Decluttering My Way

 I have a confession to make.

    I hate housework. Yes, me - the proprietor of Busy Bee Domestic Wizardry, where I cleaned other peoples' houses for six years. It's true. Oh, I know how to clean, I just don't like to do it. And I live with someone who has self-admitted mild packrat tendencies; which is not to say that I'm any better. My craft room looks like Michael's barfed all over my space. And we have kids who, to one degree or another, have difficulty parting with belongings because they attach so must sentimental value to the objects, feel overwhelmed when facing cleaning due to executive dysfunction, get anxious, or like me, have a serious case of LazyVision­. When we put an object down, if it stays there long enough, we just stop seeing it altogether.

    Over the last few months, the topic of decluttering has come up on my social media feed a lot. I've developed a method that borrows from a few sources that I have found inspirational in my own  (ongoing) decluttering journey, and also takes my undiagnosed ADHD and associated executive dysfunction into account. I've spent the past few years refining it, and I'm pretty happy with how it looks now. Is my family perfect? Certainly not. Friends have told me that it sounds like a good method, so I decided to share it here, and I hope that it - or at least parts of it - are useful for you. Please feel free to keep what is useful, and ignore what doesn't work for you or your situation

    So here are the principles:

    1. Preparation Is Key

    In order to have a really successful decluttering session, you need to be ready for it. This was a trick that I gleaned from The Flylady. She sells cute purple bins that are for the "Keep/Toss/Give Away" process, but you really don't have to spend anything beyond your regular household budget. Another important thing I learned was not to do it when I'm tired, or hungry, or stressed. That having been said, there are going to be times that you can't avoid this, and that's okay. But be aware of your personal condition going into it, and make the necessary allowances for it. Remember: it is always right to be kind to yourself.

    With that in mind, this method works whether you have five minutes, or a whole day. You will need the following: a garbage bag, a recycling bag or box, a bag or box for donated items, a refreshing drink with a spill-proof container, and a list if you find that sort of thing helpful. My particular flavour of ADHD means that I live my life by a series of lists, as that is what keeps me on track and avoid devolving into a chaotic mess of "startitis". Now you're ready to dig in.

    2. Start With The Easy Decisions

    If you're decluttering, your space has clearly become more than you can easily or comfortably cope with. Don't beat yourself up about it; it happens to all of us sometimes. Again, go back to my Golden Rule of Decluttering - Be kind to yourself. If you are planning to go through things that have great personal significance or sentimental value for you, or that you anticipate will be difficult to face, such as going through a deceased loved ones' belongings, you may want to ask a family member or a friend to help with the process; someone who isn't emotionally invested in your stuff can help you see things more clearly, and be able to make decisions quickly and with conviction.

    So, what are the "easy decisions", anyway? I break these down into five smaller jobs: garbage/recycling, stuff that doesn't belong in here, dirty laundry, clean laundry, and books. If you haven't guessed by now, my family has a lot of these things in the spaces that need decluttering!

        A. Garbage: This one is really easy. Just toss anything that is obviously garbage. Snap open that garbage bag, and toss that crap!

        B. Stuff That Doesn't Belong In Here: This is the only time I disregard my "Only touch an item once" rule. Set it aside *OUTSIDE OF THE ROOM YOU'RE WORKING IN* and put them all away in their proper home when your decluttering session is nearing its end.

        C. Dirty Laundry: Gather it up, and put it in the place closest to getting them washed, dried, folded, and put away. For our house, that's in the large bins in the laundry room. Do what works best for you.

        D. Clean Laundry: You have no idea how many times I've walked into a kids' bedroom to find the laundry I've lovingly washed, dried, and folded sitting in increasingly untidy stacks on top of dressers, beds, desks, or on the floor. If I had a nickel for every time, I'd probably be able to retire. Just put it away. 

        E. Books: Put them where they belong in the room, be that a bookshelf, or a tidy stack on the bedside table, or the donate bin. Our kids all have a bookshelf in their rooms; oddly, Hubby and I don't have one in *our* bedroom, and we're both bibliophiles, so I have a feeling that this will be changing as I go through the process of decluttering the master bedroom this summer.

    Once these five things are done, I promise, you will be struck by how much better your room looks already. What may have seemed a truly insurmountable task now feels achievable - and it is.

    3. Touch Each Item Only Once

    I'm a big fan of not doing more work than is necessary, and this principle really feeds into that. When your easy decisions are done, it's time to settle in for the "Keep/Toss/Give Away" portion. When you do this, you should be able to make a pretty definitive decision about your belongings within five seconds. Once the decision has been made, either put it in the garbage, the donate container, or, and this is a key thing I learned from Dana, aka A Slob Comes Clean, go put it in its home *right now*. This all but ensures that you only have to touch each item once. This is also the stage where Flylady's two questions come into play ("Do I love it? Do I use it?" If you can say yes to one of these, by all means, keep the item), as well as Dana's decluttering questions ("If I was looking for this, where is the first place I'd look? GO PUT IT THERE NOW", and "If I needed this, would I know that I already had one? No? Put it in the donate bin. Yes? PUT IT THERE NOW."). Likewise, Marie Kondo suggests that you ask if the item sparks joy for you, and if it doesn't, you thank it for serving its purpose in your life and let it go.

    4. Progress, Not Perfection

    This principle was probably the hardest for me to embrace. I am, by nature, a perfectionist. So having to leave a project unfinished used to give me a great deal of guilt. But with the idea that you're seeking progress, and not perfection, even five minutes of decluttering is still progress. And try not to get hung up on things if you have someone helping you that does things differently, or forgets a step, or makes a mistake. If it's not done to the standards you expect from yourself, that's okay. As FlyLady is fond of saying, "Housework done incorrectly still blesses your family."

