connected to yourself and to the world around you. So go ahead, say yes. You can do it!

TOASTED COCONUT 8.0

Doing a fun quiz recently, the question of hair color arose. I didn't know which hair color I should choose: Sunflower gold of the 70's? Mousey brown of the 80's? Multi-colored, ever-changing hair of the 90's? Snow white hair from the last decade dyed blonde monthly? Our hair tells us a lot about ourselves and what we were going through at a certain time in history. Whether is was grown long in protest, cut short in liberation or spiral permed within in a inch of its life to meet the latest fashion trend. Each and every stage was marked by our hair.

Over the last 30 years my hair has been dyed, permed, feathered, back-combed, curled, bobbed, twisted, pinned, and hair sprayed until it's been left gasping. Its either been my crowning glory or my worst nightmare. I've bounced from the salon with perfectly cut hair feeling so happy and slinked from the salon with the worst perm ever thinking surely I would die. Do we give our hair too much power? After all, it's just hair is it not? Well, it's more than that. It's an extension of ourselves. A form of expression.

So, you're probably wondering what the answer to the question was. The answer is Toasted Coconut 8.0...multi tonal and fabulous!

TOO BUSY TO BLOG

I've been asked many times why I haven't updated my blog recently and my response it always the same, "I'm too busy!" Of course, that's the truth...sort of. The bottom line is that I'm a perfectionist. I agonize over the contents of each post before I actually hit the "publish post" button. That's why it's time consuming. The writing of each post takes mere minutes while the editing and sweating seem to take forever. Why is this?

When I was young I loved to write, and I did so with reckless abandon. No subject was off limits, no assignment too daunting! English was my favorite subject and I excelled. Such confidence!! I'm not sure when this confidence began to subside. Perhaps it was the 20+ year break from writing creatively that has led me here.

So enough perfectionism (which is basically like saying, enough air!), I'm going to blog!

LEST WE FORGET

Lest we forget, we are often reminded. Remember those who have sacrificed so much for our country they say. So I oblige. Like many Canadians, I dutifully don my poppy over my heart each November, take a moment to reflect at the sacrifices made and the lives lost, and shed a tear each time I watch the body of a solider proceed down the Highway of Heroes. Until recently however, the death of a soldier did not impact me on a personal level. All this changed yesterday.

I was extremely saddened to hear that the latest Canadian soldier killed in the line of duty was the 21 year old son of a former co-worker. Cpl. Darren Fitzpatrick was grievously injured when an IED exploded and left him with massive trauma to his lower body. He died on the weekend in an Edmonton hospital with his family by his side. It was his first tour of duty.

Cpl. Fitzpatrick was in Afghanistan defending the right to freedom, democracy, human rights and the rule of law. I think it takes an amazing person to put themselves in harms way in order to defend these rights and freedoms, especially in a faraway land.

Cpl. Fitzpatrick's untimely death puts a face and a familiarity on war that I have never experienced before. When I look at pictures of Darren, I am reminded that he was not only a soldier but a son, brother, grandson, cousin, nephew and friend. Although I never met him, the outpouring of love and support from the community, speaks volumes about what an amazing person this young man was. I hardly slept a wink last night thinking about Darren and the ultimate sacrifice he made. I was also thinking of the hidden casualties - Darren's family and friends - and the unbearable pain that they must now endure.

From this day forward, I will no longer look at the photo of a fallen soldier in a one-dimensional manner. I will be reminded that they are someone's child, parent, sibling, friend. I will remember to be truly grateful to not only them but their families as well.

So tonight, when I am spending time with my family, I will reflect on the fact that Cpl. Fitzpatrick is no longer with us and that he, as others before him, died so that I can enjoy the privilege of spending time with my family in safety and peace.

Cpl. Darren Fitzpatrick

Soldier

Son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin, friend

HERO

FEBRUARY - BLAH!

Oh, how I hate February!! It makes no difference that it's 28 days long most years, I still hate it. Hate is a strong word you say?? Well, in my defense there really is no better way to say it.

Why do I hate February you ask? (Thanks for asking by the way!) While January is snowy and cold at least it has character. February is usually gray and dull. With much of the snow melted, everything looks dirty and lifeless. My friend Lynn put it best when she said, "I'm tired of living in gray scale."

The weather is only the icing on the not so tasty cake. This month has been one full of stress, sickness and a general feeling of blah. All month, I have been completely unmotivated. Sure I still get things accomplished, but my activity level is about half of what it usually is. I feel like I am moving in slow-motion and that everyone is buzzing busily around me. To elaborate slightly, February has sucked the emotion from my soul. Yes, if February had a form it would be a Dementor - a soul sucking month considered to be the most foul of all months.

I don't care what the experts say, you can't escape February. There are hundreds of tips for overcoming the February blues, all of which seem to push me a little further into the abyss. I'm afraid such sage advice as "exercise" or "bliss out" or "establish goals" all make me want to punch the "in training" kid at Tim Hortons in the throat a little harder than I wanted to before. These helpful tips were obviously written by someone sprawled out on a beach chair, drink in hand, overlooking the Mediterranean.

