City Mouse vs. Country Mouse

I started writing this post while I sat in a ski lodge with snow falling behind me while the kids and Philip took on the slopes celebrating 30cm of fresh snow. Lately, the contrast of our lives in SC and our lives here has been more 'in my face' and made me hearken back to a story we read in elementary school about mouse cousins who were from the city and country respectively. It's funny to have a foot in both worlds. I re-read the story this morning (thank you Google) and its moral:

A modest life with peace and quiet is better than a richly one with danger and strife. (http://www.storyit.com/Classics/Stories/citycountrymouse.htm)
Agreed.

There are days we deeply miss the small-town life we lived in SC, but we truly love our current city life - that we enjoy the free from danger and strife [a bit different than those mouse cousins]. We just got back from Las Vegas - what a funny place it is - and I chuckle when thinking about how those mouse cousins would have navigated a visit to Vegas. If we still lived in SC, I don't know that we'd have even considered Vegas a family destination - its reputation precedes it. But after living in a city where our children have grown up a lot faster in some respects while retaining far more of their childhoods in others, it didn't seem a crazy idea. Perhaps it's not as much that our children are growing up quickly, but that Philip and I are growing up a bit as parents. Living in this densely populated place with so many different cultures and living circumstances dancing together has forced us, as parents, to learn how to converse with our kids in a more honest, head-on way. Our perspective has changed - we don't seek to 'protect' our children from seeing hard sights as much anymore. We can't - sometimes you see things from your breakfast room window (http://themarcumsincanadaeh.blogspot.ca/2014/04/the-birds-and-bees-oh-my.html) or a drug deal happen under a bridge and sometimes you chat with those who live on sidewalks outside your building. Instead, now we name hard things, we discuss them and frame them within our family's own value structure and we talk about how choices, circumstances, and access can lead to different realities. Philip and I have had to find our own voices and dig deep into our own bravery to have some of these conversations. We've discovered though, at the end of the day, we're deeply grateful for the opportunity to help our children think through hard things i.e. drug use, sex, homelessness, mental illness, etc. under our protective care - living up to our promises to always answer their questions and to tell the truth - even when it's not entirely comfortable or easy for us. 

Wheels up! By the skin of our teeth...

So began our Vegas vacation. We drove across the border and spent the night in Bellingham, Washington, before our 8:30AM flight the following morning - so we thought. The morning of our flight was a near disaster. We had organized ourselves brilliantly - pre-ordered breakfast to be delivered at 6AM, packed PJs in backpacks so big bags didn't have to be unpacked, wakeup call scheduled for 5AM. Breakfast was 30 minutes late arriving, it took 20 minutes to check out of the hotel, we arrived at the airport at 7:30AM and learned our flight was actually at 8AM. So much for brilliant organization. Nonetheless, we made the flight and landed at McCarran Airport at 10:15AM. Immediately upon stepping off the plane we were greeted with the blinky blinky ring-a-dings of slot machines. The kids got a kick out of them and begged us to play. Philip fed in $1 as the kids and I stayed just outside the 'cone of gaming' so as not to be fined $10,000 per kid for being inside it. Philip turned that $1 into $.22! We moved on.

We grabbed our luggage, hopped in a cab and asked our driver to take us to the famous Las Vegas sign - we took our obligatory pictures and were off to the Trump Hotel. At this point, it's important to explain that we chose the Trump for a variety of reasons - none of which had ANYTHING to do with advocating for his candidacy for President. This was NOT a campaign endorsement. The property is smoke free and doesn't have a casino in it and it was free - so there you have it. Funny that the Trump property spoke to us as 'family friendly' - oh, the irony. Our room was ready, we dropped our bags and headed out to hit the Strip. The kids' eyes were wide as we meandered through Wynn with all of its sculptures made from live flowers. Las Vegas is indeed over the top. After lunch we continued our foot journey through Greece, Italy and France - all of which happened to be accented with blinky blinky, ring-a-ding casinos - and those aren't smoke-free. Even through burning eyes we couldn't unsee the women 'dressed' in pasties and large headdresses posing for $1 photos with tourists. Nor could we unsee the police 'officers' in fishnet stockings. So began our first 'big kid pants' parental conversations: why we won't pay someone to take a picture with us simply because they're shocking leading into instructions to find police officers in actual uniforms, not fishnets, should you ever get separated from the family. The most interesting piece of our conversation was our children commenting on how the girl wearing pasties really needed to eat a couple of hamburgers because she looked unhealthily thin. This all took place before 4PM. 