    5. Wrap It Up

    However long you've been working, the time has come to wrap it up. The whole idea behind this method is that you never leave a room in a state of chaos - at least, no more so than you found it in! Put the garbage and recycling bags outside,  the donate container in your vehicle for the next drop-off day, and your things that don't belong in that room it their proper places. By putting things away as you go, you are always making progress, and you're never putting yourself further behind.

    So there it is. If you find any of this useful, or have any questions, throw me a comment!

New Skills Emerging

For some years now, Hubby and I have been talking about writing a children's book series. Well, last week, I wrote the first one. It was an assignment for school, and I figured, since we had to write a story anyway, maybe I could get the series underway.

The main character is named after a beloved friend, and the idea was to write about her experiencing some of the more difficult things that children might face, to teach kids how to navigate those turbulent waters.

The first book in the series is titled "Amanda Panda and the Sad Day". It is about Amanda Panda's best friend losing her dog to a car accident, and how Amanda Panda learns about sympathy, empathy, and how to be a good friend to someone who is grieving. For some reason, this book poured out of me; it felt like it wrote itself. I suppose that's the way all of my best writing has come about.

Anyway, I just wanted to mention this. I'm proud of how it turned out, and my instructor printed, laminated, and bound it into a book, so if you ever want to read it, let me know!

In Over My Head

Today was my first real day of school, and I already feel overwhelmed.

We were given two projects, with due dates of March 27; once the material was presented, we were given lab time to work on them.

I felt completely lost.

This feeling was compounded by observing many of the other students finding their resources easily; one student even completed the first (and more involved) project with time to spare in the first class.

I realize that it's my first day, and that many of the people in the class have been there since last August, but that knowledge really didn't do much to assuage my feelings of failure and worthlessness. I used to pride myself on my intelligence, but I'm being served a mighty big helping of humble pie today, and to be honest, it tastes kind of bitter.

Not at all what I was hoping for.

On The Threshold of A New Life

In seven hours, I will step into a classroom where I am the student for the first time in 28 years.

Just typing those words is scary for me. I've been reassured by many people that I'll do fine, that it will seem easy, that I will be successful... and on some level, I know these things. But I am still scared of the unknown, and until I walk into that classroom at 8 am tomorrow, I'm going to be a bundle of nerves and self-doubt. I'm embarking on 43 weeks of study, and hopefully, by the end of it, I will find full-time employment as an education assistant in this school district.

I spent the last six years cleaning houses for seniors, and it has slowly and systematically been breaking my body. I started out with tendinitis in both hands, the result of working too hard, too fast, and for too long on a cross stitched piece for my best friend in my 20s. Next came bilateral tennis elbow in 2017. In January of this year, due to overcompensating for the pain in my right elbow, I managed to injure my left shoulder. The clinic doctor said biceps tendinitis with possible rotator cuff involvement, and a month later, the physiotherapist says that it's the rotator cuff, which is exacerbating the biceps tendons, left pectoral, elbow, hand, shoulder blade and neck. I'm trying acupuncture and daily exercises, so we'll see how that goes.

But it was this most recent injury that served as the catalyst for a big change. I had initially considered just taking the ASL courses that our local university offers through Continuing Education, in order to better equip myself to be a silent herald for our SCA events. But after a brief perusal of the UFV website, the idea was planted to investigate the feasibility of going back to school full-time to become an EA. This was something that Hubby and I had talked about years ago; we crunched the numbers, and while going back to school to become a teacher was not worth the time and money invested, going back to become an EA was a much more reasonable proposition. But while the kids were young, and would require full-time daycare, the cost was just something we couldn't manage. But now, with Quarta being 9, and Tertius on the verge of going to middle school, it really seemed like the timing was finally right. We still didn't have the funds to pay for it, but I had an idea. I decided to approach my mother about getting an advance on my inheritance to pay for school in full, and to cover any lost income for the duration of my schooling.

Things started moving pretty quickly after the decision was made; I met with one of Hubby's EAs from last year, a recent graduate of a similar program (and longtime psychologist prior to that), and not only did she encourage me to enroll in the program, but she said that I would be great at it, and expressed the hope that I would end up working alongside her at her work site. The next step was calling the school to see what it was going to cost, and when I might be able to start. March 2 was the date. A little faster than I had anticipated, but perhaps it was better that way - less of a chance for me to chicken out. Once that was settled, I spoke to my mum and brother, and they were both fully on board. This was really happening. Then came all the paperwork: criminal record checks, TB tests, doctor's notes, and a composition detailing why I want to do this, and what I bring to the program, and the career. Also, initialing and signing my name enough times to think I was signing over my firstborn child (don't worry, Primus, you're safe).

That brings me to this moment: seven hours away from the start of school. I'm 47, and I'm terrified that my intellect has atrophied so much as to sabotage any chance at success. Maybe I'm so scared because I want this so much? I hope I am equal to the task, because if I'm successful, it means a whole new life for me.

Dad

I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot lately.

We just celebrated the first of two family Thanksgiving dinners, and it gave me pause to remember that Thanksgiving dinner was the last meal I ever cooked for my dad.

Three years. Three years that I haven't been able to call him and laugh about how ridiculous US politics are, or Canadian politics, for that matter. Three years since I got to go over the most recent BC Lions score, or rail at how easily the Canucks gave up their lead. Again. Three years since I asked for his advice about something, anything. Three years since my children crawled onto the armrest of his overstuffed recliner for a snuggle. Three years since I saw saw him smile, or heard his voice.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving when my father  was hospitalized for the last time.

I had been feeling down for a few days before I realized why:

Grief never ends.

I found a poem today that resonated with me, so I'm going to share it below.  Hope you get something out of it.

