Old Love...

Do you know what today is?  Today is the 11th-year anniversary of the first time Danny and I went on a date.  This is also the first time in 11 years that Danny hasn't mentioned today to me.  April 6.  Our first date.  More than a decade ago.  Three kids, two houses, and my whole twenties ago.  Yikes.

 

I met Danny when I was 19, and he was 21.  He was with me when I moved to Moncton, and when I moved back a year later.  We spent our twenties buying two different houses, getting married, going on our honeymoon, having three kids, and dealing with career changes and life's hardships.  We were wild and crazy and in love.  And although the crazy is still there sometimes (hello, three kids!!), I think we've lost some of the wild.  But after 11 years of being together, a little less wild is good sometimes.  I call it "old love."

Back when I was 19, we had "new love." You know... the "no, you hang up first!" smoochy, kissy, gross sort of love.  New love was awesome.  Danny and I would email back and forth every day.  Even though we saw each other every single day.  He'd leave me love notes on the counter, written on a receipt, or a paper towel, or whatever he could find.  I'd come home for my supper break at the drug store, and he'd have a pasta dinner waiting for me.  We'd talk about going to the movies, or out for dinner, and we would decide - together - where to go.  He would tell me about his job, and the work he did on planes, and I actually wanted to know, to be involved in that aspect of his life.  We would go to bed every night at the same time, and fall asleep cuddled together.  Ahhh, new love.

Crap's not like that anymore.  Instead of emails, he gets texts that say "Jax pooped.  On the potty, and not on the floor.  Rock on!"  There are no love notes on the counter, but some days he makes our bed before he leaves the house, so hells yeah for that!!  He rarely cooks me dinner anymore (cause really, who wants to cook for 7 people??), but he slaps my butt or pinches my ass every time he walks by me in the kitchen, and sometimes he even honks what's left of my pathetic excuse for boobs... so I'm pretty sure that means he still thinks I'm sexy as hell.  We don't decide together anymore where to eat or what to see.  We spent a good portion of our late-20s fighting about it (I don't care, you pick!), and we've just come to the arrangement that if Danny really gave a shit, he'd let me know.  Otherwise, my choice!  I still care about his work, which is now school, but he knows that I know even less about computer programming and sciences than I did about Auroras.  So he talks, and I try my best to comprehend, but we both know I'm not fooling anyone.  And as for bedtime, three kids has killed that for us.  I'm exhausted by 7:05, about five minutes after the kids are down for the night.  I try my best to make it to 10:00, but honestly I'm in bed most nights by 9.  Some nights he comes with me, watches a show while I fall asleep, and then returns to the living room to finish Walking Dead, or whatever other gory crap he watches after I'm out cold.  I like having him with me while I fall asleep, but I can't tell you how many times I've woken up from the brink of sleep choking on one of his farts.  So perhaps the living room is the best place for him after all.

Do I miss the "new love" of 11 years ago?  Sure, sometimes!  But there's something awesome about being at a point in my life when my husband comes home from the grocery store with a new package of tea he saw me eyeballing. Or knowing that when he says, "Sammy, are your hormones acting up again?" that he mostly means "Are you okay, do you need a hug?" It's great knowing that when he says "Do we have plans on Thursday night?" he really means "One of the guys just texted, can I go out for wings?" because even though I told him years ago he doesn't need my permission to ever go out, he still respects me and our life enough to check in every single time.  He still holds my hand in public.  He still kisses me goodbye every time he leaves the house.  He still texts me "I'm here. xox." when he reaches Acadia every day, because he knows I worry about his drive on the highway.   He knows all of my faults, and I know all of his.  He knows what drives me absolutely crazy, and he knows that at least once a day I'll drive him completely insane.  He still brings home flowers when he knows I've had a bad day, and pepperoni and chicken wings when it's been an especially rough week.  He delivers me snacks and water bottles and vitamins in bed when I text him at 9:05 p.m. because I don't want to get back out from under the covers - even though it means stopping whatever he's doing to do something for me.  He still offers to clean the barf when one of the kids is sick, because he knows how much I hate it.  And he does it all with love.  Every single time!

