Dec
01
Posted by Kym
I can’t decide what to write about. There’s too much. Less time in front of the computer and more time doing crazy stuff like actually living has me full to bursting with ideas. Quirky thoughts that have popped into my head, odd experiences, random old blather about this that and the other. I can’t quite focus in on one aspect of myself right now, because I keep shifting all over the place.
And once again, blogging is a metaphor for life. Because I can’t focus my life either. I’ve been really struggling lately, trying to figure out what I want to do with the time allotted to me. I yearn to write, to bake, to perfect my culinary skills, to be supermom and superwife combined, to expand my photography skills, to finish my cross-stitch projects, to learn how to crochet something slightly more complicated that a simple scarf, to write letters to far off friends and family on a regular basis, to become a blogging superstar (okay, I’m gradually letting that one go), to be content! And that last yearning is completely smashed to bits by all the others. Contentment just doesn’t seem to be in the cards for me right now.
It’s not just that I don’t know what I want to do, it’s that I don’t know who I want to be. Thirty years old and once again in the throes of a major identity crisis. Aren’t these supposed to happen pretty rarely? I seem to undergo one at least three times a year.
My mind is bouncing about like a platter full of jelly on an express train during an earthquake. It will not be still! Images flash and shudder, ripples of thought constantly spreading outward from the epicentre. There is a flash of the movie Twilight that we went to see on Thursday. I can see Neil’s face as I glance over at him smirking, feeling smug and superior because I know that love is more than pheremones. Our intertwined hands tighten their grip, and we silently communicate the knowledge that romance is more than the cliched drama painted across a silver screen. It can be found in quiet moments of shared thoughts. It is found in the stark reality of what and who a person is, and loving the entirety of them. We are learning that, him and I. It has taken many years. And so we smother our giggles and watch…amused, entertained, and lost a little in the dreamery the movie provokes.
Next images of Saturday night intrude. Laughter and sweet tangy smells of lotions and scrubs. The giggles and outright guffaws as the “Passion Party” part of the night begins and I am left to alternately blush and gape. So young still. My cheeks ache from laughing and the warmth of women bonding suffuses the room. No judgment in the laughter. I feel strangely peaceful. I come home and tell Neil what “Passion Party” means and he laughs and laughs. I feel I’ve given him a taste of our laughter.
Flash to Sunday night. A phone call from a troubled woman. Weeping. A misunderstanding quickly cleared up but oh, what a gift to be the source of solace to someone so very hurt! Even the knowledge is a gift - that knowing that I, insignificant as I often feel, can mean something…can be a blessing to someone else.
And today. So strange. Someone else watching my kids as Neil and I take a first aid course. Performing CPR on dummies the size of my daughters. They are plastic but the feeling of panic still rises in my chest. I do well but feel ill afterwards as the adrenaline washes away. Please may I never need that training. Coming home to be squeezed and kissed and snuggled by the very girls whose lives I too often fear for. There is a peace in feeling better prepared. There is horror in confronting the possibilities. I clutch them so much more tightly than usual. Emma asks if I am crying. No. Just happy, Emma. Just happy.
And I realize in that moment that I am. For all my confusion and uncertainty. I am happy. This is a new lesson. Not one of the many lessons that repeat over and over as I wince and grimace, knowing I ought to have learnt the first time…or the seventeenth. This is oh so new. To realize that I don’t have to be perfect, life doesn’t have to be perfect, for me to blissfully happy, even if only for a few moments.
What a gift.
Nov
30
Posted by Kym
Me: I think I’m writing Christmas cards for the wrong reason.
Neil: Let me guess. For the praise, for the glory of getting them out on time, and to show off how pretty the ones you chose are.
Me: ~laughing sheepishly~ Yep. Pretty much. Ah well, at least I know what’s wrong with me, eh?
Problem is…so does he.
I haven’t yet decided if this is ultimately a good thing or a not so good thing. Years of blogging have brought me to the point where I am open and honest about pretty much everything. Pretense has gone right out the window, and I often find myself musing out loud in front of Neil about my hopes, dreams, and my ulterior motives. I’m not the sweet young girl he once fell in love with and that troubles me rather deeply.
