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Oct 29

17 Comments

Deliberate Acts of Kindness

Before I begin, I’d like to say I’ve been asked to become a regular contributor to the online magazine MoveLifeStyle.com. My article about the prevalence of perfection in today’s cyber world is currently published and I’ll have a political piece right before the election. Please feel free to check it out. Move is a fabulous site well worth the bookmark. xo leigh

Sean and I recently received a letter from some dear friends of ours. It was a lovely card that said “Every Single Day, Do Something That Makes Your Heart Sing”. Inside there was a heartfelt note saying they were thinking of us and how very much we meant to them. They had also included a check for a substantial amount of money. They wrote “In thinking of you, God has put it in our hearts to send you something”. These extraordinary people went on to say it was a “GIFT” to use as we saw fit “medical bills, something fun, whatever”. Their one condition was that we never bring it up. They had included it because they felt the “point of us all being here is to take care of one another and help when we can.”

Sean and I were completely floored. We’ve never spoken directly with them about our struggles. Truly only a few family members and an inner circle of close friends are aware of our burdens. Some of our problems might be garnered from this blog but, as a couple, we make a concerted effort to try to outwardly portray the success and solidity we hope to achieve, even when it feels like everything is falling apart. The fact that these incredibly lovely people could sense our distress and felt the need to reach out and help us – in such a meaningful and generous way – was overwhelming.

We are struggling. It’s an uncomfortable time. We’ve never been in such a strong position as far as changing our circumstances – Sean’s producing, my writing – but we’ve also never been in such a tenuous position as far as financial strain. The stress is terrible. I know I should try and relax but I can’t. It can be overwhelming. I feel I have to keep moving. To try harder every day. To just keep all the balls in the air. I know I can’t work any harder, but until my book’s published or I start getting paid to write, I’m not contributing in any tangible way to our situation. I’m simply a super-over-extended-volunteer and the same goes for Sean. He’s back at the bar, which he hates but it puts money into our account, but he spends almost every waking hour working at a job that has yet to garner any financial reward. He’s gifted and driven and devoted to bettering our lives, but everything he does – every audition he works on, every pitch he designs, every layout he creates – he does without a paycheck. I know it’ll be worth it. More than his acting career, which is forever in someone else’s hands, I know producing will work out because how hard you work and how good you are is rewarded in a career where you retain the power. You can be the best actor in the world but never make it. That’s the nature of the beast. However, if you’re the one coming up with the ideas, eventually people will catch on, and then they’ll pay you for it. As far as I’m concerned, the question isn’t whether it’ll all work out, but when, and can we hold on till it does?

ilsebourn.blogspot.com

Back to the card.

Our first reaction was stunned silence. Are people actually that selfless? They’re not zillionaires. They have their own worries, issues and dependents. Why would they do that for us? Our next thought was that we couldn’t possibly accept their generosity. Sean put it well when he said his “pride hurt”. It was as if their kindness made us feel worse about ourselves. Essentially shining a spotlight on our indignity. We discussed returning the check, saying thank you but no, but wondered if that wasn’t going against the spirit in which it was given. Ultimately, after much soul searching, we decided the honorable thing to do was to accept it. To use it as it was intended, alleviate some of our worries, and when circumstances allowed A: Take our friends out to a fantastic dinner and B: Pay it forward.

The giving of an unsolicited (and much needed) gift has changed us. We will never forget this kindness and we eagerly await the day we can bestow it on another. We hope to do it as our friends have, not for recognition or gratitude, but just to know that we could help and to remind us that despite what human nature often shows, we’re all in this together and if we look out for one another, the world can truly be a better place.

Sean and I feel incredibly blessed. Yes, there’s some shame associated with our current situation, but we work every day to rectify it. For every person that does something horrible like attempt to steal our car (which happened last week and left us with a mangled door and no steering wheel) there’s someone who does something exceptionally kind (like our friend who recently gave Sean theatre tickets because he knew we were dying to see a show but couldn’t afford to go). For every low day we’re left to wonder why it has to be so hard, there’s a brilliant night spent among friends that reminds us what’s really important. I know my parents wouldn’t let me die if I couldn’t afford my drugs or allow us to fall to a place where I had to pull Loch out of school, but I’m also not in the position to fall back on them anymore. They’re no longer able to be my safety net and it’s an incredibly scary awakening. Sean and I struggle every day to realize our dreams while still affording our reality. It’s arduous and humbling but we keep telling ourselves we’ll survive. We’ll survive and it’ll be worth it.

zazzle.com

Receiving a check from our friends was a shock, a tremendous blessing of overwhelming kindness, but a shock. Needing or asking for money has always been slightly humiliating and come with a fair amount of strings, but here we were receiving something unsolicited and without stipulation. To return it, simply because it was too kind seemed the wrong thing to do, especially since we can see it as the start of something bigger than ourselves. A chain reaction of compassion that we look forward to continuing.

I don’t often speak about God but I believe he brings people into our lives for a reason and inspires us to do things when we can. He can give us strength and hope and, in this case, he inspired our friends to offer us relief that one day we’ll be able to offer another.

stonebriar.rog

All this reminds me of a story I recently heard about an employee at an Oregon Target. The employee was ringing up a family and when she ran the customer’s credit card it was denied. The man tried another card but it was also rejected. He apologetically moved to the side with his wife and baby to call his bank. The next customer, who had witnessed the transaction, quietly asked to add the man’s bill to her tab. When the employee informed her it was $160, the woman said to do it anyway. She said she knew what it was like to need help. When the man returned to tell the employee he couldn’t pay for the groceries, the employee was pleased to tell him the debt had already been paid. When the family understood what had happened the wife began to cry. They were overwhelmed someone could be so kind. The husband said, “I didn’t have the money to pay my bill but I do have a $20 in my wallet. I’d like to leave it for the next person.” When the next person found their bill had been paid by a stranger they left money to help pay for the next bill, and the kindness continued. The Target employee was so moved by what  she witnessed she posted the entire story on Facebook and it went viral. She said the woman would never know the impact she’d made on so many people, and although not everyone is able to pay someone else’s $160 bill, doing what you can can when you can, can impact someone for the rest of their life.

That’s how Sean and I feel. Not only by the shocking generosity of our friends’ gift, but by the compassion so many people have offered us over time. It’s our hope, that we have in the past, and will continue in the future, to fill that role in other’s lives. We hope to take this lesson in generosity and bestow it on others. We will never forget what it’s like to need help, and how very much it means when it’s given.

Love and thanks to ALL our guardian angels. You humble us. We are better for knowing you.

xo Leigh

joinyourhandz.blogspot.com

Oct 15

24 Comments

Anger

There are days that I feel angry. Incredibly angry. Days where I’m not positive or happy or hopeful, but more like cheated, picked on and pissed off. Days when it’s not fair and I can’t convince myself that everything is a blessing. There are days when the world is sucky and mean and I worry I don’t have the strength to handle it any more.

I recognize there are so many people who have it worse than me. People who struggle harder or are burdened with more. People who have to deal with such grief and pain that it’s a effort just to function.  Most of the time I’m able to keep things in perspective, but, anyone who’s ever had to deal with a life changing event/situation will tell you, there are certain days where perspective feels impossible and all you can think about is yourself. I recently had one of those days and, as I sat in my doctor’s office beside a woman on oxygen, her tank puffing away as she struggled to take a deep breath, all I could think was “Please God, don’t let that be me.”

What I look like on the surface.

The thing about dealing with something like a chronic illness is that you have to adjust and learn to live within your new perimeters and still function with a sense of peace. This doesn’t mean you’re less scared or sad. It just means you accept that life goes on and you have to as well. When you’re able to do that you have the chance of living a relatively “normal” life. When you put the anxiety and fear aside just enough that you’e able to exist on the same plain as your friends and family. My problem seems to arise when one extra thing goes wrong. It’s like I’ve tamped down my feelings just enough to operate but, if one more thing is added to my bucket it spills over and I freak out, unable to regulate my emotions, and all of my feelings come pouring out at once. The most prominent feeling being anger.

My recent trip to the doctor was one of those times. As I sat beside that poor woman trying to catch her breath, I found myself in a state of extreme agitation. That morning I’d awoken to a, not insubstantial, indent on the side of my head. It looked as if someone had taken their thumb to the area just above my left temple and pushed it and now my skull was caving in. I took one look at that concave hole and just lost it.

The thing is when you hold it together every day, dealing with your death or your finances (owed in no small measure to the aforementioned death) or, your often ludicrously bad luck, you spend most of your time just trying to tamp down your fears enough to play your role (as a mother, or a career lady or, just, a generally ok-ish person) adequately but, seeing that divot in my skull – a possible side effect of a vitamin D/Calcium deficiency due to one of my drugs – was the preverbal straw.

