momblog – Page 2 – Dear Child

My Love of Church

Posted on March 19, 2022 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

Church has been a part of my life since I was born.

I was baptized when I was one month old, in St. John’s Anglican Church in Merrickville, I think because Grandpa Barber’s family was Anglican. Judging from the sheer amount of pictures, the large number of family in attendance, the announcement in the local newspaper, and the journaling Grandma did about it – it was a pretty big deal. 😊

Luckily, Grandma was very consistent with journaling when I was little, so I found a few notes about Church, that back-up my memories from that time.

I love reading Grandma’s thoughts and seeing her familiar handwriting.

Sometime when I was around seven years old, I remember going to the Anglican Church on Sundays. Kids were only in the Church for the first part of the Mass and then we headed downstairs for Sunday School. I loved this. There were tons of kids, and we always ended the class by playing games (my favourite was 7-Up) until our parents came to get us after Mass. I’m pretty sure they didn’t hurry downstairs. 😊

When I was ten years old, Grandma decided she wanted us to go to the Catholic Church instead, since that was the Church her family belonged to. I remember Great Grandma being very happy about this. Grandma arranged for us to meet the priest, Father Brian Hart, and I remember being extremely nervous, sitting in his living room, while he told us about Jesus and how happy he was that we would be coming to Mass. I was excited.

You see, I’ve always loved Church.

Now, I don’t think everyone needs to go to Church, and I’m a firm believer that you can have a very close relationship with Christ without ever stepping foot in the Church. I’ve also seen people who attend every mass but who clearly go about their daily life ignoring Jesus’ teachings, as if showing up on Sunday will earn them the points they need to get into heaven. It goes both ways.

But for me, Church is synonymous with love.

I have wonderful memories of sitting in the pews of the Catholic Church for the first time with Grandma and Aunt Melissa, brand new missals in our hands as we tried to follow along with the standing, sitting, kneeling, then standing again rituals, flipping from the section of today’s mass to the pages of prayers, and then to the Eucharist. It was cause for celebration when we could find the right pages to follow along for an entire mass.

I remember joining the adult Choir when I was only twelve years old and loving Church even more as I sang from the balcony. I even attended the Thursday night choir practices at the home of Gerry Gray.

I remember standing in our kitchen in Merrickville, memorizing, and then reciting the necessary prayers in order to make my First Communion and then later my Confirmation. The importance of these events wasn’t lost on me as we shopped for the perfect dress, hat, tights, shoes, and necklace. The cake was ordered, and our entire family was invited. I had attended all of my catechism classes and knew my prayers by heart.

I then later put those same preparations into Baptisms, First Communions and Confirmations for Cassie and Colton, with Grandma by my side. Years were spent attending mass, going through the ritual of sitting in the same seat, kneeling down to pray and then sitting back in the seat and reaching for the hymn book to see if any of my favourite hymns had been selected for that Sunday’s mass and then chatting with Grandma as we waited for Mass to start.

It was in these same seats that I prayed diligently every week for Aunt Melissa to be blessed with a baby.

I stopped going to Mass after Grandma passed away. Not because there was any lapse in my faith, if anything, I leaned on God more during that time than I ever had before. But I had rarely sat in those long wooden seats without Grandma by my side. The grief I felt during mass was so incredibly strong that I just couldn’t take it.

But leaving the Church was not an option for me. I couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was missing. St. John’s Catholic Church in Perth still held too many recent memories, so I tried the Free Methodist Church in Smiths Falls, where Aunt Melissa was attending because of their amazing kid’s program. The people in this Church were the friendliest people I’d ever met and incredibly supportive, however, it just didn’t feel like it was what I needed. They sang a lot of songs, which I loved, but they were not the same hymns I’d grown up singing, knew so well, and missed so much. I also missed the familiar Eucharist and yes, even the sitting, standing, kneeling, and then standing again routine.

It was the Catholic Church I needed, and I found my place again at St. Francis de Sales in Smiths Falls. Daddy and I decided this would be best since Alyssa would be attending St. Francis school eventually and I loved when Cassie and Colton attended the Church in Perth that was linked to their school.

So it was in St. Francis that I stood in my seat, thanking God for the blessing of you, Keenan, growing inside me, while I soaked in the familiar hymns, celebrated the well-known Mass and closed my eyes and remembered Grandma, knowing she would be happy to see that I’d found my way back again.

Being in Church makes me feel peaceful and the familiar words of the Mass make me feel whole.

And I hope one day, if you are ever feeling lost and you need a reminder of who you are and who loves you most, that you will also feel comforted by walking through the tall, heavy, wooden doors, finding a seat and remembering the many times we sat, cuddled together, listening to the Word of God.

Love Mom

xoxo

Just a Girl and her Dog

Posted on February 19, 2022February 19, 2022 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

It has become a bit of a running joke that every time you come home to visit, you forget something. We never know what it might be, or where we’ll find it, but it’s something every time. It could be a phone charger (plugged in somewhere inconspicuously), or your lip balm… one time it was your dog’s bowls. This time it was your pillows.

Your boyfriend had already made plans to come back to Perth the next weekend, to meet up with friends at the shop in Balderson to help swap an engine in somebody’s vehicle. Since your new semester hadn’t started yet, this worked out perfectly. You would go too, and then on the way back to Kingston, you would swing by and grab your pillows.

