Marriage is like Star Wars ...

Last month my little family travelled to Winnipeg to celebrate Nikki and Orry's wedding.  We spent four days driving and only three days in the city -  but it was worth it!  Nikki and I  typically only see each other once a year since she moved to Winnipeg right after Nathan and I got married.  We Facebook multiple times a day, Skype every couple of weeks, talk on the phone, and send letters back and forth, but nothing beats being with your best friend, even if it is only a quick visit!

This is my Toast to the Bride.

"I’m the matron of honour, and I get the honour of letting everybody know how lucky Orry is to be married to my best friend. I’m sure he already knows most of this, but sometimes it’s good to have a reminder!

I met Nikki ten years ago, when we worked together at Brightwood Ranch. I remember the first time I saw Nikki: She was a few days late for staff training because she was still in high school and had to finish classes. She got out of her mom’s can and I remember thinking “She’s on staff?!?” She had blue hair and this high-pitched giggle and she was younger than some of our campers!

Nikki – or ‘Lil Blue, as we called her – and I were both wranglers and we worked pretty closely together that summer. It didn’t take more than a day of working with her for me to realize that Nikki may have been the youngest, but she was also probably the hardest working member of the entire staff. She would be up at 5:30 or so (usually because I had stuck my alarm under her pillow ...)  at the barn, saddling horses, then rushing back to the café to serve breakfast. She would eat as quickly as she could, then head back to the barn for a full day of work. After that it was time to serve dinner – then participate in evening games, sometimes deal with unruly campers or runaways … I was 21, used to being up all hours of the night – and I was exhausted. But Nikki? She was always bright and cheerful. Well, maybe not before breakfast … If something needed to be done, we could count on Nikki.

She was also one of the friendliest on staff. I moved to Alberta from New Brunswick to work at Brightwood so I didn’t know anybody outside of camp. Nikki was the first to invite me to stay at her house for the weekend – the first to include me as part of her family. Since that summer, Nikki hasn’t only been one of my best friends – she’s been my little sister.

And like a little sister, she hasn’t always listened to my sage advice. I remember one weekend that first summer, we were getting ready for church when Nikki realized all of her jeans were dirty. She was going to wear them anyway but I suggested it might not be such a good idea to wear jeans that smelled like horse manure to church and offered to loan her one of my skirts. She put it on – then pulled on her poo-covered boots and marched outside to get in the car. I think she lasted all of 27 seconds before she changed her mind – hitched up that skirt, and kicked the door open to go back inside and change into her smelly jeans.   I don’t think anybody noticed – that was probably the summer a couple of the boys were trying to grow mold on their jeans.

The first time Nikki mentioned Orry in a brief message on Facebook, I suspected he might be the one. It didn’t hurt that he sent me a private message himself shortly after they started dating, introducing himself. When Nikki brought him home for a visit a few months later, I hoped he would be the one. I saw the way he looked at her, the gentle way he put his hand on her back, how he reached for her hand as soon as he sat down on the couch, the way he listened when she spoke. After they left, I sent Nikki a message, something along the lines of “I like him. Hold on to this one!”

I’m glad she listened.

I want you to know that I am so very proud of both you and Orry, and I am truly blessed to be your friend. But I feel like I would be failing in my duties as a friend – as a big sister, if you will! – if I didn’t give you something to think about.

Marriage is sort of like Star Wars. In the world of Star Wars you have the good guys (Luke and Yoda, who are the Jedi together with the Rebellion), and you have the bad guys (Darth Vader and the emperor who make up what is known as the Sith, or the Empire.) Most of you probably think I’m going to talk about the good guys and how they use the Force and they work together to bring freedom to the galaxy. While all that is true, I’m here to talk about the bad guys. The bad guys (the Sith) have a rule called The Rule of Two. The entire premise of this rule is that there will only ever be two, never more, and they are both guided by the force. They followed this rule for about 1000 years – because they found that if there were more, there was more opportunity for fighting and disagreements. The whole point of the Rule of Two was to keep the Sith strong.