I knew my horror was based more on vanity than mortality but, what I felt was “Give me a f*^#ing break!! On top of everything I’m going to be deformed?! Are you f*^#ing kidding me?! I called my doctor and he had me immediately come in immediately.

What I feel like on the inside is more like William Harrington’s painting Sea Venture in the Storm.

I put a fair amount of weight into holding on as much as possible to my old life or who I was before I was sick. I find it grounds me so I don’t feel as if I’m about to float away. I know who I am even if I don’t recognize myself as much anymore. Somehow, the thought that I might end up with a collapsed skull, an outward reminder of my inward deficiencies, just really pissed me off. No matter how calm I may appear on the surface, I am debilitatingly angry that this is happening to me and, occasionally, my control slips and my restrain turns to panic.

As I sat through the bone density test and the skull x-rays I started thinking about all the other people in the world who are living with anger and how tiring it can be. We know someone who recently lost her son to cancer. It happened relatively suddenly after years of fighting. Though I have no doubt she’s devastated, my guess is she is also angry. How could you not be? Life isn’t fair. Who gets sick versus who doesn’t seems completely arbitrary. Lovely people die while s*^#ty people live all the time. Bad things happen to good people while hideous people can live perfectly charmed existences.

Our ship coming in courtesy of mother-mel.blogspot.com

Sean and I work every day to try and better our lives. We got pushed seriously off track but, we’re fighting every day to make our dreams a reality. If we don’t make it, it won’t be from lack of effort or skill. It won’t be because we were lazy. It’ll just be.  A while back I broke down and said, “When is it going to be our turn? What are we doing wrong?” I’m just so tired of waiting. I realize what’s important. I see it every morning in my bed with my boys during our morning cuddle but, it doesn’t make me less frustrated. Why does it have to be SO hard?

As it turns out, my skull is not caving in. A number of people saw it so, I can safely say, I’m not going insane but, my skull and bones seem to be holding up under the strain of my meds and the wildness of my mind and today my forehead looks way less like I was just delivered using forceps. I’m back to maintaining and I understand, as the cliche goes, that some days are just better than others.

I look forward to the day when all the effort pays off. When I can truly breath a sigh of relief. When my general stasis can return to calm and I can meet my challenges with the energy to rise above the fear. I’m not an angry person. I’m a person who’s circumstances have made her angry. I await the day where I can just let it go. In the meantime, I’ll keep watching the horizon and trying to stay afloat.

xo Leigh

profitablesignals.com

As a side note, the day after I posted this piece Sean’s car was broken into. They drilled a hole right through the door, used a crowbar, then tried to hot wire it. They ended up just leaving with just the airbag from the steering wheel rather than the car itself, but really?! You gotta be kidding me…

Oct 1

7 Comments

Baggage

Dear Loch,

When I talk about baggage I’m not talking about the Tumi 4 wheel luggage I wish I could afford, but about the metaphysical baggage we lug around that become part of our personality. I’m talking about issues, perceived wrongs and past experiences that weigh us down. I’m talking about things that happened in your past that go on to dictate your future, and I’m talking about it because it’s not a good thing.

Man I love this bag. Why it’s $1200, I’m not quite sure.

Metaphysical baggage needs to be checked. It needs to be put down and left, but unlike real baggage, it should never be collected again. Root through it, take what you can use (like wisdom and knowledge) and walk away.

Bad things happen, they do and it’s terrible, but it’s important that you’re able to move on. You can’t live a happy, fully functioning life while carrying the scars of your past traumas. Eventually they start dictating both your personality and decisions. Old wounds should not dictate new relationships. One person is not another, and just because something happened once doesn’t mean it will happen again. In fact, the more you fixate on history repeating itself, the more you move towards creating a self fulfilling prophecy.

Your Dad and I have a friend that was burned once by someone he trusted. It screwed him up to believe in someone whole heartedly and be betrayed. The problem is, he is unable to let it go, and that inability or unwillingness has made him a skittish person, quick to think the worst of people. In many ways he’s lost the ability to trust and for that everybody suffers. The actions of one person dictate how he sees all others. He’s so weighed down by his past that he’s become defensive at the slightest perceived slight. A past friend’s actions have made him guarded and overly sensitive to new friend’s behaviors and it’s a tough road to climb.

emotional baggage at positivetosuccess.com

Imagine your girlfriend cheated on you  and you carry that fear into your next relationship. You become hyper vigilant and accusatory, convinced the same thing is going to happen again. The new girl has done nothing to deserve your lack of trust. It’s not her fault you were betrayed and it’s not her problem to deal with. Eventually you’ll drive that girl away with your fear and nerves. What you needed to do was learn from the first incident – ie. I could have spent less time at work, I could have paid more attention to her, I shouldn’t have dated a tramp, whatever the lesson is – chalked it up to life, and moved on. If you carry the baggage with you, you are not only unable to learn from it, because you have no distance  to gain perspective, but you are unable to move on from it. You create a pattern in which all future relationships have to live up to or prove themselves against and it’s unfair and unreasonable to expect people to do that. People do not deserve to pay for the mistakes of others, and it’s on you to make sure they don’t.

If you’re hurt baby, I’m sorry. I know it can be devastating, but you must allow yourself to heal so you can get on with your life. Don’t expect to be burnt again. Take your lesson, store it, and leave the pain behind. Try to enter all new situations with an open heart. Trust people until they prove untrustworthy. Innocent until proven guilty isn’t just for the courts. It’s not naive to expect the best in people, it’s hopeful, and often people will rise to the occasion to justify your trust. If you expect the best from people you might find yourself disappointed but you won’t find yourself jaded. Disappointment you can move on from, jaded is a state of being, and not a particularly great one. Jaded people may be burned less, but they enjoy less. Jaded people, the one’s who refuse to “have the wool pulled over their eyes”, who protect themselves from hurt at all costs, are never able to fully relax, to truly enjoy. By not seeing the best in others they are unable to be the best versions of themselves. You have to put yourself out there in order to reap the greatest rewards.

Don’t be this gal from connectedbygrace.wordpress.com

I’ve been burned a number of times in my life but I’m very happy. No matter what’s happened to me, I’ve always believed things were going to work out. I believe that with my health, with my career and I believed that with my love life. For all the horror stories and ridiculousness that came before your father, I never lost hope. I never stopped believing I was going to find the right person, I never changed my mind or decided to settle (despite my mother’s suggestions). I fully committed to every new love whole heartedly, and though I was disappointed every time, I never gave up. My faith and hope was rewarded when I met your Dad. He loved me utterly and completely and, no matter what preceded him, I felt I deserved it and could trust him. It would have been easy for me to become apathetic when it came to love, to let the disappointments of my past build walls around me, but I never did and I’m convinced it was that openness that allowed the right person walk right up.

manafoods.blogspot.com

I’m a trusting person. I was fired by a man who more or less derailed my acting career and I went back to work for him again. Did I like him? No. Did I trust him? No. But I believed that I needed to take the chance because it was good for my career. What I did do, however, was take the lessons learned from our previous dealings and use them to protect myself. Iron clad contracts and defined creative control so there would be no confusion as to where the power lay. Unfortunately for me it didn’t work out again, but it wasn’t from lack of preparation or foresight. At the end of the day he’s just not someone who can trust other’s ideas might surpass his. It was his baggage that made it impossible to move forward not mine. I still got burnt (I spent almost a year creating a series of children’s books I had no rights to unless they were published, and I wouldn’t publish them unless they were something I was 100% behind) but I wasn’t afraid to try. I wasn’t unable to take a leap of faith. He, on the other hand was. His closed mindedness, and past baggage of not being in control, have made it impossible for him to collaborate or bend and he suffers for it. Walking away from that project, I was both frustrated and liberated. I’d taken a risk and it hadn’t paid off, but I’d also learned that no matter how good the deal, some people you just can’t work with no matter how hard you try.

My advice, no matter how painful sometimes, is to throw yourself into things every time. Don’t be a whiny suck living in the past. Leave the past where it belongs and move forward. You aren’t protecting yourself by carrying the hurt, and it’s not anyone else’s job to help shoulder your burden. Learn from your mistakes then wash your hands of it. There are always other opportunities, always other loves, always other jobs. Do the best you can and expect others will do the same. Will you be disappointed? Sure. Sometimes. But you’ll also give yourself the chance to be happy and that’s worth the risk.

I love you.

