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Showing posts from February, 2010

You Owe It All To ME

Well,I know some of you are feeling very happy with Sidney Crosby right now, and that's okay. But the person you should really be happy with? Is none other than... ME!!! That's right!

How come?

Here's my story, the real story of Canada's most golden gold medal...

I tried to watch the game this afternoon. It got too intense for me, plus I always feel a little bit like if I watch a game, the team I want to win will lose... (Like what happened last time I watched a big game.) So, I left the room during the last five minutes. I could hear the crowd cheering as the clock wound down, but I wouldn't watch. Till I knew it was the last few seconds, when I said to myself, "You can't miss this! It's a historic win! Just go watch the last few seconds. Watch them win!" So I did. And I KID YOU NOT. The SECOND I walked back into the room the States scored. All because of me.

So I left. We packed up our kids to go grocery shopping, and I KID YOU NOT... We left, and m…

Boots

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It started with the boots I think. All of Dad's boots are in the laundry room downstairs at Mom and Dad's now. Not in the closets. They're all lined up neatly in the basement. Except for that big pair of black boots with the reflective strip. I think the boys must have got their hands on those, because they aren't neatly side by side like the other ones.

I stood there, a day or two ago, looking at all those pairs of boots, and I could picture Dad wearing each of them. His old scuffed up work boots that he stopped wearing to work years ago, and his hiking boots... And they make me so sad. They break my heart. I picture him lacing them up to go to work, or to go for a walk with the boys, or for a trip into town to do some shopping at Canadian tire, or taking them out to let Ben try them on. I picture his boots driving the car, or climbing to the top of a hill in the gravel pit, and now they're just sitting there empty and still.

And this morning I can't seem to sto…

The Sales Pitch Strikes Again

Tonight on the way home from (super fun) bowling, and from picking up my (hurrah!) fixed laptop, Glen was explaining to Ben why Mommy was mad at (the idiots at) Del. It went something like this:

"Mommy's computer got broken and she asked the people from the factory where the computer came from to fix it, but they said it would cost lots and lots and LOTS of money. So we asked Uncle Dale to fix it and he did and it only cost a little money!" (I am totally calling Del this week and telling them off.)

At which point Sammy breaks in with, "I wish I had ninety ninety-five money!!!!"

And Ben contributes something like, "I wish I had a million moneys!"

But Sam is still talking. "... And then we could get that machine slap thing, that slap chop, right?"

And I realize he wishes he had $19.95. So he could get one of these. I swear, that ad was specifically written for impressionable little boys. It was already pretty adorable, but then he said, "It…

Not That Hard to Interpret

You know when you have a nightmare and it's so scary that you have to turn on all the lights when you wake up and you're scared to go back to sleep, and yet when you try to tell someone about it, it really doesn't sound that scary, even to you?

Last night I dreamed the basement at Mom and Dad's was flooding. It was terrifying.

It started with the usual sort of dreamy gibberish. All of us "girls" were having a sleepover in the basement. Gramma Newson was even there. Wearing her Snuggie. Ang was causing trouble by refusing to wear pajamas to bed... Claiming she couldn't "get comfortable" unless she was au naturale, and this was was the reason she couldn't stay the night with the rest of us. I went upstairs for a while, and when I came back down everyone was gone.

I walked into the laundry room to discover Ang bailing water with a shovel, and Dad trying to fix the hot water heater. I started laughing at all the water, and the way Ang was uselessly…

Hannah Grace

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When I was around ten my mom showed me this doll in, I believe, the Canadian Tire flier, and asked me if I wanted one for Christmas. I said no. I thought they were ugly. Sadly for me, that doll was the most popular doll that Christmas, and most of my friends showed up with one at school in January. And then they showed up with them at birthday parties, and sleepovers, and pretty much everywhere for years after that.

And I couldn't bring myself to ask for one, even though by then I really wanted one, and had decided that they were cute... Too embarrassed.

So Hannah had to have one. And Abbey. I ordered them online, the 25th anniversary ones, so that I could get ones that looked like their cute little owners, and so that I could name them and have birth certificates with Hannah and Abbey's birthdays on them. (Don't you think Hannah Grace and Abigail Dawn are perfect names for Cabbage Patches? I do.)

Anyways. I only had one problem. The closest doll I could get to looking like H…

Keep Breathing

Imagine someone lying injured and bleeding somewhere. Someone discovers them, surveys the damage and tells them, "You're alive. That's enough. Just keep breathing."

A while ago, I would have thought that was an insensitive thing to say. Everything we know tells us that just breathing is not enough. There is a way to fix things, to stop the bleeding, to bind the wounds, to speed the healing. Telling someone to just keep breathing, to keep living because you have to... That's not enough. There must be something we can do, that they can do. Because there should be more. There should be healing, and wholeness, and hope. At least there should be hope. They should be able to want more, and find a way to get there, and a true friend should help them to see that, and maybe even help them get it.

But now, I see what a relief it is. To have it put so clearly. When something terrible happens it feels like there are a million things to do. Let go. Never forget. Forgive. Hold i…