So now, I was lying in bed, listening for the front door to open.

Finally, I texted you, wanting to confirm that you had your house key and to hopefully get a narrowed down time of when you might arrive.

The cell service isn’t great out in Balderson so when you didn’t reply to my text, I tried calling. No answer. Then I waited. Then I texted again.

At midnight, you texted me back to say you were still there. I replied, telling you where I’d put your pillows. I tried to fall back to sleep.

But at 1:30am, you called me.

It’s never a good thing when my cell phone rings in the middle of the night, so I wasn’t surprised to hear the anxiety in your voice on the other end.

Andie, your three-year-old chocolate lab, who had spent the day in the shop with you, had licked up some slush containing a bit of antifreeze from the floor of the shop and wasn’t acting like herself.

The pillows were long forgotten – you were heading straight to the emergency vet in Kingston. They’d instructed you to call the Animal Poison Control Center on your way. We spoke and texted for the duration of the drive, as you sat in the backseat of Jarred’s car, with your precious bean asleep across your lap. At almost 3:30am, you were at the vet and Andie had been taken inside.

The prognosis wasn’t great. They could do bloodwork and urinalysis, but they didn’t have the test needed to check her ethanol levels. They said she looked pretty good at the moment but that with ethanol glycol poisoning, there is a recovery period before kidney failure.

All we could do now was pray.

Before you got Andie, you had been wanting a puppy for a while. You’d bring it up often, and we’d discuss it, and even though you didn’t live at home anymore, you seemed to take my opinion into consideration as I’d explain why it just wasn’t the right time yet.

But then one day, after you’d broken up with your boyfriend, and moved into a calmer household with just two other girls, you brought it up again. You were in nursing school and your life was busy, but I just felt like you needed this. You needed a little somebody to love and take care of. God put it on my heart that this was the right time.

You called me and this time when you said ‘I’m getting a puppy’, I said, “Good.”

Andie immediately became your shadow, your side-kick, your bestest friend. And for the next three years, she became a constant in all of our lives with her adorable little face and calm demeanor. Everyone who meets her, loves her.

And now this incident, this one small accidental moment in time, was threatening her life.

I’m old enough now to have seen the life span of many pets and with that, comes an understanding that sometimes things happen – terrible things – but that’s life.

But this wasn’t happening to my dog, it was happening to yours. And while the adult in me understands that pets don’t live forever, the mom in me was saying “Let’s do everything we can.”

The vet in Kingston knew they didn’t have the equipment or tests required to provide the care that Andie needed so they called around and found an opening at the University of Guelph Veterinary College– they would hold a spot for Andie, provided you could commit to driving her there immediately. The Kingston Vet said if you couldn’t take Andie to Guelph, then they would do the best they could…and it might be enough…but there was a chance it wouldn’t be.

There wasn’t a doubt in our mind that Andie was going to Guelph – figuring out the logistics was the next step. You were on the break between your semesters, luckily, and Jarred was able to get a few days off work. A hotel room was booked for the night, and you picked Andie up at the vet in Kingston and started the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Guelph.

I received countless texts, videos and phone calls over the next couple of days while I waited at home, praying for this adorable little sweetheart who, from the moment you first held her in your arms three years ago, had become the most important part of your life.

Her creatinine levels continued to rise, as we became more panicked with every repeated test, until finally they levelled out, and then even dropped a bit. We began to relax as we realized she might make it through this after all – although we were still cautioned about the possibility of permanent kidney damage.

After two days in Guelph, Andie was cleared to go home. Armed with a handful of meds and instructions for follow up appointments in Kingston to continue to monitor her creatinine levels, you and Jarred headed back, with a very happy puppy.

You have no idea how much of your heart is walking around outside of your body, until something threatens its existence. Life just wouldn’t be the same without those sad eyes, melting our hearts every day.

I’m so happy that now, after a month of being on a special renal diet, Andie’s creatinine levels are almost back to normal. And except for her little shaved belly and legs, she doesn’t look any worse for what she went through.

We prayed for more time with this little sweetie, and God answered our prayers.

And the shop in Balderson now has a sign hanging on its door that clearly states: No Dogs Allowed.

Love Mom

xoxo

Christmas Morning

Posted on January 5, 2022 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I think my very favourite time of year is Christmas morning.

It’s the one day of the year when the big kids don’t mind that I wake them up at 6am, and they are quick to jump out of bed, grab the coffee that is already waiting for them, and head down to sit beside the Christmas tree, next to the little ones who were up even earlier and who patiently waited for 6am to come.

Christmas has always been a special time for me. Even when I was a little girl, there was nothing better. The anticipation was real – the days of December dragging on as it felt like the big day would never arrive. And then suddenly it was here and underneath the tree was filled with presents from Santa and our house was filled with family. Family that I saw all the time anyway, but this time it was different. I was pulled into even more hugs as the magical feeling of Christmas swept through everyone’s hearts, causing us to want to show more appreciation and love.

I’ve always tried to make sure that Jesus was talked about more than Santa in our house. It was important to me that you all knew the real reason of why we were celebrating.

I never had any of you write letters to Santa, instead we would just be grateful for anything he wanted to bring us. We still went to visit him at the mall, or wherever he happened to be passing through, and had a picture taken with him that we could keep. Usually while we were standing in line, though, you’d be trying to think of something you could ask for, in anticipation of the question we all knew was coming.

