writing – 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

When the World Hit Pause

Posted on September 21, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

The world was in overdrive. We were over-worked and over-played. Both weekends and weekdays were filled to maximum capacity as we struggled to do it all. Being busy had become glorified.

Everyone was tired. But there was no way to stop this crazy ride.

Guilt pushed us to accept every playdate, and to make the most of every weekend. And really, was turning down one social activity so we could stay in and rest really going to save us from the exhaustion we continually felt? Not likely.

We worked the long hours. “It’s only until this project is completed,” we’d say. We accepted every social invitation. “We’re available so we can’t say no,” we’d say. The kids need to experience every activity. “How else will we find their passion and plus childhood is so short anyway,” we’d say.

And then everything stopped.

I remember hearing something about COVID in January. But it was happening in China and I didn’t think it was anything I needed to worry about. Just another scare tactic from the news. But then in March, my boss called me and her other managers into her office.

“We’ll need to work from home for the next three weeks,” she told us. And then right after we went home, the schools closed. And events were all postponed. And Church could no longer open its doors to the public. Everything that could, went online. And the world officially shutdown.

And I felt I could finally take a deep breath.

Now weekends could be spent relaxing at home and playing with the kids, with no guilt of not attending parties or traipsing off to stimulating fun weekend stuff.

I took this breather as the blessing it could be.

A rest.

Now don’t get me wrong. This was still an extremely stressful time for the world. But we were very fortunate. Your dad, Colton and I could still work, so paying the bills was not a problem. And I was working even longer hours, but I was working those hours from the comfort of our home. There was always the possibility of someone bringing the virus into our home from work or even the grocery store, but I just prayed to God that He would keep us safe and help us all get through this.

And then I relaxed and enjoyed the pause.

This was the opportunity to regroup and get stronger, both mentally and physically. This was the chance to evaluate the crazy life we were living and to figure out a plan to do it better. So that when the lockdowns ended, we could live our life the best way for our family, with planning and purpose, and no longer being swept away by the craziness of everyone else’s agendas.

And now, a year and a half later, it feels like we are slowly returning to society. After having spent Grade 1 in the comfort of our home, sitting next to me, day in and day out, you have returned to school in person. And you love it. There were many days, back in Senior Kindergarten, when you did not want to go to school. But now, you appreciate playing with friends again and you are eager to climb the steps of the bus every day.

And I’m enjoying being out again. The dread and guilt are gone, and joy has taken their place. I feel more centered in who I am and in my beliefs. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I still want to accomplish in my life and to create the goals I need to get there.

The world hit pause and I took this as the opportunity it was. A time to re-evaluate. A time to count my blessings. And a time to rest.

And looking back, I’ll be grateful that we spent an entire school year together. Grade 1 was a wonderful year for both Cassie and Colton, as they had fantastic teachers, but your Grade 1 was even more special because we got to do it together. I was able to teach you math, and help you learn to read. I saw your creativity flow as you painted and did crafts. There were definitely struggles as I tried to be a full-time teacher to you, and still attend meetings, manage my team and perform my own work responsibilities. But every day I loved being able to look to my left and see you sitting there. I’m incredibly grateful for that time we had together.

And now we’ll move forward, counting blessings that we previously took for granted, living with more purpose and kindness than ever before.

And I’ll always look back and be grateful that we were able to find joy and peace in this unprecedented time.

Love Mom

xoxo

Grandma’s House

Posted on September 3, 2020 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

Oh, how I wish I could take you all back in time and go with you to Grandma’s house. And I’m not talking about your grandma, I’m talking about my grandma. My dad’s mom. Your Great Grandma.

We’d pull into the gravel driveway and pass the huge lilac bush out front that your Grandpa told me he used to hide behind so he could wave the bus by on the days he wanted to skip school. Then he’d head up to his uncle’s farm and hang out there all day. Different times.

We’d park our van in front on the barn that held the tractors (and a long time ago – pigs) and we’d walk past the metal and ceramic dishes by the back step that Grandma always put bread and milk in to feed the barn cats. We’d open the screen door to the summer kitchen and then let it bang shut behind us, like always.