Increased self-awareness has helped/forced me to confront the less pleasant aspects of myself. I analyze my motives fairly frequently now and painful though that is, it gives me hope of changing. I’m even able to recognize those changes, in effect saying to myself (or out loud in front of Neil), “Hey, wow, I’m not half so selfish as I was last year. Last year I would’ve done such-and-such but this time my reaction was more along the lines of this, that, and the other. I’ve come further than I thought. Neat!”
If I’m speaking out loud Neil kind of nods his head or grunts or makes a mmmhmm noise at this point, a feeble attempt to reduce his risk of being quizzed about what I’ve said.
I’m suddenly reminded of when he and I first married. Every morning, even while on our honeymoon, I got up before he did, showered, dressed, did my hair and make up, then crawled back into bed to cuddle some more so that he woke up to me looking…nice-ish. Yes, I was actually that insecure. Yes it’s both sweet and sad at the same time.
Thing is, not only do I not hide my character flaws anymore, I don’t hide the others quite so well either. My laissez-faire attitude has affected various aspects of our married life and I’m sure he wishes that my desire to impress extended to him as well as to house guests. At least, I think he might. Neil, unlike myself, doesn’t often think out loud in my presence.
No grand sum up this time, because I haven’t got this figured out. At all. In fact, advice would be appreciated. How do I find that balance between spreading my faults out on the table so I can deal with them, and yet being a woman now in this very moment who my husband can respect and even love? Am I shooting for the stars here? Do I need to just keep my mouth shut and wow him with my progress as I go along? Or is it better to go full bore and let him know everything?
Where do I draw the line?
Nov
28
Posted by Kym
I don’t like the fact that it does, but alas, it’s true. From this comes the dizzy-making feeling of the world spinning, oh oh so fast. In those rare moments when I’m able to focus on someone other than myself the spinning slows or perhaps just shifts. It’s nice to have a break every now and again. I’m realizing I need to do that more often.
Not that it’s not fun to walk down the street and think I’m oh so interesting and everyone must be looking at me out of the corner of their eyes and whatnot. To not want to leave the house because social hermitage is so much more comfortable, not having to confront hundreds of other people who all think THEY are the centre of the universe. Silly people. It gives me a headache, honestly.
Today is one of those wanting to stay home days. It’s been snowing since we woke up this morning. Small flakes falling gently and soft but steadily. Not a raging blizzard, just snow. Beauteous, blindingly white, frustrating snow. The car is covered and I peek out the window at it every now and again, picturing myself braving the frigid cold and scraping the ice off the windows while the kids bang on the front door and wail because mummy had the audacity not to take them out until the car was warmed up. Bad mummy.
I picture myself struggling to get my snowsuit clad girls strapped into the carseats that Neil hasn’t gotten around to loosening the straps on yet (note to self - learn how to do that), wincing at the feel of the snowflakes settling on my cheeks and eyelashes. A feeling that many people love but that makes me shudder. It’s like chinese water torture, that slow dropping of freezing wetness onto every exposed piece of flesh. I will likely scold the children for not moving faster, despite the encumbrance of their puffy snowsuits and thick soled boots.
Then I’ll remember whatever is I’ve forgotten and carefully step-step-step my way along the icy patio and back into the house, envying the girls who get to sit in the toasty warm car listening to the acoustic strains of my favourite satellite radio station. Then I will step-step-step my way back, thoroughly bothered by how I seem to keep banging into things, dropping heavy things on my toes, that sort of thing. I will scowl and mutter to myself and then quickly glance up to make sure the neighbours aren’t watching me be all surly and scowly.
It’s all about me, you know.
And I will drive through the dark and the snow, fingers clenching spasmodically at the wheel because I hate driving in the snow and I hate driving in the dark, and I will be doing both at once. And why? What could possible persuade me into such an irrational course of action?
The local Christmas parade.