Making a wish in the Bellagio fountain

Kids are pretty observant it. Henry commented on how people in different areas of the Strip looked different. Interestingly, Las Vegas seems to be a place where worlds collide; where the land of misfit toys smashes right into the land of beautiful people. When those collisions get to be too much to process, thankfully there are plenty of places to buy chocolate. To the M&M store we went! Four stories of pure chocolate-y sugar overload meant temporary sanctuary from grown up parental conversations. The smell alone was intoxicating. We left with an obscene amount of candy coated chocolate goodness and each kid ended up with an M&M blanket (I mean what could be more comforting than that?). A quick stop at the hotel to drop off our chocolate loot and across the street to Fashion Show Mall we went. Both kids had been saving money to take along on the trip and it turned out American Girl had a seasonal store and Lego had its own storefront just across the street from our hotel. Lydia and Henry thought they'd hit the mother load! The cruelest reality, however, came when Philip and I declared that Legos and AG purchases had to wait until we landed back in Vancouver to be opened. It worked out well, however, because everybody was excited to get home since the trip continued even on our living room floor as dolls discovered a new school locker and Star Wars legos were constructed. Bedtime was welcome that first night in Vegas as our 5AM wakeup hit pretty hard - the lights of the Strip made a lovely nightlight.

Wynn - floral carousel

Floral Hot-air balloon - Oh My Word!

 Happy Year of the Monkey! See no Evil and Hear no Evil in tow

Henry used to sing the "Popeye" theme song as a little guy. This was a fun find that brought back sweet memories.

Lunar New Year Exhibition - The Palazzo

Human Statues in The Venetian - shocking! :) 

Happy Year of the Monkey from the Bellagio Conservatory

View of Paris from the Bellagio

Preparation for football season! Orange/Purple M&Ms for our Clemson Tigers and Red/Black/Grey (aka Darth Vadar mix) for the Georgia Bulldogs!

Our second morning was more low key and we were pretty quiet until lunchtime. We lunched at Treasure Island overlooking pirate ships and drinking in the sunshine. We walked and walked (averaging almost 7 miles each day - thank you, Vancouver, for preparing us mightily) and made our way to The Mirage where we ventured into Sigfried and Roy's Secret Garden. There we saw dolphins, lions, tigers and a leopard. The biggest treat was running into Sigfried himself - he magically found a golden coin up Lydia's sleeve (and I bought Henry one in the gift shop to match - because, equality). There's something sensational about running into a legend - I tried to get the security guard to admit we were really lucky to see Sigfried, but he assured me that he visits almost daily. Oh well - it was special for us, regardless. We moved on to Caesar's Palace where we got a glimpse of another legend - Dick Butkus was signing autographs but the store manager wouldn't let our aspiring football star shake Butkus' hand without a purchase from the shop. Silliness - we took a photo anyway. The kids then got their fortune told by Zoltar himself - a la Tom Hanks in Big. Thankfully neither of our kids grew into their thirty year old selves overnight. We watched the 'Fall of Atlantis' as told by moving statues with a fire-y sword, fountains, smoke and a dragon. It was intense - but helped drive home the message that arguments between siblings often don't end well. After all, Atlantis disappeared because a brother and sister couldn't work together to rule the kingdom - helpful object lesson for our two.

Can't hit Vegas without a little limo time

Lunch at Gilley's

Sigfriend in his Secret Garden

Secret Garden cont'd.

The Mirage

Our sneaky pic of Dick Butkus

The Cosmopolitan

And...WHY isn't there a bar named "The Lydia?" No fair for Henry to get sole billing.


While we were growing increasingly weary, we were determined to squeeze every minute out of our time in Sin City. I had done hours of research preparing for our trip to make sure we didn't miss anything. Every search I explored online led with the words 'family friendly'. Our second night in Vegas proved that my definition of 'family friendly' is far different from many a blogger covering the topic. We made our way to the Bellagio, hopped in the cab line and struck out for Fremont Street ("old Vegas"). I was really looking forward to it and had built it up in my mind as a potential highlight; alas, it was re-framed as 'most memorable' but not necessarily a favorite. We were actually on Fremont Street proper for approximately 7 minutes total - long enough to walk from the cab into Binion's to see $1M in cash (and NOT take a photo lest we be fined $10K/kid since it was apparently inside the cone of gaming - Lydia was very disappointed), head to the classic Golden Nugget for a buffet dinner (which was the equivalent of Ryan's Steakhouse) and then walk back to find a cab. In those fateful 7 minutes, we saw one overweight over-middle-aged man with scraggly hair in a thong/suspenders, another overweight over-middle-aged man in a speedo playing guitar and a man who'd been born with a arm deformity playing drums from fingers that seemed to grow directly from his shoulders. The only grown up conversation Philip and I could muster was a heartfelt apology as we hailed a cab to head back to the hotel. Back in the comfort of our own room, we all piled in the bed together and watched a movie and enjoyed some introverting as a family.

