Finding My Way

Note: This is a long, rambling post, that gives lot of history to get to a very short point. If you don't want to slog through it, just skip to the last two paragraphs.

I feel lost in my hobby.

I have been playing in our medieval hobby group for 17 years, and Hubby has been playing for 13 years. When I first started playing, it was on my own. I was married and had a toddler, but he didn't play (long story). Even so, between Primus staying home with his father and the help of friends minding him, I was able to do a lot of service, teaching, and art. And I had big dreams: to advance my art to the point that the people I look up to and admire in Society would find my artistry acceptable, and that the way in which I conduct myself and serve others would enrich this game we all play to the absolute highest standard. In the next few years, I had a second child, and my friends continued helping me to do everything that brought me joy. In early 2007, BD and I broke up, and several months later, I met and began dating Hubby.

Now that I had a partner that was an active participant in our hobby, the help with kids started to dry up. I'm not bitter about that; it was to be expected - we now had two active, involved, and engaged parents, and I didn't need as much help from others. Besides, everyone wants to hold a baby, but toddlers and preschoolers? Not really. After all, they want to be on the ground, running around! And then I got pregnant. We wanted four kids altogether, so this was the plan. During that pregnancy, I had the opportunity to serve in the largest capacity of my "career" in the group, in a key retinue position. I worked hard, and feel like I acquitted myself well, even with a new baby. One job blended into the next, and I took on an administrative role in our Principality. 16 months later, I had another baby, and I was a very active player until sometime in 2011, when I hit the proverbial wall. I had a "helium hand", and wanted to do as much as I could for as long as I could. I wasn't a good steward of my own resources, and as a result of that, I burned out - HARD. I no longer loved my hobby, so I took a hiatus of more or less two years.

In that time, Hubby took a brief break, then resumed playing. And I began to question my place in the group. Had I made an impact? Had the work I'd done made things better for everyone? Had my efforts in promoting courtesy resulted in a more courteous Society? I felt that there were no concrete answers to those questions, and as a result, it took me longer to come back to it than I had originally anticipated.

The collateral damage of taking a hiatus is that your "career path", for lack of a better term, tends to veer off the map into limbo. People forget who you are, what you did, that you ever did anything, or what you are capable of. And sometimes, you forget, too. In that stretch of time, I really feel like I lost touch with who I was within the greater context of Society. I was boiled down to "wife of" and "mother of", and didn't feel like an entity unto myself

I reluctantly returned, at least part-time, in 2013 because I could see how much Hubby wanted me to. My first event back was when he petitioned our local Baroness to be her Courtier. I wanted to be there to support him, but I wasn't really feeling it, and I spent a good part of the day feeling very isolated. And I know it was me isolating myself; people I hadn't seen in a year or two seemed happy to see me, but I felt nervous and shy. Hubby was playing much more actively than I was. He went to events that I didn't feel like going to, and sometimes, he went to events that we couldn't afford for both of us to go to. His arts mentor encouraged him to attend more and larger events, and these were also events that I did not attend, staying home with the kids so that he could follow his dream. I encouraged it, because he was still passionate about it. I was having a lot of difficulty rediscovering my passion, and I really needed to sit down and think about why that was. Over time, the thought of walking into an event where Hubby had a cadre of friends I didn't know became more and more daunting for this introvert. They certainly wouldn't know who I was, apart from "spouse of that Really Cool Dude Who Does The Neat Stuff"; would anybody know - or care - that I am an embroiderer, weaver, knitter, illuminator, archer? Or am I just support staff for the guy who is clearly on his way to a peerage? What would I do now?