Just let it go.

xo Mommy

Strive to be like this guy at claricemota.com

Sep 17

8 Comments

Pre K

Dear Loch,

You started pre K this week. It’s your last year of preschool and the last year before you’re in school full time. Last week, your Dad and I went to a parent’s night at the school to meet your teachers and hear what to expect from the coming year. I was looking forward to the meeting. We’d had a wonderful summer between Canada, the cottage, camp and house guests, but I’d run out of things to keep you occupied and you’re ready to get back to your routine. Excited for it all to begin, I sat on the tiny chairs in room 4 while the teachers explained the main thing the parents should be focusing on this year is remaining calm. They went on to say they understood it was a particularly stressful year as we try to decide on what the next step is for all of you. Kinder/Not kinder. Private/Public. Private Acceptance/Rejection. It’s a lot to deal with, and your teachers wanted us to see the school as a stress free zone. If you were sent home to find things that began with the letter R and you came back with something that began with the letter W, don’t worry about it, they’ll make it work. If we forget to bring something in for you, no problem, they’ll figure it out. Your teachers were adamant we really try to enjoy the year, and I sincerely appreciate their concern. Then one of them said something that brought tears to my eyes. She said, “Right now you have a child who’s just out of toddlerhood, but by June of next year, you’ll have a school aged child. You’ll never get these baby years back, so enjoy them while you can because this is it.” I clearly wasn’t the only parent who looked crestfallen because she started to laugh and said, “I wasn’t trying to make you guys cry!”  

What she said really affected me. I no longer felt as thrilled to have you back in school. I didn’t feel as enthusiastic to have our summer over, and I suddenly felt incredibly sentimental about the time we have left together – the time before you morph into a big kid and I lose my darling chicken to his room, and his friends, and his life. I understand it’s all part of growing up – for you and for me – but when your teacher said it out loud, I realized how close all of this is to being over and how very much I’m going to miss it. You are the love of my life Lochlan. We’re the best of pals and in some ways I think I’ve taken this time with just the two of us (and Daddy) for granted. I know I’m not the best at “playing”. I like to build and act and sing and dance but I’m weak when it comes to cars and trains and just getting down on the floor and engaging with them. God help me, I found that part mind numbing, and I’d often busied myself with laundry, dinner and other things that needed attention instead, and now I’m worried I could have done better. I’ve also struggled though your childhood trying to relaunch a career while still being a full time mother and, for the most part, I often feel I’m half assing both rather than mastering either. You’ve been plunked down in front of the television more than you probably should to give me a moment to “get things done” and though I would qualify myself as a very hands on mother, now that your starter years are coming to an end, I wonder if I couldn’t have given just a little more.

Looking back on your first four years however, perhaps I shouldn’t beat myself up. I did the best I could, and as long as I don’t compare myself to other mothers – the ones who don’t use TV as a baby sitter or who can make firetrucks talk to one another for more than five minutes without losing their minds – I can rest assured I’ve done right by you. We’ve had a wonderful time together. We’ve spent endless hours exploring the world. I had the opportunity to go to school with you for two whole years. I taught you the difference between right and wrong and the importance of manners. You’re self sufficient and confident and you talk a lot because I talk a lot. Overall, I believe your personality and enthusiasm were given a real chance to grow in the years we’ve had together, and at the very heart of it all we’ve had a marvelous time. I’m grateful for every year, so I thought it might be nice – at this, the beginning of the end, so to speak – to get a little reminiscent about what those years were like.

Year of the Baby – I’m not going to lie. It was a rough start. You had everything a baby could have to make him miserable – reflux, colic, constant barfing – and miserable you were. If you weren’t eating or sleeping, you were screaming. Screaming. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I was beside myself. I still look at babies with a slight tinge of anxiety. Holding them it’s like a flashback that gives me the shakes. If I could do it all over again, I know I’d enjoy it more because I’d know that everything would eventually pass. I’d be able to appreciate how wonderful it is to have a tiny baby rather than just thinking, “Dear God, I don’t know if I can do this”. Some friends of ours just had a new baby and for the first time since you out grew the screaming, I thought, yeah, I could do this again. For the record, everything after five months was so much better. Once you got on the solid foods you did a 180 on the crying. The baby I hoped was in there was able to emerge. Sadly, that time coinsided with my diagnosis, so I didn’t have the opportunity to enjoy it as much as I would have liked.

One Year Old – You learned to walk at 16 months, but more so, your personality really kicked in, and your personality strongly hinged on communication. You talked from the very beginning and were interested in everything, with a special focus on anything that moved (cars, trucks, trains, etc.) and girls with long hair. I even started to make an effort every day with my hair because it annoyed you so much if I didn’t. If I had the audacity to wear it in a bun or ponytail, you’d look at me sideways and say, “Mommy, no!  Brush, brush!” . This was also the year that you showed yourself to be a real lover of affection, always asking for cuddles and hugs and kisses. I could never refuse you, even when I was supposed to be leaving your room.

Two Years Old – You became a little boy this year. Your personality only continued to bloom and we realized how very lucky we were to have such a funny, empathetic, polite and loving child. You developed a sense of right and wrong and continued your obsession with girls (and by girls I mean women age 19-35 as spending so much time with me, made you believe that mom’s and their ilk were your peer group). You creativity grew leaps and bounds (though not your skills in art – you just had zero interest) and you started instigating imagination games on your own. Although you developed a will of your own, and preferred to do everything yourself, I never felt the two’s were in the least bit terrible. In fact, as far as I was concerned, it just kept getting better. You also started school this year and you took to it like gang busters. Organized, structured activities at a table – eh. Free range social play with peers – couldn’t get enough. 

Three Years Old – Oh man, I loved three. I’ll never be able to look back on three and four without getting weepy. We really became best pals this year. You’re such good company and we had such nice times together. You also started developing friends of your own this year as well as definite opinions of your likes (favorite game: family – always wants to be the “Daddy”) and dislikes (loud noises, watermelon, bed time). Despite all the new found independence you were still tightly connected to your mommy and I loved it. “When I get older I’ll marry a pretty girl?” “I’m sure you will Lochie.” “I think I’ll marry you Mommy.” “You think you’ll marry me?” “Yes.” “Well that would be lovely, but I think you’ll fall in love with someone else and want to marry them.” “No. I think I’ll just marry you.” Sigh.

Four Years Old – Are you kidding me with four?! I literally adore four. Yes, you’ve become far more willful and less malleable, exerting your “expertise” and opinions liberally, but you are a real companion now. You’re fun to hang out with. You make me laugh all the time. Sometimes deliberately. You also developed into a real BOY this year. Gone are the days of dressing in princess dresses and tutus, you’re now into superheros and legos and Star Wars. Despite the increased maturity in some ways you’ve also become more nervous. You’re constantly concerned about where I am, or where I’m going to be. It’s almost as if you understand the impermanance of the world and don’t feel secure unless you can visualize where I am and what I’m doing. We’re able to be quite flexible with your schedule now – though we try and get you to bed around the same time every night – and it’s opened our lives up a lot. It’s this age that I’m going to miss the most. I look at your adorable face in your baby pictures and I feel nostalgic, but it’s hanging out with you now that really makes me realize how fleeting this time is. You’re so enthusiastic, so positive, so happy. You delight in small things and want to be with us all the time. When you’re proud or excited your face just lights up. I do things all the time just to elicite that reaction and the beauty of this age is, I don’t have to do big things to make it happen. You’re not jaded yet. You’re not cool. You just want to be happy and loved and I’m devouring it. Every morning when you pad into my room and climb into bed for our cuddle, I’m aware it’s one less day you’ll be this sweet and adoring. 

Lochie, I love your energy and your idealism. I love your manners and your sense of humor. I love how kind and loving you’ve grown up to be, and for so many reasons, I hope you are able to stay this way for a long time. I pray your grown up self never loses all these wonderful qualities you have as a child.

So, we press forward and await the changes that, inevitably, will come. I know you’ll always love me but I also know you’ll never love me as unconditionally as you do right now. At this moment we’re the center of each other’s universe and soon enough other things will take my place in yours. If I’m lucky, time will eventually give you back to me, but I’ll never have you as completely as I did when you were my baby. I will live on these memories and you will build your future on them.

I wish you great and marvelous things Lochlan. I wish you happiness and love. I wish you success and security. I wish you health and joy, and I only hope that I can give you everything the child you are deserves, and the man you deserve to be, needs.