Colton was in Beavers when he was small and one year they planned a trip to the dollar store where the kids could buy gifts. I thought this was a brilliant idea and from then on, every Christmas I would have you all sit down and write a list of the people you wanted to buy a Christmas gift for. Then we would take our list to the dollar store. You all felt very grown up, with your own cart, as you walked up and down the aisles, looking for the perfect gift. Then your special purchases would be brought home, wrapped and put under the tree. Watching you give a gift, and seeing the eagerness on your face as you watched the recipient unwrap it, was more than enough proof that true joy comes from the giving at Christmas time, rather than the getting.

Keenan’s gifts to everyone this year were Christmas socks. Easy peasy. He did, however, carefully select which Christmas socks to give each person and he loved watching them be unwrapped.

You, however, carefully selected a gift you thought would be perfect for each person based on their individual taste. Make-up sponges for Cassie, nail polish for Colton’s girlfriend Camryn, chocolate treats for Colton and hand warmers for Cassie’s boyfriend Jarred. For Keenan, you purchased a ceramic statue of his favourite Paw Patrol character, Chase, that he could paint. And Daddy got a little mini flashlight in his favourite colour – blue. You learned to wrap presents this year and took special pride in doing that yourself. Everyone loved their gift and you were thrilled.

Keenan spent a long time carefully painting his favourite character.

I got an even better gift though -a calendar you had carefully worked on at school for weeks, drawing pictures for each month and circling the most important days of the year – everyone’s birthdays. It will hang by my desk so I can see it all the time.

I know it’s just one morning. And I know that months of preparation go into making it as special as possible. List after list is carefully created and items are constantly being checked off, as I try to think of everything that needs to be done in order to make it the most wonderful time of the year. The tree and decorations go up the day after Remembrance Day and the baking is started shortly after that as well. I do my best to make sure the gifts are all bought by Dec 1^st and the wrapping is done shortly after.

It’s important to me that I enjoy the season, and I can’t do that if I’m stressed about getting everything done. But once the presents are all wrapped and piled beneath the tree, then there is time to sit, with a cup of tea, and just relax, admiring the glow of lights from the Christmas tree and marveling at the journey Mary and Joseph took to Bethlehem, before the incredible birth of Jesus. I’m sure they experienced times of stress, uncertainty and doubt along the way, the same as we do in our daily lives, but they relied on their faith to carry them through, and they brought forth the greatest miracle the world has ever known.

So, yes, it’s months of preparation that go into that one morning. But it’s the morning.

And as I sit back and watch the smiles as you all dig into your stockings, surprised at the different treasures every year, and I watch you eagerly give gifts to each other, I know there is no better way to spend this morning. This wonderful morning – where love is so strongly felt and where daily hugs are replaced by those more magical, Christmas-time hugs, as we remember that night long, long ago, when our Saviour was born.

Love Mom

xoxo

The Raspberry Patch

Posted on November 21, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

When I was only nine years old, I wanted a job.

And I got one.

There was a raspberry patch near our home. Well, it was about a six minute drive probably, but out in the country, ‘near’ has a different meaning. Grandma made jam every summer, and she would bring us along to help pick the raspberries. When we were paying for the berries we picked, I noticed people returning their full quarts to the stand and being given money in exchange for their berries. I thought I could do that.

Aunt Melissa on the left, me on the right – I was ten years old here.

I told Grandma my plan and she said I could call them to see if they needed more help. I don’t think she actually expected me to call, being a shy little girl, but I’ve always been very determined when I wanted something, so I mustered up the courage and called. They said yes. Grandma agreed to drive me there in the early morning and pick me up just before lunch. July is raspberry season, and it’s just too hot to pick in the afternoon. I was all set, and I couldn’t wait to start.

I was a hard little worker. And it was hard work. We wore boxes tied around our waists with twine that fit two one-quart containers so we’d have both hands free to pick. Raspberry bushes are incredibly thorny so my arms were scratched up quickly, but I still went every day and picked as much as I could.

I remember one afternoon being up at Grandma Barber’s house and telling her about my new job. She called our house the next day and asked me to come back; she had something for me. When I got there, I was surprised to find a box on her kitchen table, the perfect size to hold two one-quart containers, but this one had ties made from flannel sheets, rather than twine. It was so comfortable, and I felt like a princess at work the next day with my fancy new getup.

People called the raspberry patch all the time to order large quantities to make jam. The owner would tell us how many each order needed, and I felt like a valuable member of the team as I raced back to the rows with the other workers to find the biggest and plumpest raspberries for each customer.

Our First Communion – I’m eleven years old.

Every day at lunch I would come home with the cash I’d earned, and put it in a jar on my dresser. The fuller the jar got, the more motivated I was to work even harder. You see, I was saving for something very important – my school clothes. Grandma had made me a deal that if I earned my own money, I could choose my own school clothes. But if she was paying for them, then she got to choose them.

I’m positive when she said these words to me when I was nine years old, that she never thought I’d take this to mean I should actually go and get a job.

But I never let her forget those words.

The reason this was so important to me was that I knew Grandma was going to buy me corduroy pants. She loved the way they looked and felt they kept me very warm in the winter.

I hated them.