My artistry was suffering. I had hardly picked up silk and needle, or brush and paint. Goodness knows, there isn't a lot of time in the day to create art when you have two kids in diapers. Serving for a year as Treasurer on our elementary school's PAC executive took time and energy, as did the day-to-day work of being a wife, mother, daughter, sister,friend and home-based business owner. I was exhausted. The strain that was placed on us every time Hubby entered a competition was difficult; his focus was singular, particularly in the few weeks leading up to the deadline for documentation, and then leading up to the competition itself. That singularity of purpose, often borne of procrastination and the resulting feeling of last-minute panic sometimes made him short with us, and the lion's share of the work of running and maintaining the home fell on my shoulders. The one saving grace was that he still did the bulk of the cooking - a thing that I appreciate to this day. But it was hard, and I admit that I bristled inwardly each time he announced that he was entering a competition, because I didn't feel like he considered the impact it had on everyone else in the house. It took a lot of difficult talks for him to understand that instead of announcing that he was entering a competition, talking it over with me *before* making a decision was going to go over a lot better, and result in a more supportive and encouraging spouse.

I fully came back to the hobby when I was ready. I missed eventing, and I really missed the people. I missed creating. I missed serving. Most of all, I missed the me that I was when I was doing all of those things. But by the time I came back, my path was untended, and I didn't know how to cut away the overgrowth; how to stand up and allow myself to be seen. Hubby had this whole new group of friends with common interests, and I felt very much not a part of his SCA journey. And I started to feel forgotten. Resentment crept in, which is a horrible thing, because I was truly happy for his progress. But I felt like I had sacrificed my own path in order to secure his. And really, that's exactly what I had done.

I spent seven years feeling like that. So we spent some time talking about that, and getting on the same page.

This past March, just ahead of the shutdown of so many things due to COVID-19, Hubby was recognized as a Peer of the Realm. He had achieved what he had worked so hard for - recognition of his scholarship, his intelligence and his talent. And I was there, right behind him, as I always have been; I saw the look on his face when he realized what was happening, the look of pride on his mentor's face as she called him up, and proceeded to both beam and weep throughout his elevation, the looks of joy, respect, and admiration on the faces of his peers, and the look of delight on the faces of our King and Queen as they bestowed this accolade on him. The Queen was gracious in indicating that Hubby should hug me first before being embraced by his peers, but there was still a part of me that felt very much on the outside of things. He is the first to introduce me to his friends, and to try to include me in conversations with them, but invariably, the topic turns to something I know nothing about, and I get quiet and withdrawn. I still feel very much like I exist on the periphery of his world. The pandemic shut our Kingdom down the day after his elevation, so the isolation and lack of eventing that has ensued has only served to magnify those feelings of disconnect for me.

Where does that leave me? I have spent some time considering not only what I want to pour into my hobby, but also what I need to get from doing so to maintain balance and not spiral into another burnout. I need to figure out who I am in Society now, and who I want to be moving forward. I don't want to spend my days as only "spouse of Peer X"; I want to distinguish myself and be seen as a valuable member of Society in my own right.

So how do I do that?

I'm figuring it out, and I've got a lot going for me. I have the good fortune to be surrounded by beloved friends, truly the family of my heart, that are invested in my happiness and success. I get really sound advice from people I trust implicitly. I have been asked to assume leadership of a large project by a Peer that I adore and admire, that feels I am that perfectly suited for the task. It marries both artistry and service. I am also on a team of people tackling another large project.  Hubby has told me that he's ready to support me on my journey. I think most importantly, I am embarking on a new path, with a new service mentor whom I admire and respect greatly. I have set myself short-, mid-, and long-range plans for both my artistry and service that will allow me to focus my energy on the things that really bring me joy, and I'm learning where the edges of my resources are, so that I'm never pushing the envelope again.

I chose the elements of my personal heraldry when I first joined based on my interests at the time and personal preferences, but the heraldic meaning of it is so much more meaningful now: well-governed industry. So my intention is to ensure that my industry is always well-governed, that I am not taking on too much and risking burnout again, and that I am pouring my energy into activities that always bring me joy. Because if you're not finding joy in your hobby, why are you doing it?

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.

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.

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.

My Heart Goes All A-Clutter

I'm a lazy housekeeper. I have been all my life.

I'm not one of those naturally organized people; you know, the ones whose houses are picture-perfect at all times? I'm not even tidy-inclined, like those folks who can have the house company-ready in under 10 minutes. I'm lazy. I wish there was a magic wand that I could wave to instantly take my home from the near-disaster it often exists in to spotless in a flash of light.