What does this have to do with marriage, you ask?

Well, marriage is like the Rule of Two. You have the husband and the wife in a lifelong relationship who must rely on each other to ensure that the marriage remains strong. As the Sith were so committed to this rule, being completely sold on this rule for hundreds of years, it is equally important for you two to be completely committed to each other – if not for hundreds of years, then at least for your lifetime.

And with that, I invite you to raise your glasses with me to toast Nikki. May the force be with you."

10 Year Albertaversary

"Well?" he said, waiting for an answer.  "What are you going to do?"

We were sitting in his office - him, leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk, me, in the swivel chair across from him with my feet tucked beneath me, spinning myself around and around and around as I tried to make a decision.

I had been planning the cross country move for more than a decade.   I attended university after high school like my parents wanted, even earning a "sensible degree" in economics - but my passion had always been horses.  The deal was that if I graduated from university, my parents would support me in whatever I chose to do next - even if that meant moving 3000 miles away to study horses at the best school of its kind in the country.

Hours earlier I had received a letter from that school informing me that I had been wait listed.  They allowed ten students into the English Horsemanship program and I was unlucky number eleven.  A month before I had flown across the country to tour the school and perform a riding test.  I made one mistake - picking up the wrong canter lead and not correcting it quickly enough - and I was done.  "You're welcome to try again next year!" the letter said.

What was I going to do? 

"I'm going to go anyway!" I finally said, surprising even myself with the boldness of the statement.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Seriously." I reached out to stop the spinning chair.  "I mean, it's now or never, right?"

"Well, if that's what you want to do ..." I could tell he wasn't sure.  I don't have a history of courage, by any means, and the thought of me, moving across the country to a place where I didn't know anybody, had no place to live, and had no job lined up must have seemed a little bit silly.  But I was sure.

Three months later he dropped me off at the airport with a crushing hug and a promise to keep in touch, and  I stepped onto a plane with two suitcases crammed full of my worldly possessions.

* * * 

If there's anything I've learned over the past ten years, it's that courage produces more courage.  On that day, in that moment - I was terrified.  I had no idea if I was doing the right thing.  I had no guarantees, no real plan for the future - but I did it anyway.

And when I look at my  life now - an entire decade later - I can't help but think that I became the woman I did because I took that first brave step.

Because for me, it was more than a cross country move:

It was a conscious decision to cut ties with the past,

And it was me choosing to chase my dreams even though it clearly wasn't going to be easy.

* * * 

Spoiler alert:  I'm not an Olympic equestrian.  I'm not much of an equestrian at all, at this point in my life.

But it all worked out.  It always does, doesn't it?

I'm not where I thought I would be, ten years ago,  I'm somewhere better.

* * * 

So here's to the big decisions.

Here's to the frightening moments.

Here's to the times where you trust yourself, and you trust God - and you do it anyway.

Onward and Upward

As if last week wasn't emotional enough, on Saturday we celebrated Topher's graduation from preschool.  There was cake and ice cream, two bouncy houses - and surprisingly few tears, thanks in large part to this post by Melanie Dale.

I will miss Topher's days as a preschooler.

I'll miss the silly game we played every morning, trying to get his shoes on the right feet.  I'll miss the way he scrambled to his feet the second his teacher walked into the room and his mad dash to her chair so he could be first in line to get his letter.  I'll miss his "One more hug and kiss, Mommy!" and the way he tackled little Ellie to the ground to give her hers.  I'll miss chatting with the other moms in the hallway outside the classroom, and I'll miss Topher sending his lunchbox down the railing on the wall for one of his friends to catch.  I'll miss the guessing games - "Guess who had Show and Tell today, Mommy?  You'll never guess!"  followed by "Guess what he brought!"  when I finally get it right.

I will miss Topher's days as a preschooler, but at the same time, I'm looking ahead.  Onward and upward, I say!