I love you Loch. Thank you for filling my life with such purpose. No matter where you go, remember this is where you started and you can always come back.

xo Mommy

Sep 4

10 Comments

Stress

Dear Loch,

I do not handle stress well. Never really have. It’s a terrible trait that, ironically, I’m better at handling a situation if the stakes are really high, like an accident/life or death, than I am with basic, everyday stresses where I become a basket case of epic proportions. The other day we were driving in Shatzy (our car) to your friend’s birthday party – which like all other parties at cool and expensive destination locations, was ridiculously far away – and I was using the navigation system in the car. When the coolly polite voice informed us we’d arrived at our destination, you were the first to say what we were both thinking…that we definitely had not. That this, wherever the hell this was – random residential street with no desirable kids play factory anywhere in sight – was clearly not our journey’s end. Our technology had lead us astray. I checked the system and, for some unbeknownst reason, the address was totally wrong. Now, I hadn’t put it in wrong, but somewhere between my dashboard and my drive shaft the computer had decided to change De Soto Avenue to the unknown Arcola Avenue on which we were now sitting. I tried retyping in the address but without a zip code the system wouldn’t let me proceed, and every time I typed in the street number, the street name would disappear. I did this 5 times before I flipped out and decided to put the address into my phone instead. My iPhone however was hell bent on giving me directions to a place in De Soto, Arkansas that would take me 1 day, 2 hours or 1 day, 4 hours depending on the route I chose. I went back to the nav system and tried to use voice control, but De Soto apparently sounds like everything and anything other than De Soto. I tried spelling it letter by letter, but by now I was basically screaming at my steering wheel.

Me: D-E-space S-O-T…

Car: You are clearly having trouble. Here is a list of possible commands to give you a idea of what to say…

Me: Navigation. Street Address. 2333 De Soto Avenue, Woodland Hills…

Car: (showing 3 possible address all starting with the word La) Pick a line or say None of these.

Me: None of these!!!

Car: Spell the name of the street. You can say things like 1234 Smith Avenue…

Me. 2-3-3-3 D-E-S-O-T-O

Car: (showing 3 lines that, aside from starting with D, have nothing whatsoever in common with De Soto) Pick a line or say none of these.

Me: F*^# you you f*^#ing stupid piece of s#^*….none of those, none of those, none of those.

Car: (not even slightly ruffled by my torrid of profanity) You can say a command by looking at the screen for options.

Me: Cancel! (hitting the steering wheel) @#$%^&**&^%! Stupid, @#$^&*’…..

Little sob from the back seat.

Me: (Immediately getting a hold of myself and feeling like the worst parent on earth) Oh Lochie, I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m behaving so badly.

You: (Sniffy little voice) I want to go to the party.

Me: I know baby. Me too. But this stupid system won’t listen to me.

You: (sticking up for the car whom you often have conversations with where I do the car’s voice) It’s not stupid, It’s part of Shatzy.

gardian.co.uk

Now if I’m not the worst person ever at this moment, I sure feel like it. Turns out we were 4 blocks away. 4 blocks! And I had a fit. A true temper tantrum that you had to witness. Before we ended up driving (I finally got directions off my phone) I turned around and told you again how sorry I was. I let you know I handled the situation extremely poorly and admitted my way of dealing with stress was awful and that you should look to your Daddy on how to handle this kind of situation (ones that don’t go your way) and not to me.

Your Dad is like Zen Master calm and I’m like just add water anxiety.

Still I feel awful. I wish I wasn’t that way. I recognize how foolish it is and how I could be making a better choice and yet I find it almost impossible to stop myself. I hate that you witness it and I hate more that you might someday emulate it.

willsandestates.co.za

Your Granddad is an epic stresser. The daily loss of his keys is a crisis of Herculean proportions. The swallowing of a bug leads people to believe he’s having a heart attack. But like myself, my Dad handles vast amounts of stress quite well. It’s the little things that get to him. Perhaps it’s like that expression when you’re married and fighting and people say “its not about the dishes”. It basically means the fight you’re having may have started over something small (like the dishes) but it’s the underlying feelings that are feeding the argument. People like Granddad and myself may be handling our major crises silently but our internal stress levels are so elevated that if one insignificant thing goes awry we just lose it. It’s the proverbial straw. Perhaps if we both looked into handling our major stresses more appropriately we wouldn’t be so exercised sweating the small stuff. I’ve witnessed my Dad’s mini meltdowns and it’s simultaneously not pretty and like looking in a mirror.

This spring your Dad and I went to a parenting conference where one of the lectures I attended was “Nurturing your Child’s Brilliance” and the speaker said something that really affected me. His theory was that we work within two vastly different states of intelligence. A conscious intelligence which he referred to as our “brilliance” where we think freely and see problems laid out clearly, and a responsive pattern of reactions that we downshift to in periods of tension or stress that cloud or active brain forcing us to fall back on old habits. The speaker believed that in periods of stress our brilliance and problem solving skills were overtaken by these repetitive patterns that made it impossible for us to access our natural intelligence. He claimed that most adults live primarily in that repetitive response zone, repeating patterned behaviors, unable to get back to our higher levels of cognizant behavior.

msnbc.msn.com

Children on the other hand, work almost solely using their natural brilliance because in times of stress or anxiety they use a tool that we, as adults, are socialized not to use, which is our emotions. When a child is stressed they show it. They cry, they scream, they have tantrums, and in that release they are able to clear their minds and upshift back to their conscious, intelligent, natural brilliance. As we age we’re taught to see that kind of behavior as inappropriate. We curb and stifle it so as to better fit in to society’s expectations. According to this speaker we are ultimately teaching ourselves to turn off the one thing that could free us up. His theory was that if, in times of stress, it was socially acceptable to show our emotions, we would be able to get out of our heads, move away from our fallback behaviors, and re-access our highest cerebral functions. I thought the whole thing made a lot of sense and it also made me feel a bit better about my personal freak outs. I’d hazzard to say it’s a version of this theory at work in traditional talk therapy. When people are allowed a safe environment in which to express their emotions they unburden and unblock themselves often making it possible for them to access their intelligent mind and solve their own problems. It’s probably why therapists are so quiet. Allowing people their feelings creates space for the clarity that allows them to answer their own questions.

The doctor used the example of a real moment of grief in an adult’s life (such as the death of a parent) where society loosens their rules on public displays of emotion. After openly grieving and crying for days people have been known to say that they feel better than they have in a years. The release of emotions actually cleared their brains. I think people often do this kind of emotional purge with TV, movies and sometimes commercials. The medium itself is a catalyst to express our feelings in an appropriate environment. It’s a sad movie so we cry. Only part of that is for the movie. The rest might be for something else but the emotions appear in context so it seems less messy.

ahealth4U.blogspot.com

I’m messy a lot. People can almost always tell how I’m feeling as I’ve never been particularly gifted, or inclined, at hiding how I feel. I’ve been known to freak out my stiff upper lip WASP parents and peers with my gregarious displays of emotion, and it’s been everything from embarrassing (crying when you don’t want to) to unnecessary (the situation with my Nav system) but for the most part I think it’s for the best. I don’t carry a lot of emotional baggage and I’m not weighed down by hidden feelings. I feel what I feel when I feel it, and then it’s over.

Ultimately there’s no weakness in feeling what you feel, and in many ways there’s a strong argument for expressing it. Though my open displays have yet to unlock my inner Hawking, I am happier not being all bottled up. What I can learn is how to better handle the small stresses so I don’t give them power they don’t deserve. If you can stay calm at all times like Daddy, then all the power to you. If you find your self hot like me, just know that there are times and places to better express yourself so you can pop off and still fit in socially.

At the very least you can watch Hallmark Christmas commercials or join a football team or something.

xo Mom

Aug 20

6 Comments

Birthdays

My birthday was last week and I did that thing that kids never understand. I couldn’t remember how old I was. I remember asking my mom her age once and she said, “I don’t know. 45 maybe?” I thought she was putting me on. Who doesn’t know how old they are?! As a kid we’re obsessed with age and our next birthday and what will happen when we’re double digits, or 16, 18 or 21. We imagine ourselves “in our 20’s” or what our life will be like at 30 and in most of those imaginings we’re attractive, hyper successful and totally pulled together. When you’re young even a half a year makes a big difference. Loch is four and a half this week and he’s totally different than he was six months ago, but as you truly get older, not only do you no longer count months you can hardly keep track of years.

So, when someone recently asked me how old I was turning I said, “37. No, 38. Wait, shoot…um…no, I’m not 37 now I don’t think. So, no. I’m 36. So, 37. Yeah, 37.” Honestly, it was a struggle for me to figure it out. I was one step away from doing the math from 1975 and that’s saying something as I’m a big avoider of math.

My 2nd Birthday. First real party.