And my husband’s insistence that our children be there to see it. That I not cower at home and deprive them of the magic of it. He offered to cancel his last patient and rush home to pick them up and rush them back to town for it. And that’s when it hit me. How incredibly important this simple event is to him. And for a moment the world stopped spinning so madly around me. For one brief moment it spun around him.
I think that’s part of what love is. I think that’s what it can do to us. For us. It can stop the spinning long enough for us to realize how dizzy we’re making ourselves. Love can be the feeling of the world revolving around someone else for a time. Not always. Not every moment. Because we’re human after all. But love can teach us that no, the world does not revolve around us, and that this simple fact does not cause it to end.
Nov
26
Posted by Kym
I’m not a fan of extreme weather. I grew up a few blocks from the ocean, ensconced in a mountain ringed valley that sloped down to the sea. The weather was mild but changeable. I remember a day when I walked the four blocks to school and saw it snowing on one side of the street, sleeting on the other, raining further down the street, and shafts of sunlight breaking through on the far end of it all and sending a vibrantly coloured rainbow piercing through the lot of it.
Mostly though, it rained. And often, during the brief respites, fog rose up in great grey billows from off the nearby water. I’ve moved from there, from that climate of rain and fog and general soggyness, to the sterling beauty of our new home in the mountains. Where the summers are oppressively hot at times, and the winters are bitterly chill and long.
And I love it. Oh how I love it. Even as I type, my too pale hands are laced with the pale purple pattern of my capillaries, and I am snugging my feet deeper into my slippers and wriggling my toes in hopes of shaking the numbness from them. But tonight, as we embarked on the grand adventure of delivering a seven foot ficus tree to dear, green thumbed friends, I took in the sight of the winter sky and gasped. Literally, gasped at the glory and the wonder of it.
I found myself searching for pictures online tonight, trying to find one to share with you that could in some small part demonstrate the beauty of the sky here in our northern home. But there are none anywhere near adequate. Stale pictures of pin-pricked blackness. There is no way they can display for you the dizzying sight, the depth and dimension of a chilly dark sky spiralling upwards into the heavens, and an all encompassing splatter of silvered stars shining forth like tiny beacons.
As I stood there, neck and back arched in an attempt to take in the fullest sight possible, I no longer lamented the lack of amenities in our small town here. Perhaps there are no operas here. Perhaps the bookstore can be crossed in five long paces in one direction and three in the other. Perhaps there is little in the way of stunning architecture to inspire my all too latent imagination. But oh the glorious sight of the evening sky.
The place I once called home is too brightly lit, too foggy, too polluted, to afford such a sight. Suddenly all reservations flee and I am glad to call this small slice of heaven my home.
Nov
25
Posted by Kym
So after two and a half years of this blogging thing I’ve finally figured it out. I’ve had my grand little ah-ha! moment. My epiphany. Warning to my non-blogging readers. This post will make little or no sense to you.
So NaNoWriMo (which I’m pretty much set not to complete in time - 18,000 words in 5 days? Technically possible, but my life has already begun unravelling at the seams, thank you very much) has left me with no time to read blogs. Well, technically I could have given up other aspects of my life to make time for blogging. Eating, sleeping, child rearing, that sort of thing. In fact, I think I did that last year…but I elected not to go on a sabbatical from being a good mum this year. They’re old enough to remember now, after all. Anyway, little or no blog reading this month. And I missed it rather a lot. I missed specific people more though. My close friends and buddies. The people I can’t wait to read the blogs of every day.
And I opened my feed reader today and saw that I had upwards of two hundred posts to read. Following 80 blogs sounds so lovely and impressive, but really? It’s madness of the highest order. As I was sorting through and thinking of reading a few during my early morning lethargy this morning, it hit me. Some of these gals are my nearest and dearest. I adore them. We email back and forth sometimes. A few I even have little chat sessions with every now and again. They’re the sort of friends I can’t imagine not ever having as friends, you know? I’m not going to go into high levels of schmultz and say we’re going to be friends FOREVER and EVER, because friendships tend to have times and seasons, but they’re the sort of people I hope I get to be friends with forever. They make me a better person just by being a part of my life.