My Neighbourhood #EPSStrong

The more Nathan and I have talked about moving over the past few months, the more I've wanted to stay in our little neighbourhood.

It's home.

Sure, our neighbours are a little kooky, and I hate the way our entire building smells like pot from March through October.  Some of the kids Topher meets in the park use words I don't appreciate and I would never dream of taking a walk by myself after dark - but then again, the same is true of any neighbourhood in the city.

What sets our neighbourhood apart is the people.  

Our neighbourhood is a community in every sense of the word.  When the kids and I are outside we're typically stopped at least three times by neighbours talking to the kids or asking how my day is or wanting to pat the dog.  Ellie gets her cheeks pinched by one particular lady every single time they meet but she still races toward her with a huge grin, yelling "HI!" at the top of her lungs and flapping both arms excitedly to greet her friend.

I took the kids for a walk this morning.  It was a morning like any other morning - except that it wasn't.

This morning our street is lined with blue ribbons to honour Const. Daniel Woodall, a member of the Edmonton Police Service , who was killed in the line of duty on Monday night.

He was killed protecting us.

Our neighbourhood has never felt more like a community.  I've been amazed at the outpouring of support - for each other, after the frightening ordeal we all went through on Monday night, but more so for the Edmonton Police Service.  The investigation was ongoing throughout  the day yesterday and every time I was outside I could see  people walking through the area, reaching out to shake the hands of officers to offer their condolences, their support, and to say thank you.

In our neighbourhood - in our city - we honour a man, a husband, a father, a son:  Const. Daniel Woodall.

Hold your loved ones close.  It can all change in the blink of an eye.  I am sending thoughts and prayers of strength, comfort and peace for those affected by this tragedy.

A Letter for Cindy

'm not exaggerating when I say that I spent more time at the barn than at home when I was growing up.  Some days it felt like the barn was my home.

My mom was in and out of the hospital  when I was a kid.  She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder shortly after I was born, then with schizophrenia when I was a teenager. She was a different person each time she was released from the hospital:  There were some aspects of the Mom I remembered, but it was like getting to know an entirely new person.

I love my mom, and over the years we have been able to develop a close relationship - but when I was growing up, the woman who taught me about life wasn't my mom, it was Cindy.

This letter is for her.

Dear Cindy: 

You taught me how to ride a horse, but over the years you've taught me so much more than that.

You taught me to put others first.

You taught me that having fun is more important than bringing home ribbons.

You taught me that words of encouragement go a long way.

You taught me that kids come first.

You taught me that sometimes distraction is the best way to get through hard times - and that's okay.

You taught me that what's in the past is in the past; to cheer for others and be happy for them even when they're hurt you.

You taught me responsibility.

You taught me that details matter.

You taught me to stand up for myself.

You taught  me to treat others with kindness and respect.

You taught me to be positive.

You taught me to work hard for what I want, that dreams may take time but they're worth it.

You taught me to let a horse be a horse. 

You taught me to be myself.

I don't know if you realize what an impact you've had on my life.   My mom was in and out of the hospital when I was young, so you became my role model.

It may have been a long time ago, and I may live thousands of miles away, with a family of my own - but I'm the woman I am today - the mother I am today - because of you.

Thank you.

Happy Mother's Day!

Goats and Growing Up

Yesterday was busy, as Sundays typically are in our household.  We had to be at church early for Topher's preschool concert, then rushed home to call our realtor to request a second look at the absolutely perfect house we toured on Saturday.   Both kids have been sick all week so there was an extra dose of grumpiness and whining thrown into the mix.  I really wanted to put together a quick lunch and tuck both kids in for much needed naps (so I could nap myself!) - but then I glanced over at the couch.  Topher was curled up under his blankie, watching Special Agent Oso and sucking his fingers.

I remember when we used to swaddle him in that blanket - now that he's almost five, his feet stick out and get cold unless he wears socks!  He has the same blankie, the same special stuffies, and gets the same comfort from sucking his index and middle finger -  but in his mind, he's all grown up.