 
Vegas Vic and Vickie (the only photos I took on Fremont Street)

Wait. WHAT did I just see???

Day three dawned and we boarded the shuttle to Caesar's with tired but refreshed legs and made our way to the Luxor (pyramid) to explore the Bodies exhibit. We wandered past NY, NY, through Excalibur and into the heart of the pyramid to marvel at the construction of the human body - from skeleton to muscles to organs. It was very fascinating - albeit a bit shocking for Lydia. Philip and I were impressed with Henry's explanation of the digestive system as they've been studying it in school. We learned a lot, too! Did you know that our tongue has 16 muscles in it? I mean, really!?!? Then off to Mandalay Bay for lunch at an Irish Pub followed, supposedly, by the aquarium. Alas - the line was miles long and we decided we'd prefer to play in the outdoor heated pool at the hotel instead because when was the last time we Canadian residents swam outside in February? As we ventured back to the shuttle drop-off we explored New York, New York, beginning first with the Hershey Store where we were greeted by the Statue of Liberty constructed entirely of Twizzlers. Since we'd already filled our stores with chocolate from M&M, both kids chose a small assortment of Jolly Ranchers from Hershey and away we went. 

Blue sky, sunshine and NYC!

Game face on! Mandalay Bay

Start spreadin' the news...

Twizzlers Statue of Liberty

   Silly store - fun chair

Pool time was a welcome respite from the extroversion of Vegas. It was truly a little oasis in the desert - quiet, warm, breezy, restful. We played in the pool, relaxed in the hot tub and rested on the chaise loungers. After our brief time of renewal, we got ready for our final dinner - off to Planet Hollywood. We had a nice Italian dinner before seeing a classic Vegas variety show. The show opened with a comedic juggler (who happened to be a 5th generation circus performer) followed by the Amazing Gauchos who drummed, danced and swung whips knocking a flower out of a reluctant volunteer's mouth. Then a contortionist made us hurt all over; he was followed by an aerial act a la Cirque de Soleil and a group who parodied The Village People using their hands as feet while 'hopping' around on yoga balls. A man called up 4 unsuspecting volunteers, costumed them in masks and goaded them into a contest to blow up 3 balloons and pop them as quickly as possible. I laughed until I cried. The grand finale was a pair of folks on roller skates (yes - roller skates) who performed acrobatic feats on a 5' diameter platform. The comedic juggler interjected between each act and finished by playing Fur Elise on an electronic keyboard (another Big reference - seems it was a recurring theme) with juggling balls. It was a classic end to our time in Vegas. 

Before the show - Isabelle had to come too!

We made our way to the airport - ready to be home, quite honestly - and the kids marked the end of the trip with a grand finale meal at Moe's in McCarran Airport. We talked about our most memorable parts of the trip (Fremont Street), our favorite parts (Lydia reported the hotel was her favorite - the TV in the bathroom mirror pushed it to the top of her list; Henry's favorite was Caesar's Palace), and our final impressions of the city itself. We decided that it's a city that, from a distance, is sparkly and shiny and exciting and hopeful. However, once you get up close it has a kind of sadness to it. We all felt the sense of colliding worlds and a litany of dichotomies that live in tension with one another in this funny little place that pops up in the desert. In some ways it's a place where dreams come true - where famous people go for a sense of career achievement with a nightly show - still performing but without the rigors of touring. At the same time, it's a place where dreams go to fizzle. Folks show up in Vegas to make it big and end up posing for $1 photos - you see life-sized minions and Olaf from afar and it's exciting, but when you get up close, the minions are dingy and dirty and Olaf has a fanny pack and is soliciting donations. It's a place where people go to pretend to be someone else - we saw many an impersonator: Michael Jackson (at least 2), Elvis, Marilyn Monroe (with a really bad wig), Tommy Boy, Brian Cranston's character from Breaking Bad, Scooby Doo, an overweight Minnie Mouse and Mickey too, multiple Alans from The Hangover with baby dolls strapped to their chests, Gene Simmons (X3), Chewbacca (X2), Yoda, the entire cast of The Avengers and Bumblebee - just to name a few. We also saw tourists taking photos of homeless people on the street. That felt really gross - as if visitors to Vegas saw people who made their home on the streets in the same way they saw the people dressed in costumes. It made me want to know their stories.