New love is pretty awesome.  But this old love crap... well it's pretty spectacular in lots of different ways.  And now that we're both officially old too (hello, thirties!), I can only see our old love getting even older!

 

More than just a mom...

Five years ago I became a mom, and since then mom has pretty much been my identity.  This became even more true after I stopped working, and became a full-time mom.  Before then, I was a mom, sure, but when people asked me what I did, "mom" was never my first answer.  Now, everything I do revolves around my kids.  When I sleep, when I eat, where I go, what we do. 

 

Motherhood can be a lonely experience.  Especially for stay-at-home moms, whose sole interaction are usually little people who think they rule the world (newsflash - they actually do!).  I've lost many friends since becoming a mother. Some, were true and real friends, who drifted apart, and whom I miss dearly.  Some were friends I met and clung to because they were also mothers.  These friendships were exhausting... trying so hard to be friends because you think you have this amazing thing in common, and realizing that you were spending more time pretending to be someone you're not, a mother that you're not, because you're hoping to be accepted into the motherhood clique.  Really, and truly, not worth it.  I don't know if you've heard, but the mommy wars are a real thing, and certain moms have a way of making a mother feel like a special kind of worthless.  I've spent a lot of the last five years feeling worthless to anybody outside of my immediate family.  I've cried a lot of tears, wondering and pretending that I didn't care why I wasn't invited to the mom-event of the month.  Why the only girls nights out I attended were the ones I arranged.  Why invitations to other people were always answered with "Yes, for sure, I'll call you!" and then not hearing another word until the next awkward time I ran into that person in public. So much energy.  So much heart and soul.  Such a waste of my precious time.  And all because these seemed like the cool moms, the good moms, the moms I needed to be like.  It was so important for me to feel like I fit in with these mothers, because they seemed to have it all together.

 

I can count on one hand the number of real friends I have, and I've learned how important those people really are to me.  They are the ones that I can call after months of not speaking to and feel like we just spoke minutes ago.  They are the ones who send cards and call on my kids' birthdays, not because they were invited to a party, but because they truly love my kids.  They are the ones I can sit with for hours and talk, and never once feel like I'm being judged or like I need to prove my worth.  They are the ones who know, and who helped me remember, that I am more than just a mom.

 

Nowadays, I mostly answer to "Mom," "Mommy," "Gracie's Mom," "Ella's Mommy," and "Jax's Mother." But before I was mom, I was Danny's wife, a Paralegal, an avid reader, a photographer, an aspiring cook, an adventure-seeker, a Valley girl, and so much more.  All of those other parts of me may have dimmed a bit since becoming a mother, but I am slowly remembering that those parts are also so important.  It's easy to get lost in motherhood, to forget the person you were before.  It's true that motherhood changes you, and in so many good ways!  But in order to be truly happy, you have to remember to be more than just a mom.  Whether it's reading, or cooking, or knitting, or writing, or laying on the grass and watching the stars.  It's important to stay connected to the person that made you who you are today, that helped you become the mother you are, because that "old" person is so important, even still!

 

And when you and your kids are looking through old pictures (like me and mine were today), it'll be fun to remember who you are, and who you used to be... or as Gracie said to me when she saw my grad photo - "Wow, mom.  Before you were a mommy, you had really pretty hair!" 

Here, a walk down memory lane to before I was just a mom...

 

Honeymoon Cruise - 2010 - our last hurrah before becoming parents





Wedding Day - 2009

Halloween - 2008

Bringing home our first baby - 2007

Christmas in Lab City - 2006

 

Lilacs are my favourite flower - summer 2006

 

Grad Photo - 2003
When my hair was "pretty"

 

 

The Underwear Initiation

It's potty-training time in the Ford household.  This is not the first time potty-training has taken place here.  But it will certainly be the last... unless, of course, my parents are still living here 20 years from now, cause I'll be damned if I'm changing diapers that big!!