It’s not that I’m one of those people who hates their birthday or wants to be perpetually 29. I don’t. I love my birthday. I always have. Maybe it’s the Leo in me, but I’ve always loved a day about me, a celebration of my life. I’ve always appreciated the successful completion of another year. Long before I got sick I was a fan of the birthday. I’ve always told people who were grumbling they wished it wasn’t happening or talking about “skipping it this year” that they should be happy. There are so many people who would love (or would have loved) to live another year. The time we get on this planet is so fleeting and being granted another whole year is something to be grateful for, and if you’re also someone who’s blessed enough to be around people you love who want to celebrate with you, you should eat that s*^# up with a spoon.

My 6th Birthday with my beloved granny, Mimi.

I realize the “appreciate your birthday” thing might come off a little preachy or high hatted, but it’s not meant to. Yes, I’m in a different position than I was 4 years ago as far as appreciating every year, but this is not a new sentiment for me. Birthdays are an opportunity to slow down for a day and take stock of where you are and where you’d like to be. A day to appreciate your health, your family, your friends, your life. Another year has passed. Are you happy? Could you do something different? Is there a dream you wish you were following? Can you make a goal for next year? Are you healthy? Can you find the gratitude in that? Are you sick? What can you do to help your body take care of itself or better use the time you have left? Look, it’s impossible to be grateful for your life every day. There’s just too much to think about, too many things going on, but on your birthday you get a moment to look around and acknowledge where you are and hopefully find something to be grateful for.

My 8th Birthday. I loved that suit so much!

I’m happy to age. I’ll be thrilled when I reach 40, ecstatic if I reach 50 and grateful beyond belief for every other year after that. Let me tell you, if I make it, I’ll be the happiest 80 year old you’ve ever seen. All that being said however, and no matter how pleased I am to get old, aging isn’t for the weak. Getting old is one thing. Looking and feeling old is totally another. I might be infinitely grateful for my life but I am not particularly pleased with my wrinkles, or spider veins, or sagging upper eye skin (what with that?!). I’m not excited to get a waddle and I like being able to see my jaw line. I seriously considered botox this year as a lifetime of talking with my face has built a grand canyon sized trough above my eyebrows that you could drive a truck through by the end of the day. I hate not being able to eat whatever I want without seeing it on my lower half the next day. I loathe the cracking of my knees and the fact that I groan every time I stand up. I watch my parents with their shortening memories and different physical ailments and I see (if I’m lucky) my future. Getting old is tough. The body you relied on, the mind you took for granted, the memory you had, like any other living thing starts to decay.

My 34th Birthday dinner with my Toronto girlfriends (and our respective spouses).

The question of whether you’d like your mind or your body to go first isn’t a tough one for me. If I could, I’d chose to have my body give out (not any time soon) before my mind. Watching people’s bodies hang on long after their mind has gone is heartbreaking for everyone. I can’t imagine not knowing who I was or recognizing my loved ones. I think it must be perpetually lonely when no one is able to connect with you, and so hard for the loved ones who can see you right in front of them but are unable to break through. I’d rather be alert and cognizant right up to the end. It’s like we should all pick up smoking and high sodium diets somewhere around 85 just to ensure our body doesn’t keep us around after our due date.

My 36th Birthday. Cake made by Sean & Loch. Wonderful day at the cottage!

Like I said, aging is tough. Tough on the ego. Tough on the wallet (saving is something I need to do more of as I age)  Tough on the body. It’s not easy or glamourous but, like most things, it’s dependent on your attitude as to how arduous it really is. A positive attitude, one of gratitude and wisdom, can make the unpleasant aspects seem so much less. I went to the movies the other day with a friend I’ve had since we were 10 and at the end of the credits we were the last people in the theatre. Leaving just before us however were five older ladies (say mid 70’s) all busy chatting it up. As they walked out we watched them buzzing about the movie, their plans for the next day, who was going to some event. They walked slowly and carefully but they still seemed spry and light and were clearly having fun. I turned to my friend and said, “You think that’s us in 40 years?” and she nodded. Staying engaged with the world, with your friends, with your life, is a key ingredient to finding the joy in aging. You don’t have to be sick to appreciate each year, you just have to be conscious. Know that it’s all a gift and we should take advantage of it while we still can.

Happy Birthday to you whenever it is. May the next year be your best yet!

xo leigh

My 37th Birthday. 4 of us went out on a Monday night for dinner and ended up seeing an amazing Mariachi band, getting up on stage and then skipping over to an awesome Korean karaoke bar and singing away into the night. Couldn’t have been better!

Aug 7

7 Comments

The Should’s

I considered postponing my blog a week. I’ve been up at my cottage with my family and so much of me wanted to just be on holiday. The problem with working for yourself is you’re never quite sure when you’re off. You don’t have a “work day” or “quitting time”. Your weekends aren’t for recuperating or taking time off and there is no formal vacation. Sure, you can choose not to work whenever it suits you, but if you want to succeed, those times are few and far between. In my personal world of full time mothering and trying to launch a career, any time I have to myself (read: awake with someone else responsible for Loch) I feel I should be working.

This view…

“Should” is sort of a dreaded word in my family. I associate it with my grandmother who used the word often. It implies an outsider’s perception of what you are expected to be accomplishing or an implicit benchmark you are assumed to be striving for. It can be used by my mother (sounding like a mimic of her own mother) regarding my behavior, “You know what you should do…” or most recently Loch’s behavior, “he shouldn’t be doing that” or “he should know that” but it can also just be a voice in my head pressuring me to meet certain life requirements. “Should” is full of innate pressures that can needle you into a unsettled state. “Should” calls attention to your shortcomings and compares you to some unknown flawless person who is clearly making better choices than you. On the flip side however, “should” can also be a catalyst to accomplishment when you would otherwise be too lazy or distracted to complete a task. The spur you need to run that proverbial extra mile.

So, when the thought of enjoying a day with my family instead of sitting down to write reared it’s head, the “should’s” forced me to get cracking. I realize that my blog is hardly life or death. That few will notice if it’s a week late or that this week, even with my best intentions, it will come out a day late due to the fact that I am unable to publish from up north, but even so, I felt unable to relax and just let things go. I have no editor. No deadlines but the ones I impose on myself. No one is looking over my shoulder, but if I become lax about my work ethic, what will I accomplish?

…OR this view?

What occurred to me, while debating working or not, was the concept of living each day as if it’s your last. For obvious reasons I understand this feeling better than others, but for me, the concept itself highlights an interesting quandary. If today is my last day (or my last month or my last year) what am I doing alone in a room working on a computer? If today is my last day why am I concerned with work at all? If I’m supposed to be living as if I’m going to be gone tomorrow, why should I save my money or deny myself anything? If it’s all ending why should I care about my weight or make any effort with my appearance?

How do you live each day like it’s your last, while still planning for a much longer existence? How do those two ideas reconcile into one life plan?

This quote I found on make-me-successful.com makes more sense to me.

I understand the concept of treating others as if it was their last day on earth. To give people the care and compassion you would devote to someone on their way out. If you were interacting with someone who would be gone tomorrow would you brush them off or speed them along? No, you would put yourself aside and truly listen in an attempt to understand their feelings and fears. You would be more indulgent of their shortcomings and not rush the interaction to better suit your timeline. I understand that mindset and I think it would be a wonderful way to live, at the very least a noble goal to strive for. More often than not however, my lack of patience interrupts my quest to be a better, kinder soul and I feel intolerant and frustrated with people’s weaknesses. It’s not my best quality and one I strive to improve, particularly in trying situations.

A story was recently being circulated around Facebook. It’s been around for years but it never fails to affect me:

“A cab driver was waiting outside a brownstone in New York City. It had been a long day and he was ready to go home. He’d taken this last call and was now waiting, endlessly for his fare to come downstairs. He considered driving away but thought better of it and continued to wait. Eventually a tiny, little old lady opened the door with a suitcase in her hand. He stepped out of the taxi and helped her into the waiting car. When he asked for the address she gave it to him but asked if he would mind making a stop on the way. Tired but resolved he agreed and took his fare across town to a little tenement while she told him a story. She’d moved to the city when she was 18 with her new husband. The building she wanted to see was the first place they’d lived as man and wife. He was gone now, as were her children and friends, and she was finally moving out of the city into a home (that was the address she’d given him). With no one left, she knew this was her last opportunity to see her first home. Touched by her words, and turning off the meter, the driver asked if she had any other places she’d like to see again. Over the course of the night the driver and the elderly lady revisited all her old stomping grounds, the hospital where her children were born, the place of her first job, the theatre she’d seen her first play… As the sun started to rise over the horizon, she settled back into her seat and said, “Thank you. I’m ready to go now.”  Without another word they left the city where she’d spent her life. As the driver helped the lady out of the car and into her new home, she thanked him again. The gratitude on her face was worth more than any night at home would have offered him. As he drove away he wondered what would have happened if it hadn’t been him that took the call, if someone in a bad mood or a rush had picked her up, or even more close to home, if he’d driven off as he’d considered doing.”

lolsheaven.com

Every time I read that story I like to think I’d behave like the cabbie. It’s what I should do isn’t’ it? We should plan for the future. We should live in the now. We should act like this or behave like that. The should’s have a hold in all aspects of our lives. Yes, we should be kind to little old ladies with no family, but it’s possible we might just drive off after waiting 10 minutes for an unknown passenger.