And so I have had to teach myself tricks to get my home clean, and try to keep it that way. And tricks to remember DAILY to implement those tricks to get and try to keep my home clean. And tricks to remind myself to implement the tricks that help me remember to implement the tricks to get and try to keep my home clean. Are you noticing a pattern here?

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.

Life in the Sick House

What a month! Here I am, trying to write something pithy and relevant with three kids home sick, and the accompanying chorus of sniffles, phlegmy coughs and bickering over the tablet usage (carefully metered out by me).

It seems that at some point for the last five weeks, someone has been sick every day. When you stop to think about it, we've got 5 people in three different schools, so I suppose the odds of one of them bringing home a virus are pretty high. But this has created an awful cycle of infection, mutation and re-infection that has Tertius and Quarta missing their fourth day of school in a row, and has even laid out Secunda, who would rather eat lava than miss school. It's even affected Primus, who normally has Wolverine-like restorative powers*.

Through almost all of it, Hubby has been trucking along, working all but one day where he really hit the wall and took a day to rest. The tricky part of his job is, you kind of need to be a bit psychic: to know far enough in advance that you're feeling sick enough to miss a day so that you can write up TOC (Teacher On Call) notes for the person filling in for you, ensure the resources are prepped, and have it ready for them at the school office, or on your desk for the following day. What often ends up happening is that Hubby works on the day he feels the worst, spending extra time after school prepping for the TOC before he can come home and collapse into bed, exhausted. On top of that, taking more than one sick day at a time can negatively impact his lesson plans, putting the students behind where they should be. In a semestered school, this has even more impact. This does not exactly set him up to get better quickly; rather, it puts him into a position of going back to work before he actually feels better, and having a further compromised immune system to work with. The end result is that he is more susceptible to subsequent viruses, and functions at a low-grade sick level with periodic flare-ups for the rest of the winter.

The kids are snot factories, coughing without a care for where their little "sick particles" land. I feel like I'm constantly reminding them to cover their coughs and sneezes; the words, "Please don't cough into my face/tea/food" are uttered more than I'd like.

And me? I've been sick this whole time. Low-grade, not bad enough for cold meds for most of it, but in the last 5 weeks, I've had what bordered on an ear infection, swollen glands and lymph nodes, laryngitis, impacted sinuses, and most recently, blisters on the back of my throat. Unrelated, I've also been having bad flare-ups of the tendonitis in both wrists, what feels like arthritis pain in both hands, neck and shoulder strain, and a pinched sciatic nerve on one side.

I'm so ready for this to be over. I have big plans for de-cluttering our house, setting up new furniture pieces, reorganizing the master bedroom, and painting the bathroom.




* I swear, this kid gets a sniffle, sleeps for 18 hours straight, and he's fit as a fiddle!

Making The World A Little More Compassionate

I finally feel like I'm on the other side of what has been one of the most stressful times in my life; the strike/lockout of BC teachers, stalled negotiations, and the absolute financial uncertainty that goes along with it. As a result of it, and other situations I've experienced in my nearly 43 years on this planet, perhaps I've become a little hyper-aware of when people are going through emotional difficulties. Either that, or it's happening way more than before.

Of late, I've been noticing an alarming number of friends on my Facebook newsfeed sharing their troubles online. Let me clarify; I am not alarmed that they are sharing their troubles, but I *am* alarmed by just how many people seem to be facing hardship right now. And it's not just money. These beloved friends are laying themselves open and sharing their feelings of anxiety and depression. And it breaks my heart to see them going through that. I want to help, and I feel like I'm in a unique position to do so. I should explain...

Right in the Feels

Not sure if it was the sentimental tone of Call the Midwife tonight, or that I'm traversing the last week of BC pills this cycle, or that when my hand slid down the month of June on my new calendar as I wrote in peoples' birthdays, that it rested for a moment on June 29th, my Bumma's (grandma) birthday and I remembered that it's coming up to 10 years since I needed to write it down; for whatever reason, I'm feeling very emotional tonight, and I can't quite put my finger on it. And I'm sitting here, swiping absently at the errant tears slipping down my cheeks as I try to see straight enough to write this. And then the oddest thought pops into my head - that if my high school English teacher were to read this, she'd have to fight hard not to chastise me for my atrocious syntax.