We’d walk the path to the kitchen door, which was framed by a long chest freezer on one side and a variety of old tools, newspapers, snow shoes and lawn chairs on the other side. There would usually be a few pies sitting on top of the freezer and we would wonder who the lucky recipients were. Grandma made the best apple pie and they were usually given to friends or family celebrating birthdays.

We’d knock on the kitchen door and walk in. The center of the room held a large oval table with a collection of chairs around it. There were also a few stools in the corner by the cupboards. You just never knew how many people would show up to visit so extra places to sit needed to be close by. Grandma would be sitting in her usual spot at the table. I’d tell you all to grab a chair and I’d hope, as I always did, that I could sit in the glider next to the back door. It was a toss up between this chair and one other as to what would be considered the best chair in the house.

Once seated at the table, I would watch for your reaction as you took in the sight of every child’s dream and you’d finally see that what I always told you about Grandma’s house was real. One end of the kitchen table was always full of treats. I know you would all look at me with hopeful expressions and of course, I would nod and tell you to help yourself. I couldn’t very well deny you the pleasure of what Aunt Melissa and I got to experience almost every day of our childhood.

There was always a bowl of M&Ms, a canister of mixed nuts, a white ceramic dish of caramels and a red plastic bowl filled with Pringles. There were sometimes bowls of smarties and occasionally a clear plastic tree with chocolates pressed onto the end of the branches. Sometimes I had to eat quite a few to find a strawberry one, but I never minded!

My favourite treat was always the caramels though. I loved the dark caramels best, but so did Uncle Bob. Often while I was digging through the dish, Grandma would say, “Not very likely, dear, Bob was here yesterday.” Darn that Uncle Bob.

You would all listen politely as you snacked, while Grandma filled us in on all of the visitors she’d had lately. Having 10 children and 26 grandchildren meant she always had lots to share. It was pretty common for others to arrive during our visits – best to not give up that other best chair, the one in front of the candy.

After you all had your fill…and I would warn you to stop as early as you could, since I knew exactly how a ‘too full of candy’ tummy felt, I would bring you upstairs to show you where Grandma kept the games and puzzles. You see, Grandma’s house wasn’t just about filling up on junk food.

I couldn’t even count the number of afternoons we would chat away to Grandma while working on the Wonder Woman puzzle or playing a game of Clue.

Her house was just up the road a little ways from where I grew up. Mostly we peddled our bikes there and although it didn’t look like much of a hill, you knew it was one when you were riding your bike. Luckily, that meant when you were full of treats, you didn’t need to peddle home. You could coast the whole way back. Which we did, often, just to see how far we could make it.

Looking back, what I remember most about Grandma’s house was the time she spent listening to us. We would chat about everything as we did puzzles, played games and munched on candy. And whenever our friends or cousins came over, we always brought them up to Grandma’s house. And she would always remember their names and ask us about them often.

Without knowing it then, it cemented in my mind what the role of a grandmother should be – someone who puts the time in, whether it be teaching card games, doing puzzles and just simply talking. I was lucky enough to, very often, have the undivided attention of someone who loved me just the way I was. Looking back, I realize not once did Grandma ever say ‘that’s enough games for now’ or ‘let’s put the puzzles away’. She always gave her time freely to us. What an absolute blessing that is to a child.

Grandma loved to knit and crochet and we were always interested in seeing her latest projects. She crafted beautiful doilies with intricate patterns and she knit hundreds of mittens. She also knit tiny hats and sweater sets to be given to premature babies at the hospital. I think we liked seeing those the best.

I remember when Grandma started a project of crocheting granny squares to use up the hundreds of leftover balls of yarn that completely covered one of her couches. Every day I would check in after school to see how many more squares she had made and look over the different colours she had used. I was intrigued and couldn’t wait to see them all be put together into a blanket.

And then, one day, it was done. I was so surprised to see the folded blanket on the kitchen table when I walked through the back door. I looked it over, admiring how perfect it all came together. And then to my complete surprise, she said, “You can have it, dear.” I had never asked her who it was for and I’m not sure if it was given to me because I showed more interest in its creation than anyone else had, but I was so grateful to have it. And now that Grandma has been gone for many years, it’s a wonderful reminder of her and the time we spent together.