The swish-swish sound they made as you walked down the hall at school was awful. It sounded like you were wearing snow pants. If I had my way, I would never wear cords.

And Grandma had given me my ticket out.

So off I went, every morning, to my job, in the hopes of never again wearing those dreaded pants. And then I’d come home, have lunch and spend the afternoon in the pool. It was actually a pretty great summer.

I returned to this job every summer for the next three years, eventually riding my bike to get there. And at the end of every summer, I would count the cash in my jar and have enough money to buy my own school clothes. Off we’d go to Ottawa to The Bay. Grandma would make lots of suggestions, but I got the final say on everything I bought.

And I never wore corduroy pants again.

Goals, my wonderful children, life is all about goals. Some come from desires deep within your heart and some are born from a little girl’s hatred of noisy pants.

Love Mom

xoxo

French Immersion

Posted on November 9, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I’ve always loved school. From kindergarten all the way to university, I have always loved to learn.

One school year started out much differently than I expected though. When I showed up on the first day of school in Grade Five, none of my friends were there. As it turned out, they had all signed up for French Immersion and therefore, had switched to a different school. No one had talked about it at the end of the previous school year and I had no idea anyone was signing up. I don’t really even remember talking about it with Grandma. I think we didn’t give it any thought at all.

Grade 4 – one of my very favourite school years, and the year before French Immersion started.

However, now, I felt very alone.

From the time I was in Kindergarten, I had had the same group of friends. This was pretty much expected in the small country school I went to, but we really did love playing together. But now I was one of only three girls left in my grade. I liked the other two girls, but all they wanted to do at recess was chase the boys around the yard and that did not interest me. I wandered around the yard at recess, all alone. For the first time, I was not loving school.

My teachers could see I was miserable, although I don’t remember complaining to anyone. They contacted Grandma and the decision was made to enroll me in French Immersion at the other school.

I had always been a good student. I listened well and never disturbed anyone else. My report cards were filled with comments about what a pleasure I was to have in class. I worked hard and always did my best work. In Grade Two, I was pulled out of class to take many written and oral tests and I was eventually deemed “gifted” and put into enrichment classes. It was decided that starting French Immersion one month late would be no problem for me.

First day of Grade 5 for me, and Grade 3 for Melissa

On the first day of school, I was nervous but also very excited. I was finally going to see my friends again and I thought the idea of being in a French class all morning and then switching to an English class in the afternoon sounded fun. My first day was as wonderful as I could have hoped. The teachers were friendly and my old friends introduced me to everyone. I knew it was going to be an amazing year.

On my second day of school, we had a French grammar teacher who showed up about halfway through the morning. My French teacher, who I had already come to love, left and Mme. Sampath walked to the front of the room. Everyone had a grammar book and since we were into October now, the first chunk of pages in mine were incomplete. As the teacher spoke, I filled in a few of the answers on these first few pages, pleased with myself for knowing some of the French already and eager to learn more.

Suddenly, Mme. Sampath called my name and in front of everyone, asked me if I had been asked to go ahead and write in my book. Nearly frozen with fear, I somehow managed to shake my head. She asked me to put my pencil down and listen and I did so, feeling the eyes of every student on me. The boy sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, “She’s really mean. No one likes her.” I nodded as tears filled my eyes and I furiously blinked them away.

To say this teacher killed my spirit that day would not be an understatement. I had never gotten in trouble before, never even been asked to stop talking in class. To be called out in front of everyone had mortified my shy, little self and destroyed any bit of confidence I had in starting this program late. I went home that night and cried as I told Grandma what happened.

From that point forward, I felt as if I wasn’t good enough to be there. Instead of the confident girl who was eager to catch up on her first day, I became even quieter than before and convinced that everyone would always know more than me. Any time I didn’t understand what was being said or had questions about the assignment I was working on, I cried.

To make matters worse, I couldn’t even ask for help from any of the other students. The teacher had made a game out of convincing us to only speak French by giving us three bingo chips every morning. They were called “jetons” and if you heard anyone speak English, you would say “Donne-moi un jeton”, and they would have to give you one of their bingo chips. At the end of the day, the teacher would go around the room and write down how many bingo chips everyone had left.

I can tell you right now with complete accuracy that I started every day with three bingo chips and I ended every day with the same three bingo chips.

This game did not encourage me to speak French. It encouraged me to not speak at all.

Petrified of being further embarrassed by losing any bingo chips, it seemed safest to not say anything. I wasn’t confident enough to try to speak French. All of the kids loved this game and there were no allies. Everyone was out for your chips.

Even as I struggled in French class, I still loved school. I learned a lot and did very well, I was just not able to handle the times when things got difficult.

We did School Olympics in Grade 5 – I got to represent Canada. 🙂

I also loved my English class. It was easy and I loved that teacher as well. I made tons of great friends.

But I continued to feel that starting one month late was the cause of all of my problems. I let that thought hold me back in many ways, and I was convinced I was always looked at as the new student, even towards the end of the school year. I’m sure most of the kids had forgotten that I started one month late, but I just couldn’t let it go.

I believed that if someone else could be new, then everything would be better. I just needed someone to be newer than me. In Grade Six, I got my wish. Unfortunately, he oozed confidence and had no problem trying to speak French in front of everyone.