The concept of treating others as if it’s there last day is poignant and effective and one I feel I can fully understand. What I have trouble with is living my own life with the same consideration. Living life as if it’s your last day is both confusing and depressing, and frankly altogether too close to home.

It’s a question of balance. We can’t live our whole life for this one day, nor can we put all our eggs in the basket of an unknown future. We shouldn’t give all of our energy to our careers so we’re burnt out when we get home to our families and we can’t give everything to our loved ones so we have nothing left for the rest of our lives. We have to find an equilibrium between work and life without failing to remember that people should always outweigh the importance of tasks, and just like the cabbie, if we find ourselves with the opportunity to give a little extra to others, “leave them happier than you found them” as my friend Ashley says, then perhaps we should attempt to do that as well.

Ultimately I think sitting down to write this blog was important not because the world needed to read it so much as I needed to write it. Writing gives me a sense of purpose, and helps balance out my role as mommy/wife/sick person. Does that mean after typing I won’t go back and hang out with my family or sit down and read a book? No, I need that too. I’m just not off the hook because no one is watching. I know better than that.

Or at least I “should”.

Back hanging with my family!

As a final thought I read a quote recently from the Dalai Lama about what surprised him most about humanity. He answered:

“Man. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he’s so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and dies having never really lived.”

Jul 22

12 Comments

Summer in Canada

I’m in Canada right now for the summer. Every year Loch and I come for six weeks or so to enjoy the best the Great White North has to offer in terms of weather, and to make sure he knows he is, in part, half Canadian. I want him to know his roots. I want him to know my roots. I want to see my friends, and we both want to go to the cottage. Summers in Canada are a magical time. I thought perhaps living in Los Angeles I would eventually lose the appreciation for the beauty and warmth of the Canadian summer since I no longer have to deal with Canadian winter, but I was wrong. Summer in Canada still holds a special place in my heart that no amount of time in California’s sunshine can replace. Personally I love humidity. My PH isn’t so crazy about it, and I have days that breathing is difficult, but I love a summer where I can tangibly feel the season on my skin. A time when the heat physically hits you in the face. I know most people hate humidity – it’s sticky and gross and uncomfortable – but I’ve always enjoyed it. My grandmother was the same way so maybe it’s just a genetic anomaly, but to me it’s a wonderful and tactile feeling of the summer.

The sunset from the cottage.

Summers north of the 49th parallel also mean going to my cottage. My parents bought it before I was born and I’ve spent every summer of my life on Georgian Bay. When I was younger we used to go for weekends from May 24th through Canadian Thanksgiving and for 3 weeks in July. As I got older I spent almost 3 months at camp but would still go for days off and early and late in the season. From ages 15-21 I hosted an annual girl’s weekend at the bay with my closest friends and now am able to spend 4 or 5 long weekends a summer as well as 10 days straight whenever Sean can join us. The beauty of the place that started as a one room cabin and has since expanded to a lovely family cottage, is that it rarely changes.

The view from the living room. Very old school cottage-y. Not much different than it was 30 years ago.

Sure we add things here and there and talk endlessly about things we “could” do, but the feeling, the essence of the place remains the same. It’s a place of calm, a retreat from the world and it’s ever progressing aggression. It’s quiet and serene in a world full of noise. There’s no TV or internet and loon calls and bull frog croaks still fill the night. Though we aspire to a cool new wakeboard boat or a zippy Whaler runabout, our old boats – aptly, though not creatively, named Red and Blue – suit us just fine. We play games and go swimming, read books and nap. As I age, I’ve come to realize there’s also a heck of lot of work that comes with it, but to me it still seems worth it. My parents running joke is you can always tell the renters and the guests because they’re the ones actually sitting on the dock enjoying themselves. I personally, think my parents could do with more downtime, but they’ve established their routines of puttering around and fixing things or gardening, and I think it makes them happy. I can tell you who the cottage makes the most happy, and that’s Loch. His love for the place feels innate, like he was born with it. I have him in day camp in Toronto right now and although he’s having fun, he’s just counting the days till we go back. It’s truly his favorite place in the world.

Lochie on the Toronto Island at my cousin Cindy’s wedding 2 years ago.

The cottage aside, it’s also just nice coming home. Toronto’s a wonderful city that’s rapidly becoming so cool I sometimes can’t believe I’m from here. There are so many boutique hotels, hip restaurants and stores that it’s truly become a fabulous metropolitan city, not just for Canada, but for anywhere. Between the Distillary district and the cool, young family neighborhoods of the Danforth and the beaches in the East, to the restaurant and gallery row of Ossington in the West and everything in between, Toronto really has become one happening city. It’s also a wonderful place to bring a child. I truly believe the Toronot Zoo is the best there is, and I’ve been to zoo’s everywhere, including the famed San Diego Zoo that doesn’t hold a candle to the nature infused openness of what they have here. We took Loch down to the beautiful Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) and spent hours, after a spectacular meal at their restaurant Frank, in the children’s learning center and exhibits. The Musuem (ROM) is awesome with it’s new interactive dinosaur exhibit. The Science Center has an entire floor devoted to children and so much to see elsewhere. We loved seeing the CN Tower last year but might wait a couple of years till we brave the lines again, and there is an entire amusement park for the under 8 set on the Toronto Island that I’m really hoping we find time to get over too because Loch loves it – and the ferry ride over – so much.

Dinner with some of my oldest friends this summer.

Toronto is just a great place to be, and when you add to it that most of my old friends still live here or have recently moved back, it’s really a treat to be able to come home at this time every year. I love being from Toronto. I love the trees and the neighborhoods. I love the beautiful old houses and how you can be in a gorgeous residential neighborhood (of which there are many) and then be downtown in 5-25 minutes. I love the subway. I love the access to taxis. I LOVE the radio. In LA, I think the radio stations are too specialized musically and too polarized politically. There’s no general pop rock channel, no just the issues or news talk radio. Everything in the States is laser focused to a specific demographic. Canada is more mutually pleasing, more ‘what’s best for everyone’. Personally, I love it. I can listen to the radio all day here. Television is a bit of different story as the commercials are pretty lame, the DVR technology is behind the times and the amount of programming is limited, but I don’t watch a lot of television in the summer so I tend not to notice. What I do notice is the politeness. It’s not a gross generalization to say Canadian’s are crazy polite. Lots of please’s and thank you’s, excuse me’s and the always classic “I’m sorry”. I’m sorry is a big one. There’s a saying that when a Canadian bumps into a door, she apologizes to the door. I’ve totally done that, so the joke always makes me laugh.  I had pedicure just after I arrived and the lady beside me must have apologized 10 times in the first 5 minutes she was there. I think it’d be fair to say Canadian’s aren’t as outrightly friendly as American’s, but polite, they have in spades.

My parents and I on the dock at the cottage. No photoshop. The sunset was actually like this.

There are drawbacks to coming home of course, the first being my instant regression to child when I’m in my parent’s house. I think it’d be different if I stayed in a rental or (in my dreams) had my own condo here, but as it stands, I come home and sleep in the same room I had as a child, eat in the same kitchen, drive the same routes, and have the same tiffs with my parents I did as a teenager. They are extremely generous to host us and for the most part we all have an amazing time, but there’s a part of me that always appreciates returning to LA where I’m the adult again. Secondly, the prices here astound me. My pretentious grande non-fat half-caf vanilla latte costs a dollar more here than it does in the States . Every magazine and book is significantly more expensive, and the booze, don’t even get me started on the price of the booze! I can see why that was necessary when our dollar’s value was so far off, but now with the Canadian dollar being just about par with the US, it’s a bit taxing. Speaking of taxing, I find that a bit different now too. Maybe it’s because I’ve had the luxury of visiting my in-laws in Oregon where there’s no sales tax AT ALL, but I think it’s also because I also no longer profit from the uses of Canadian taxes – the health care system, the roads, infrastructure or schools – that makes it harder to swallow. I think it would also be fair to say that Toronto has a significant traffic problem. Yes, the traffic in LA is horrendous, but it’s a town built around cars and driving. The roads are bigger with room for someone to say, pull to the side for a passager to jump out without blocking an entire lane of traffic or highways with multiple carpool lanes. Toronto on the other hand, has pretty much the same roads and highways it did 30 years ago but with a zillion more cars. Add the running joke that Canada has two seasons, Winter and Construction, and you get a serious problem. I feel bad for Torontoians. It’s a struggle to get anywhere.