I think that it might be my mind's way of steering me away from feeling all the feels, and gently guiding me back to a more comfortable place, the place where a wry smile, a shrug of the shoulders and a little laugh, along with a cup of tea make whatever weighs on me just that little bit easier to shoulder.

I don't know why it is that I'm trying to hold this in check, to keep the quaver out of my voice when talking to Rick so he doesn't spend the next 20 minutes trying to coax what's wrong out of me, because I don't think I need long hugs, or to wallow, or anything like that. I honestly don't know why I feel sad tonight, and that's okay.

Looking forward to a brighter day tomorrow.

Cautiously Optimistic

I couldn't sleep on Monday night. Twice, I ran the battery down on my phone, checking for updates on the bargaining between the BCTF and BCPSEA. I had been experiencing some stomach discomfort, but I chalked it up to too much garlic in our dinner. Then the excruciatingly painful cramps started and I knew I was in the grips of a full-on colitis attack.This doesn't happen too often for me, thankfully. It is only in times of major stress that it rears its ugly head and renders me a whimpering blob of flesh, rocking incessantly back and forth, trying to self-soothe. 

And then the song starts. 

I blame it all on Amaz-Aine (name bungled to protect the individual). See, she made me a CD a few years back, and its my kids' favourite thing to listen to in the car. The first half of the album is Great Big Sea songs, but it's the second half of the album that has them so captivated. She knows me so well, and gave me a bunch of Arrogant Worms songs to enjoy. On this particular disc is a catchy little jazz number, called "IBS" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sc6m0fqUzds&index=4&list=PLgX4Lji6mCw8OzgBrFJykd-ysqRikMw-t). Yes, whenever I have a colitis attack, I now have to suffer the further indignity of having this ear-worm stuck in my head until the colitis has worked through my system, typically, 24 hours or so. I suppose it helps to pass the time...

Anyway, all of this is to illustrate for you, dear reader, what the government's strike against teachers is doing to people. I'm not even a teacher, but I am married to one, and the stress of not knowing where rent was going to come from, combined with trying to be the taskmaster for the kids (teachers have earned even MORE of my respect for their phenomenal classroom management skills), keeping up with the housework and being a support to Hubby have taken their toll. And Monday night, I hit the wall.

And so it was that I was up in the middle of the night, in the throes of another round of "ohpleaseletmejustdiesothispainwillstop" when I refreshed my phone's Facebook app and saw that a tentative deal had been reached.

Colour me cautiously optimistic.

I knew that the BCTF would not let E80 stay in the language of the agreement, so I figured it was probably a good deal, or at least, as good a deal as the BCTF were ever going to get out of this government. And while I forsee this being ratified, I don't for a moment think that the BC Liberals have backed down from their plan to dismantle public education in BC.

As the wife of a teacher, and the friend of so many others, I can assure you that teachers want to be in the classroom as soon as is feasible.

This strike was not about pay raises, as the government would have you believe; it was about something far more fundamental - it has been about protecting the constitutional rights of teachers, and the charter freedoms of children. It was about preserving public education to prevent the ever-growing chasm of haves and have-nots. Teachers took an enormous financial hit to stand up for the right of BC children to receive the education that the Charter of Rights promises them. And it took an immeasurable emotional and mental toll on them all to do it.

I expect that these excellent men and women will need continued understanding and support, even encouragement, to move past such a fractious time and refocus their considerable energies on what they truly love: educating our children. So when you have the opportunity, hug a teacher and say thank you. I know I will.

The Power of One - New Month, New Habits

Greetings, friends!

It is now May, and as such, it is time to explore what new good habits I will engage in, as well as what bad ones I will drop.

So far, I've been doing pretty well with eating five times a day, drinking more water, and removing white bread from my diet (I've had one "white bread" sandwich in the last month, and one that was whole grain white). I'm finding that I really don't miss white bread, even for my PB&J. So now, it's time to add a new habit.