Looking back, I don’t think I ever got my confidence back completely, despite the fact that I completed the French Immersion program right through to Grade 12. I even took courses in French in university and held two jobs where being bilingual was necessary and I spoke French often at work.

I wonder how different my school career would have progressed if I hadn’t been writing in my book that day, and hadn’t been embarrassed in front of everyone. For years I’ve thought about that moment.

I’m not sure when I stopped being that shy little girl, but I’m sure it was through many moments like this that I grew and learned to speak up for myself, and to not be embarrassed by what I don’t know.

As a mother, I’ve found the hardest thing to do is watch you all struggle. If I had my way, everything would be easy for you, however I know that’s not how life works. Its through our struggles that we grow and become the people we are meant to be. There is no growth if there is no discomfort.

But it’s a hard thing to watch from this side.

You’ll each have your own experiences that will rock your core, destroy your confidence and make you question what you are doing. All I can hope is that you’ll talk to me the way I talked to Grandma, and hopefully, because I’ve been through it myself, I can help you understand and offer my support as you regain your balance and forge ahead again.

We can’t change our past, but we can learn and grow from what we’ve experienced. I’ve watched you do it many times already and I’m proud of the way you’ve both always stood up, dusted yourself off and got back in the game.

You are strong, incredible people. (Or humans as Alyssa and Keenan would say)

My very favourite humans.

Love Mom

xoxo

Re-Evaluating Priorities

Posted on October 28, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

A couple years ago the Manager position for my team at work became available and I wanted it. As the Supervisor directly below this position, I knew I was capable and my work was respected. I applied for the position.

I didn’t have all of the qualifications they were looking for, though, since our company was in the midst of growing globally and my experience was limited to Canada. I told the Director, to whom I was now reporting since the Manager position was vacant, that I was interested in the position, and that I would learn everything I needed in order to do the job.

Interviews were conducted and the company decided to go with someone who had more experience than me. I still remember being called into the Director’s office as she broke the news to me. I told her I would be more than happy to learn everything I could from the person they selected.

But inside, I was extremely disappointed.

I knew I could do the job. In fact, I had been doing the job for a long time since the previous manager had passed many of her responsibilities on to me. I knew it would be hard to have someone new come in and take the position I desperately wanted, but I also knew that I should keep an open mind and be respectful.

In working through my disappointment, I began to re-evaluate my life and my priorities. I had put a lot of stock into getting this job, and with that gone now, I felt a little bit lost.

For most of my life, I had volunteered. When I was thirteen years old, I volunteered at the local hospital. And then at sixteen, I taught Children’s Liturgy for my Church and also served on the Parish Council. As an adult, I volunteered at the school in both your and Colton’s classrooms, I was on the Parent Council and again taught Children’s Liturgy for the Church.

But now, I wasn’t volunteering anywhere.

I realized that my priorities had become skewed, and I had selfishly been concentrating on only my own needs, instead of following what the Bible tells us – that by helping others, all of your own needs will be taken care of.

I felt I needed to take the emphasis off of my work and move it onto my life.

I made the decision to help anywhere I could find an opportunity.

I didn’t have to look any further than our Church bulletin. I’d noticed a posting to help with the record keeping for the Church’s Cemetery in the bulletin for a few months now. Taking this as a sign, I called and inquired if the position was still available. It was, and the person who was currently doing this role lived on my road. We got together to talk about the responsibility, and I agreed to take this on.

After that, I signed up for everything. Within a month, I had added teaching Children’s Liturgy, volunteering at the Breakfast Club at the school and organizing the Warm Woolies program for the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, whereby I delivered hand knitted hats and mitts to the local schools.

I met so many wonderful people, and the experiences enriched my life in so many ways. For one, I had been going to this Church for a few years now, but hadn’t really made any friends. Now I knew so many people. Same thing for the school. The world was opening up to me simply because I had offered to help.

I had asked God to help me find my path and not only had He presented these opportunities to me, but He continued to bless me in so many other ways as well.

Three months later, I was once again called into the Director’s office. The new manager they had hired wasn’t working out and had just quit.

I will never forget the words she said next:

“I made a mistake. I should have offered you the job in the first place.”

I smiled.

God’s perfect plans are always so easy to see in hindsight. I knew this had happened exactly as it should have. If I hadn’t been turned down, I would never have re-evaluated my life, I would not have asked God to provide me with opportunities to volunteer, or met any of the wonderful people I now call good friends.

Sometimes the best thing God does for us, is NOT answer our prayers. And it’s always because He has something better in store for us.

Relax, and trust God that everything will work out as it should.

Love Mom

xoxo

Halloween

Posted on October 21, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I’ve never really liked Halloween. Even as a kid.

I loved the candy part for sure, but I’ve never liked anything scary or gross, so for me, Halloween was awful.

I don’t think I was even that crazy about the dressing up part when I was a kid, but trick or treating was fun, so long as you could just say “trick or treat” and be given candy. But sometimes we’d knock on the door of someone who wanted to know your name, or who your parents were. I guess that happens when you grow up just outside of a small village. And I know at one house in particular, if they knew your parents, you’d be given a candy apple instead of their regular candy. We made sure Mom came close enough to the door there, so they would know exactly who we were.

Dressing up as a clown for my first Halloween!

All of the sitcoms we would watch in the evenings back then would air their “Halloween Specials” the week before Halloween and I didn’t like that at all. I was always so happy to see Halloween over.