 

We've had amazing success with potty training in the past.  Both girls were potty-trained by 20 months, and by age 2 were sleeping through the night without diapers.  Neither of them get up through the night to pee, and we've had minimal bed-wetting or public accidents (once each at Roos, oye! And less than a handful of nightime accidents for Ella when we first moved in here).  I've had friends ask me how I do it.  It's really quite simple: You know all that advice you hear, about how your kids will let you know when they're ready, and how you shouldn't push them, and how they'll start to show signs when they're ready?  Yeah, I ignore all of that.  Here's my criteria: 1) Are you old enough to say "poop" and "pee"?   2) Can you run, run, run?  Perfect.  Potty training time.

 

With the girls, we started by "poop" training them.  A few months before we were ready to actually potty train, we would get them to poop on the toilet.  By the time we were ready to fully train them, they were already well used to the toilet and would tell us when they needed to poop.  I also don't use actual pottys. I have a potty seat that goes on the toilet... but I didn't want to have to go from cleaning a dirty diaper to cleaning a potty full of shit.  I'm a very firm believer that, if you let them, kids will surprise you with what they can do, so going on the big-people toilet was the only choice they ever got.

 

With the girls, catching them pooping was super easy, since they both grunted like cavemen when they were "going."  Also, there were only two of them.  Jax is a silent pooper, and the only way we know he went is by the fact that he can clear a room with the smell just seconds after going.  Plus, with two other kids in the house, who's really watching him anyway??  So I skipped that step with him!

 

In order to prepare for potty training, I give myself 7 days without any plans.  No need to leave the house during the awake hours.  March Break was perfect for me because I am other-peoples-kids-less.  I'm really hoping it doesn't take the actual 7 days, but it's there in case he turns out to be as stubborn with this as he is with everything else!  Gracie took 2 days, Ella took 5.

 

I stock up on underwear which, by the way, has been the most expensive part of having kids I think.  4 pairs of underwear for $10.00!! How ridiculous!  I need like 20 pairs, since kids are smelly little muggles and I rarely do laundry.  That's $50 in underwear. Crazy.  I also stock up on paper towel and spray Lysol.  Cause guess what I do the first day of potty training?  Let him pee all over the freaking house!!

 

Okay, not actually all over the house... he's been restricted to the upstairs, where there is no carpet.  But basically, the first couple of days are spent following him around, asking if he needs to pee, and letting him realize what peeing actually is.  The first time he peed in his underwear, he just stared at it like "what the hell just happened?!?" I said, "Oh no!  You peed, let's run, run, run to the potty!" I put him on the toilet, cleaned him up, asked if he needed to pee, said "Good try!" and got him a new pair of underwear.  By the end of the day, whenever he peed his pants he said "Mommy! Pee!!"  Day 1 - Success!  Yes, we went through 11 pairs of underwear, and I spent most of the day cleaning pee off the floor.  But he now knew what pee was and when he was actually peeing.

 

Day 2 is awfully similar to Day 1 with one major difference.  He only peed through 2 pairs of underwear.  He had a few wet spots, where he would start to pee, realize what he was doing and then stop and yell "Mommy! Pee!" and we would run, run, run to the bathroom.  I would put him on the toilet and sometimes he would pee, sometimes he wouldn't.  This is what I find is the longest and hardest part of potty training.  Within one day, he already knows how to stop himself from peeing.  What he hasn't learned yet, is to start again.  He can't "pee on demand," say, before leaving the house or going to bed.  He is not potty trained until I can be sure he pees out all the pee before he goes down for a nap, or goes to the mall.  Jax, as I mentioned before, is stubborn.  The most stubborn of the Ford kids, actually.  And I'm not sure that potty training him will be a success.  I'm not sure that he'll "get it" when it comes to going pee when I need him to.  He's done great so far, and I have high hopes that he'll get the "go pee" request when I place him on the potty.  He's already learned to run to the bathroom when he needs to go, so I have hope.  But he does not like to be told what to do.  "No" is his favourite word.  Plus, the first two were so easy, I'm due for a challenge!