Welcome to Moe's!

Because a TV in a mirror trumps it all...

All in all, I'm glad our children saw the city while in our care. I'm sure there are some who would consider us irresponsible for taking our kids to Vegas, of all places - I probably would have agreed with them just a few short years ago. We truly did have fun and laughed a TON! However, what we saw and the way we talked through it all, hopefully reinforced that trying to be something/someone you're not doesn't lead to fulfillment. When faced with over the top glorification of artificial reality we decided that we're more content in our 'normal' (fully clothed) life in our little two bedroom apartment right here in Vancouver. And we agree completely with the country mouse cousin who prefers to live his relatively modest, peaceful life away from danger and strife.

Move over Valentine's Day...I'd rather have my coffee

I really don't like Valentine's Day - there were years that I downright hated it.  My disdain was born many years ago and I recall the incident with the clarity of it being yesterday.  In seventh grade we affectionately referred to our math teacher as Ms. Cockroach - yes, it was mean - but we were 7th graders (read: snarky lifestage) and she taught math.  Frankly, she lived up to her nickname on February 14th of my 7th grade year.  I received flowers at school, as was the popular custom at WJHS at the time.  As I waited to be picked up from school, she exited the building and complimented my roses and asked who sent them.  Now - this is a tricky situation any way you cut it and I understand it very differently now having been a teacher myself.  My naïve self replied honestly, "My parents sent them to me," and I was really pleased! SHE, however, hurled a knife to my heart when she said..."Oh - I only ever got them from my parents too."  I was crushed.  And my 12 year old self couldn't properly process the fact that she was likely bitter about some past failed relationship or something - all I heard was that I wasn't 'worthy' of flowers from someone outside of my family on the day that your value felt determined by chocolate, balloons and flowers.  To this day I can see her face and my junior high self still thinks of her as Ms. Cockroach.  Thus began my dislike for Valentine's Day.

As years have passed I haven't grown any fonder of this 'holiday' and have resolved that it's actually a contrived experience created by Hallmark, Russell Stover and Victoria's Secret to boost the post-Christmas sales slump.  There's so much pressure on this one day to create 'romance', make fancy dinner reservations and celebrate love - all of which seems to minimize what love really is.  My picture of love looks like the time when Philip and I were dating and I was sick - he came to my apartment and we watched Life is Beautiful while I laid on the couch unworried about the fact I had on no makeup and my hair was a hot mess.  It was then that I knew we were really on to something - I knew our relationship was on a good track because I could be the most honest version of my sick self and not feel embarrassed.  Love looks like the nights Philip and I stayed up washing/changing sheets repeatedly and holding our children's heads as they battled stomach viruses.  Love looks like my parents taking my emotional roller coaster in stride as I struggled with a move to a new town in college.  Love looks like days spent doing yard work, having hard conversations, pushing through ugly times so that the good times are that much sweeter.  Love looks like Philip making a pot of coffee every morning before I wake up because he knows I'm not a morning person and breakfast is my least favorite meal to prepare.  Somehow love's complexity and the energy it requires is devalued by Valentine's Day; one day a year won't cut it in the real love department.  It's certainly not always red, pink and flowers; sometimes it's ugly, messy and hard.  Real love is a daily choice - having to be tended and nurtured.  To focus only on the romance of it all is demeaning.

This year, we'll still wear red or pink and we'll send in classroom valentines and we'll still have a special homemade family dinner.  But we'll be celebrating love in all its messiness and all the people in our lives who've stuck with us through think and thin.  We'll buy flowers for no reason at all sometime in March and maybe chocolates in April and focus on tending the relationships that have brought us to where we are today.  As for February 14th - I'll be looking forward to my morning coffee and the sight of our sweet children as they just wake up and the sweet good morning I hear first thing from Philip. It'll be just another in a string of days when we celebrate the roof over our heads, the food in our refrigerator and the laughs that sprinkle through our days - even in spite of the sometimes cross words or frustrated sighs. Here's to the everyday choice to meet each other where we are, celebrate that we're able to be our truest selves confident that we are accepted just the way we are. And I'll pray that our children know at least a few people in their lives as they grow that will create this safe space just for them. Until then, I pray they know that Philip and I are and always will be part of that safe space for them and each other - and we'll do all we can to make Valentine's Day the day that we celebrate acceptance, grace and gratitude.