Gasping for the Flash

A flash
An instant that is meaningless in the endless cosmic cycles
Yet so significant it changes everything
Takes the breath of life from someone you love
A lasso from heaven swept across the sky
Grasping his neck
And taking him back to the dirt and the dust
As our tears turn to rust
As they blanket our face and turn our smiles to stone
And cover our world in a fog of raging fumes
For we lost you
And we are lost with confused chaotic minds
No matter what our beliefs
It doesn’t change the pain of losing a life
A light
Every passing thought of you
Makes the world stop
For moments that seem like hours
And hours that seep into days
I see the air come out of my mouth
Sweet and steaming from a fiery body that still moves
And I feel my life intensify
For every small flash of our lives is so precious
And fragile
I still can’t believe you are gone
You are still so real here
Fresh in our mental recollections

– SHILOW

A Whole New Year

Here I sit, the second week of school upon us, and I already have Tertius at home, sick. That said, he's done three pages of curriculum work in his summer book, and helped me to empty and reload the dishwasher. I'm rewarding him with a documentary on Netflix now.

Here's how the fam-jam is doing:

Primus is in his second-to-last year of school, and the pressures of life are beginning to weigh heavily on him. He came out as bisexual last month, and I feel that we as a family have dealt with the news well, assuring him of our love and support. Things in that respect are going well, but we've known for some time that he is given to anxiousness and sadness, and that takes a toll. We hit a crisis point over the Labour Day weekend, and are now trying to figure out the new normal. These are completely uncharted waters we're wading into, and Hubby and I are hoping that we are making sound decisions, supporting Primus while still having clearly defined boundaries, and helping him to become a healthy, whole, and contributing member of society. I feel like we've somehow lost the sweet kid who loves and feels deeply, but we're working towards rebuilding trust and hope to come out on the other side stronger for what we're now coming up against. He excels academically, he's athletic and musical, and has a large circle of friends; he has a lot going for him. I love this kid like crazy, and desperately want him to know that with every fibre of his being.

Secunda is now the top grade on her middle school, thanks to a massive district-wide grade reconfiguration. Last year, she was new to the school, and this year, she's a peer leader, helping the two new grades to find their footing. She's really enjoying this opportunity, and I think that it will do wonders for her self-esteem. Over the summer, she had a crisis of conscience when asked to keep a secret that she felt was unhealthy. We helped her to work through it and come to terms with the first and best rule of secrets: if it harms you or someone else, it shouldn't be a secret, and you must tell an adult you trust. I am constantly blown away by how poised, articulate, and caring she is; I'm so proud to be her mother.

Tertius is now in Grade 4, and seems to be enjoying school more than in the previous two years. I can't help but feel like his elementary school experience has forever been coloured by the death of my father; Tertius' attendance began to be an issue around the time of Dad's final hospitalization and death, and he has seemed like he wants to avoid school. He adored my dad, and that love was returned in spades; his death hit Tertius hard, and he became a sadder, more quiet child as a result of the loss. He will still talk your ear off if you let him, but there is an undercurrent of melancholy that wasn't there before. I worry about him. That said, he is a generous and loving child, whose boisterous energy when he speaks on a favourite topic is somewhat infectious.

Quarta is now in Grade 3, and finally becoming a person in her own right. She has very clear likes and dislikes, and is my "Drama Llama". I am hoping that this is the year that she outgrows the temper tantrums over not getting her way. She is also a remarkably affectionate child, free with her hugs; I often spend the praise and worship portion of our church services holding her hand, or with her arms wrapped around me as we sing. She is learning how to knit and do cross stitch, and shows an interest in helping others.

Hubby got the best possible news this Labour Day weekend - he has finally successfully posted into a permanent teaching position in the district, which means that he no longer gets laid off at the end of June, clears out his classroom, and waits until the first week of July to see where - and what - he'll be teaching the following year. He is at the school he likes best (having taught in almost every single school in this district over the last 11 years), teaching subjects he loves at levels he loves. When he went through the interview process over and over in the spring, without a job posting, I told him not to worry, because his job was coming. This position is what he's always wanted, and I'm so very happy for him!


I am trying to establish more of a routine for myself this year, and that starts with remembering to do some self-care. And blogging is a part of that. I honestly feel more balanced when I blog, so it really needs to be a regular part of my week. I never work on a Monday or Tuesday, so I will work weekly blogging into the schedule for one of those two days. I'm working part-time for myself as a house cleaner, and have devoted this year to knitting only things for me and mine - nothing knitted for sale in 2018. I'm still taking commissions, but I'm being very selective about what I take on, to ensure that my family and I are warm and cozy, too. I spent most of the summer both working and teaching crafts to kids at the cultural centre again, and really enjoyed the work. I look forward to teaching again at Spring Break.

Well, that's us in a nutshell. I will try to come up with a topic to write about for next week. In the meantime, be well, be happy, and I'll see you on the flip side :)

Borked.

I am really beginning to feel my age. I am 45 years old. I have been an embroiderer since the age of 8, a knitter from the age of 14, and engage in a number of handcrafts that I've picked up over the years including (but not limited to) knitting, crochet, counted cross stitch, surface embroidery, blackwork embroidery, hand sewing, calligraphy and illumination, tablet weaving, and scrapbooking. I also play a few musical instruments. All of these require the use of my hands.

In my 20s, I developed tendinitis in both hands from working too hard trying to cross stitch too many Christmas gifts. I bought medical Lycra wrist supports to use when stitching, which helped to some extent. This was somewhat troubling, as it made me concerned for my hand health, and how it would impact my crafting long-term. When I was 26, I was assaulted in the workplace, and the aggressor bit me on the back of my hand. He broke the skin in 11 places, causing further damage to my right hand, and a really nasty infection (the human mouth is a disgusting place). I received a week of IV antibiotics, a few weeks off work to recover, and PTSD from the subsequent attempted assaults once I returned to my job. I blew out both carpal-tunnel nerves at 29 during childbirth; I had no feeling in my thumbs and first two fingers for 6 weeks, followed by painful tingling in those fingers for a further 6 weeks. This was both worrying and frustrating for me as a first-time parent, and further worrying to me as a crafter. I underwent hand physio twice, with limited results. I have hand fatigue, aching hands, and weak wrists.