 

Day #3 is coming up, and I don't know what it'll bring!  I know he's super impressed with his new underwear ("Mommy!  Unnies!"), and will probably be very sad when I make him start wearing pants again at the end of the week.  I know that venturing out in public for the first time sans-diapers will be terrifying and I'll be watching every little quiver and movement he makes.  I also know that staying dry through the night is notoriously more challenging for boys, so I haven't given up my diaper fund just yet.  But I do know that this is one stage I won't be sad to see behind me.  Or behind him.  Bye, bye baby diaper bums!! :)
 

 

 

PS - Day #3 Update: After refusing to pee after waking up with an almost-dry diaper this morning, Jax and I hung out in the bathroom this morning.  When he started to pee on the floor, I threw him on the potty and told him to watch (yes, his penis).  He saw a few dribbles, immediately stopped peeing, petted his penis and yelled "PEE!" I said, "That's right, do it again!" And he started peeing again, saw it, and got excited and stopped.  "Do it again!  Get it all out!" And then he did.  And then we had no accidents the rest of the day, and he peed "on demand" when I needed him to.  Crazy.  I will not, of course, count myself lucky just yet, but he only wet the one pair of underwear this morning, pooped on the potty, woke up dry from his nap, and had a huge pee before bed.  Seriously, letting my kids pee all over my floor for a couple of days has been my greatest parenting choice.  Because so far, it has proven to me that once they are aware of pee, and peeing, they become masters of pee!  Go, Jax!!!  :)

I used to be a writer...

Back in the day, I used to be a writer.  You know, before there were three Ford babies in my life.  Before we moved out of our tiny little home into this big beautiful home.  Before Grampy and Nanny Fillmore moved in.  Before I stopped sleeping through the night.  Before I started smelling other people's bums to check for poo.  Before I started showering with the curtain open so little people could stare and point and ask questions about my boobs. Before I caught another person's barf in my own hands while singing a lullaby. Before I shopped mostly for "red" milk instead of beer. Before wine became a 7:00 necessity.  Before sleeping in meant being woken up at 7:15.  Before Cheerios became an accessory to the kitchen floor, the living room couch, and my purse.  Before I wiped boogers from a child's nose with my bare hands and wiped it on my own pants. Basically, before I became a mom.

 

Before all of that, I used to be writer.  Not a great writer.  Not even a decent writer.  But I used to write.  I used to write here, on this blog.  I used to make people laugh.  I used to write poetry.  I used to write love letters.  I used to write long, eloquent emails to long-lost and dear friends.

 

Now, I don't write.  Not nearly as much as I should.  Not nearly as often I would like.  And not anywhere close to the quality of words that I know I should be able to string together.  These days, I think about writing, and then life gets in the way.  These days, I think how I could spin a Gracie-story into a humerous blog entry, and think "Fuck it, I'll Facebook that shit." My writing, which used to be my escape, and something that kept my brain and soul happy, has been reduced to 6-line "She said/I said" anecdotes on social media.

 

Before, I would craft Christmas cards and write meaningful messages to our family and friends.  Now, I buy Christmas cards, write something beautiful like "Wishing you joyfulness and joy this joyous time of the season of joy" and forget to put them in the mail.

 

Before, I would craft emails to friends pages long.  I would tell stories about the silly clients at work, the adventures I'd had over the weekend, and the great things going on in my life.  Now, I send a text that says "Lady - I know I suck.  It's been forever.  What's up?!?"

 

Before, I would text Danny during the day, saying "Hi lover face, I've been thinking about you.  Can't wait to see you tonight!  I've been looking forward to dinner and a movie all week.  Love you, oh so much! xox". Now, I send texts of desperation: "Need tea." or "OMG - the girls won't stop whining!  Make. It. Stop."