Then there are the friends who I often have a good laugh with. We’re buds. But we’re not call-each-other-at-2am-when-something-awful/wonderful happens kind of friends. We’re close, but not so close we could walk into each others’ houses without knocking.
Then there are the see in the supermarket, hey! Haven’t seen you in ages, how the heck are you? friends. Love ‘em. They make me smile. So glad they’re part of my world. But we never really touch base during the week. Our lives kind of bump up against each others’ every now and again, but aren’t really intertwined.
There are so many levels of friendship in this life, and I’ve been struggling to fit blogging friendships into a new niche and make sense of them somehow. What hit me is that blogging friendships fit into the old niches just fine. Some of you have become essential to my sanity in oh so many ways, some of you I love but haven’t really connected with, some of you are just acquaintances at this point, or perhaps just silent watchers who have yet to reach out.
And just as there is no time in this life to meet and befriend everyone, there isn’t time in the great ole Bloggisphere either. Not with over a billion blogs floating around out there. And there seems to be a common thread connecting so very many of the women (and men) I’ve met through my blogging. And that thread is fabulousness. There’s a particular heart touching sincerity I’ve found in all the blogs I read. Whatever the degree of friendship with the bloggers I’ve met, every single one of them has that in common. A fabulous form of sincerity that makes me glad to know them to any degree.
To know you.
And just like in the world beyond the computer screen, there are only so many hours to devote to friendshipping. There are only so many friends we can maintain close friendships with. It’s a bittersweet thing to realize the same thing applies to blogging. I can’t visit every blog every day. Attempts have been made. Oh so many attempts. But I’m like a buffet visitor trying to glut themselves on every single dish without exploding. Sometimes in life we have to choose our favourites, as hard as that may be.
So what am I saying, really? I guess that I’ve realized I can’t do as much as I hoped I could. I thought to be one of those bloggers with hundreds upon hundreds of readers. I wanted to be a star. Or I thought I did. But I didn’t miss the reams of comments while I was blogging less. I didn’t miss feeling popular. I missed my friends. There are fewer blogs on my bloglines list now. I’ve done this before, of course. Pared things down to those bloggers I actually feel a connection and real friendship with. It’s never lasted. I’ve always missed the quantity of blogging friendships and added everyone back on. And I’ve hated the guilt that comes with quietly leaving the loyal reader list of blogs I very much enjoy.
But I’ve realized I should also feel guilty for saying, in effect, to my dearest blogging friends, You are not enough. I need more than that.
What I learned this month is that I don’t. They (you?) are more than enough. Others of you won’t see me around much anymore. And you better believe I feel miserable over the fact. But know that you share that common thread with my nearest and dearest. You are fabulous.
I’m far too selfish to have ever read your blog in the first place if that weren’t the case.
Oh, and please don’t hate me. It gives me hives. Thank you.
Nov
22
Posted by Kym
So before I attempt to be funny to smooth over yesterday’s drama…well, the words “thank you” just seem too trite to express what I’m feeling. Those people who roll their eyes a bit when they hear the word “blog”? Experiences like I had yesterday are what they don’t understand. I was able to come here and just spew. Just pour out whatever popped into my head and then hit publish.
With no fear. None.
In a world full of silent and not so silent criticism, that’s verging on miraculous. But that’s one of the things about blogging isn’t it? There are over a billion blogs out there, and through trial and error we find the blog authors who appeal to us, or who we connect with. Which means that if someone is reading your blog? They’re doing it because there’s something about you they like and enjoy. That alone is so bolstering to the wounded self-esteem, but add sweet, loving, encouraging comments like the ones I received yesterday and the self-esteem soars.
All too briefly, of course, but still. The memory of that sensation lingers and carries us through other bad times.
So do the laughs, of which I share a few now. These are the search terms that have lead people to my blog in the last two weeks. And yes, Google has a lot to answer for.
friggin - Oh my. It’s true. I’m guilty of using a pretend swear word.
What is a self sustaining ego – definitely not mine, that’s why I blog!