"Hey, buddy," I called into the living room.  "Wanna go on a date?"

We started the tradition of regular Mommy and Topher dates two days after Ellie was born.  She was getting so much one on one time with me that I worried he would feel neglected.  Sometimes we go to Waves and order Belgian hot chocolates and pastries, sometimes we take the dog for a long walk, sometimes we wander the mall and tell knock-knock jokes.  It doesn't really seem to matter to Topher what we do, as long as it's just the two of us.

He threw his babies to the ground and leapt off the couch.  "Now?  Can we go now?"

Why the heck not?

We put on our sunscreen and our sneakers and headed out the door while Ellie climbed into  Nathan's lap to watch hockey.

We had no sooner set foot on the sidewalk than Topher reached up to hold my hand.  "Where are we going on our hot date, Mommy?"

I squeezed his hand.  "How about the farmer's market?"

He wrinkled his nose.  "Do they have bouncy castles?"

"They might today."

"Okay!  Let's go!"  He skipped beside me, chatting the entire way.  "Is that an owl?  I like owls.  Wow, did you see that ant?  I think ants are beautiful, Mommy.  Why do they call them dandelions?  They're yellow like lions but they don't roar!"

The first thing we saw as we entered the market was the bouncy castle.  Of course.  Topher wouldn't budge until he'd had a turn, so we waited in line while the attendant let five kids go in at a time for as long as they wanted.  I'm glad I was wearing comfortable sneakers!  Topher bounced and fell and squealed in delight - until he noticed the petting zoo.

"Can we go, Mommy? Can we? Can we?" He scrambled out of the castle and dove for his shoes.

The petting zoo was packed but Topher had one goal: "I want to hold something, Mommy!"

"Do you mean like a rabbit?" I asked, reaching for the fluffy brown furball under the chair he was sitting on.  "We-ell ... okay.  But I really want to hold one of those."

I looked where he was pointing, expecting to see a puppy or a kitten or something equally cuddly.

But no.

It was a goat.  

I didn't think that was such a good idea but one of the attendants plopped the thing on Topher's lap - and it actually seemed quite content to sit there!  Topher wrapped his arms around his new friend and gave it a big kiss on its hairy little head.  "Ooh,  you're such a cute little goaty goat!  I just love you!  Aren't you just the cutest little thing?"

Clearly he's heard me talk to puppies.

He gave that goat some serious snuggles before it got bored and jumped off his lap.   His lower lip was staring to quiver ("Mommy!  The goat doesn't love me anymore!")  but two of his friends from school showed up at just the right time!

As a mom who works from home, I'm with my kids all day, every day.  When Topher whines for me to spend time with him, my first instinct is to say "I spend time with you ALL THE TIME."  What more do you need, child?  But it's become increasingly clear that one of Topher's love languages is quality time.  Mommy and Topher dates are the highlight of his week!

But the truth is, sometimes I don't feel like going out.  Sometimes I have work to do, or things to get done around the house - sometimes I really just want to take a nap!  But yesterday I was reminded that it really doesn't take much effort on my part to make a huge impact on my little man.  (Seriously, give him a castle to bounce in and a goat to cuddle and his day is made!)

And last night it hit me:  It won't be long before he'll be reaching for a different girl's hand, squeezing it three times to say "I. Love. You." And it won't be long before that lower lip will start quivering - over a girl instead of a goat.

In his mind, he's already all grown up - but it won't be long before that's the reality.

I wish he could stay little forever.

Then and Now

April 6, 2007 was the last time I was excited about doing laundry.  My housemates were gone so I had the washer and dryer all to myself and Season 2 of the Gilmore Girls to keep me company between loads.

I was halfway through folding my first load when I received a text from a friend:  "Wanna do something?"

I hesitated.  We were already planning to see a movie later that afternoon, and after the crazy week I had had, I needed time to my self - but I really enjoyed spending time with that particular friend, so I tapped out a quick reply:  "I'm in the middle of laundry and the Gilmores, but you can join me if you want."