The only other big difference I notice between the two cities, aside from the obvious like season changes (which I miss), the general attractiveness of the city (I think Toronto is far prettier) and the fact that one place holds all my old memories and the other I’ve chosen to hold my new ones, is the shallow and relatively insignificant detail of how people dress. Overall Toronto is probably one of the most conservative fashion places I’ve lived. Montreal was out there, NYC is clearly a fashion mecca, and LA is, at the same time, super laid back (think flip flops being acceptable almost anywhere), strategically casual ($300 jeans and $200 tank tops paired with $400 sunglasses and $1000 worth of bangles and layered necklaces just too look like you weren’t trying) AND the home of the million dollar movie star red carpet dress. My home town however is very much a pulled together, preppy, moderate place. I’ve always been a jeans kind of girl which seems to work for both locations, but when I read my beloved Hello Canada! or talk to my friends who have moved back here from NYC or see the business “look” of the downtown core, I notice how buttoned up and traditional this country is. Maybe I’ve been spoiled living in LA, land of the high powered stylist but I wonder if Toronto couldn’t afford to have a little more fun…

Happy Canadian Summer baby.

Overall my summers are a wonderful walk down memory lane and an amazing break from my life without family in Los Angeles. I am able to see and catch up with my friends. Hang out with their kids. Go out at night and not worry about getting a sitter. Spend quality time with my parents and let my son do the same. Sit on a dock and watch the sun set into the trees. Have the moon light up my room at the cottage. Drive a boat. Drink on patios with people I wouldn’t otherwise see and enjoy the occasional movie. Yes, I have to work while I’m here. Yes, I miss my husband. Yes, I squabble with my parents. But I am a blessed and lucky girl, grateful for all the happy summer memories I’ve had here, and all the ones I’m still planning to make.

Oh Canada! Thank you for always welcoming me home.

xo Leigh

My parents, Sean & Loch at the cottage

Jul 9

12 Comments

Don’t be a Victim

Dear Lochie,

The other day I was talking with someone I know, someone I love and appreciate, but who drives me crazy with their behavior. When I hung up the phone I was so irritated I did something I don’t often do, I gave you a piece of advice that is, for all intents and purposes, completely worthless to you right now. I usually try and keep our conversations kid themed but this situation had crawled so far under my skin that I felt the need to explain it to you despite the fact it’s really a grown up piece of advice. I bent down, looked you right in the eyes, and said,

Me: “Loch, whatever you do, don’t be a victim.”

You: “What’s a victim?”

Me: “A victim is someone who chooses not to stand up for themselves. Someone who lets people walk over them and does nothing about it. It’s like when someone is bothering you, and doing something you don’t like, you can go sit all by yourself and feel sad or you can say, “Hey that’s bothering me. I don’t like it.”

You: “And then they’ll stop?”

Me: “They might or they might not, but the point is you stood up for yourself and spoke your mind.”

You: “Or I could just come and tell you.”

Me: “You could. But I would try and handle it yourself first. The worst thing you can do is nothing and then be upset about it.”

Yes, I had that conversation with the 4-year-old version of you, but I feel so strongly about this issue I felt it just couldn’t wait.

mixedmarriages.wordpress.com

I think I should clarify that when I say victim, I’m not talking about actual victims of real crimes. Those type of victims have (and deserve) the right to be angry, afraid, nervous, and hesitant. Nor am I speaking to people with mental diseases like clinical depression who need doctors or medications to help sort out their feelings. I’m talking about people who find themselves in a situation in which they are unhappy and shlump around doing nothing about it. “Whoa is me, the world is out to get me”, bulls*^#. The world is not out to get you. Bad things happen. They do. I’m living proof they do. It’s how you live that defines you, and my advice here is not to live like a victim. Stand up for yourself. Speak your mind. Confront problems head on. If you aren’t happy, do something about it.

I believe there are two kinds of victims:

happytoinspire.blogspot.com

Victim Type One: People who can find a problem with anything, who are always have something to complain about, who can make an issue out of nothing.

These are your classic “victim mentality” people. Those with a victim mentality can range from highly functioning successful people to sad sacks who accomplish nothing. The common thread between these people is the ability to find the negative in any situation and/or that things are always someone else’s fault.

You were invited to a party? Well, there was that other one you weren’t so….

You introduce two people and they get along great? Great, now, you’re the odd man out…

You were included in a dinner? It was just a cc so you were probably an afterthought…

You didn’t get that promotion? No one notices anything you do, what’s the point…

Your relationship isn’t working out? They’re probably bi-polar or having an affair….

You aren’t succeeding the way you want at work? The boss hates you, so what’s the point…

You never get the girl? No one gets me anyway so why take the chance….

Ugh! Get over yourself. Nothing ventured is nothing gained. If something good happens, enjoy it. Don’t look for the one bad thing to fixate on. If you aren’t happy with a situation, figure out what steps you can take to change it and then TAKE THEM! Transformation is impossible if you keep doing the same thing.

Man up. Stop the bitching and make a concerted effort to adjust your circumstances. Will everything work out? No, but at least you’re a player in your own destiny and not some hapless passenger waiting to see how it turns out and being miserable in the process.

dailypositivequotes.com

Victim Type Two: People who refuse to acknowledge their problems and for whom everything is always “fine”.

Look, everything is not always fine. I could be trite and quote the oft used phrase that fine really means: F*^#ed up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional but I think it’s simpler than that. People who say they’re fine are either A: avoiding their real feelings and caught in some self imposed safe zone where being “fine” means they don’t really have to deal. B: lying because they don’t want to get into it or C: truly neither good nor bad and fine is truly the best and most appropriate answer at the time.

For the most part though, it’s A: avoidance. In my opinion avoiders are victims because in their refusal to acknowledge their real situation, they remain sacrificed to it.

I hate my spouse but I don’t want a divorce so I’ll pretend I’m fine. For ever. 

I hate my job but I don’t want to be unemployed so I’ll just keep doing it until they fire me. 

I’ve made the wrong choices in my life but there’s nothing I can do about it now so I’ll just keep living with them. 

One foot in front of the other stoicism doesn’t always work. Sometimes you have to stop and see where you are in order to figure out which way to go. Only then can you keep walking.

Listen, life can be hard. It can be frustrating. People can be out to get you and change is difficult, but to function within a state you can’t tolerate, that makes you miserable and – let’s not kid ourselves – makes you miserable to be around? That’s not better.  Dealing with things can be hard. It can be painful. It can be messy. But changing a circumstance you loathe, being your own advocate, there’s power in that, strength, worth. You’ll respect yourself more and other’s can’t help but concur.

erikadolnackova.com

You’re unhappy in your relationship? What changes can you make that might alter the situation? Deal with yourself first. What can you adjust? What can you make better? Still unhappy? Talk to your partner/friend/boss. Be honest. Be forthcoming. They can’t fix something they don’t know is broken. If you can’t do it alone, find an outside source to help – a councilor or a mediator. Listen and understand it’s never all one sided. It’s not all you and it’s not all them. Take the steps required to mend the situation. Put in the effort.  Still unhappy? The good doesn’t outweigh the bad? End it. You’re not doing anyone any favors by hanging on.

Don’t like your job? Are you in the right industry? If you aren’t then change. You’ll never be happy if you don’t like what you do. If you’re in the right industry, do you like what you do? Would you like it if you moved up? Have you asked for a raise? Have you worked harder to get noticed? Have you gone above and beyond? Have you been a team player? Are you friends with people at work? Have you made your ambition known?  If you have, be patient and wait for the opportunities, be vocal about your aspirations, and be focused on what you want. Still unhappy? The problem isn’t work. Something else is bothering you. Look into that.

blog.zerodean.com

Got yourself into a situation you don’t like? Made a series of bad choices and now feel stuck living with them? You’re not. Everything can change. For better or for worse, everything is fluid, but real change takes effort. You’re an addict? Admit it. Get help. Dedicate yourself to recovery. You’re overweight? Decide not to be. Chose to make smarter food and exercise choices. Commit to a being a better, stronger you. Every situation has an exit if you’re willing to take it. Do you necessarily want to do it? No. But if you’re unhappy or making others unhappy, then stop pretending it’s fine and adapt.