In my 30s, I developed a ganglion on my wrist from hefting a faulty grocery cart, in an inconvenient location that prevents surgical remedy. I've had it lanced and drained twice, to no avail. There really isn't anything I can do to make this better.

Last year, after months of increasing pain, I was referred to an orthopædic specialist and was diagnosed with tennis elbow in both arms. This is as a result of my job cleaning houses; another repetitive stress injury. Now my arm up to and including my elbows are messed up. Really getting worried now.

Yesterday, my van got stuck in the snow while helping Secunda with her paper route. I ended up wrenching both shoulders pretty badly trying to push my van out of the spot we were stuck in, and further injured my elbow; I now get flashes of searing pain from mid-forearm to mid-bicep. It feels like someone is holding an acetylene torch to my arm.

 I try to mitigate these injuries by wearing wrist braces when I sleep to avoid waking up with numb hands; I wear the wrist braces and an elbow brace while working to allow me to function, and I use oral painkillers as a preventative measure, and also use more painkillers and topical analgesics to deal with the associated pain. But the pain is all day now. On the pain scale, I function daily at about a 4, with spikes up to 8 if I do silly things like press the buttons on the microwave with the wrong hand, or pick up a piece of paper, or try to hug my kids, or sit still. Or engage in any of my crafts, but I do it anyway, because *not* doing them makes me feel worse mentally and emotionally.

I clean houses for a living, and I think my job is breaking me. I can't *not* do my job, because my income is relied upon to support our family. I really don't know what to do.

Tea Time!

I love tea. And, it seems, I love collecting tea. We have well over two dozen different types of tea in our cupboard, and overflowing onto the counter and the shelves near the kettle. I am so much a creature of habit that I make the same kind of tea almost every day. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely ADORE my Dilmah - a single origin Ceylon tea with no tannic acid, meaning I can enjoy it any time of day without suffering from heartburn. Hubby's favourite tea is Earl Grey, and we also enjoy that regularly, as well as the cheap but very tasty Chai from Trader Joe's, but I keep going back to my Dilmah.

I have very thoughtful friends and family who have gifted us with interesting teas, herbal infusions, rooibos, green, matcha, and the like. But I drink three kinds of tea most of the time, leaving all of these other delightful varieties languishing on the shelf.

So I decided a few days ago that I was going to try a new tea every day or two. Here are my tea adventures so far...

Day One (December 30):

 Tea: Let It Snow
Source: David's Tea, from their tea advent calendar; sample given to me by the stellar J.
Type: Green, with cinnamon, clove, and custard
Remarks: This was a lovely, light tea, and it's one I would gladly drink again. Perfect for a stand-alone cup, or with cookies; I'd suggest sugar cookies or anything with an uncomplicated flavour profile.

Day Two (December 31):

Tea: Cardamom French Toast
Source: David's Tea, bought on sale
Type: Black, with cardamom, cane sugar, and cinnamon
Remarks: This was a truly delightful experience, and I would absolutely buy this tea again. I liken it to a dessert tea, and would enjoy a cup of it after a meal.

Day Three (January 1):

Tea: The Earl's Garden (currently out of stock)
Source: David's tea, bought in the summer
Type: Black, with marigold petals, strawberries, cornflower petals; strawberry and bergamot flavouring
Remarks: I love Earl Grey, so this was going to be a slam-dunk. It smelled heavenly! And it tasted lush! And it made my heartburn flare up, so I think when I drink this again - and I will - I'll brew it a minute or two less and see if that helps with the tannins.

I've been enjoying this foray into new and interesting teas, and I'm going to spend a bit of time sorting out which ones I'll try next.

See you in a few days!

Now Is The Summer Of Our Disorganization

Oh, have I fallen off the organization wagon.

This summer has been a combination of work, teaching, and trying to relax in the down time, along with spurts of madly tidying the living room, dining room and kitchen and scrubbing the bathroom before friends arrive to visit.

While I love having my family home during the summer, I have to admit that I'm really, REALLY ready for everyone to go back to school and for our home to slip back into a routine. My laundry day got completely derailed, and I'd like to not have to scramble to put a load of wash on so that I have underwear. Sorry if that's TMI, but that's reality at Geek Central.

I have taken the last two weeks off of work so that I could actually, legitimately relax, and while we took four days to travel 6 hours away to visit friends, and I did relax and enjoy that, I feel a bit at loose ends now that we're home. I want to get stuff done! I just want to kick everyone out for a day and get a bunch of stuff done, because painting the bathroom when five other people want to use it is not fun. I have a lovely, huge spice rack that was custom built for me, and that I painted, and it's just propped up against the kitchen wall where it's to be mounted because of stupid things like actually getting to the store for the drywall anchors and making the countersink pilot holes. I have the paint upstairs, waiting to put the second coat on the dining room and living room, but I can't move the bookshelf by myself. I really want to get the painting done, so that we can start enjoying life in our dream house the way we want it to look.

Oh yes, I had mentioned teaching. Have I told you about that?

I was asked to be an instructor at our local cultural centre for their kids' art camps, so I taught cross stitch for two weeks, blackwork embroidery for a week, and knitting for a week. Average class size was 5 students, except for the knitting class, which had TWELVE kids in it! The first three classes were really relaxed and enjoyable, but that week of knitting was a challenge!From students having crying jags in frustration, to students not bothering to try because they didn't do it perfectly the first time, to giving up on teaching them how to cast on, it really tested me as an instructor. But by the end of the week, most of the kids had a significant chunk of knitting completed to show their parents, and at least one of them had already gone out and bought knitting supplies to do more at home.  If even one child picks it up as a hobby, I consider it a resounding success :)

The day after the last class, we took off to visit our friends, and arrived home a week ago. There was a whole mess of birthday gatherings in the last week, as we celebrated my 45th birthday, as well as my in-laws' 45th anniversary, and my father-in-law's *mumblemumble*th birthday.