New Year's Resolution

Advent began with me hitting a full-on second-trimester-of-pregnancy-nesting season. [No - we are not expecting - it's just an analogy] Funny, it seems to happen every year - the decorations come out and I want to polish up our everyday so it matches those scenes on Christmas cards and in movies. This year was no different - unless you consider the depth to which the nesting reached. I mean, I CLEANED OUT THE REFRIGERATOR. Make no mistake - I'm pretty good about keeping our refrigerator free of stored science projects (I need the storage containers too often to let mold get too firm a hold) - but I pulled out the drawers and shelves and gave everything a proper scrub (as if I had nothing better to do). It sparkled and so did the trees - until everyone got home on the rainy Wednesday said cleaning took place and brought with them the remnants of decaying leaves, lunchbox crud and clothing that only my children seem to consider 'decorative' as they toss it around all avant garde on the floor. I actually felt myself getting wound up about it - as if the after school normal was suddenly an affront to my Norman Rockwell real life.

Funny really - how I pressurize this sense of anticipation that accompanies Advent - and though anticipation during this season is part and parcel to my own personal faith beliefs, I'm pretty certain the shining up of 'normal' kind of misses the point. In truth, the acknowledgement of how we really function and acceptance of our everyday reality explains why we so eagerly live in an Advent world and THAT is what I should be wallowing in instead of trying to tiptoe around with feigned perfection. I've realized that I'm really bad at being present - I'm always looking forward to what's next - and it's taken until now (with my almost 40 big girl pants on) to realize and admit that I've probably missed out on a whole lot of what life has served up before me. I've missed it because I've been too busy looking to the 'what's next'.

This year, our Christmas season has been wonderful - we played in Whistler in new snow, the hubs got a promotion at work, we laughed, we looked at gingerbread houses and Christmas trees galore, we helped make Christmas brighter for a couple of folks, we basked in lovely friendships all around us. And that's just the stuff I danced around - probably missing some serendipitous pieces in my 'looking forward' state. Today I find myself on a plane heading for my other home - South Carolina. While I can't wait  to see my mama, daddy, sister, brother-in-law and nephews, I'm flat out heartsick to miss these last few days of the four of us at home together. It was a weepy goodbye at the airport for me - with hugs and kisses from my kids and repeated, "I'm gonna miss you-s", and it took an earthquake (yep - for real - 4.8 last night as we lay in bed) and my being 37,000 feet in the air to put words on the prickly tears. I wanted to stay right where I was because I've finally figured out that intentionally being present is where my heart gets full. Our son is almost ELEVEN - in seven short years he'll be out and about in the world in a new way. I want that for him and I'm excited for him - I want him to become, explore and grow. But I also want to drink in every minute between now and then. Likewise, our daughter who was born five minutes ago is EIGHT! Philip and I have been parents longer than we've known each other yet somehow it feels like we never really knew each other til this parenting thing happened to us.

Normally I don't make New Year's Resolutions - they often feel empty to me. However, as 2016 closes in, my resolution is to try to stop wanting to know all the answers about what's next. My resolution is to try my darnedest, in spite of myself, to be fully present in what each day presents me and to soak up what life sets before me lest I miss it. And my hope, my prayer, is that I'll ring in 2017 with the three I love most at my side, along with those who raised me to this point and those who've shaped me along the journey. 2015 has made me keenly aware of the gift of good people in my life; people who know me in various shapes and forms and have taught me what it is to try to make the most of this living thing by teaching me more about who I am. Cheers to you - family, friends and those who we've yet to meet - may we understand our connections more deeply and celebrate them readily in the year to come. Happy New Year!