Bulk ob tampons - multiple hits from this one. Don’t know if that makes me more or less inclined to do future product reviews.
how to find joy in housework - is it bad that I giggled at that?
Temporary insanity is fake - aren’t not!
bossy 11 year old daughter - trade you for my four year old.
parent yell too much - maybe they’re ticked off that you’re spending too much time on the computer and have a worrying grasp of basic grammar? Shut the computer off and do your homework,.
learning to live with angry parents - my kids sympathize with you, I’m sure. I like the word learning in there. I don’t know you, but you sound like a good kid. Sniff sniff.
why does my dog chew on my tampon - people really do think Google knows everything, don’t they?
My tampon after wee - Wet and soggy I’d imagine. This is proof positive that the general populace a) is not as bright as we would like to think and b) has far, far too much time on its hands.
Is this the face that launched a thousand ships? - Oh yes. That was me.
Take of my panties to get to my heart - Having never in the whole history of my blog used the word panty or panties, this one completely boggles my mind. And makes me giggle over the searcher’s complete lack of understanding of basic anatomy. The heart is more in the bra area, dear.
Parents always angry at me - hey, there’s another one of the readers I could totally hook you up with…
My life is a lie - I’m going to haul out the too much time on the computer response again. Stop googling and start living!
Pictures of unorganized messy house - you can come over and do a photo shoot if you like. After three weeks of NaNoWriMo I make just about anyone look good.
Hannah Montana advent - Oh no you did not! Not only do they make and sell the horrid things, people WANT to buy them? Gah!
On my way to insanity but I’m laughing at myself - Oh I am so with you on this one. In fact, it’s a big part of the reason why I blog.
Which, admittedly, I haven’t been doing a terribly good job of lately. To those of you (that is, all of you) who haven’t seen me around your blog for a week or two…well, you know I think you’re wonderful, right? I’ll raffle off free copies of my book if I ever finish it. Promise.
Nov
19
Posted by Kym
Mentally yes, but in other ways as well.
Christmas is always a tricky time of year. The rampant commercialism, Christ being taken out of Christmas, etc…It’d be pretty easy to go through the season scowling at all the flyers and catalogues and store fronts. I make an attempt every year though to portion off my favourite aspects of the season and focus just on them.
The scent of simmering wassail and fresh baked ginger snaps. Lovingly brushing the bits of styrofoam off my porcelain nativity set and laying it out atop the piano. Teaching my children about baby Jesus and how much it means to us that he came. Leaving out cookies for Santa Claus and watching the joy and wonder in their faces when they find nothing but crumbs in the morning. And giving, giving, giving. Giving gifts is one of my favourite ways to show love and I revel in it!
As I was flipping through the flyer of a local store looking for gift ideas, I saw something that I’d seen in other stores that disturbed me greatly. Advent calendars. Not the cutesie ones with pictures of the nativity, or Santa, or snowmen, or children ice skating. Garishly bright ones with the faces of tv and movie stars on them.
Err…what?
Now I’ll admit that I’m a bit of an extremist when it comes to character merchandise. I go out of my way to avoid purchasing Disney Princess paraphenelia or Dora the Explorer clothes for my girls. I often grimace as I peruse the girl’s clothing section, looking for clothes that don’t have someone’s face smeared all over them. It bothers me. A lot. Perhaps not for any fascinatingly thought provoking reason…I just don’t like it.
I’ve been hunting for Advent Calendars for my girls for weeks now. Weeks. I finally found some at the local grocery store. $9 each. Ouch. But they’re beautiful. They have lovely snow dusted scenes portrayed on them, and the chocolate is manufactured by one of Canada’s leading chocolatiers. Hmm…wait…that may have been a bad idea…
Anyway, I suppose I just wanted to put my distaste into words, not knowing how to address a letter to Retailers of North America at large.
Christmas isn’t about Hannah Montana or High School Musical, Tinker Bell, Cars, or Disney Princesses. We can debate even about whether Santa and snowmen and cherub cheeked ice skaters really fit either, but really? It’s going too far, in my opinion.
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