But enough about my summer of (relative) sloth; Hubby is ready to go get those drywall anchors, so it's back to work for me!

Feeling Crafty!

I've had something on the go, craft-wise, for as far back as I can remember the past couple of years. So here's what I've been working on:

Once More, With Feeling.

So very much has happened since my last post on here. And my heart can't bear to go through it all.

The good news is, shortly after my last post, we were given the opportunity to move to a much larger stand-alone house in a good neighborhood, and we made that move on October 1, 2016. On October 9, we hosted our families for Thanksgiving - minus my dad, who was too unwell to come over. A plate of food was packed up for him to enjoy. On October 10, my dad was admitted to hospital for the last time. Between our regular day-to-day busyness, and ferrying my mother to and from the hospital, and the added trips to the grocery store and pharmacy and wherever else my mother can no longer drive herself to, life swept us up and carried us along at breakneck speed, and this blog fell by the wayside.

We lost Dad on October 27th.

It's still hard as hell to write that.

With Dad's final illness hot on the heels of our move, unpacking was really the last thing on our minds, and blogging was the last thing on mine. Grief took over, and I made my family the priority, a decision I will never regret. I ended up being treated for hypertension, and it really shouldn't have surprised me that my blood pressure was through the roof, considering all that was going on.

I'm now almost 6 months out from that day, and I finally feel like I have my feet under me again. The blur of work/errands for Mumsy/kids' activities/church activities has slowed some, and we've settled into a better, less frenetic routine. And that means that I feel like I can start blogging again.

So, here we go again - once more, with feeling.

Getting A (Standing) Ablation

Yes, I know the title is spelled oddly. I'm not talking about getting applause; I'm talking about matters to do with my lady parts, so if you are squeamish, or don't want to read about my body's natural functions, this is your opportunity to step off the bus.

The State Of The Bee

So, I've been quiet for the best part of the month, but I haven't been idle.

The last two weeks of school are always a mad rush of field trips and fun days, classroom parties and child meltdowns as the realization hits that their entire routine is about to change drastically for the next 10 weeks. And this year has been no exception.

Primus had his last day of middle school classes on June 15. On June 16, I woke him up nice and early to accompany me to the intermediate sports day at the elementary school. It's not as bad as you're all thinking; there were a handful of his friends there as well, and he did a great job of busying himself lining kids up for their heats in the running races while I handed out ribbons. When I had to leave at recess to go to work, he stayed to set up and then run one of the stations for the kids (the "throw the football through this hoop" station). It was only after that was finished that he went over to a friend's house to hang out, and he was great about keeping me apprised of his location.

There were classroom parties, movies, ice cream parties (earned with classroom "money"), year-end hikes, assemblies, awards handed out (Secunda achieved 'A' honours for the year, and 'G' effort for the year; Primus achieved 'A' Honours for the year, and received the Grade 8 Band Award for excellence), and the requisite trip to the waterslides.

Hubby had the task of packing up his entire classroom (with the help of Primus one of the days), because while he is a continuing teacher in our district, he does not have his own contract. That means that every year, he gets "laid off" as it were on June 30, and waits for the phone call a few days later to find out what school, subject, and grade he'll be teaching come the fall. We've been fortunate that for the 6 years he's been on the lay-off/recall list, it's always been a full year of full-time teaching. He's actually got a decent shot at being at the same school next year, and possibly even teaching the same thing, so we are now waiting for that phone call.

Life on the home front hasn't been quiet, either. I've picked up a second cleaning client, this one weekly, and so I'm driving for half an hour each way to work there. It's a nice drive, and I don't mind it, and they have a lovely dog that only barks until she gets her biscuit :)

My parents have been having a time of it, however. My father was hospitalized for two weeks in February, and Mumsy has a laundry list of ailments, and all the requisite medications that treat them. They are in their 70s now, and I've really seen them go from vital middle-aged people, to elderly people, and it's been hard to see it, and to know how frustrating it must be for them.

Right now, we're dealing with my father's second hospitalization (four days so far), and my mother's bladder cancer diagnosis. So at the moment, I am not only working part-time and taking care of my own family, but also being Dad's legs and hands, and Mumsy's wheels, getting her to and from appointments and visits to Dad, washing up dishes, cleaning expired food out of the fridge, taking out the garbage, and when I can, doing housework to help them stay on top of things.

And it is exhausting me. Please don't misunderstand - I am so glad that I'm able to help. I liked having a quiet visit with my dad this morning while Mumsy had her CT scan downstairs. I don't mind taking Mumsy to the store, even if it means that it takes an hour longer than I anticipated. She so rarely gets out to the stores without feeling rushed by Dad, whose energy necessitates that trips out are quick and to the point. She and I love to troll the dollar stores :) But even though I am happy to do it, it still takes a toll.

I think the solution is to establish a schedule once Dad is home from the hospital. For one, we (being my brother and I) need to get our stuff out of storage in their house. We also need to help them downsize, because their home is WAY too much house for them. So we are wanting to help them prepare to put the house up for sale and move somewhere more suitable to their needs. And that needs some structure.

So, if you don't see me on here as often, this is why.

Of Frailty and Mortality

February was a medical roller coaster ride, one that I would most definitely not want to ride again.