Leaving Grandma’s house was always bittersweet and I’m sure when our visit was over, you would all be asking me when we would be able to return. And just as we’d promised when we said good-bye, the answer would be soon.

Grandma’s house was a huge part of my childhood and I have so many more memories – from watching as my many uncles shot skeet in the field beside the house, to collecting apples on our walk through the bush and feeding them to the pigs, to meeting my friend Shawn at Grandma’s after school every day to play basketball once we’d discovered an old basketball hoop attached to one side of the barn.

How lucky I was to have had a childhood filled with so many simple pleasures and to be reminded of them every night as I pull that special blanket up from the end of my bed and use its warmth to comfort me or when I bring it out to the couch so we can all cuddle under it to watch TV. Every time we use it I am reminded of the wonderful grandma who made it.

Love Mom

xoxo

Cassie’s Gift

Posted on June 28, 2020June 29, 2020 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

There have been many times in your life when I’ve been proud of you. Proud of your accomplishments, proud of the way you’ve handled certain situations and proud of the woman you’ve become. I’ve always been inspired by your empathy, your compassion and your sense of humour. I haven’t always understood some of the crazy things you’ve done (practicing the splits in the middle of your brother’s hockey dressing room, for example) but I’ve always admired your dedication to being your own true self.

Some of my favourite memories, however, have come from times where other people have realized your talents as well.

I knew singing was one of the most beautiful gifts God gave you from the time you could barely speak. When you were not even two years old, you would walk around our house singing songs from The Little Mermaid. You didn’t understand some of the words so you made up sounds for the unfamiliar parts but the tune was always bang on. Over the years, I’ve listened to your voice grow and I’ve loved every minute of it.

Finally, in Grade 12, you started sharing your gift with the world. At the culmination of your guitar class, you sang for your own project as well as for many others in your class. I wish so much that I’d recorded that evening. I had no idea you would be singing – I thought we were there just to listen to you play the guitar. We had brought Alyssa with us so we grabbed a couple seats at the back in case she started to cry and we wanted to whisk her out of the room. Sitting there, I watched as you took your place on the stool and adjusted the microphone in front of you. Excitedly, I sat a little straighter in my chair. As your voice filled the room, I closed my eyes and smiled. As much as I loved hearing you belt out tunes from our wonderfully acoustical bathroom at home, your voice sounded so much better here, with a microphone. Parents I’d known for the last 14 years of your schooling were turning around to look at me. One looked especially shocked and whispered “That voice!” I smiled and nodded.

When you and three friends from your vocal class put together a band, I was obviously your biggest fan. And when your band, Inverted Seven, entered a music contest held at a local restaurant, I called Aunt Lisa to see if she would go with me. There were many bands entered, from other local high schools. Aunt Lisa worked at the other high school in our town so she knew some of the teachers there. She also pointed out the music teacher from her school. He looked like a really nice guy. I could see him giving pointers to the students from his school. The students listened eagerly to his advice.

The evening progressed and the other bands were good. I enjoyed hanging out, waiting for your turn.

Finally, it was time. Your band was the last to play and I nervously watched you place your water bottle on the edge of the keyboard and take your place between Millar and Isaiah. The first three songs were catchy and played well but you sang only backup. I really wasn’t sure what your chances were to win since the other bands had played well too. Finally, the song I’d been waiting for. As your voice filled the room, low at first, more people came to the back of the restaurant to watch. I had to stand up in order to see past the crowd that was gathering and I found a place next to a post where I had a better view. I stood there watching with a big smile on my face as you captivated the crowd. The music teacher from the other school walked up and stood beside me. When you hit the chorus and the song finally took advantage of the amazing range of your voice, my smile got wider. “Wow,” came the voice from the teacher beside me, “that girl can sing.”

Beaming, I turned to him and said some of my most favourite words:

“That’s my daughter.”

That night will always be a special memory for me. I got to watch a restaurant full of people appreciate your gift, I got to spend the evening with Aunt Lisa (who has always been one of my favourite people) and I got to watch you and your friends celebrate when your band was chosen as the winner.

Thank you, sweetheart, for being brave enough to share your gift with the world.

Love Mom

xoxo