When you and your brother came along, Halloween became fun. It was much tamer for little ones and I enjoyed finding costumes and taking you trick or treating. I looked forward to carving pumpkins too.

Colton, age 2, scooping out the “gunk” inside his pumpkin

The first time you went trick-or-treating, you were only one year old. I borrowed a puppy costume from a guy I worked with at Napa and we went into Perth and met up at a friend’s house. We only trick or treated on the street behind her house, as that was more than enough candy to fill your little Halloween bucket. We had practiced a lot for this night and you did great. You never went farther than the door and you always said thank you. I think you were having so much fun that you didn’t realize they were putting candy into your bucket until after about six houses, and then you plopped yourself down at the end of someone’s driveway and started pulling everything back out of the bucket to take a look at what you got. Then we went over to Grandma’s house. She opened the door, you said trick or treat and she gave you a huge bag of cheezies. Definitely did not fit in your bucket.

Cassie trick or treating at Grandma’s house.

One of my favourite Halloweens was in 2002. You were four years old and you wanted to be Cinderella. I decided to make our costumes that year, so in September I went to the craft store and found a pattern and bought all of the material I’d need. It was a huge undertaking as I had only ever made one dress before that. I took over one end of our kitchen table for two months and worked every evening on it.

Colton was obsessed at the time with his little six-shooter and it became obvious that no matter what costume he wore, he was also planning on wearing his gun belt and bringing his hand gun along. Luckily, he agreed to be a cowboy so the gun could be part of the costume. I made him a black vest and a red bandana and he borrowed my cowboy hat. Handsomest little cowboy I’d ever seen. We went into Aunt Lisa’s that year and trick or treated in the subdivision behind her house, along with Brittany, and Debbie and her kids. It was a lot of fun.

Cassie as Cinderella (age four) Colton as a Cowboy (age 2)

Another Halloween that ended up being a favourite was years later. I think you were thirteen and Colton was eleven. Colton didn’t really like Halloween either. Even when he was small, he would make us skip the houses that were overly decorated since it was likely they had someone dressed up who would jump out and scare him. I remember more than once, saying loudly as we walked up the driveway, “It’s okay, bud, just a lot of great decorations, don’t be scared.” Hoping that would alert anyone hiding not to jump out at him. It seemed to work well, as we remained unscathed.

This year I had decided you were old enough to go out with your friends in town, without me. You, for some crazy reason, love Halloween. Colton and I needed something to do. And then we came up with the best idea ever. We would put up the Christmas tree and watch his favourite Christmas movie “Christmas comes to Willow Creek” (starring John Schneider and Tom Wopat from the Dukes of Hazzard). The movie played in the background as we decorated the tree and then we sat down, cuddled up and watched the rest of the movie while we snacked on a box of little Halloween chocolate bars I’d purchased for us. I remember you coming home, super excited about the fun you’d had, showing us your own bag of candy.

And now I’m back to trick or treating with Alyssa and Keenan. Neither of them like things that are scary or gross either, but they both love dressing up and collecting candy. Once again, I am going over the important points of saying “Trick or Treat”, never going farther than the door, and always saying thank you.

Alyssa as Elsa (age 6) Keenan as Baby Shark (age 3)

Kindness always….especially when people are gracious enough to buy candy and then open their doors to just hand it out to anyone willing to put on a costume.

What a weird custom. 😊

Love Mom

xoxo

Thanksgiving 2021

Posted on October 12, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

2021 has been an amazing year so far and I have many things and people to be thankful for.

As usual, I am always most thankful for my children. You were all prayed about and wished for more than you could possibly imagine and not a day goes by that I don’t pray for God to keep you safe. My world revolves around the four of you, and everything else comes after.

Dinner at The Barley Mow after getting our family pics done.

Here is a list of other things I am thankful for in 2021:

1 – My Increased Spirituality

Without being able to go to Church this year, I turned to a publication that I was already receiving in the mail and began reading this at the start and end of each day. I also began listening to Joyce Meyer daily. I’ve found her to be an amazing resource for biblical interpretation as well as offering down to earth advice in today’s world. This has helped me strengthen my bond with the Lord and has helped to make me a happier and more understanding person.

2 – My Husband

Daddy never ceases to amaze me. I thought my constant goal setting and planning would drive him crazy, but instead, he bought me a High Performance Planner so I could better track my progress. When we decided to increase our focus on our health and fitness, he found us an app that would work for both of our goals.

He supports my interests, is constantly asking how he can help me more and keeps me laughing. Top that off with the fact that he is a patient and understanding dad and step-dad, and it’s no wonder I thank God every day for bringing us together.

3 – Our New Pool

This might seem like a silly thing to add to a list that, so far, has been of incredibly important things, but this was the realization of a goal we set six years ago, so having it come to fruition is definitely something to be thankful for.

When I was growing up, we had a huge above ground pool. We swam all the time, often putting our bathing suits on as soon as we got up in the morning and only taking them off to change into pajamas at night. Grandma was a stay-at-home mom, so our summers were filled with an ever rotating schedule of visits by her friends and their kids. They all loved the pool as much as we did. Summer was the best time of the year.