 

Yes, I used to be a writer.  Before life happened.  Now, I have three crazy, amazing, and exhausting kids.  I have Gracie - the kid who can ask a million questions, and desperately wants all the answers.  I have Ella - the kid who I'm pretty sure is made up of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, as well as a sprinkle of sugar and spice.  And I have Jax - the most amazing little boy with the biggest attitude of all the Ford children.  I have a full-time job called motherhood, and a husband who is now a university student.  I also have these adorable other children that I borrow during the day to keep my kids (and me) entertained.  I have a 5-bedroom house that needs to be cleaned, and organized, and lived in.  I have a neurotic puppy dog who sucks the soul out of us with her craziness, but who still needs to be loved, and walked, and belly-rubbed.  I have all of this craziness in my world that prevents me from being able to form coherent thoughts, let alone write words in a sentence that make sense.

 

But I wouldn't change it.  I love my crazy, hectic, exhausting little life.  I adore my kids, even though they cause me to cry, whine, and yell at them.  I love the fact that my husband is in university, even though computer-talk is (unbelievably) more boring and confusing than plane-talk.  I love being a stay-at-home mom, even though I miss real adult conversation and believe this is the ultimate reason my brain has stopped working as a writer's brain should.  And even though it's been a rough couple of years for my writing brain, I feel like I'm coming out the other side of it.  Life has been crazy, and hectic, and absolutely exhausting.  But lately, I've been wanting to pick up a pen - okay, a keyboard - again and write.  Instead of thinking, "screw it" when something pops into my brain that I want to write about, I've been thinking, "maybe you should!"

 

I even started reading a book this week.  It has been over 2 years since I've read a book.  Okay, maybe that part's not true.  After all, I've read to you.  And you, and you, and you there too.  I've read a book the whole way through.  The books I've read all kind of rhyme.  And don't take up too much time.  Yes, I guess it is fair to say, I've read a book almost every day!  Dr. Seuss, and Karen Katz, they both know where kid books are at.  But seriously, I picked up a real book - one written for adults - this week and have actually started reading it.  Got through the first 6 chapters and everything.  So if I can start to read, and have my brain absorb the words, maybe - just maybe - I can start to put those words back out there in the form of writing.

 

I've spent the last year since we've moved in slowly, oh so slowly, unpacking, decluttering, and organizing our lives.  I feel like I'm at a point, finally, where I don't feel consumed by clutter and stuff.  And having less clutter and stuff in my home, has ultimately lead to me feeling like there is less clutter and stuff in my brain.  When I think of writing now, whole sentences begin to form in my head.  Not just one or two words, scattered amongst worries of where the kids need to be and when, and panic about whether or not I'm screwing up their lives, but actual real sentences.  Whole thoughts and ideas I want to get out.  And that is very exciting for me to feel again.

 

It's going to take a while, I think, before I'm comfortable with writing again.  Before writing becomes a priority for me once more.  But I'm excited to be on this journey again.  I used to love to write.  And though it's been on the back burner - behind sleep, and kids, and family, and life - I really hope I can become a writer again.  I have lots to say, and some pretty incredible kids who keep me up to my elbows in stories to share.  I'm going to try to start to write again... so please, bear with me while I find my word groove once again!

All the things she knows...

Gracie is almost five years old.  That in itself is a scary fact!  But the things my little girl knows already is even scarier.  Here's a complete list of all the things Gracie has learned by the precious age of 4 and three-quarters:

1.  How to spell her name.  G-R-A-C-I-E.  It's scrawled all over our driveway in pink chalk.  As well as J-A-X, E-L-L-A, M-O-M-M-Y, D-A-D-D-Y, and just today she learned L-E-S-L-I-E, H-E-L-E-N, C-H-A-R-L-I-E, and E-L-V-I-S.  In case you aren't familiar with the Ford-family dynamics, that would be Nanny and Grampy and our dog and cat.  She also knows how to spell dog, but she doesn't think she'll use that word because the dog has a real name.  This learning-to-spell thing has been torturous for me, since she likes to write letters. "Mommy, how do you spell 'dear.'  How do you spell 'Aunt.' How do you spell 'Jesse.' How do you spell...