Open letter to media outlets re: responsibility

Dear major televised "news" outlets:

I'm looking at you NBC, ABC, CBS, Fox & CNN. It is safe to assume every American agrees that more than one mass shooting per day is beyond reprehensible. We can all probably even agree that laws about guns should be up for discussion - even if we fall on different sides of how we think they should read. I trust that those conversations can and will happen. But, as crafters of our collective conscience, I look to you to not allow guns to be the only focus of discussion. I expect you as purveyors of news to understand that some degree of culpability lies at your feet. I implore you to beg your leadership to look beyond the profit/loss statement of your network and focus on the the impact you're making on humanity. For when you speak, people listen. When you repeat video, people watch. When you offer up conjecture, people get scared. And, at this point you cease to be news reporters and morph into news creators. This stoking of the fear fire does nothing to help nourish caring for our neighbors and it's time for you to stop.

Consider this - I can see the image of a young man being gunned down without wondering what it looks like for a person to be shot mid stride because I've seen it no less than ten times on various channels. And you claim it a source of pride that you're not showing the 'repeated' shooting that followed. Seriously? You make your business advertising death and terror and pain. These are important stories - I agree. However, what honor do you bring to slain victims of terror when you focus on the perpetrators more than the lives that were prematurely snuffed? You lead every newscast with highly detailed accounts that include some facts and a lot of speculation about how many were killed by a mentally ill attacker and close your broadcast with a 30-second human interest story.

I'm a parent of two children - my husband and I seek to raise them as responsible global citizens but we cannot allow them to watch what you broadcast because your broadcasts do nothing to encourage them to fulfill the dreams we have for them and what the world needs of them. Your broadcasts make them scared to grow up because you spend all of your time focused on tragedy and offer no opportunity for them to see hope and good in the world they're going to be called to lead in a few short years. I believe that many of you are parents too. Do you allow your children to watch the broadcasts you are paid handsomely to create? Do you take pride in consistently lifting up the lowest common denominator of human beings as the norm?

What if...what if you lead with human interest and hope? What if you closed with a thirty second report of tragedy in the world? What if your network chose to turn broadcasting upside down and become a network of humanity versus a network of profit? It seems a bit odd to think that news has become a for-profit business anyway when you think about it. Every morning my husband and I ask one another if there's anything going on in the world. On the rare day that the answer is "nothing major" we exhale with relief and feel a bit lighter because we aren't going to have to shield our children from images that even adults have trouble processing.

Please, please consider what role you play in fostering copycats and perpetuating a culture of fear. Wouldn't it feel great for you to go to bed at night knowing that the focus of your newscast might inspire people to engage in healthy dialogue with people different from them instead? Or, what if your broadcast spent more than 30-45 seconds covering the heroes of the world who step in to help when tragedy strikes? Our children have the opportunity to be in your presence more than our own as you are available 24 hours per day - even when they're at school. You are powerful. You are loud. You can do better. I would love to have you as our partner in growing young people ready to inherit the responsibility of living in a global society. Please join us - we need to be in this together.

Football Era

This kid. He's dreamed of tackle football from his earliest days. At the ripe age of 2 he ran around our backyard, shoulders hiked up to his ears as his shoulder pads, insisting we sing the Notre Dame fight song while he pretended to be Rudy. And here we are - twice a week practices, Sunday games and daily bruise counts. He's euphoric. I, however, am working on feigning cool when my baby hits the ground and is slow to get up. Suffice it to say, our son plays hard. His coach loves him for it and we're proud that he personifies giving your team 100%. We've had fun watching him be a leader and pump up his teammates. We've blown through stain remover, learned the need of a post-practice snack (that often looks like a small meal) and gotten accustomed to helmet and shoulder pads in the living room. It's hard to believe that we're at this stage and it's wonderful to see him so excited. Today, it seems only fitting to celebrate this new era in our family - as our former little Rudy has grown into a Lion and was dubbed the MVP of his game this past rainy Sunday. Toddler and preteen have collided with the Clemson defeat of Notre Dame a couple of weeks ago, and even in Canada we get to sport Clemson orange - tho we cheer for a different big cat, the Lion. I see these photos and wonder how on earth we got to this place in our family's story so quickly. And I'm deeply, deeply grateful for the opportunity to see our firstborn live into one of his lifelong dreams.

The "Rudy" years - Lydia was on her way and this little guy and I were cheering on the Tigers in Clemson. This was a baseball game, but was the closest I could find to the Rudy era - on the hunt for his 'shoulder pads' shot...methinks it's in storage (with half of our life ^>^) LOOK AT THAT FACE!