When we bought our house six years ago, we bought a steel framed pool that was twelve feet by twenty feet. It was not a permanent pool – it needed to be set up each spring and taken down in the fall. It was a lot of work, but the cost was reasonable, and it would give us a chance to see if we would use a pool as much as we thought we would. As it turned out, you were a little fish (or mermaid, perhaps?) and you never wanted to get out. We would sometimes make you get out when your little lips would tremble from the cold, but you always insisted you still wanted to swim.

Five years later we were still setting up the same pool every spring and cleaning it thoroughly before storing it inside in the winter. I was searching to buy us a new permanent pool online, but because of Covid, pools were hard to find. The website I wanted to buy from said there would be new arrivals coming in the third week of July, so I logged on at 5am every morning, and sure enough, one day the pool I wanted was available. It was fifteen feet by thirty feet. We had put enough money aside for this, so I purchased it immediately. It was delivered two days later. I scheduled the installation through another company, and asked for it to take place in the fall. We took down our current pool for the last time, cleaning it thoroughly once again and packing it up to be delivered to one of Daddy’s friends, who will hopefully enjoy it as much as we did. Our new permanent pool was installed two weeks ago.

Now every morning when I let Henry out, I walk out onto the deck with my coffee and I smile as I look at the pool that six years ago was only a dream. Daddy will build our new deck in the spring and hopefully your summers will be as amazing as my childhood summers were.

In a few hours we will be sitting down, all together, to Thanksgiving dinner, and I will be able to look around the table at the ones I love the most and thank God for the amazing life He has created for me.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love Mommy

xoxo

Failing Doesn’t Mean It’s Over

Posted on October 4, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I’m fortunate to have had many successes in my life. I am very disciplined, so normally when I set my mind to achieving something, I get it.

As important as I think it is, that you’ve watched me set goals, and then strive diligently to reach them, it is equally important for you to know that sometimes I fail.

The true measure of a person is seen in how they handle failure. Winning is the easy part. But to dust yourself off, and try again – that takes determination and courage.

This is one of my favourite quotes. It goes nicely with the signature I’ve had on my email for years:

“Supposing you have tried and failed again and again. You may have

a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing that we call “failure”

is not the falling down, but the staying down.”

There are two times I can remember in my life when failure hurt a lot.

The first was a course I failed in university.

I started at Queen’s University when you were only five years old. Colton was three. I went full time for the first year and then dropped to part-time when it became necessary for me to work while attending school. I tried to take classes in every semester since it was going to take many years to complete my degree. I liked the summer semester because they offered courses that would normally run from September to April but you could get the full credit in only twelve weeks. The course itself was not condensed, however. You were expected to take only one course in the summer semester and to devote full time hours to it.

The course was Shakespeare and it was a requirement for my degree. Honestly, looking back, I can’t remember if I was working at that time or just looking after the two of you. What I do remember, though, was that the course consisted of 12 of Shakespeare’s plays – one per week. I read every play but our summer was busy and I remember the characters all swimming together in my head. I couldn’t keep track of who belonged in which play.

I received well enough marks on the essays that were due throughout the course. But I knew when I walked in to write the exam, I was not ready. I hoped for the best, but did not pass. When the final result of the course was posted, I received 46%. It was the first time in my entire life that I had received a failing mark. And it stung.

I knew the only person to blame was myself. I had not devoted enough time to this course. I could also see (hindsight is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?) that being home with two small children and trying to do such an intensive course (12 plays in twelve weeks?!?) was not a great idea.

I dusted this failure off and when the course was offered again for the full school year, I signed up. Once again, I read the plays. I made careful notes this time, and put in the effort that was required. As soon as I sat down to write the exam, I took a blank piece of paper, wrote out the titles of each of the twelve plays and then made a character list below each one, in order to keep them all straight as I wrote the exam.

The grade I received was 90%. Heck ya.

The second moment of failure came at a provincial karate competition. And I’m not going to lie -this defeat rocked my core, because unlike the Shakespeare course, this time I had put in the work. This time I wasn’t merely hoping for the best.

I had competed at local tournaments for a few years and I normally did quite well. I was used to placing in the top three. When I decided to compete at the provincial level, it was exhilarating. The level of competition was incredibly high. I was blown away at the skill of the competitors and more excited than ever to train hard enough to compete here.

I attended each tournament, trying to learn everything I could. At home, I trained every day. I was determined to be my best. Each time I didn’t place at the tournaments, I recognized small mistakes I had made, and I would return home again to work even harder.

And finally, I performed my kata to the best of my ability. There were none of my previous mistakes, I felt strong and I knew this was the best I could do.

I still didn’t place.

Because this level was so competitive, one of the clubs tracked each of the regular competitors and their respective scores. I asked to see where I fell in the standings. I needed to know that I was making progress. They showed me the results. I nodded my thanks and walked away.

I was in last place.

To fail because you didn’t try is one thing. To give your absolute best and to still fail…well, this was something I had never experienced before. I was defeated. And honestly, at a complete loss. I didn’t know how to be better. I’d trained with everything I had.

I did, however, place in the Team Kata division.

Now, unfortunately, I don’t have a happy ending to that story yet. That was the last competition of the year and my life took a different direction shortly after (Hello Alyssa and Keenan! 😊 ). But looking back, I can clearly see that I did the best I could at that time.

That was not the best I could be ever. It was the best I could be then.

When you know better, you do better.