2.  Her phone number.  Yesterday, she said to her father, "Daddy, our phone number is 765-6525." And he said, "Very good, Gracie!"  I said, "What the hell?  How do you know our phone number?"  Because, (1) who ever uses our house phone?  I mean, come on, we have modes of communication now that aren't attached to the wall, and (2) I've never told her our phone number before.  And she said, "Last week when we were at the library checking out our books, Miss Judy asked you for our phone number, and you told her."  So, apparently my kid is one of those special creatures that remembers everything she's every heard.  Now taking donations for her future therapy sessions!

3.  How to count to 100.  This one is fun.  Especially when she wants to show you how she can.  And then wants to show her dad right afterwards.  And then her nanny.  And then Ella, Charlie, and Elvis.

4.  What is a good idea.  She shares this knowledge with me every day, mostly during periods of time outs.  It goes something like this,

Me: "Gracie, you cannot take the toys from Ella without asking.  Go sit in time out please." 

Her:  "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Gracie, after supper you have to have a shower and then get ready for bed."

Her: "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Gracie, it's time to clean up.  You pick up the books please."

Her: "That is NOT a good idea."

Me: "Let's go to Walmart and do some shopping."

Her: "That is a GREAT idea."

For the record, not-good ideas are usually followed by arm crossing and lip pouting.  Great ideas are usually followed by hugs and kisses.  Unfortunately, I'm not as smart as Gracie and my ideas are, apparently, usually less than stellar.

5.  Style.  My kid is the queen of dressing herself.  Sometimes, she looks adorable.  The cutest little sweaters matched perfectly with jeans or leggings.  And then, other times, she looks like this:

That would be hot-pink leggings underneath blue shorts, with a yellow-striped top underneath a white blouse.  Lets not forget the blue Elsa socks.  And the hair, which she did herself.  She said this is how doctors dress, and she wants to be a doctor when she grows up.  I'm not stifling that ambition, so she can dress with all the style she wants, baby!

6.  How to communicate with the other-world.  A few years ago, Gracie told me about an older lady that comes to her room at night to talk with her and keep her company.  Creeped me the f' out.  These days, I don't hear as much about "Ruth" but I do see her stop often, put her hands together, and pray.  I run a Sunday School program, and go to church every Sunday... but prayer has never been my strong point.  I'm more of a "pray when I need something right now" kind of person.  I never really got the hang of it, and when I actually attempt a little quiet prayerful contemplation, I usually wind up thinking about the laundry that still needs to be done, the annoying screaming coming from one of the three monsters in my house, or a million other things that distract a mother.  I usually wind it up with "Anyway, I'm sure you know what I was going to say. So... yeah.  The end. Amen."  So the fact that Gracie can just fold her hands and throw a prayer up anywhere and about everything... that's some spiritual knowledge right there!

7.  How to tell time.  This one has been coming for a while.  She first learned to tell me the time that was on the microwave, even though those numbers meant nothing to her.  Then, she started asking what time we did certain things and staring at the microwave clock at different times during the day.  Then she memorized our "schedule" and started making me stick to it.  The fact that she also knows days of the weeks, just makes her more of a pain in the ass.  "Mom, I have gymnastics in 3 days, which is Saturday, and we have to be ready and out the door by 8:30, and it lasts for one hour, and when we get home, it's 10:30, which is snack time."  And then she repeats that every day until gymnastics arrive, and then starts over on Sunday.  She also does this with Ella's dance class, when Grampy comes home to visit, bedtime, snack time, lunch time, supper time, and any other time food might be involved.  I also can no longer lie about certain things. Like bedtime.  On "those" days, I used to gleefully announce at 6:30, "it's bedtime!!"  Now, Gracie will check the clock and say, "Bedtime's not till 7!"  Damn it.

8.  Everything else in the whole entire world.  That's right, I have a special 4-year old, who knows everything!  Just ask her...

That Time The Internet Really Pissed Me Off...

You know, I try not to let internet stories and internet trolls get the best of me.  I try really hard to respect other people's opinions and mind my own damn business.  But there have been a couple of stories in the news lately that just totally blew my mind.  Not even necessarily the stories themselves, because we are so used to seeing ignorance in the news, but some of the comments and sub-stories posted about the stories.  Ridiculous.