He showed up at my door ten minutes later.

After two more loads, three more episodes, and half a dozen rounds of  "Whaddya wanna do?"  "I don't know, what to you want to do??"  - we decided to go shopping.  I needed a dress for a wedding and he agreed to help me pick one out.

Back then I despised shopping even more than I do now, so it didn't take much to distract me.

"You should buy rollerblades," he said, as we walked past Sportchek.

"Rollerblades?"

"Rollerblades," he confirmed, steering me inside.  "Let's just see what they have, okay?"

Twenty minutes later I left the store with a heavy bag and and bright red cheeks.  I had never worn rollerblades before so I held his hand to balance -  and mine was still tingling.

"What now?" I asked, avoiding his gaze.

He reached for the bag.  "Now we go rollerblading."

***

April 6, 2015 I woke up dreading the mountain of laundry I had to deal with.  I'm okay with sorting, washing, and drying but folding is definitely not my favourite.   I prefer folding  on Friday night when Say Yes to the Dress is on, not a weekday morning when I have to wrestle each item out of the hands of a "helpful" two-year-old.

Nathan had the day off but I didn't.  I had three days of work for a four-day weekend, two of which we spent out of town.  You do the math.

And transcribing medical documents is no easy task with three people playing hockey in your office, which also happens to be your kitchen.

After more than an hour of listening to my frustrated (and highly exaggerated) huffing, Nathan decided I needed a break.

"Let's go to Swiss Chalet!  They started marinating their chicken in the dipping sauce.  It'll be fantastic!"

We decided to drop the kids off for lunch with their grandparents and turn it into a "hot date".

If that's even possible at Swiss Chalet.

We were settled in at our booth, perusing our menus, when Nathan broke the silence.

"We had Swiss Chalet eight years ago today, remember?  It was busy, so we took it back to your place, and I lit all those candles ..."

"And I thought you were crazy."

"And then I put  my hand on top of yours ..."

"You were such a romantic."

"And I haven't let go since!"  He grinned proudly, like our getting together was all his idea.

It's been eight years and I still don't think he understands quite how much work I put into letting him think it was all his idea ...

***

Yesterday marked eight years of dating for Nathan and I.  In some ways, dating looks a lot different now than it did back then - but in other ways there's really no difference at all!  It's been eight years of dates at Swiss Chalet, eight years of Gilmore Girls marathons, and eight years of lit candles decorating the coffee table while we hold hands.

Believe it or not, it's even been eight years of rollerblading - though when we head out these days, there are two extra feet strapped into teeny tiny rollerblades, and a stroller to hold onto while I struggle to keep my balance!

Two

here are some things I believe without a shadow of a doubt:  Life is better with a dog, Coke is far superior to Pepsi, and birthdays are special.  On your birthday you should feel like the coolest person on the face of the planet.

We celebrated Ellie's birthday last week.  I thought about having a party for about a millisecond before I changed my mind:  She's going through a frustrating possessive phase and I couldn't bear the thought of a house full of small children trying to play with Ellie's toys while she hovered over them, glaring and yelling "MINE!  NO, MINE!"

So I let Topher stay home from school and we had a Family Fun Day instead!  We spent the morning at a nearby rec centre with an enormous indoor playground, had a pre-lunch ice cream cone and smoothie, and played balloon baseball when Ellie woke up from her afternoon nap. Once Nathan got home from work it was time for presents (which Ellie opened very slowly and very carefully - finally, a form of destruction she doesn't seem to enjoy!) and Ellie's special birthday dinner: Mush (of course!) followed by an Angry Bird cupcake.

I still can't believe I no longer have a baby, but a fiercely independent (and fearless!) toddler.

The Voice in My Head

In the past two months I've mastered the art of not writing.

First I was sick.  Then the kids were sick, then Nathan was sick, then I was sick again.  (I call it the "Preschool Effect".)

I've been working six days a week since January - the last thing I want to do when I have a rare hour or two to myself is put fingers to keyboard.