I’m not saying it’s simple, I’m saying it’s worth it. Bad things happen. It’s awful. My point is to not let it define you. Let’s say, God forbid, I die. It’ll take a major toll on you and your Dad, but I don’t want you to become the boy who’s mom died, or Dad to become the sad man who lost his wife. I want you to be Lochlan and Sean. You first, your circumstances second. If I die, I’m the victim. I don’t want you to be too.

Be the driver in your own life. Make the decisions. Make the calls. Don’t let life run you over. Don’t let people take advantage of you. Don’t let your circumstances define you. Look, I’m no saint, I can throw down when it comes to complaining. Some things aren’t fair, they suck, and you have to bitch. That’s life kiddo. My advice isn’t to power through everything. If you have to throw a pity party by all means throw it, just make it a short affair. Take the time to be upset, then pull it together. Make a plan to be happy and execute it. Handle your business. Don’t be powerless and wish you weren’t.

You hold the cards. You just have to decide how to play them.

xo Mommy

lovesicknotes.com

Jun 25

5 Comments

It takes a village…

Loch “graduated” this week from the preschool he’s attended for the last two years. I use the term graduated loosely because, unlike his friends, he’s not off to kindergarden next year but a pre-K program reserved for those birthdays that must complete a full three years of preschool. Quite honestly, I’m fine with that. One more year of him being a little is a good thing for me. What I found interesting however, is how emotional I was by the completion of this phase of his life. As I carried him out of the school after the festivities he was keenly aware that his time there was through. He understood (with tears) that his friends were all heading off to new places and he’d never have that wonderful teacher again. Though I know his life will be full of the pain of change and recognize the importance of it, it was still heartbreaking to watch.

My little graduate in his first cap and gown. It only seems ridiculous until you see them in it.

How often do you get the opportunity to cuddle with your kid at school?

Looking back at the last two years I’m struck with what a special experience it was and how much I personally got out of it especially since I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it in the first place. The Sherman Oaks Cooperative Nursery School is situated at the side of a huge local park. It’s essentially a fenced-in dirt lot that over time the co-op members have continued to improve. We now have three little houses for a library, dress up, kitchen, and toys. Five various sized sheds for school supplies, gardening, sports and maintenance equipment. A phenomenal playground with a sea of playhouses, a sandbox and equipment for the kids. A permanent floor and cover for circle time, snacks and activities, a bathroom and tons of sail shades. It’s a childhood oasis run by a marvelous and patient teacher who truly loves children. It’s also a co-op which, before I started, I had absolutely no experience with and, if asked, probably would have said I wasn’t into.

The school is able to function because each family designates a working parent that comes one day a week to do an assigned job that helps the school run. I was personally in charge of the Drama curriculum and worked on Thursdays. We played theatre games and animal charades. We put on a Thanksgiving play and I wrote a song for the graduates to sing at this week’s ceremony. Sean did maintenance, hung sail shades, and traded off with me to work the Thursdays that he could. The working parent is also responsible for assisting with activities, games, cleaning and gardening as well as attending a once a month mandatory meeting and a number of fundraisers throughout the year.

I’m not going to lie. It’s a lot of work. It’s a lot of personalities, a lot of opinions and a fair amount of eye rolling trying to get everyone to cooperate. Sean and I only decided to be part of a co-op because the private pre-school I chosen wouldn’t take Loch unless he was 2 years 9 months as of September 1st. Being that he was 3 months shy of that number I had to wait another whole year for him to begin. The co-op however, would take a child as soon as they turned 2 years 9 months, which meant Loch could start as early as November instead of having to wait until the following school year. Seeing that Loch really needed the stimulation that would only come from other children and a semi-structured environment, we decided to opt into the co-op until his chosen school was available.

Being dinosaurs with the kids in Drama. I think the roaring is a bit loud for Loch, no?

My first meeting before Loch started was at a members home that was drastically different from mine. It was very hippie, very commune-esque, very un-me. I sat silently listening to people “voice their opinions” hoping against hope I hadn’t made a mistake. When I arrived home that night I was in tears. I told Sean “these are not my people” and I wasn’t sure I could do it. We decided that anything was possible for a year and that the price – one fifth of the other school’s – and the fact that Loch would have something to do 4 days a week was worth making the effort.

All the mom’s that worked this year. I’m in the pink shirt on the left beside wonderful Teacher Tammy.

The first year had it’s rough patches. Just like any freshman experience you have to learn the ropes and get to know the procedures so they don’t feel overwhelming. You have to take the time to make friends so you’re not alienated and alone, and you have to settle into a new environment and accept that not everyone is going to get along. But honestly, until that spring I still believed I was only doing a year.

I changed my mind in March just after the co-op had it’s biggest fundraising event, the Spring Fair. When we arrived I realized what a pleasure it was to enter a space you felt totally comfortable in. An environment where you weren’t worried about where your child was or who they were with because everybody knew him and he knew everybody. A place where if a child was crying there were at least 15 parents he or she was comfortable going to, and another 20 who could take that child to the appropriate parent. I was profoundly affected by that day. I hadn’t realized how isolating parenthood was. How hard it was to raise a child in a city without family. What a pleasure it was to be a part of something bigger than my little family of three.

Wearing our green Co-op T-shirts for my work day and his “helping hand” day.

Loch and some of his best pals.

When my acceptance letter to the private school arrived later that month I was torn. I recognized it would be a mistake to leave such a positive and healthy environment, not just for Loch but for me. The co-op allowed me the opportunity to share in his school experience in a way I would never get again. It also gave me a community of people to draw on for both help and experience. There was someone to ask if I had a parenting question. There were people to turn to if I needed someone to take Loch for a couple of hours. Functioning within a co-op environment I realized how many people are willing to lend a hand if you need it. Not having family in town and being someone who’s sick, it was an amazing relief to find myself with a solid handful of people I could truly count on. When I had the stomach flu and Sean was away, one of the mom’s came to my house to take Loch for the day. When I was sworn in as an American, another mom picked up Loch from school and took him home until I was done. There seemed to always be someone willing to step up. Plus, I’d made a number of truly great friends and I wasn’t sure I wanted to trade that for the abbreviated relationship you get in the allotted drop-off/pick-up window of a traditional pre-school . The co-op was a marvelous and unique environment I knew I wouldn’t readily find again. Modern parents are so conditioned to take everything on that we often end up martyring ourselves at the alter of motherhood. It’s hard to ask for help or let people know we need it. Sometimes it really does take a village to raise a child and if you don’t have a village, what do you do?

Lochie (on crazy hair day) with his picnic buddy and BFF Mia.

I decided to keep my community a little longer and stay at the co-op for another year. Loch would go to the private preschool two afternoons a week so he could acclimatize himself to the school he would attend in his third year, but would stay at the co-op to graduate with his friends. As it turned out, another mother (and close friend) was doing the same thing and, in true co-op fashion, we split the responsibility. Monday’s I’d pick them up, have a picnic lunch and drive them to the other school and Wednesday’s she’d do it. That way, there was one day a week we both had almost a full day to work (9-4). It was a great compromise and a really fun routine for the kids.

My second year at the co-op was marvelous. Not only did we lose the unmanageable children from the year before, we lost most of the unmanageable parents that came with them. The new families were terrific and the co-op mentality really clicked for me. My dear friends were the President, Vice President and Head of Fundraising respectively, and under their leadership the school flourished. Everyone – save a few, there’s always a few – did their job exceptionally well and we were able to raise most money the school’s ever made. Loch had play dates with friends and went home with other people after school. We had dinners out with parents who had become our friends, and there was always someone to talk with and confer when parenting (or life) became overwhelming.

Me and my wonderful pal Michelle. The fundraiser this year was a flower power theme, just to explain the dress…

As I watched our enormous graduating class receive their certificates surrounded by friends, families of friends and spouses of friends, I realized there would never be a time when I knew all those associated with my son as well again. As I thought back to that first meeting, and how I’d determined this wasn’t going to be my kind of place, I could accept that not only was I wrong, I was glad to be. I learned that leaning on and working with others can be a huge source of strength and that taking the time, even when you think you don’t have it, to devote to your child is one of the best gifts you can give yourself.

I’ll never get this time with him back, but at least I was able to be around for so much of it.

It’s been an incredible time and I’m moved it’s over.

The little man and his proud parents before he put his graduate leaf on the Co-op Tree for posterity.

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