Grade 1 - when he was Walter Payton on Famous American Day

My favorite #54! Plays offense and defense and his coach says he's always 'full throttle'

Two peas in a pod

Lydia helping mark yardage with her daddy

 Henry, today I celebrate you and hope that I don't embarrass you when I check on you during your games. Love you, buddy!

At the BC Lions Game on Saturday - incidentally, they were playing the Winnipeg Blue Bombers and former Clemson Tiger, Tajh Boyd, just signed on with the - how cool is that? Small world, indeed.

Meeting two of the BC Lions players last week

Outside BC Place on Terry Fox Plaza before the game...

Whales & Water

Yesterday I set out with a singular goal - spotting the whale that's been playing in the waters of English Bay - our backyard. Several friends had seen her and I have a list of wildlife that I must see before our family moves away from Canada. Whales are on the list. The stars aligned such that I had prepared Tuesday night's dinner on Monday, I had a meeting at the school just after lunch and Philip was out of town. I already knew the laundry would wait patiently, so I, along with my children, proceeded to pack backpacks in preparation for a day out. My Parent Advisory Council notebook and the bylaws needing editing went with me, as did Jamie Tworkowski's book If You Feel Too Much. As soon as I dropped the children at their classrooms, I headed to McDonald's - I know, not the healthiest of choices, but it was quick, easy and on the way. It seemed I had forgotten to eat breakfast - I was that excited. I took my Egg McMuffin down to the benches at English Bay and quickly retreated to the 'laughing guy' statues when the geese and seagulls were as interested in my breakfast as was I. With my stomach satiated and my trash safely stowed, I headed back to the beach with anticipation similar to a child's on Christmas Eve.

The Laughing Guys - a friendly place for a picnic breakfast

As I pondered which bench to choose, I saw a gentleman with binoculars surveying the water and I asked him if there was any sign of the whale. He smiled knowingly but said, "Not yet." A gentleman on the bench beside him commented, "He (though I've decided the whale's a girl) was here yesterday between 9 & 10." It was 9:38AM and I was glad I hadn't missed the main attraction. I chose my perch and began busying myself with the business of waiting. Hear me say - I'm categorically horrible at waiting. I called my parents to check in, double checked the phone for any emails and promptly pulled out my trusty notebook and the bylaws beckoning edits. As it turns out, this 'daunting' task took all of 17 minutes, and the whale hadn't visited. Restlessness began to creep in and I decided to find a new perch. The sun was peeking through dappled clouds and I walked to the inukshuk and found a bench on the tip of the man-made peninsula that sticks into the bay. The sun was warm on my back, the water calm and glassy, the container ships seemingly standing guard in the distance. I chose to relax into the waiting, to give myself permission to let my mind wander while the sun relaxed my shoulders and soothed my soul.

The inukshuk

The view from my peninsular perch

The water was calm and glassy indeed - gentle waves lapping the shore like a kitten first learning to drink from a bowl. The water was rhythmic and comforting - it was everything water hasn't been for my home state of South Carolina this past week. It was odd to sit in that tension. Water is powerful - powerful in its ability to cripple roads and bridges and tear houses apart; powerful in its gentleness as balm for a weary soul; powerful in the opportunity it presents for new life to those wanting to escape brutalities in the places they've only known as home. Seeing power in so many forms is overwhelming and I got restless again. It was time to find a new perch.

I meandered over the beach to the sitting logs - notebook stowed, book at the ready. Before opening my book I scanned the water carefully, hopefully - just knowing the whale was coming. Nothing. It was 11:39AM. I began reading - Jamie's words are poetic, his sentiments affirming, his message encouraging. His book reads as if you're thumbing through a series of songs that put lyrics to the ebb and flow of all our lives. Reading it on the beach amplified the experience. After a few pages I scanned the water and there it was - a muted "pffft" and a spray of water just above the surface of the bay. Wonder dripped through me and I said aloud to no one in particular, "There it is," and I started walking toward the drifting spray. I found myself walking more quickly, disregarding the sand I had tried to keep out of my shoes earlier. The moment was urgent - I couldn't miss it! Once I got onto the seawall, I dodged folks who didn't seem aware of the miracle that was right before us and I found a perfect watching spot.