But the longer I avoid writing, the harder it is to start again.

I mean well.  I sit down at the computer and even log into Wordpress before my mind starts to wander.  The voice in my head begins its incessant chatter:

What's the point?  

Nobody cares.  

That's a dumb idea.  

So I open a new tab and scroll through my Facebook feed.  I'll look at my sister's pictures, see if Julie got back to me about that playdate, maybe upload a few pictures from Ellie's birthday so my mom can see them.

I mean well, but the voice in my head is louder than my good intentions.

Look at Hayley!  She was gorgeous in high school, and she looks like a model now - even after she had a baby!

And Lindsay - she has two kids, and she always looks so put together.  

You?  You look frumpy.  You've never had any sense of style.  

Delete that picture Mom posted.  Ew! 

So I open yet another tab and type Lindsay's name into the search bar in Pinterest.  I'll just check her style board, maybe re-pin a few things for inspiration.  I'm sure I can convince Nathan to make some wiggle room in the budget for a few new outfits!

I mean well, but then I hear that pesky voice again.

That won't look good on you.  

You're too short.

You have no bum.

You're as flat as a pancake. 

And who are you to think you can ask Nathan to adjust the budget for something as silly as new clothes, when the ones you have are perfectly fine?  You're so close to having enough money for a down payment!  Don't screw that up! 

So I open another tab and enter a few search parameters into MLS.  I'll just see if there are any new listings.  Maybe I should check the neighbourhood around Topher's kindergarten?  It would be nice if I could just walk him to school.

I mean well.

But the voice in my head is relentless.

That one's nice, but it needs a lot of work.  And you're not remotely handy.

What do you know about decorating?  You've lived here for eight years and the only room you've "finished" is the half bath.  That you never use.  

You're too afraid to take risks.  

Frustrated, I quit Safari and push back from the desk.

I need something to numb my brain.  A run with the dog?  An hour with the Gilmores?  Maybe I should make banana bread.

I flop onto the couch.  "I thought you were writing tonight," Nathan says, looking up from his video game.  "Are you done?"

"No," I snort.  "I haven't even started yet."

"Oh," he says, turning back to his game.  He knows better than to try to have a conversation with me when I'm in one of my moods.

I watch in silence for a few minutes, silently seething over the fact that my husband can escape so easily into something as mindless as a video game when I don't seem to possess the ability to turn my brain off at any time, for any reason.

But then I realize something:  Maybe I don't need to numb my brain in order to write, maybe I need to deal with it.

Maybe I need to tell the voice in my head to shut up.   

A Sad Goodbye

Today Ellie  and I said good-bye to Target.

Ellie was unusually solemn as she walked past empty shelves, carefully stepping over items carelessly tossed to the floor by crazed shoppers looking for a better deal.  "Bye-bye Tahg!" she said, waving as we passed each empty row.  "Bye-bye Tahg!"

I've read the articles, I've heard the complaints, and I know few people are surprised or saddened by the fact that Target is closing its stores in Canada, but my heart hurts.

As someone who spent at least an hour a week, every week, at Target since it opened just a few weeks after Ellie was born, the 17 000+ "walking unemployed" aren't faceless people.

They are Amy in the toy department and Shauna in returns and Elise who works the early shift so she can pick her kids up from school.

They are Miranda in fitting, Kelsey at the self check-out by the downstairs mall entrance, and Mark who makes sure the shopping carts are put away properly, who greets my kids by name.

Mona taught Topher how to ride down an escalator.  We were running late for his skating lesson and I had my arms full of Ellie without a hand for him to hold and Mona stepped in and offered hers instead.  Topher has spent so much time at Target over the past two years that I'm sure he considers anyone wearing a red shirt and a Target name tag as trustworthy as a police officer!

He cries when he overhears anyone talking about Target closing.

Real tears.

Your prices might not have been low and your selection might not have been great, but clearly you - your staff - still had an impact on our little family.   

Good-bye, Target.  You will be missed.