First of all, let me say that I seriously hope by the time my kids are grown, they will look at my generation's (and past generations') treatment of the LGBTQ community the same way I look at previous generations' treatment of African Americans and women... with absolute disgust.  Because it is absolutely disgusting the way those people have been treated in the past, and it's disgusting the way LGBTQ people are being treated now.  Sure, we've come a long way in making society an open and welcoming place, but it apparently takes many generations to breed out all of the ignorance and intolerance.

For those of you who haven't heard of Kim Davis, you should seriously google her name.  There's all sorts of crap out there about her and her claim to fame: basically, that once same-sex marriage was legalized in the states, that she refused to issue any marriage licences (to gay or straight couples) because she believed that doing so was counter to her religious beliefs about gay people.  I get that... sort of.  You don't believe that gay marriage is righteous and, in fact, believe it to be wrong.  Fine.  Don't marry a gay person.  You don't want to issue marriage licences to gay people?  Fine.  Quit your damn job, and carry on with your life.  You are entitled to your opinions, and whether I agree with you or not is not the point.  But your opinions should not interfere with the lives of other people trying to live their own damn lives.  "Christians" such as Kim Davis give other Christians a horrible name.  I think the majority of us Jesus-loving folk out there believe that who a person loves means nothing, but how a person treats other people means everything.  And in my opinion, Kim Davis, you're kind of a douchebag.  You can believe whatever you want to believe and harm no one.  Be as blind as you want to the wonderfully diverse and beautiful world we all share, you will hurt no one but yourself in this manner.  But you don't have the right to force your views on others, to try to blind them in the same way.  As a (now amazingly popular) twitter user, Rachel Held Evans, said: "No one's being jailed for practicing her religion. Someone's being jailed for using the government to force others to practice her religion."

The other story hitting headlines these days is about the transgendered male who has decided to live his life as a female and has received permission from his school to use the female restroom and change room.  This has caused a firestorm of bullshit on the internet, and at the school itself where hundreds of students protested because they said they felt uncomfortable with that idea.  

First of all, can we put ourselves in her mind for a second... she was born as a male and, yes, with a penis.  And for some people, that seems to be all that matters.  She has a penis, therefore she is a he.  I get that, physiologically.  Facts are facts, they say.  Except think of the confusion, and sorrow, and the absolute horribleness this girl must have felt growing up.  Growing up as a "boy" and not feeling like a boy, feeling like there was something horribly wrong with you inside.  The torment she must have felt for years... before deciding to truly be who she was born to be.  A penis on the outside means nothing if the person you are on the inside doesn't match.  I feel like the world has come a long way for "normal gay people."  You know, the girls who love girls, and the boys who love boys. But the world is still terribly ignorant of transgendered people, and sorely lacking in compassion.

Two comments I read that made me the most angry:  "If he's going to pretend to be a girl, he could at least make some effort with his appearance.  He doesn't even look like a girl at all."  Maybe, because on the outside, she's not a girl.  That important piece of her identity is on the inside, where people can't see it.  And until she takes medical steps, her outside might never match her inside, which is the struggle she's been fighting her whole life.  The difference is, now, her attempt to match her insides is making some of us uncomfortable, instead of her.

Second comment: "How do we know that people who "identify" as transgendered aren't really just pretending so they can take advantage of women in the bathroom."  To this, I say... really?  Seriously?  You think that someone would put themselves in this position in society solely to take advantage of, or seduce, a woman?  You think a teenage "boy" would willingly wear a dress, and makeup, and a wig, and be the centre of ridicule and hatred day after day, on the off chance they may get a woman alone in the bathroom.  That is ignorance in its purest form right there!