Failure is how we learn from our mistakes. I’ll admit, failing is not fun. But sometimes it’s necessary. It can humble you when you need humbling. It can show you what you are doing wrong. But maybe most importantly, it can show you the true extent of your passion.

Because my flame might have flickered that day, but it did not go out.

I love competing. And luckily, I also love training.

Winning isn’t fun if it’s easy. In order to truly appreciate a win, you have to have worked hard to make it happen.

And now that I know more, I can train more effectively.

This poster has always hung on the wall where I train. It’s the mantra I follow. It makes me feel empowered.

My message to you is simple – you are not always going to win. So learn from your failures and use them to become better.

Only you can decide when it’s over. If you are still trying…if you are still getting back up, then you are still on your way to winning.

And I will always be there in whatever way you need me to be. Whether it’s cheering you on, encouraging you to try again or just simply lending a sympathetic ear. Reaching your goals will never be easy, sweetheart, but it will always be worth it.

Love Mom

xoxo

Humble Beginnings

Posted on September 30, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I’ve been a mom for quite a while now and honestly, it’s hard to remember a time when I didn’t have kids. If I’m not currently doing something for one of you, then you can bet you are on my mind, as I think about what you are doing that day, what you have coming up, what you need, or when I’ll speak to you next. Being a mom is as natural to me as breathing. It’s who I am and what I do.

But it wasn’t always that way.

In less than a month, you’ll be celebrating your 23^rd birthday and I’ll be remembering back to the day you were born, back to the time when I first became a mom, and I had no idea what I was doing.

When I found out I was pregnant, I devoured every book I could get my hands on (please remember there was no internet available to me back then, this was a lot harder than it would be today). I was determined to learn everything I could and to do everything right by you. I studied for nine months, the last three of which I didn’t even work. I just prepared.

I was ready.

Or so I thought.

When this tiny little bundle, wrapped up so sweetly, was placed in my arms I felt an enormous amount of pride. For nine months I had done everything I could to ensure you had the very best start in life. You were finally here now, and you were perfect. With your sweet little round head and dark eyes and hair, you were all mine.

I already knew I would love and protect you forever.

And then you cried. And cried again. And cried some more.

I spent two days in the hospital, struggling to find ways to get you to stop crying.

You were a little happier during the day, but the nights, when I really didn’t want to disturb anyone else, you cried. At one point, the nurses asked if I would like them to take you to the nursery and by that time, I was desperate for a few hours of sleep. I hated to say yes, but I did.

They brought you back to me in twenty minutes. They couldn’t get you to stop crying either.

Your dad seemed to have a knack for calming you down. He would pace the room, gently rocking you, and you would settle. I sat, tied to my hospital bed by an IV line, feeling utterly defeated.

When it was time to bring you home, I was nervous. On one hand, I was happy because we lived out in the country and I wouldn’t have to worry about your crying disturbing anyone else, but I still hadn’t figured out what to do with you.

Finally disconnected from my IV and able to get out of bed, I got myself ready as your dad held you. Once we were all packed up, he handed you to me so he could go bring the truck to the front door of the hospital. It was the longest five minutes of my life. You weren’t crying yet, but you looked like you may start at any second. And I wouldn’t know what to do. I prayed that you would stay quiet until your dad got back. Thankfully, you did.

Ready to come home. I look like a baby myself!

We brought you home on a Sunday morning and the next Saturday your dad moved into the hunting camp for a week of deer hunting, as was his yearly tradition.

I’d never dreaded hunting season more.

During your first week, I looked forward to when your dad would get home from work each day. I loved taking care of you, but I wasn’t confident in my parenting skills. I liked him being home so the full responsibility was not on me. Now we were facing a whole week of just you and me, twenty-four hours a day. And there was no way to reach him at the camp. I was literally on my own, at twenty-one years old, with a week-old baby and I’d never felt so unsure.

But the time alone together turned out to be a blessing. Knowing there was no one coming to relieve me meant I had to figure out what to do. And I did. Within a couple of days, we had a new schedule and we were thriving together. You still cried sometimes, but I was able to soothe you quickly.

I remember laying on my bed one evening, propped up against some pillows, with my knees bent and you laying on my legs. You weren’t crying. You were just laying there, very still, and you were staring at me.

I was scared to death that something was wrong. I checked to make sure you were breathing. I checked to make sure your sleepers weren’t too tight. I lifted you up and then set you back down again. And you continued to just look at me. And then I relaxed and sat there, looking back at you.

It was like you were looking at me for the first time, and realizing that I was the one who was going to help you navigate this world forever, that I would be the one who would always be there for you, no matter what, and that whenever things went wrong, you could count on me to help you pick up the pieces.

It was in that moment that I knew we’d be okay.

I leaned forward and kissed your soft little cheeks.

You were my whole world.

Your dad got home a week later sometime, but I wasn’t watching the calendar anymore.

We had figured each other out and we were doing great.

That week alone had given me the time I needed to learn to take care of you, all by myself. It gave me confidence.

If only I’d known all that crying was preparing your lungs so you could fill our house with beautiful melodies soon.

Hmmmm….I might have still given you that soother anyway. You were really, really loud. 😀

It’s funny to think that when I looked at that tiny little bundle in my arms, I thought I could never love you more than I did at that moment, but as you’ve grown, so has my love for you.

23 years…

Love Mom

xoxo