February 1st dawned, a lovely sunny day. It was a Tuesday, and in the world of Busy Little Bee, that means Sanity. I picked up my friend T and brought her back to the house so we could grab a coffee before I dropped her at her dentist's appointment later that morning. Tertius and Quarta were both home sick, and played quietly in their room. As we sat chatting, I started feeling... funny. Not HAHA funny, but rather, somehow off in a way that I really couldn't describe. Within 10 minutes of the onset, I felt like I needed to put my head down, so I must have felt some sort of low-grade dizziness. Then I had to close my eyes, and I absolutely felt dizzy by that point.

I thought I was having a blood sugar issue, and my blood glucose tests seemed to bear that out, but when the nausea hit, and the clammy sweat began, and the falling sensation started, we knew I needed to get to a doctor. T called our friend A, and the three of us figured out a plan for getting T to the dentist, and me to the ER. I texted Hubby to let him know what was happening, and that I'd keep him updated.

When A arrived, I was sitting on the sofa with my head laying on the arm. We talked about her driving the kids and I to my parents' house, dropping the kids off there, then taking me to the hospital to get looked at. Once Tertius and Quarta's coats and shoes were on, she asked me if I could get up and into her car on my own, and that's when the world started moving out of my control. I sat up, then laid right back down again, on the other couch cushion, unable to stand. A took decisive action and called the ambulance, and I called Hubby in the middle of class to tell him the ambulance had been called - he only answered because he knew something was going on, and me calling would only be in an emergency.

The EMTs got there and did an assessment; the decision was made to transport me to the hospital. I had the chance to call the kids over and explain to them that Mummy was feeling very dizzy and sick, and that the nice men were going to take me to the hospital to help me feel better, and that A was taking them to stay with Granpa and Grandma while that happened. A put my shoes on and the EMTs helped me to stand, walk down the stairs, and get me onto the gurney (I felt like I was falling the whole time, and also like I was leaning horribly to the right). The wave of nausea crashed over me hard, and the dry retching started.

T got picked up, A bundled the kids into her car, and we were all off. I think the door got locked, and my purse was grabbed and put in A's car. The ambulance stayed parked at the end of the driveway for a few minutes while they got some Gravol into me and asked me some more questions. Then I went for the worst car ride of my life. If you ever feel dizzy and nauseous, please avoid driving anywhere.

It took a while to get into the ER proper, and the awesome EMTs stayed with me the whole time. Hubby arrived not long after I did, followed quickly by A. She stayed until I was safely tucked into the ER, and Hubby never left my side. The diagnosis was vertigo, brought on by a nasty viral infection. T kept in touch with Hubby to see how I was, and A went home and made soup for my whole family for dinner. Arrangements were made for my dad to pick the other kids up from school, and they hung out with G&G until I was discharged around 5, I think.

I was still not feeling well; having frequent dizzy spells and nausea. The prescription for vertigo meds was filled, and we headed over to my parents for rest and dinner. Hubby was only able to get a few spoons full of soup into me, so he popped out to the store for Powerade and the prescription. I was still getting hit with overwhelming waves of dizziness and nausea every time my head moved. Mumsy hated seeing me so powerless, and as she also has vertigo, she knew exactly how bad off I was. It was decided that I just couldn't make it back up the stairs that night, so we arranged for Uncle J to kid wrangle overnight, and Hubby and I would couch surf at the 'rents. My father has been experiencing increasingly poor health over the past two years, and his hemoglobin levels had slowly been declining, causing extreme fatigue for him. We've been very worried about his health, but his GP (who retired in December) just chalked it up to getting older.

And here is where I see the hand of God in all of this.

Because I was on the couch, I could hear my father labouring to breathe in his sleep, and his restlessness. Because I was on the couch, I heard my parents whispering at 6:50 AM, talking about how horribly he'd slept, and about the angina he'd been feeling all night. At that, I was wide awake, trying to sit up, and informed them that I was calling an ambulance. By God's grace, Dad didn't argue. Instead, he sighed and said, "Okay."

He spent the next 16 days in hospital, trying to build up his hemoglobin, and undergoing numerous tests to try to determine the cause (without much success, I might add).

It's one thing to come face-to-face with your own frailty, but quite another to be faced with your parent's mortality. I have watched my parents' health decline to the point that I worry for them almost daily.

This wasn't in the manual.

10 Day Writing Challenge - Day 9

* Note: These are all out of sequence, as I just found this draft. Mea culpa

Day Nine: Two smileys that describe your life right now (I will be substituting two emotions for the smileys, as I feel that emoticons are woefully inadequate for conveying mood) 

Resolve: I am resolved to get our house in a condition that  sparks creativity, induces peace and calm, and welcomes all visitors. I am resolved to make my health and well-being a priority. I am resolved to eat healthier, sleep better, and take a little bit of time each day to spend one-on-one with a family member, so that they know how important they are to me.

Contentment: I am content with my life choices, with where I am in this world.

Thanks for reading :)

10 Day Writing Challenge - Day 10

* Note: This was in my draft folder from almost two years ago, and it occurred to me that in not finishing it, I was not honouring myself or my readers with my truth. In posting this, I am doing just that; honouring myself with being open, and honouring you by giving you my authentic self. I have also notd that Day 9 was never published; this shall be rectified in short order.

Day 10: One Confession

This is, I think, the hardest post of the series. Not because I have such a vast collection of skeletons rattling in my closet, but rather, quite the opposite problem.

Oh, there are things about me that only a precious few know. Those things are private and the people who have that information are the ones that need to know it.

But by and large, I am an open book. I don't feel there is anything to be gained by trying to maintain an aura of mystery about myself; I present the real me to the world. If you like what I have to offer, that's wonderful, and if you don't like it, well, that's on you. Non simeus meus est.

So when it comes time for me to make a confession, I guess I have to confess that there isn't much to confess. Convoluted enough for you? Heh. Anyway...