May's good habit is brushing my teeth first thing in the morning. Let's be clear - I brush my teeth, at least twice a day. But I will often wait until I've eaten breakfast to do it in the morning. It's all part and parcel of my mild (self-diagnosed) OCD; why brush your teeth if you're just going t get them dirty right away? So while this one isn't necessarily a health habit, it is a wellness one. By brushing my teeth when I first get up, I am making sure that Hubby's first kiss of the morning is as nice as it can be. I mean, who enjoys morning breath, amiright?

The habit I'm dropping is cutting out snacking after 10 PM. Hubby and I are in a terrible habit of late-night snacking, mostly carb-based (crackers and Boursin cheese, anyone?), and definitely not good for me. So, from today, I will stop eating by 10 PM each night.

I'll be checking in with updates throughout the month :)

The Power of One - Eating Regularly

So, here's my update so far:

I decided that the best and smartest thing I could do was to set my body up to work at peak efficiency. To that end, I need to treat myself as if I'm already diabetic. In order to optimize my blood sugar, I need to eat every three to four hours. So that's what I'm focusing on this month.

It's not just eating five times a day, though; what I eat is just as important. And so, I'm also trying to introduce more protein to my diet. I ensure that I get that first thing in the morning, either via yogurt, cheese or eggs. Protein at least twice a day, reduce my white bread intake to virtually nil (replaced it with sprouted grain bread from Silver Hills (http://www.silverhillsbakery.ca/)  and increase my water intake to at least two litres per day. Those are my add and take away items for the next few weeks, and then it's time to add more into the mix. I'll keep you posted!

What one thing would you add or take away from your lifestyle to improve your overall health?

Next from Busy Little Bee: Seattle Adventures!

The Power of One

I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about my body. Which is not to say I've been oblivious to it up to this point, or that I'm conceited or obsessed with it, but allow me to explain.

I got my first taste of my own mortality on my father's 49th birthday. That was the day of his heart attack. I know, it really should have been my father's lesson, and it was to some extent, but I also took something away from it, and here's what it was: Life is fleeting. Our bodies are not indestructible. Things break and stop working well and if you don't take care of the body you're given, you get sick, or worse, die.

Now, at the ripe old age of 22, the lesson didn't really stick. I still ate whatever I wanted, drank socially and deliberate exercise was nonexistent. I have a family history of diabetes and heart disease, and cancer. I should really know better. So should we all. But we go blithely along, stuffing our bodies full of crap because it tastes good, or it feels good, or we don't think that eating it will have a lasting impact on our health. Every time. And every day, we make choices to drive rather than walk, to find the closest parking spot (and waste time looking for it), to shrug off the idea of a walk after dinner because, well, just look at those clouds! The dog languishes on his bed, getting tubbier by the day, and we silence the voice that admonishes us to get off our increasingly large butts and move. I always told myself - and others - that I would start getting regular check-ups at 40, that I would more closely monitor my blood sugar, that I would eat better and exercise more. Because 40 is when you actually have to start taking your health seriously, right? Right?

I am now teetering on the precipice of 42. I've had exactly one blood panel done, which told me what I already know; diabetes is a "when", not an "if" for me. I am otherwise pretty healthy, or at least my blood is. My weight has fluctuated over the last 15 years, but I am currently enjoying being within the healthy range for my height and frame size, and have mostly done so for the last 3 years, on and off. But I've had four children, and my body has changed. I have a harder time losing weight, I have less elasticity, and my midsection really really likes to hold onto fat. This old bod just doesn't bounce back the way it used to. And so, I need to get it into the shape I want to be in for the rest of my life.

This is where The Power of One comes in.

In order for me to achieve buy-in from myself, I need to be able to stick with it. And for me, that means taking small steps. I want to effect permanent change for my life, and to do that, I'm going to do the following:

1) Add one healthy thing to my life each month. This can be anything that increases my health and wellness, from committing to taking a daily vitamin, to meditation, to an exercise regime, to a piece of good quality chocolate a day.

2) Take away one unhealthy thing per month. This can be anything that negatively impacts my health and wellness, from culling my Facebook friends list, to reducing my simple carb intake, to not eating that double Mars bar.

So, who's with me?