There is a bright spot however. March is on the horizon with its promise of Roll Up The Rim and Prelonniepalooza. So bite me February!! You are just about gone for one more year and I shall emerge relatively unscathed and stronger for my struggles and you and your misery shall be forgotten in no time.

BLOOM

You can't mistake a sunflower. How lovely is this flower with beauty that has captured the sun of a hundred sunny days? But the true beauty of a sunflower is not in its petals but rather in its spirit. Requiring little nourishment, the sunflower grows into one of the mightiest and brightest flowers in the garden.

I remember my surprise when I discovered a sunflower growing from discarded birdseed in the toughest of clay under our May tree. Such a kinship I felt with that little sunflower! I was on a rather tough journey at the time and that little sunflower reminded me of the need to bloom where I was planted. The lesson of the little sunflower has stayed with me over the years - whether it is the most fertile of soil or the toughest of clay, I must turn my face toward the sun and bloom. Bloom Sunflower Girl. Bloom.

POWDER TO THE PEOPLE!

What a day!! Saturday was our first trip to Hudson Bay Mountain in Smithers. It was the perfect day for snowboarding. The conditions were amazing with a 4' base, fresh powder and spring temperatures. The kids were so pumped to get on the mountain.

I must admit that the first run was a little daunting. It was hard to keep up to the rest of the gang. I always marvel at how fast the kids go and how unafraid they are. They could not go fast enough. I always try my best to keep up, but I just cannot bring myself to go down the mountain in a straight line. I'm always reminded of the old adage, the bigger they are, the harder they fall!! Of course, there is my expression, the older you are, the easier you break.

It was nice to have a family day together. Now that the kids are getting older, these days are becoming fewer and farther between. It's not easy to find something that we all like to do that will work with everyone's schedules. I cherish these times with my family!! We had a lot of laughs on Saturday, enjoyed the beautiful scenery and had one heck of a workout. It was the most fun we've had this winter!!

Dylan and I gearing up for our next run!

My world!

Smithers townsite from the triple chair.

DORK IN DISGUISE

Reading through my old journals recently, I realized that I have not always been the ubercool person that my kids think I am (drop me off at the corner, puh-lease!!). I guess you could say I was a dork growing up. I cringe reading my angst-filled entries on being left out of a clique, not being invited to the party of the season, and wondering where to sit in the cafeteria. Photos of my teenage self only confirm this. Dressed in some of the most tragic outfits the 80's had to offer, I stand smiling in all of my dork glory. I always longed to be the popular girl but it was not in the cards for me. Grasping the latest fashion trends in an effort to fit the mold, usually ended up with me looking like an unfortunate collage of fashion don'ts.

I remember one day, not long ago, a colleague said, "I bet you've always been a Barbie." I don't know what made me laugh harder, the fact that she thought I was a Barbie now or the fact that she thought I was a Barbie in highschool. I thought to myself, if I'm a Barbie, then I'm in disguise (albeit not a very clever one), because I am and always will be a total dork.

Turning 40 was a milestone that allowed me to embrace my dorkiness. I no longer care if I fit the mold (boots with yoga pants?), sing for all to hear (Gawd, mom. Honestly!), trip walking into the mall (I'm heeere!), or say the wrong thing (my special gift). I don't worry about the fact that my kids are easily mortified or that they can't believe from which they came. Not at all. Now I just laugh. Laugh because in 41 years, nothing has changed. Laugh because I am a klutz and goofball rolled into one dorky package. Laugh because I get the inside joke and I don't care if anyone else does.

So if you ever found yourself coming in 9th on track and field day, getting your hair caught in your boyfriend's watch, or trying to work "Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock" into a sentence, you are probably a dork and you shall always be one. Embrace the essence of being a dork! You are not alone. Remember, being true to yourself is the coolest thing you can do.

Spring Dance - 1983

Dorkalicious

TO BLOG OR NOT TO BLOG? THAT IS THE QUESTION

I'm sure this a question that many people first contemplating a blog ask themselves. I have read other blogs and often thought about starting my own. Fear has kept me from creating a blog long before now. Perfectionism, failure, self-consciousness are all demons I have wrestled with. Then it occurred to me that blogging is just journaling in the 21st century. Public journaling albeit, but journaling nonetheless.

When I was younger I always kept a journal. I laugh when I read those journals now. The trial and tribulations of a teenage girl seem so trival now, but these entries are the bits and pieces that make up the the fibres of my life. The things that made me the person I am today. This line of thinking led me down yet a whole other path. Who am I now? Do my children know this person? If I died tomorrow, would anyone really know who I was? A journal is a great legacy for those left behind, and for this reason, and this reason alone, I will blog. I will leave a story for my children, my family, my friends. A story that goes beyond the mother, wife, friend and daughter they see. They will know the woman I am and the child I was. They will know, unequivocally, the love I have for all of them, especially my children.

Am I scared? Absolutely! There is a certain vulnerability that comes with exposing your soul for the world to see. However, I will tackle this as I tackle all new challenges - full steam ahead!!