Something that I've been largely keeping to myself and those very close to me is that I exhibit some of the markers for Asperger's syndrome, which is on the Autism spectrum. The only reason this even showed up on my radar is because of someone close to me.

Primus had been having difficulty with interpersonal relationships at school from the start, and our dear friend Uncle J, who shared a house with us at the time, and is himself an Aspie, mentioned that Primus was showing markers for it. We brushed it off for a number of years; and if I'm really being honest with myself, it's mainly because I didn't want to have what others might call a "special needs" child. An autistic child.

SO many years of societal programming, my own experience and observations with special needs kids in school - and how they were treated by other students, my decade of work as a special needs caregiver for adults and preschoolers combined to make me fearful to admit that my child wasn't perfect. But what the hell is perfect, anyway? Primus is remarkably intelligent, capable, musically inclined, and considerate (when allergies aren't interfering with his ability to think clearly). He does what's asked of him around the house with nary an eye-roll (something we really expect to see more of now that he's a teenager), and is wonderfully patient with Tertius and Secunda, despite the 7 and 8 year age gaps. He likes to cook, and still asks to spend one-on-one time with me. And he still hugs his parents.This kid is amazing.

It took Hubby and I about 3 years to really come around to the idea, and I'm glad we did, because SO MUCH of what perplexed us about his behaviour makes so much more sense now. And in learning this about him, it better equips me to help him find strategies to work around the few limitations that ASD presents. Hubby has had more trouble in finding (and understanding the need for) these "work-arounds" than I have; and one day, he looked at me and said, "Bee, I think you have markers for Asperger's." And he was right.

I joined an Aspie Adults group on the Book of Faces, and in reading these people's experiences, I saw so very much of myself in a lot of what they were saying. This gave me not only a deeper understanding of Primus, but perhaps more importantly, of myself.

So Primus comes by it honestly; some of it comes from me.

There's A Kind Of Hush

NB: Let me just say up front that I am also struck by the sheer irony of writing on my laptop about the overuse of electronics for publication on the internet. But I still think it's a conversation worth having.

We are in the middle of a windstorm right now, the kind that serves to make you feel like Judy Garland filming the great twister scene at the beginning of The Wizard of Oz, and makes brushing your hair completely pointless. And, as sometimes happens, things are blowing this way and that on the street, neighbors' belongings are tumbling into each others' yards, and the tops of the trees are bending in a way that we think happens only with a good CGI budget.

So it was really no surprise to me when we lost power. Actually, what surprised me was that within seconds, it was back on. The wind was still howling outside, and I could hear the branches of my rose bush slapping against the craft room window, and a pop can skittering across the road. But I also noticed something palpable; the quiet. Not because the kids aren't here, or that the kettle was suddenly not working the water up into a frenzy, but the hush of electronics; it was the sheer absence of sound that struck me. And it occurred to me that we have grown so accustomed to the sound of electronic devices that it has become part of our subconscious soundtrack for life, and I wonder how that has affected our brain function, our moods, and our interpersonal relations in the last 40 years. I know, deep thoughts of a suburban housewife and all that... ;)

I sat here for a few minutes, trying to hearken back to my childhood, and straining to remember what the ambient noise level was like in the home I shared with my parents and older brother. Now, remember, dear Reader, that I am a child of the 70s; I grew up as one of the first kids in my neighborhood with an Atari 2600, and a TRS-80. My dad loved being on the cusp of new, easily obtainable technology, so we were often the first house on the block to get the new shiny thing from Radio Shack (granted, the Atari was purchased from Simpson-Sears while on vacation in Honolulu, but that's another blog post entirely).

Imagining a summer day is the best, I think, as it eliminates my absence from the home for several hours to attend school, and gives a broader understanding of a typical day in the late 1970s.

I'd have woken up on my own, as I didn't yet have an alarm clock. I'd probably hear Mumsy in the kitchen, or perhaps putting a load of laundry on downstairs. Maybe she'd just be sitting quietly with a coffee, knitting or reading. That was the sum total of noise in the house. If we needed to do dishes, she would haul our nifty avocado green dishwasher across the kitchen and over to the sink to hook it up, and we'd hear the whir-swish-thump of it while we enjoyed having this hand-me-down modern convenience. I remember having chores, fishing sticklebacks out of the slough, and watching Mr. Yakishiro taking his dog, Fuji, for a walk - this largely consisted of him tying Fuji's leash to the handlebars of his bike and yelling, "Fuji, GO!". I remember playing street hockey and cops and robbers and freeze tag with the other kids on our street, trying to avoid the Fletcher boys, dressing up dolls with my friend Tracy from across the street, and writing and performing plays in our backyard, charging folks on our street 5¢ apiece for the privilege of watching the dreck we thought up, though in retrospect, the monster kidnapping story starring my brother as the monster (who won the role by virtue of the drawstring hood on his puffy winter coat, obscuring his face) was pretty good.

But I don't remember watching much TV; I do remember Sci-Fi Theatre, though I'm fuzzy on when it aired, but it was either on Saturday mornings, or Sunday afternoons, or both (KVOS-TV, airing out of Bellingham). I remember having 13 WHOLE CHANNELS, and having to walk over to the TV and turn the dial to change the channel, probably the job of most 70s kids in their houses. And I remember that most TV viewing was done in the evening. I also don't remember the stereo being on much outside of parties my parents would have. Oh, but there was this one time that my brother and I decided we wanted to have a sleepover in the rec room downstairs, and my dad (who had hooked up his Hi-Fi to speakers in the rec room) pulling out the microphone, turning the volume up to full, and doing his best evil mastermind laugh into it, sending my brother and I screaming up the stairs for him to save us - jerk :P

In thinking about it, I realise that there was a lot less noise present in our house when I was a child. And I have to wonder if this higher level of ambient noise is negatively impacting mood, attention spans, and how well we deal with others.