Should this girl be allowed to use the restroom with the other ladies?  Sure, why not?  There are stalls, after all, and it's not like we all stare at each other's vaginas when we go pee, and frankly I never know who's in there anyway. Should she be allowed to change in the changing room with other women?  I can see some people's discomfort with this, and I can even understand the fear on a raw, instinctual level.  Because that is truly what this is about, fear.  And a lack of knowledge is what leads to this fear.  But if the discomfort you feel is based solely on the fact that you think this chick is actually just a dude trying to get laid, well then I believe you deserve to suffer in your intolerance.  In my opinion, it is not the other girls' "right" to be comfortable with the possibility of her using the change room, any more than it was the "right" of white people years ago to be comfortable with black people attending their school once segregation was ended, or the "right" of men to be comfortable with women voting.  Comfort is not a right under the law.  I'm sure that years ago, white women boycotted the right of black women to change in the same locker room as them, and scores of parents and people in society supported those boycotts.  And the reasons are the same as they are today... a lack of knowledge and acceptance, and an abundance of intolerance.

For me, the bottom line is compassion.  We need to have compassion for people in difficult situations, instead of flouncing our ignorance.  Attempting to understand a person, and their situation, goes a lot farther, in my opinion, than fear-based judgments and decisions.  We all need to take a moment to put ourselves in each other's shoes, and the internet needs to calm the fuck down with the hate.  We all have the right to our own beliefs and morals.  We all have the right to stand up and fight for what we believe in.  However, none of us has the right to make another person feel like less than a person because of those beliefs.  It seems like common sense to me.  A little respect goes a long way! It's kinda like Thumper's mama said... If you don't have nuthin' nice to say, don't say nuthin' at all. So, internet... stop being a douchebag!

20 more fingers... 20 more toes!

It's been said at times that we were crazy having 3 kids in 3 years.  It's been said that we were crazy deciding to put Danny through university while we have three young kids at home.  It's been said that we were crazy selling and buying a house and moving ourselves all while putting Danny through university and having three young kids at home.  So it's settled, apparently... we are crazy!  But the craziest thing of all is about to happen...

Before I spill the secret, let's see if you can figure it out with some hints.  First of all, we're crazy!  Second, we're modifying this new house we're in to accommodate the temperature preferences of penguins and polar bears by putting in some heat pumps.  Next, we're stocking up on wine and beer in preparation for the new changes.  We're cleaning out a freezer in anticipation of all the extra icecream that will fill it.  And finally, Danny and I are listing and picking out all of our favourite date locations!

Have you guessed yet??

As you know, I run the Sunday School program for my church.  It's a program with between 80 and 100 kids, and I work very closely with the Wing Chaplain's Assistant to keep things running smoothly.  Unfortunately for me (but good for her), she is retiring in a few short weeks.  I have been preparing for her retirement for the last year, but have not been looking forward to losing her, especially since rumours were her position would not be filled.  

And then one day I got a phone call... rumours had changed.  Her position would be filled.  By one Mrs. Helen Fillmore!  My mom will be the new Wing Chaplain's Assistant.  Here.  In Greenwood!!  Which means (for those of you who haven't figured it out yet), that my parents are moving back!  And not just back.  This is where the crazy part comes in... they're moving in with us!

My mom's new job officially starts on August 17.  They still need to sell their house in New Brunswick, and my dad has to decide whether he will transfer to 14 Wing or just, finally, retire.  Either way, he will be joining us in the near future, too!

We haven't told the kids yet.  The girls are going to be so excited they wont know what to do with themselves.  Actually, they'll know exactly what to do... they'll say, "Nanny... can we have some icrecream??"  And Nanny will say "yes" of course.  Then they'll say, "Nanny... can we stay up late and watch TV?" And Nanny will say "yes" of course.  Then they'll say, "Nanny... can you buy us anything we want, whenever we want, and let us do whatever we want, even if mommy and daddy don't want us to?"  And Nanny will say, "Of course!"

Even though craziness will ensue, and it will take some adjusting getting used to having my parents here all the time, we are really looking forward to having them here with us.  Of course we will have to set some ground rules...  Like, there's more than one way to correctly load a dishwasher, dad!!  And that it's not okay to sneak the kids icrecream when we're not looking or we've specifically said no.  But I think it'll all work out... and of course, I always have the golden rule to fall back on... "As long as you live under my roof, you have to follow my rules!"

So everyone welcome the Fillmores back to Greenwood... it's been a long 5 years without them!!!