The sitting logs - our backyard's view doesn't disappoint either

Look closely - you can see the spray from her breath

She surfaced irregularly - on her on timeline - each time reminding the water of her own power and giving us a glimpse of her grace and enormity. She'd dive to forage for food and we waited eagerly for her next breath - she didn't disappoint. I snapped a few photos, texted my family to let them know she'd arrived and then I just watched. For twenty or more minutes, I just watched. Awe. Her power was so comfortable to her; she moved confidently with gentle regard for the life around her. It was reverently quiet along the seawall despite the growing numbers of people gathering to watch her dining ritual. Those who talked loudly received looks that quieted them instantly. We were in the midst of a mystical, surreal moment.

Then, I left. Goal achieved. Ushered to my meeting by her gentle "pffft" as I walked away. My soul richer for the almost three hours I sat on the beach. It sounds so decadent - three hours sitting on the beach, but I found that those three hours were the most actively I've waited since anticipating the birth of my children. Those three hours were far more productive than any tangible tasks I could have accomplished in our apartment - the laundry did, in fact, wait. So did the vacuuming and the dusting. In their place a myriad of prayers for my people in South Carolina. In their place, active grieving over the physical distance separating our little family from the rest of our family. In their place, permission to be present and seek wonder even in our broken world. In their place, reclamation of the importance of continuing to live my own story.

     "We live a thousand different stories, you and i. We live so many different seasons and who can          say when winter or victory or spring? Perhaps all we can do is go together, win and lose together,     because we deserve a people and a place...and a team." [from If You Feel Too Much p. 61]

Today is a new day. Our stories continue. Some will be stories of physical rebuilding, some will be of resting from labours, some will be of celebrating what life has put before us, some will feel like slogging through peanut butter. Whatever the case may be, my hope is we all find a glimpse, even if very small, of wonder, hope and awe. And I hope there are people in our lives who remind us of the wonder, hope and awe inside each one of us when our lenses get cloudy and the way seems laborious.

Broken Promise

The past month has seen me visiting with old friends Self Doubt and Insecurity quite a lot. As I last wrote, I've been in the market for a part-time job because I'm ready for an outlet that's just mine. Turns out, the process is akin to holding your breath waiting on your crush to ask you to the school dance - only a tad more vulnerable. I've spent hours perusing craigslist and job listings and I've been choosy about what I've pursued and that, admittedly, is an enviable luxury. I get it. But - I haven't been out on a first date in nearly 15 years and I haven't interviewed with complete and total strangers in about as long. Funny enough, I think myself fairly confident, but the notion has been challenged as of late. Many a resume hasn't even been acknowledged and while I've gotten a few interviews nothing has materialized that is a good fit. I got one job offer and almost accepted it - simply out of my own need to feel affirmed. Thankfully, my almost 40 self (and my wise husband), reminded me that questions are good. So I asked questions. Turns out the answers awakened me to my own ego and that giving up our only definite family time was unwise. It helped that, at the moment, I had interviewed for quite possibly the most-perfect-job-ever for me. The interview had taken place over Skype, for which I was thankful because I was convinced my red, splotchy neck (which betrays my cool, calm facade in such circumstances) wasn't as noticeable. It was a good interview, almost great even, and I promptly mailed a handwritten thank you note - because I'm old school like that. I felt really good about it, but those good vibes waned as I waited and waited for a response. The waiting opened the door for Self Doubt to visit - should I have taken the other position that gave me little to no spark of excitement? Am I too old to relate to young business people in Vancouver? Is my resume too riddled with church work to make me appealing in a business environment? Is the universe trying to tell me not to work because I'll single-handedly bring about the demise of our family?

"STOP!" Self Talk came in shouting at Self Doubt and in one fell swoop sent Self Doubt cowering into a corner. Self Doubt didn't leave, mind you, but Self Talk had wielded her power and helped open the door for the reclamation of sanity until Insecurity invited herself in via an email, "Thank you for your interest but we have chosen to go with another candidate." Ugh. But it was perfect! How could they not tell? Self Talk had to muster all of her energy and call me out on my betrayal of myself. She reminded me that I had promised myself I'd write every single day - regardless of length or subject matter. She reminded me that what I really wanted was to write, and then she had to wake me up a little with the notion that my ego and desire for affirmation just might be clouding my judgment of myself.

And here we are. Today, I'm writing. I'll tend to resume distribution tomorrow. I'll enjoy Henry's football practices. I will read other people's words. I will celebrate the patience of laundry and ironing - they wait so nicely. Today, I'm reveling in the time I get to spend with my family walking to school or the grocery.  But, most importantly, I'm keeping the promise I made to myself to write. And I'm remembering that life is about grace - with ourselves and with others.