I think we, as a society, are less patient. We're all so focused on our own stuff - our job, our errands, our needs - that we no longer take the time to notice what's going on around us, or the people who are likewise trying to go about their day. We smile less, we speak to strangers less, we don't nod, and most certainly, if it infringes on our ability to get where we need to go and do what we need to do, we don't look at other people. That might invite them to engage us, and that would make us late. We can't have that. 

In the last few years, as I've noticed we leave the Wii and PS3 on 24/7 (it makes accessing Netflix SO much easier), I've noticed a decline in my ability to retain information, and to stay on track without resorting to making lists for everything from chores to outings, to reminders to eat and hydrate. I always had a very sharp mind, and now I seem to rely on these lists more and more, and feel increasingly scattered. Now, I realise that I'm in my 40s, and memory starts to go at a certain point, but this feels more pervasive than simply getting older. Our kids have a very basic set of jobs after school (put backpack away, get lunchbag out and pick snacks for the next day, do homework, do a household chore), and it is a daily struggle to keep them on track without having either a verbal or visual reminder for them. 

Primus has significant environmental allergies, his biggest allergens being grass and trees. I've asked him what it's like when his allergies are bugging him, and he likens the experience to having a low-grade buzzing in his head all the time. This results in him being terse, even grumpy, and he is given to being short-tempered for very little cause. Low-grade buzzing. Huh. Maybe there's something to that? I know that when I'm tired, or hungry, or otherwise not functioning within acceptable parameters, I get short-tempered, too. And I think the constant low-volume buzzing of electronics is exacerbating it. And if it's making it worse for me, could it be doing the same thing for everyone else?

So please, the next time you find yourself feeling fuzzy-headed or forgetful, or on edge for some unknown reason, stop for a moment and really notice what's going on around you. Are you hungry? Tired? Sore? Is there ambient noise you were previously unaware of? Is that noise actually bothering you after all? And if so, does turning it off make things better? I challenge you to try it, and let me know the results here.

A Little Something For Me

I have a really annoying habit.

I like to make things, and sometimes, I even like to make things for myself. I'll start the project, and generally, at some point, I come to realize that it's not for me after all. As a result, I don't have a lot of my own work.

With that in mind, I've started knitting a hat FOR MYSELF. No, I really mean it this time! It's a beautiful slouchy beret, called Elleby, designed by Teresa Cole. It has an openwork design that looks a bit like cabling, but without the cables. I'm finished the brim and the first repeat, and it's looking fabulous! Now, I'm only two days of knitting into it, but the variegated thread is looking very nice, and if it continues like this, there's no way anyone will get it, lest they pry it from my cold, dead hands.

MINE!

Teetering on the Precipice

Here it is, the Saturday evening before school begins anew, and I feel the muse pull at me, urging me to write down my thoughts.

This is my very favourite time of year, for many reasons. First and foremost, I love autumn. The crispness in the air, the smell of cold on the wind, the bright, sunny late summer days, the way the sun shines through the vividly coloured leaves as they gently drift to the ground. I love the crunch of dry leaves under my boots, the sweaters, the warm drinks, the rainy days that give me an excuse to curl up under a blanket on the couch, put on a much-loved movie, and create something with my hands. I love wrapping my hands around a warm drink, sitting down to a big bowl of stew with dumplings, or having the house cool enough to bake again. It's all about putting away the accoutrements of summer and pulling out the hand-knits and throw blankets; trading iced vanilla lattes for  steaming mugs of chai or apple cider; retiring shorts in favour of my fuzzy polar fleece pajama pants.

*sigh*

It also means that my beloved husband and children will return to the routine of school. I love this for a whole host of other reasons - the house becomes more calm during the day, I get more crafts done, and my home has a chance of staying clean for more than 30 minutes at a time.

This year is different for me, because my youngest, my baby, sweet little Quarta is starting her educational journey in earnest. She will start Kindergarten on Tuesday, and I find the feeling a little bittersweet; I am both eager to have the house to myself during the day, and unsure of how I will actually feel about it when it happens. Will I miss hearing her random, "Guess what Mummy? I love you!" throughout the day? Will I feel a twinge of sadness knowing I am alone in the house - well, alone as one can be when there are two cats living there? Will I be filled with pride for my littlest hobbit, watching her take those first real steps toward independence? I have a feeling that I'll be a mix of all of it, all jumbled together in a messy, tear-streamed, smiling package.

So bring it on, autumn - I'm ready for you.

The ABCs of Me - A is for Anxiety

A is for Anxiety, Part One

So, to start this blog series off, I'm just going to jump right into the deep end.

I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder in 1999. Here's what happened...

Sometime in late 1993, I began working as a residential caregiver in group homes. For the first five years, I worked with two clients, both relatively high functioning, and it was mostly one-on-one care. We had a really great staff team, and I found that I really loved the work. When that company folded in 1998, I moved over to my boss' other, larger company. I began working with a variety of adults and minors, in a number of settings, both residential and occupational, and on a broad spectrum of disabilities. It was the most rewarding work I had ever done. I was making a positive difference in the lives of others. In addition to it being a great job, it paid well, had benefits, and I liked my co-workers.

I had seen my share of violent behaviour in the workplace; I had a client threaten to self-harm with a large kitchen knife (it was an empty threat, but I disarmed him and locked up all implements that could be used for harm as a safety measure), almost got hit with a kettle full of boiling water (a co-worker took it in the back), been scratched, etc. This was just part of the job in some cases. Our company was pro-active and gave us yearly classes on non-violent crisis intervention, teaching us how to deal with and de-escalate behaviour, and if that didn’t work, how to get out of choke holds, limb holds, hair grabs, bites, how to use a violent client’s own kinetic energy to avoid injury, and how to properly subdue a client to restore calm. I felt confident that I could avoid serious injury in the workplace as a result.